He was sitting looking into the water one evening in harvest time,
thinking of all the secrets that were shut into the lakes and the
mountains, when he heard a cry coming from the south, very faint at
first, but getting louder and clearer as the shadow of the rushes
grew longer, till he could hear the words, 'I am beautiful, I am
beautiful; the birds in the air, the moths under the leaves, the
flies over the water look at me, for they never saw any one so
beautiful as myself. I am young; I am young: look upon me, mountains;
look upon me, perishing woods, for my body will shine like the white
waters when you have been hurried away. You and the whole race of
men, and the race of the beasts and the race of the fish and the
winged race are dropping like a candle that is nearly burned out, but
I laugh out because I am in my youth.' The voice would break off from
time to time, as if tired, and then it would begin again, calling out
always the same words, 'I am beautiful, I am beautiful.' Presently
the bushes at the edge of the little lake trembled for a moment, and
a very old woman forced her way among them, and passed by Hanrahan,
walking with very slow steps. Her face was of the colour of earth,
and more wrinkled than the face of any old hag that was ever seen,
and her grey hair was hanging in wisps, and the rags she was wearing
did not hide her dark skin that was roughened by all weathers. She
passed by him with her eyes wide open, and her head high, and her
arms hanging straight beside her, and she went into the shadow of the
hills towards the west.

A sort of dread came over Hanrahan when he saw her, for he knew her
to be one Winny Byrne, that went begging from place to place crying
always the same cry, and he had often heard that she had once such
wisdom that all the women of the neighbours used to go looking for