“How are you for knowing that, Mûrta?”
“She was all in green, just like a green shadow she was, and I saw the green fire in her eyes.”
“Have you not thought of one that it might be?”
“Who?”
“Ardanna.”
With that the young man rose and ran swiftly to the place where he had seen the figure. But he could see no one. Looking at the ground he was troubled: for in the moonshine-dew he descried the imprint of small feet.
Thereafter they saw or heard nought, save the sights and sounds of the woodland.
At sunrise the two youths rose. Mûrta lifted up his arms, then sank upon his knees with bowed head.
“Why do you do that forbidden thing?” said Diarmid, that was his companion. “Have you forgotten Cathal the monk that is up there alone with death? If Molios the holy one saw you worshipping the Light he would do unto you as he has done unto Cathal.”
But before Mûrta answered they heard the voice of Cathal once more—hoarse and dry it was, but scarce weaker than when it thrilled them at the rising of the moon.