The girl disappeared, entered again with a ewer that seemed cut of amber. The priestess poured from it into Larry's glass a clear liquid that shook with tiny sparkles of light. She raised the glass to her lips, handed it to him. Half-smiling, half-abstractedly, he took it, touched his own lips where hers had kissed; drained it. A nod from Yolara and the maid refilled his goblet. At once there was a swift transformation in the Irishman. His abstraction vanished; the sternness fled; his eyes sparkled. He leaned caressingly toward Yolara; whispered. Her blue eyes flashed triumphantly; her chiming laughter rang. She raised her own glass--but within it was not that clear drink that filled Larry's! And again he drained his own; and, lifting it, full once more, caught the baleful eyes of Lugur, and held it toward him mockingly. Yolara swayed close--alluring, tempting. He arose, face all reckless gaiety; rollicking deviltry. "A toast!" he cried in English, "to the Shining One--and may the hell where it belongs soon claim it!" He had used their own word for their god--all else had been in his own tongue, and so, fortunately, they did not understand. But the contempt in his action they did recognize--and a dead, a fearful silence fell upon them all. Lugur's eyes blazed, little sparks of crimson in their green. The priestess reached up, caught at O'Keefe. He seized the soft hand; caressed it; his gaze grew far away, sombre. "The Shining One." He spoke low. "An' now again I see the faces of those who dance with it. It is the Fires of Mora--come, God alone knows how--from Erin--to this place. The Fires of Mora!" He contemplated the hushed folk before him; and then from his lips came that weirdest, most haunting of the lyric legends of Erin--the Curse of Mora: "The fretted fires of Mora blew o'er him in the night; He thrills no more to loving, nor weeps for past delight. For when those flames have bitten, both grief and joy take flight--" Again Yolara tried to draw him down beside her; and once more he gripped her hand. His eyes grew fixed--he crooned: "And through the sleeping silence his feet must track the tune, When the world is barred and speckled with silver of the moon--" He stood, swaying, for a moment, and then, laughing, let the priestess have her way; drained again the glass. And now my heart was cold, indeed--for what hope was there left with Larry mad, wild drunk! The silence was unbroken--elfin women and dwarfs glancing furtively at each other. But now Yolara arose, face set, eyes flashing grey. "Hear you, the Council, and you, Lugur--and all who are here!" she cried. "Now I, the priestess of the Shining One, take, as is my right, my mate. And this is he!" She pointed down upon Larry. He glanced up at her. "Can't quite make out what you say, Yolara," he muttered thickly. "But say anything--you like--I love your voice!"