"Mount," cried the bard, "and be ready."
Niall was in the saddle. "Glorvina!" was all he could utter as he wrung the old man's hand. Several others on horseback came up. They were the friends of Niall, who had come to the bridal feast.
"Come!" cried one of them.
"Not yet," interposed the bard. "There are more to join you. Hear you not their horses' feet? You cannot be too many in company. Listen!"
Another came up, and another.
"Spurs!" exclaimed the old man; and the band of friends were in motion, and away. Little they spoke,—merely what sufficed to concert a plan for future meetings; and they dropped off one by one as the destination of each called him from the common track, till three of the party were all that now remained together,—Niall and two others.
"We may progress softly now," remarked one of his companions. "We have crossed the boundaries of Meath, and half an hour will bring my lord to the place where he is to rest."
In the voice of the speaker Niall recognised that of one of the oldest of Malachi's household.
"The place where I am to rest?" echoed Niall.
"Yes, my lord," rejoined the other. "It has been prepared for you; nor must you leave it till night sets in again. You will then forward with all speed till you are met by those who expect you, and will conduct you to where you must repose again. It will take you four nights to reach your place of destination, whither I precede you."