"Fait! but it's jist this—" interrupted the other; "our young masther, Lord Robert, is not masther's son at all at all, and masther's son—"
"Murther! an' it's you dat have it wrong, Ennis, honey," cried the other, interrupting him in his turn; "it's jist this, ould Mither Eelpsy; Lord Robert is not my Lord Robert at all at all, and the raal Lord Robert is—"
"And is it not the very woords I was afther tilling the crathur?" interrupted the forester. "I will give it to ye, Eelpsy, dare, in the right way."
"Hist with your tongues!" cried the impatient woman, having heard enough to convince her that Robert had told the truth in saying that he openly published his own shame. "Hold with your senseless words, fools! I can tell ye more than both of ye together, and all Castle Cor, know."
"We know dat, ould mither! Don't forget to crass yourself, Jarvey, honey," added the speaker, aside, making the sign of the cross on his breast. "It's the great dale ye know, and the likes o' ye, and it's not we that is to gainsay it this night."
"Whither ride ye?" she demanded, impatiently taking hold of the bridle of one of the horses.
"Och, an' isn't it to bring with all speed that young jintleman o' the world, Mark Meredith, the ould fisherman's son, to be sure, to Castle More," said the forester.
"At whose bidding?" she demanded.
"Our lady's, the jewil!" answered the seneschal.
"Go back, and tell the Dark Lady of the Rock that thus says Elpsy, the sorceress: 'He whom she seeks she will never find!'"