And, in the midst of all, where was Eileen? The young chieftain stood looking at the strange scene before him, with his heart beating high and fast. He had killed the cat, he
had broken the enchantment, he had awakened the castle from its sleep, but what was to come next? Did the prophecy, which said that a M'Swyne should do this, say also that, for doing it, he should be given a reward?
Nay, it said nothing more. The rest was all a blank. But was there, then, to be no reward for him? Dermot stood suddenly erect and crushed down a certain faintness that had been rising in his heart. The prophecy, indeed, said nothing, but he would carve out the rest of his destiny for himself.
And so he carved it out. He went straight through the unknown people to the castle garden and found—was it what he sought? He found a lady gathering flowers—a lady in a rich dress, with golden armlets, bracelets, and head-ornaments—such as are now only discovered in tombs. But she was not dead; she was alive and young. For she turned round, and, after his life's patient waiting, Dermot saw Eileen's face.
And then—what more? Well, need I tell
the rest? What ending could the story have but one? Of course he made her love him, and they married, and lived, and died. That was the whole. They were probably happy—I do not know. You may see the little lough still in that wild country of Donegal, and the deep dark waters that hid the enchanted castle beneath them for so many years. As for the castle itself—that, I think, has crumbled away; and the whole story is only a story legend—one of the pretty, foolish legends of the old times.
the end
Transcriber's Note:
Variations in spelling and hyphenation, as well as unusual words, have been retained as they appear in the original publication.