sed for a moment and the dreaming look came back to
her face. Then she went on. "They saw him no more--but others saw
him--and I have seen him. Every year, on the 1st of May, just as the
sun is rising, he rides across the lake on his beautiful white horse.
He is not always seen, but sometimes a few can see him. And it always
brings good luck to see O'Donoghue riding across the lake on May
morning. And I saw him."

Again there was a pause, but she had no look of dreaming now. Her eyes
were open and she seemed to be looking at something wonderful and
beautiful that was far off. Slowly and softly she began speaking
again. "I was a girl then. My father lived by the Lakes of Killarney.
On that May morning I was standing at the door as the sun was rising.
I was looking out upon the lake, far away to the east. The first that
I saw was that the water, far off toward the sun, was ruffled, and
then all at once a great, white-crested wave rose, as if a strong wind
had struck the water, only all the air was still, and no wind ever
raises such a wave as that on the lake. The wave came swiftly toward
me, and I drew back, in a kind of dread, though I knew that it could
not reach me where I stood. But still I looked--and then I saw him.

"Through the flying water and foam and mist I saw the old King, on his
white horse, following the great wave across the lake. The sun made
all his armor gleam like the silver of the lake itself, and the plume
of his helmet streamed away behind him like the spray that a strong
wind blows back from the crest of a breaker. After him came a train of
glowing, beautiful forms--spirits of the lake or of the air, or some
of the Good People--I do not know. They wore soft, flowing garments,
that were like the morning mists; they carried chains of pearls and
they scattered other pearls about them, that glistened like the drops
of a shower when the sun is shining through it. They had garlands of
flowers, and they plucked the flowers out and threw them high in the
air, so that they fell before the King. They looked like flecks of
foam from the waves, turned rosy and violet by the rising sun, but
they were flowers. And there was a sound of sweet, soft music, like
harps and mellow horns.

"The King and his train came nearer and I saw them plainer, and the
music sounded louder. Then they passed me and moved far away again on
the lake. The sight of them grew dim and the music grew faint, and I
strained my eyes and m