For three hours Ardan and Colum had walked by the sea-shore. Each learned of the other. Ardan bowed his head before the wisdom. Colum knew in his heart that the Druid saw mysteries. In the first hour they talked of God. Colum spake, and Ardan smiled in his shadowy eyes. “It is for the knowing,” he said, when Colum ceased.
“Ay, sure,” said the Saint: “and now, O Ardan the wise, is my God thy God?”
But at that Ardan smiled not. He turned the grave, sad eyes of him to the west. With his right hand he pointed to the Sun that was like a great golden flower. “Truly, He is thy God and my God.” Colum was silent. Then he said: “Thee and thine, O Ardan, from Maolmòr the Pictish king to the least of thy slaves, shall have a long weariness in Hell. That fiery globe yonder is but the Lamp of the World: and sad is the case of the man who knows not the torch from the torch-bearer.”
And in the second hour they talked of Man. Ardan spake, and Colum smiled in his deep, gray eyes.
“It is for laughter that,” he said, when Ardan ceased.
“And why will that be, O Colum of Eiré?” said Ardan. Then the smile went out of Colum’s gray eyes, and he turned and looked about him.
He beheld, near, a crow, a horse, and a hound.
“These are thy brethren,” he said scornfully.
But Ardan answered quietly, “Even so.”
The third hour they talked about the beasts of the earth and the fowls of the air.