Late that night, when he was preparing for rest, the door of Fionn’s
chamber opened gently and a young woman came into the room. The captain
stared at her, as he well might, for he had never seen or imagined to see
a woman so beautiful as this was. Indeed, she was not a woman, but a young
girl, and her bearing was so gently noble, her look so modestly high, that
the champion dared scarcely look at her, although he could not by any
means have looked away.
As she stood within the doorway, smiling, and shy as a flower, beautifully
timid as a fawn, the Chief communed with his heart.
“She is the Sky-woman of the Dawn,” he said. “She is the light on the
foam. She is white and odorous as an apple-blossom. She smells of spice
and honey. She is my beloved beyond the women of the world. She shall
never be taken from me.”
And that thought was delight and anguish to him: delight because of such
sweet prospect, anguish because it was not yet realised, and might not be.
As the dogs had looked at him on the chase with a look that he did not
understand, so she looked at him, and in her regard there was a question
that baffled him and a statement which he could not follow.
He spoke to her then, mastering his heart to do it.
“I do not seem to know you,” he said.
“You do not know me indeed,” she replied.
“It is the more wonderful,” he continued gently, “for I should know every
person that is here. What do you require from me?”
“I beg your protection, royal captain.”
“I give that to all,” he answered. “Against whom do you desire
protection?”
“I am in terror of the Fear Doirche.”
“The Dark Man of the Shi?”
“He is my enemy,” she said.
“He is mine now,” said Fionn. “Tell me your story.”
“My name is Saeve, and I am a woman of Faery,” she commenced. “In the Shi’
many men gave me their love, but I gave my love to no man of my country.”
“That was not reasonable,” the other chided with a blithe heart.
“I was contented,” she replied, “and what we do not want we do not lack.
But if my love went anywhere it went to a mortal, a man of the men of
Ireland.”
“By my hand,” said Fionn in mortal distress, “I marvel who that man can
be!”
“He is known to you,” she murmured. “I lived thus in the peace of Faery,
hearing often of my mortal champion, for the rumour of his great deeds had
gone through the Shi’, until a day came when the Black Magician of the Men
of God put his eye on me, and, after that day, in whatever direction I
looked I saw his eye.”
