Gràine turns to Diarmad and says to him: “Wilt thou receive courtship from me, O son of Duibhne?” “I will not,” said Diarmad. “Then,” said Gràine, “I put thee under bonds of danger and destruction, O Diarmuid, that is, under the bonds of Dromdraoidheachta, if thou take me not with thee out of this household to-night, ere Fionn and the King of Erin arise out of that sleep.” Diarmad replies by speaking of the bonds as “evil,” and indulges in expressions or self-depreciation. She reminds him of some brave deeds he performed once “on the plain of Teamhair [Tara],” when “Fionn and the seven battalions of the standing Fenians chanced to be there.” She insinuates that this was the cause of her admiration, seeing Diarmad taking “his caman from the next man to him, and winning the goal three times upon Cairber and upon the warriors of Teamhair.” She turned the light of her eyes upon him that day, and never gave her love to another, nor would she till she died. Diarmad wonders why it was not Finn that was the object of her love instead of himself, because “there is not in Erin a man that is fonder of a woman than he.” He now makes another excuse: Finn has the keys of Tara; they cannot leave the town. But the willing lady finds means of exit for herself and the reluctantly gallant gentleman. “There is a wicket-gate to my _Grianan_, and we will pass out through it.” Diarmad, after some more ungallant excuses, goes to “his people,” and particularly to Ossian, and says, “O, Oisin, son of Fionn, what shall I do with these bonds that have been laid on me?” “Thou are not guilty of the bonds which have been laid on thee,” said Oisin, “and I tell thee to follow Grainne, and keep thyself well against the wiles of Fionn.” The soft-hearted, but irresolute Diarmad, questions the rest of the Finian heroes in a similar fashion; and they all appear to be favourable to Gràine’s proposition and bonds; one of them, Caoilte, says very gallantly and emphatically, “I say that I have a fitting wife, and yet I had rather than the wealth of the world that it had been to me that Grainne gave that love.” This sounds very like the possible determination of a chivalrous Irish colonel of “the seven battalions of the standing Fenians.” After a little further hesitation, Diarmad at last exclaims. “Then go forward, O Grainne.” The hero now enters on a series of manly exploits. Gràine and he flee into Clanrickard, in Galway, where he fortifies a little grove in which they shelter themselves. Those in pursuit discover this grove, but Diarmad’s sagacious advisers before he left send the knowing dog, Bran, half-human, half-brute, to warn him. Bran has “knowledge and wisdom,” and thrusts his head into Diarmad’s bosom. That, and the friendly shouts of the dog’s far-off masters are sufficient.