CONCHUBOR -- looking around. -- Where
is Deirdre?
LAVARCHAM -- trying to speak with in-
difference. -- Abroad upon Slieve Fuadh. She
does be all times straying around picking
flowers or nuts, or sticks itself; but so long
as she's gathering new life I've a right not to
heed her, I'm thinking, and she taking her will.
[Fergus talks to Old Woman.
CONCHUBOR -- stiffly. -- A night with
thunder coming is no night to be abroad.
LAVARCHAM -- more uneasily. -- She's
used to every track and pathway, and the
lightning itself wouldn't let down its flame to
singe the beauty of her like.
FERGUS -- cheerfully. -- She's right, Con-
chubor, and let you sit down and take your
ease, (he takes a wallet from under his cloak)
and I'll count out what we've brought, and
put it in the presses within.
[He goes into the inner room with the
Old Woman.
CONCHUBOR -- sitting down and look-
ing about. -- Where are the mats and hangings
and the silver skillets I sent up for Deirdre?
LAVARCHAM. The mats and hangings
are in this press, Conchubor. She wouldn't
wish to be soiling them, she said, running out