So in silence they drank to the memory of Acaill of Orgiall, and afterwards they sought to spin together the threads of their broken mirth, but not easily, for Astrild, who was wont to be gayest, sat pale, with her hand on the knife hidden in her breast; and the King sat dumb and frowning, thinking, as Astrild knew, of dead Acaill: how he had loved and hated her, and, having slain her father and brothers, and brought her to Dunna Scaith a Golden Hostage wearing a golden chain, he had wedded her for her beauty’s sake; and how until her child was born she had never so much as smiled or frowned for him; and how, when her babe lay in her arms, she sent for her husband, and said: “I thank thee, Cathal, who hast set me free by means of this babe. I bless thee for this last gift of thine, who for all thine other gifts have cursed thee.” And Cathal remembered how he had held babe and mother to his heart, and said: “Good to hear soft words from thy mouth at last, O Acaill! Speak again to me, and softly.” But she had not answered, for her first soft words to him were her last. And Astrild, watching him, saw his face grow black and angry, and she smiled softly to herself, and aloud she said: “Oh, Guthbinn, sing again, and sing of thy brothers who fell to-day--sing of Oscar, the swift in battle, and Uaithne, of the dark eyes. And will my lord give leave that I, their mother, go to weep for them in my own poor house where they were born?” “No,” said Cathal. “I bought you and your tears, girl, with gold rings, from Ocaill of Connaught. Sing to me now, and keep thy tears for to-morrow.” So Astrild drove back her sorrow, and began to sing, while her son Guthbinn plucked slow music from his harpstrings. “Earrach, Samhradh, Foghmhar, and Geimhridh, Are over all and done: And now the web forgets the weaver, And earth forgets the sun. I sowed no seed, and pulled no blossom, Ate not of the green corn: With empty hands and empty bosom, Behold, I stand forlorn. Windflower I sang, and Flower o’ Sorrow, Half-Summer, World’s Delight: I took no thought o’ the coming morrow, No care for the coming night.”