At the first praying God filled his heart with peace. At the second praying God filled his heart with wonder. At the third praying God whispered mysteriously, and he knew. Humble in his new knowledge, he rose. The tears were in his old eyes. He went up to the Hollow Oak, and blessed it, and the wild man that slept within it, and the Annir-Coille that Cathal loved, and the offspring of their love. He took the curse away, and he blessed all that God had made.
All the long weary way to the shore he went as one in a dream. Wonder and mystery were in his eyes.
At the shore he entered the little coracle that brought him daily from the Holy Isle, a triple arrow-flight seaward.
A child sat in it, playing with pebbles. It was Ardan, the son of Ardanna.
“Ardan mac Cathal,” began the saint, weary now, but glad with a strange new gladness.
“Who is Cathal?” said the boy.
“He that was thy father. Tell me, Ardan, hast thou ever seen aught moving in the woods—green lives out of the trees?”
“I have seen a green shine come out of the trees.”
Molios bowed his head.
“Thou shalt be as my son, Ardan; and when thou art a man thou shalt choose thy own way, and let no man hinder thee.”