w of Owen the prince, my foster father, and we
will go hence. I have seen that which tells me that he is near, but
there are yet things that I must learn of how he came and where he
lies."

But Morfed seemed to heed me not at all as I spoke. Only, he kept
moving the little sickle which Howel watched, and its glancings
drew my eyes to it in spite of myself, for overhead the sky was
clearing somewhat and the sun was trying to break through, and the
gold shone brightly.

"Midday," muttered the priest, "nigh midday, and what is to be done
against the morrow must be done, else will the tale of many a
thousand years be marred, and by me. Lo! the sun comes, and time
passes swiftly."

The sun did indeed shine out now as some cloud passed, and I saw
that its rays came slanting through the gap in the cliffs across
the pool, passing the menhir without lighting on it, but falling
now on the flat rock that was behind it, though not fully yet. Half
thereof was still in the shadow thrown by the hills.

Morfed glanced at that shadow, and his face changed, for I think
that he knew the time for some midday rite which we might not see
was near, and at that he seemed to make some resolve. He did not
turn from us, but he lifted his voice in a strange chant, and said
somewhat in Welsh that I could not understand, and as they heard it
his two followers placed themselves on either side of the flat rock
three paces behind him, and stood motionless. Then Morfed lifted
his arm and began to sing softly, swinging the sickle in time to
the song, with his eyes on us.

I thought that maybe he would sing to us the end of Owen, as would
Thorgils, but the tongue in which the words were spoken was not the
Welsh that I knew. I think now that it was the tongue of the men
who reared the menhir, and that which was the mother of the tongue
of Howel and Gerent alike. It was an uncanny song, and I waxed
uneasy as it went on, and the flashing sickle waved more quickly
before my eyes.

Soon the murmur of the song seemed to get into my brain, as it
were, and the sparkle of the gold in the sunlight wove itself into
strange circles of light before my eyes, widening and narrowing in
mystic curves that dazzled me, until at last I would look no
longer, and with an effort I turned my head and glanced at Howel to
ask if this foolishness should not be ended.

But he shook his head.

"Let him be," he said in a whisper. "It is ill to anger a crazed
man. Surely h