At last, over the Fenian camp, and over the great plain and the multitude that thronged it, sleep fell, clothing them with a silence as deep as that which dwelt in the forest, where, dreaming of the princess, Fergus lay. He awoke at the first notes of the birds, but though he felt he ought to go back to his companions and be witness of the contest which might determine whether the princess was to be another’s bride, his great love and his utter despair of winning her so oppressed him that he lay as motionless as a broken reed. He scarcely heard the music of the birds, and paid no heed to the murmur of the brook rushing by his feet. The crackling of branches near him barely disturbed him, but when a shadow fell across his eyes he looked up gloomily, and saw, or thought he saw, someone standing before him. He started up, and who should he see but the little wizened old man who found shelter in his father’s hut on the stormy night.
“He started up, and who should he see but a little wizened old man”––p. 136.
“This is a nice place for a battle champion to be. This is a nice place for you to be on the day which is to decide who will be the successful suitor of the princess.” 137
“What is it to me,” said Fergus, “who is to win her since I cannot.”
“I told you,” said the little man, “the night you opened the door for me, that the time might come when I might be able to do a good turn for you and yours. The time has come. Take this harp, and my luck go with you, and in the contest of the bards to-day you’ll reap the reward of the kindness you did when you opened your door to the poor old wayfarer in the midnight storm.”
The little man handed his harp to Fergus and disappeared as swiftly as the wind that passes through the leaves.
Fergus, concealing the harp under his silken cloak, reached the camp before his comrades had aroused themselves from sleep.
At length the hour arrived when the great contest was to take place.