"Findings are keepings," said he loudly, and he closed his mouth and stared very impertinently at the judge.
"It is to be given up," said the judge.
"Let them come and take it from me," said the seraph Cuchulain. And suddenly (for these things are at the will of spirits) around his head the lightnings span, and his hands were on the necks of thunders.
For the second time in his life Rhadamanthus was disturbed, again he scratched his head—
"It's a fix," said he moodily. But in a moment he called to those whose duty it was—
"Take him to this side," he roared.
And they advanced. But the seraph Cuchulain swung to meet them, and his golden hair blazed and shrieked; and the thunders rolled at his feet, and about him a bright network that hissed and stung—and those who advanced turned haltingly backwards and ran screaming.
"It's a fix," said Rhadamanthus; and for a little time he stared menacingly at the seraph Cuchulain.
But only for a little time. Suddenly he put his hands on the rests of his throne and heaved upwards his terrific bulk. Never before had Rhadamanthus stood from his ordained chair. He strode mightily forward and in an instant had quelled that rebel. The thunders and lightnings were but moonbeams and dew on that stony carcass. He seized the seraph Cuchulain, lifted him to his breast as one lifts a sparrow, and tramped back with him—
"Fetch me that other," said he, sternly, and he sat down.