Finn made no move to go. His anger held him back.
“Can’t you remember how you were bound and suffering in the dungeon of the White Nation? I did not hesitate to go through every trial to rescue you. Will you refuse me now? For the sake of what I have done for you, give me a drink that will heal me.”
Finn was filled with remorse. He went to the well and started back with his cupped hands full of water. But as he walked he saw before him a picture of that hall in Tara. Again he felt the disgrace of having his trusted friend prove disloyal to him. The water trickled through his fingers, and he came back with nothing.
By that time Oscar and Ossian had come up and had knelt beside the wounded man. Dermot looked up at Finn with a pleading look in his eyes.
“I could not bring it,” said Finn. “It is too far to carry it. The water all runs away.”
“You can bring it if you wish,” insisted Dermot. “I know you are angry because I took Grainne away that night. But Oscar will tell you that it was much against my will. She put me under bonds, and I had to go, just as you had to bring Teasa from the land of Avarta. Your men did not turn against you because you brought trouble to Erin by that act. For the sake of our old friendship, get me the drink before it is too late!”
Once more a flood of pity and remorse came over Finn. He recognized the justice of Dermot’s plea. Again he hurried to the well and filled his hands. But when he started back to the dying man he seemed to see Grainne in front of him. She seemed to be smiling at him and beckoning to him. Once more the water ran out through his fingers, and he came back with his hands empty.
When he approached this time, Dermot was too weak to speak. Only his eyes pled for the water. Oscar could not stand it any longer. He sprang to his feet and drew his sword.
“Though you are my chief, I will not stand by and see you do this great wrong!” he cried. “You must get the water or one of us will never leave this forest alive!”
Oscar’s just anger brought Finn to his senses. He put all thoughts of pride and the woman from his mind. He hurriedly filled his hands and hastened back to Dermot’s side. He was too late. The mighty hero was dead.