Ardanna looked at him. A flush came into his face. In his eyes the same light flamed that was there when the Frankish prince told him of the delights of the world. "Is it true, O Cathal, that the druids--that the priests of Christ and the two other gods, the white-robed men whom we call Culdees, and of whom you are one, is it true that they will have nought to do with women?" Cathal looked upon the woman no more, but on the ground at his feet. "It is true, Ardanna." The girl laughed. It was a low, sweet, mocking laugh, but it went along Cathal's blood like cloud-fire along the sky. It was to him as though somewhat he had not seen was revealed. "And is it a true thing that you holy men look at women askance, and as snares of peril and evil?" "It is true, Ardanna; but not so upon those who are sisters of Christ, and whose eyes are upon heavenly things." "But what of those who are not sisters of your god, and are only women, fair to look upon, fair to woo, fair to love?" Cathal again flushed. His eyes were still upon the ground. He made no answer. Ardanna laughed low. "Cathal!" "Yes, fair daughter of Ecta?" "Is it never longing for love you are?" "There is but one love for us who have taken the vows of chastity." "What is chastity?" Cathal raised his eyes and glanced at Ardanna. Her dark-blue eyes looked at him pure and sweet, though a smile was upon her mouth. He sighed. "It is the sanctity of the body, Ardanna." "I do not understand," she said simply. "But tell me this, poor Cathal--" "Why do you call me poor Cathal?" "Because you have put your manhood from you--and you so young, and strong, and comely--and are not a warrior, and care neither for the sword, nor the chase, nor the harp, nor for women." Cathal was troubled. He looked again and again at Ardanna. The sunset light was in her yellow hair, which was about her as a glory. He had seen the moon as wondrous pale as her beautiful face. Like lilies her white hands were. He had dreamed of that flamelight in the eyes. "I care," he said. She drew nearer, and leaned a little forward, and looked at him. "You are good to look upon, Cathal--the comeliest youth I have ever seen." The monk flushed. This was the devil-tongue of which Colum had warned him. But how sweet the words were: like a harp that low voice. Sure, sweeter is a waking dream than a dream in sleep. "I care," he repeated dully. "Look, Cathal." Slowly he raised his eyes. As his gaze moved upward it rested on the white breast which was like sea-foam swelling out of brown sea-weed, for she had a tanned fawn-skin belted and gold-claspt over the white robe she wore, and that had disparted for the warm air to play upon her bosom. It troubled him. He let his eyes fall again. The red was on his face. "Cathal!" "Yes, Ardanna."