CONCHUBOR.
— looking at her for a moment. — That’s the first friendly word I’ve heard you speaking, Deirdre. A game the like of yours should be the proper thing for softening the heart and putting sweetness in the tongue; and yet this night when I hear you I’ve small blame left for Naisi that he stole you off from Ulster.
DEIRDRE.
— to Naisi. — Now, Naisi, answer gently, and we’ll be friends tonight.
NAISI.
— doggedly. — I have no call but to be friendly. I’ll answer what you will.
DEIRDRE.
— taking Naisi’s hand. — Then you’ll call Conchubor your friend and king, the man who reared me up upon Slieve Fuadh.
[As Conchubor is going to clasp Naisi’s hand cries are heard behind.
CONCHUBOR.
What noise is that?
AINNLE.
— behind. — Naisi. . . . Naisi. Come to us; we are betrayed and broken.
NAISI.
It’s Ainnle crying out in a battle.
CONCHUBOR.
I was near won this night, but death’s between us now.
[He goes out.