You may be sure that Dermot was glad he had not taken a thief’s advantage of the giant when he had had the opportunity. That night, with the small chief, he and the Red Giant spent the time eating, drinking and telling stories.
The journey to the land of the Sorrowful Knight, under the guidance of the Red Giant, was a short one. They found the castle set deep in a thick wood. No sound came from it. The branches of the trees drooped in sadness. Even the cattle grazing in the field seemed to crop the grass mournfully.
The guard at the gate wiped the tears from his eyes before he asked them the nature of their errand. When he learned that they wished to see the Sorrowful Knight, he led them through a quiet courtyard into a dark and dismal chamber in the heart of the castle.
At first Dermot could see nothing. When his eyes became accustomed to the darkness, he saw that the room was draped in black, and that the furniture was the color of night. At the table in the center of the room sat a man, his head leaning on his hand, his elbow on the table. He appeared to be asleep, nor did he awaken when the three entered the room. He must have been at the table a long time. Where his elbow rested upon it, a deep groove had been worn, and into it, even in his sleep, the tears dropped steadily.
The Red Giant took him by the shoulder and spoke to him. The man straightened up slowly.
“Why do you come here to interrupt my grieving?” he asked.
“You promised many years ago that you would grant any request I would make,” said the Red Giant. “I have come to test your promise.”
The Sorrowful Knight sighed heavily. “What is your request?” he asked.
“You are to tell to Dermot of the Fenians the reason for your sorrow,” said the giant.
Once more the knight sighed, and the tears flowed more freely down his cheeks.