“I never think of it, or I think of it with relief when I remember the Judgement Seat, and the knots and tangles and questions that came day by day. I was not bad at justice, but I was a sad fumbler at law, and the best man has the best place, my dear. Do not torment yourself with memories of that old——”
He halted for a word.
“Treachery,” said Conachúr.
“That is not the word I wanted,” Fergus laughed. “You are too sensitive, Conachúr. The nobles agreed and I agreed that you should be the king, and I am your most loving subject.”
“You do love me?”
“Have I not proved it?” the other smiled.
“Many a time. Times out of mind,” said Conachúr.
He turned aside and closed his eyes. A pang of dull hate smouldered and stirred in him.
“If this man were dead!” he thought with weary despair. “If this man would but cease and disappear and begone, how free my soul could be!”
He turned again to Fergus.