And Bove Derg loved them well-nigh as did Lir himself. Ofttimes would he come to see them and ofttimes were they brought to his palace by the Great Lake.
And through all the Green Isle, where dwelt the Dedannan people, there also was spread the fame of the beauty of the children of Lir.
Time crept on, and Finola was a maid of twelve summers. Then did a wicked jealousy find root in Eva’s heart, and so did it grow that it strangled the love which she had borne her sister’s children. In bitterness she cried: “Lir careth not for me; to Finola and her brothers hath he given all his love.”
And for weeks and months Eva lay in bed planning how she might do hurt to the children of Lir.
At length, one midsummer morn, she ordered forth her chariot, that with the four children she might come to the palace of Bove Derg.
When Finola heard it, her fair face grew pale, for in a dream had it been revealed unto her that Eva, her stepmother, should that day do a dark deed among those of her own household. Therefore was Finola sore afraid, but only her large eyes and pale cheeks spake her woe, as she and her brothers drove along with Eva and her train.
On they drove, the boys laughing merrily, heedless alike of the black shadow resting on their stepmother’s brow, and of the pale, trembling lips of their sister. As they reached a gloomy pass, Eva whispered to her attendants: “Kill, I pray you, these children of Lir, for their father careth not for me, because of his great love for them. Kill them, and great wealth shall be yours.”
But the attendants answered in horror: “We will not kill them. Fearful, O Eva, were the deed, and great is the evil that will befall thee, for having it in thine heart to do this thing.”
Then Eva, filled with rage, drew forth her sword to slay them with her own hand, but too weak for the monstrous deed, she sank back in the chariot.
Onward they drove, out of the gloomy pass into the bright sunlight of the white road. Daisies with wide-open eyes looked up into the blue sky overhead. Golden glistened the buttercups among the shamrock. From the ditches peeped forget-me-not. Honeysuckle scented the hedgerows. Around, above, and afar, caroled the linnet, the lark, and the thrush. All was color and sunshine, scent and song, as the children of Lir drove onward to their doom.