ful
eyes of Lugur, and held it toward him mockingly. Yolara swayed
close--alluring, tempting. He arose, face all reckless gaiety; rollicking
deviltry.

"A toast!" he cried in English, "to the Shining One--and may the hell
where it belongs soon claim it!"

He had used their own word for their god--all else had been in his own
tongue, and so, fortunately, they did not understand. But the contempt
in his action they did recognize--and a dead, a fearful silence fell
upon them all. Lugur's eyes blazed, little sparks of crimson in their
green. The priestess reached up, caught at O'Keefe. He seized the soft
hand; caressed it; his gaze grew far away, sombre.

"The Shining One." He spoke low. "An' now again I see the faces of
those who dance with it. It is the Fires of Mora--come, God alone
knows how--from Erin--to this place. The Fires of Mora!" He
contemplated the hushed folk before him; and then from his lips came
that weirdest, most haunting of the lyric legends of Erin--the Curse
of Mora:

"The fretted fires of Mora blew o'er him in the night;
He thrills no more to loving, nor weeps for past delight.
For when those flames have bitten, both grief and joy take flight--"

Again Yolara tried to draw him down beside her; and once more he
gripped her hand. His eyes grew fixed--he crooned:

"And through the sleeping silence his feet must track the tune,
When the world is barred and speckled with silver of the moon--"

He stood, swaying, for a moment, and then, laughing, let the priestess
have her way; drained again the glass.

And now my heart was cold, indeed--for what hope was there left with
Larry mad, wild drunk!

The silence was unbroken--elfin women and dwarfs glancing furtively at
each other. But now Yolara arose, face set, eyes flashing grey.

"Hear you, the Council, and you, Lugur--and all who are here!" she
cried. "Now I, the priestess of the Shining One, take, as is my right,
my mate. And this is he!" She pointed down upon Larry. He glanced up
at her.

"Can't quite make out what you say, Yolara," he muttered thickly.
"But say anything--you like--I love your voice!"

I turned sick with dread. Yolara's hand stole softly upon the
Irishman's curls caressingly.

"You know the law, Yolara." Lugur's voice was flat, deadly, "You may
not mate with other than your own kind. And this man is a stranger--a
barbarian--food for the Shining One!" Literally, he spat the phrase.

"No, not of our k