“I do.”
Her nostrils grew large—her breath came loud and heavy. She raised her clenched hand upward. The boy’s spirit rose.
“Would you to battle again?” he asked. “Where—how?”
“Where!—how!” she screamed. “Here in Hibernia! Rally the men of Hibernia around you—and take your sword and strike at this Christianity that has cost us our home and country!”
She had risen in speaking. Now she sat down again and pressed her lips together; and she placed her hand upon her heart, trying to subdue her passion.
She looked at him narrowly, as though half fearing the effect of her words upon him. He trembled from head to foot.
“This is madness!” he said, in a low voice. “The madness of despair—and it is harder for you than for us, for you had not Elgiva’s cause at heart.”
“Elgiva!” she hissed. “Accursed Saxon name!”
Ethne leapt from her seat again; and, with her face and clenched hand thrown to the sky, let fall a hundred curses on her foes.
She had found a vent for her smothered wrath, and the boy forgot for the time her former words.