wonderment in the silence of Naisi, and the gloomy lightning in his
eyes, as being the more contrasted with herself, and therefore the more
to be beloved.

Yet the time came when Naisi determined to tell her all and risk the
worst that fate could do against them, finding death with her greatly
better than life without her. Yet death with her was not to be granted
to him. Deirdré heard, wondering and trembling, and Naisi must tell her
the tale many times before she understood,--so utter had been her
solitude and so perfect was yet her ignorance of all things beyond the
fort where she was captive, and of all the doings of men. Concobar was
not even a name to her, and she knew nothing of his power or the
stronghold of Emain, the armies of the Ulaid, or the tributes of gold
and cattle and horses. Spears and swords and those who wielded them were
not even dreams to her until the coming of Naisi, when his gloom blended
with her sunshine.

Talking long through the twilight, until the red gold of the west was
dulled to bronze over the hills, and the bronze tarnished and darkened
with the coming of the eastern stars, they planned together what they
should do; and, the heart of Deirdré at last growing resolute, they made
their way through the night to where the brothers of Naisi were, and all
fled together towards the northern sea. Amongst the fishermen of the
north they found those who were willing to carry them beyond the reach
of Concobar's anger, and with a southerly breeze set sail for the
distant headlands of Scotland, that they had seen from the cliff-top
lying like blue clouds along the horizon. They set forth early in the
morning, as the sun came up out of the east over blue Alban capes, and
when the sun went down it reddened the dark rocks of Islay; so that,
making for the shore, they camped that night under the Islay Hills. On