And Naoise said: “What then, best beloved, dost thou read from this dream of thine?”
And Deirdrê said: “I read that Fergus comes from Conor with honeyed words of peace, but behind his treacherous words lies death.”
As they spake, Ardan and Fergus and his following climbed up the height where the bog-myrtle and the heather and sweet fern yielded their sweetest incense as they were wounded under their firm tread.
And when Fergus stood before Deirdrê and Naoise, the man of her heart, he told them of Conor’s message, and of the peace and the glory that awaited them in Erin if they would but listen to the words of welcome that he brought.
Then said Naoise: “I am ready.” But his eyes dared not meet the sea-blue eyes of Deirdrê, his queen.
“Knowest thou that my pledge is one of honour?” asked Fergus.
“I know it well,” said Naoise.
So in joyous feasting was that night spent, and only over the heart of Deirdrê hung that black cloud of sorrow to come, of woe unspeakable.
When the golden dawn crept over the blue hills of Loch Etive, and the white-winged birds of the sea swooped and dived and cried in the silver waters, the galley of the Sons of Usna set out to sea.
And Deirdrê, over whom hung a doom she had not the courage to name, sang a song at parting: