Then the old man handed his great sword to his esquire, and flinging off his cloak, walked into the hall of the castle, where none durst follow him. I longed to ask his permission to follow Ludar, besides making the maiden’s petition. But his look that day was too terrible to be faced. So we stood to our guard, as we had stood all day long.
When at evening no sign came yet of Ludar, I braced myself up with a great courage, and entered the hall.
The old warrior was sitting at the head of the empty table, immovable, like a man stunned, looking straight before him. But when he saw me, he seemed to recover himself and said:
“What news?”
“None,” said I, “but as his servant, I pray you let me go and seek Sir Ludar.”
“You shall not go,” said he. And there was naught left to say after that.
“I obey you, sire,” said I. “There is, by your leave, a maiden in this castle, a prisoner, and daughter to the O’Neill. She craves your permission to return to her father; and hath bidden me ask it of you.”
He nodded his head, as if the petition were too trifling to be heeded; and, having got what I was in need of, I withdrew, thankful.
Next day, at daybreak, the maiden, white as a sheet, and with lips close-pressed to hinder their trembling, walked slowly across the bridge to the castle gate. I had got her two horses, one for her and one for the old nurse; and a trusty escort of six McDonnells and the English soldier to conduct her to Toome.
At parting she held out her hand.