OWEN. — _with a burst of rage._ — It’s Naisi, Naisi, is it? Then, I tell you, you’ll have great sport one day seeing Naisi getting a harshness in his two sheep’s eyes and he looking on yourself. Would you credit it, my father used to be in the broom and heather kissing Lavarcham, with a little bird chirping out above their heads, and now she’d scare a raven from a carcase on a hill. (_With a sad cry that brings dignity into his voice._) Queens get old, Deirdre, with their white and long arms going from them, and their backs hooping. I tell you it’s a poor thing to see a queen’s nose reaching down to scrape her chin. DEIRDRE. — _looking out, a little uneasy._ — Naisi and Fergus are coming on the path. OWEN. I’ll go so, for if I had you seven years I’d be jealous of the midges and the dust is in the air. (_Muffles himself in his cloak; with a sort of warning in his voice._) I’ll give you a riddle, Deirdre: Why isn’t my father as ugly and old as Conchubor? You’ve no answer? . . . . It’s because Naisi killed him. (_With curious expression._) Think of that and you awake at night, hearing Naisi snoring, or the night you hear strange stories of the things I’m doing in Alban or in Ulster either. [_He goes out, and in a moment Naisi and Fergus come in on the other side._ NAISI. — _gaily._ — Fergus has brought messages of peace from Conchubor. DEIRDRE. — _greeting Fergus._ — He is welcome. Let you rest, Fergus, you should be hot and thirsty after mounting the rocks. FERGUS. It’s a sunny nook you’ve found in Alban; yet any man would be well pleased mounting higher rocks to fetch yourself and Naisi back to Emain. DEIRDRE. — _with keenness._ — They’ve answered? They would go? FERGUS. — _benignly._ — They have not, but when I was a young man we’d have given a lifetime to be in Ireland a score of weeks; and to this day the old men have nothing so heavy as knowing it’s in a short while they’ll lose the high skies are over Ireland, and the lonesome mornings with birds crying on the bogs. Let you come this day, for there’s no place but Ireland where the Gael can have peace always. NAISI. — _gruffly._ — It’s true, surely. Yet we’re better this place while Conchubor’s in Emain Macha. FERGUS. — _giving him parchments._ — There are your sureties and Conchubor’s seal. (_To Deirdre._) I am your surety with Conchubor. You’ll not be young always, and it’s time you were making yourselves ready for the years will come, building up a homely dun beside the seas of Ireland, and getting in your children from the princes’ wives. It’s little joy wandering till age is on you and your youth is gone away, so you’d best come this night, for you’d have great pleasure putting out your foot and saying, “I am in Ireland, surely.” DEIRDRE. It isn’t pleasure I’d have while Conchubor is king in Emain.