had not stood there, and he
knew nothing of it.

Since there could be no talk of lighting a fire, Brian's men huddled
together in the hollow, and ate and drank cheerlessly. Brian was minded
to meet the Dark Master and win his Spanish blade with his own hand, so
he ordered that his men pass on after dark and make ready to fall upon
those men who were camped at the wood, but to hold off until he and
Turlough had smitten the Dark Master in that little thatched house,
where he was most like to be found. Turlough yeasaid this plan, for he
trusted greatly to Brian's strength.

At length they set out under the cold stars, and Brian's men were very
weary, but promised to do all as he had commanded. He and Turlough set
off alone over the hill, and when they had come to the hill-crest after
much toiling through the snow they looked down and found the house a
hundred yards below them.

"Let us go down cautiously," said Turlough, "for I think we can peer
through the thatch and plan our stroke well."

So they struck down openly across the hill-slope, and found that there
was none on guard. The door of the house was fast shut, but Turlough
strode cautiously in the trampled snow around the house, where, at the
side, a spark of firelight glittered through the loose thatch. To this
he led Brian, and Brian stooped down and looked through the cranny,
while Turlough went farther and fared as well.

There was but one room in the hut, and it was well lighted by the fire
that glittered merrily on the hearth. Sitting not far away, but with his
back to Brian, was a man; he sat on a stool, and there seemed to be a
wide earthenware bowl of water or some dark liquid on the floor between
his feet into which he was staring. In his bent-down position his
rounded shoulders stood up stark against the fire, and Brian knew this
was the Dark Master.

His hand went to the pistol in his belt, but since there was no other
man in the hut, he thought it shame to murder O'Donnell as he sat, and
made up his mind to go around to the door and burst in. He saw his own
great sword slung across the Dark Master's back, but even as he stirred
to rise, O'Donnell's voice came to him, low and vibrant, so that he bode
where he was and listened.

"I cannot make out the figures," muttered the Dark Master, still staring
down into the bowl of dark water. "The man has the face of Yellow Brian,
yet he is swart; the woman I sure never saw before. _Corp na diaoul!_
What i