“No more do I,” said Conachúr. “Let her go.... My cup!” he murmured. “Lavarcham, you do not attend me well.”
Again he became moody.
“If I were not the king I would steal to the Red Branch and spy on her ruin through a window. I should like to see that she is lank and depressed.... Go you, Lavarcham; the guards know your privileges. Look through the window and bring me back that tale.”
“I do not want to see her at all, master. Let her stay with the people she has chosen, and let her torment our sleep no more.”
“Go, nevertheless, and bring me a full account of her. Fill up my glass. Examine her carefully, my soul, so that you can bring me a true report. But do not delay, for I shall be waiting for you. I am lonely to-night, woman; I am very lonely. Send me a man of the guard to fill my cup!”
Lavarcham, with every sign of distaste, almost of annoyance, set on her errand.
“Sit there, and take your ease,” the king ordered the guard who came in. “Do not stare at the floor, good soul, nor at the ceiling. Ah me! stand behind my chair then, and when my cup is empty refill it for me.”
The embarrassed soldier moved gratefully to cover, and the king fell again to his woeful meditations.
“Guard!” he said.