“Carna, carna! Coin, coin!” croaked the raven from the rafters.
“There must be wolves at hand,” said the old chief.
A long-drawn, low growl came from Bran, as if in response.
“That can hardly be,” I said, “for the watchdogs without are silent.”
“I never knew a raven to be wrong yet,” replied the chief, “but let the shepherds look to it. I had better lie down. We must start a little after daybreak. I want to be at Tara early.”
The old man and his daughter retired, and if my eyes did not deceive me, those of the maiden rested longer on the monk as she bade him “good-night” than was altogether seemly. The harper, who was very old, also betook himself to rest, and only the monk and myself remained sitting by the fire.
“It is not likely that any more travellers will come to-night,” I said to the monk, “so I think I had better look to the lawn light, and go to bed, as I wish to be up to see the old chief and the maiden off.” And I added, “I suppose you will not start early?”
“I have not quite made up my mind on that point,” he replied, “but I think I shall also retire, as it is not fair to keep you up any longer. But let me go with you to the lawn; I should like to see what the night is doing, and what is the promise of the morrow.”
Of course, I accepted his offer. We went on to the lawn together, and when the light was supplied with fresh fuel, returned. As we were coming towards the door, the monk remarked the chariot which had brought the chief and his daughter, and that, although well constructed, it would require a powerful horse to draw it.
“There are two horses,” I answered; “splendid animals, that could fly away with it. Perhaps, I had better look at them, to see if they are all right,” and I went towards the stable.