for a third time I will change myself into a ship, and we will sail to
France.'

And to France they sailed, and, as he was the ship, the Gille Mairtean
sailed where he would, and ran himself into the cleft of a rock, high
on to the land. Then, he commanded Ian Direach to go up to the king's
palace, saying that he had been wrecked, that his ship was made fast in
a rock, and that none had been saved but himself only.

Ian Direach listened to the words of the fox, and he told a tale so
pitiful, that the king and queen, and the princess their daughter, all
came out to hear it. And when they had heard, nought would please them
except to go down to the shore and visit the ship, which by now was
floating, for the tide was up. Torn and battered was she, as if she
had passed through many dangers, yet music of a wondrous sweetness
poured forth from within.

'Bring hither a boat,' cried the princess, 'that I may go and see for
myself the harp that gives forth such music.' And a boat was brought,
and Ian Direach stepped in to row it to the side of the ship.

To the further side he rowed, so that none could see, and when he
helped the princess on board he gave a push to the boat, so that she
could not get back to it again. And the music sounded always sweeter,
though they could never see whence it came, and sought it from one part
of the vessel to another. When at last they reached the deck and
looked around them, nought of land could they see, or anything save the
rushing waters.

The princess stood silent, and her face grew grim. At last she said: