CONCHUBOR. — _impatiently._ — It’s not long till you’ll see her. But I’ve matters with Lavarcham, and let you go now, I’m saying. [_He shows her out right, as Lavarcham comes in on the left._ LAVARCHAM. — _looking round her with suspicion._ — This is a queer place to find you, and it’s a queer place to be lodging Naisi and his brothers, and Deirdre with them, and the lot of us tired out with the long way we have been walking. CONCHUBOR. You’ve come along with them the whole journey? LAVARCHAM. I have, then, though I’ve no call now to be wandering that length to a wedding or a burial, or the two together. (_She sits down wearily._) It’s a poor thing the way me and you is getting old, Conchubor, and I’m thinking you yourself have no call to be loitering this place getting your death, maybe, in the cold of night. CONCHUBOR. I’m waiting only to know is Fergus stopped in the north. LAVARCHAM. — _more sharply._ — He’s stopped, surely, and that’s a trick has me thinking you have it in mind to bring trouble this night on Emain and Ireland and the big world’s east beyond them. (_She goes to him._) And yet you’d do well to be going to your dun, and not putting shame on her meeting the High King, and she seamed and sweaty and in great disorder from the dust of many roads. (_Laughing derisively._) Ah, Conchubor, my lad, beauty goes quickly in the woods, and you’d let a great gasp, I tell you, if you set your eyes this night on Deirdre. CONCHUBOR. — _fiercely._ — It’s little I care if she’s white and worn, for it’s I did rear her from a child. I should have a good right to meet and see her always. LAVARCHAM. A good right is it? Haven’t the blind a good right to be seeing, and the lame to be dancing, and the dummies singing tunes? It’s that right you have to be looking for gaiety on Deirdre’s lips. (_Coaxingly._) Come on to your dun, I’m saying, and leave her quiet for one night itself. CONCHUBOR. — _with sudden anger._ — I’ll not go, when it’s long enough I am above in my dun stretching east and west without a comrade, and I more needy, maybe, than the thieves of Meath. . . . You think I’m old and wise, but I tell you the wise know the old must die, and they’ll leave no chance for a thing slipping from them they’ve set their blood to win. LAVARCHAM. — _nodding her head._ — If you’re old and wise, it’s I’m the same, Conchubor, and I’m telling you you’ll not have her though you’re ready to destroy mankind and skin the gods to win her. There’s things a king can’t have, Conchubor, and if you go rampaging this night you’ll be apt to win nothing but death for many, and a sloppy face of trouble on your own self before the day will come. CONCHUBOR. It’s too much talk you have. (_Goes right._) Where is Owen? Did you see him no place and you coming the road? LAVARCHAM. I seen him surely. He went spying on Naisi, and now the worms is spying on his own inside. CONCHUBOR. — _exultingly._ — Naisi killed him?