rish. As long as we are pleasant,
witty, as long as we are buffoons ... but let us be human beings, Shane,
and they hate us."

"Don't be silly, Granya!"

"I'm not silly, Shane. I know. They hate us because we have something
they have not. The starved Irish peasant is higher than the English
peer. He has a song in his heart, a gay song or a sad song, and his eyes
see wonders...."

"But, Granya, we are only a little people, and they all but rule the
world.... You are wrong. They don't hate us."

"Do you remember Haman, Shane; Haman who had everything:

"'And Haman told them of ... all the things wherein the king had
promoted'; and he said: 'Yet all this availeth me nothing so long as I
see Mordecai the Jew sitting at the king's gate.'"

"Shane, do you remember how Haman died?"

"Granya!"

She rose. Her hands stretched out to the Irish hills. Her voice took on
the throbbing of drums:

"Oh! the Erne shall run red
With redundance of blood,
The earth shall rock beneath our tread,
And flame wrap hill and wood,
And gun-peal and slogan-cry
Make many a glen serene,
Ere you shall fade, ere you shall die,
My dark Rosaleen!
My own Rosaleen!"

"Poor Granya!" he said. He caught and kissed her hand.

She let her other fall on his shoulder for an instant.

"Good night, Shane!" she said abruptly. She moved swiftly toward the
house through the yew-trees. In her pale dress against the moonlit turf,
between the dark trees, she was like some old, heart-wringing ghost....

Section 10

He brought back from Tusa hErin that night a sense of dread. What in
God's name had Granya done? To what committed herself? There were rumors
abroad that the men of '67 were not dead yet.... In America, in the
hills of Kerry, in Galway, there was plotting ... not glorious, but
sinister plotting.... God! had they enmeshed her?

He had three times heard her sing the old Ulster ballad of General
Munro:

Up came Munro's sister, she was well dressed in green,
And his sword by her side that was once bright and keen.
And she said to the brave men who with her did go,
"Come, we'll have revenge for my brother Munro!"

He had looked on that as only a queer romantic gesture, but with what
she said last night, it occurred to him that there was a deeper motif to
it all.... She was often in Dublin these days.... Did they? Had they?...

If it had been the Jacobite times, or '98 or even '48, he would not have