immense oak forest—dark, dense, thorny, a place to be strayed in, a place to be utterly bewildered and lost in. There is a vast dark wilderness, and therein is a dark house, lonely and full of echoes, and in it there are seven gloomy hags, who are warned already of your coming and are waiting to plunge you in a bath of molten lead."
"It is not a choice journey," said Art, "but I have no choice and must go."
"Should you pass those hags," she continued, "and no one has yet passed them, you must meet Ailill of the Black Teeth, the son of Mongan Tender Blossom, and who could pass that gigantic and terrible fighter."
"It is not easy to find the daughter of Morgan," said Art in a melancholy voice.
"It is not easy," Credè replied eagerly, "and if you will take my advice"
"Advise me," he broke in, "for in truth there is no man standing in such need of counsel as I do."
"I would advise you," said Credè in a low voice, "to seek no more for the sweet daughter of Morgan, but to stay in this place where all that is lovely is at your service."
"But, but" cried Art in astonishment.
"Am I not as sweet as the daughter of Morgan?" she demanded, and she stood before him queenly and pleadingly, and her eyes took his with imperious tenderness.
"By my hand," he answered, "you are sweeter and lovelier than any being under the sun, but"
"And with me," she said, "you will forget Ireland."
"I am under bonds," cried Art, "I have passed my word, and I would not forget Ireland or cut myself from it for all the kingdoms of the Many-Coloured Land."
Credè urged no more at that time, but as they were
