aughlin than yours. Listen
while I sing you of the wedding of Taise Taobhgheal, which befel there
when yonder hill was crowned by a beautiful white city, with houses of
glass, and when warriors shone in golden armour."

Then she sang a brave martial ballad of a famous battle, which was
fought on those coasts for the hand of the beautiful Taise Taobhgheal.
And the clear music of her voice, to which the rowers lent a chorus,
helped charm away the sadness of Ludar's tale, and while away the time
till, having rounded the island, we hoisted our brown sail and flew upon
the waves past the great organ-shaped cliffs of the mainland.

The sun had long set behind the western foreland ere we caught ahead of
us the roar of the surf on the bar which lay across the river's mouth.
Our rowers had passed that way many a time before, and plunged us
headlong into the mighty battle of the waters where river and sea met.
For a short minute it seemed as if no boat could live in such a whirl;
but, before we well knew the danger, we were in calm water within the
bar, sailing gaily down the broad, moonlit river.

Then Ludar and the maiden grew sad at the parting which was to come; and
I, being weary of the helm, left them and went forward.

Beautiful the river was in the moonlight, with the woods crowding down
to its margin, broken now and again by rugged knolls or smooth shining
meadows. To me it was strange to be in Ireland and yet have all remind
me of my own Thames, all except the wild chant of the foreign rowers.

Many a mile we rowed then, or rather glided. For Ludar bade the men
slacken speed and let the night spend itself before we presented
ourselves at Castleroe. Therefore we took in the oars after a while and
floated idly on the tide.

The old nurse came forward to where I sat, very dismal and complaining.

"Ochone!" said she. "This has been a sore journey, Master Humphrey. My
bones ache and my spirits are clean gone. Musha! it's myself would fain
be back in London town after all. There'll be none to know Judy O'Cahan
here; and I've nigh forgotten the speech and manners of the place
mysel'. And my heart sinks for the sweet maiden."

"Why, what ails her?" I asked. "Has she not come to her father's
house?"

"Ay, ay, so it's called, so it's called. 'Tis Turlogh owns Castleroe,
but 'tis my Lady of Cantire owns Turlogh. He durst not bless himself if
she forbid. She wants no English step-daughters, I warrant ye; or i