scend the couch of the dawn-nymph,
his wife, until he should have procured and brought to him the sword of
light. When Sculloge reached home, more dead than alive, he saw that his
wife knew all. Bitterly they wept together, but she told him that with
courage all might be set right. She gave him a Druidic horse, which bore
him swiftly over land and sea, like the enchanted steed of the Arabian
Nights, until he reached the castle of his wife's father who, as
Sculloge now learned, was a good Druid, the brother of the evil Lassa
Buaicht. This good Druid told him that the sword of light was kept by
a third brother, the powerful magician, Fiach O'Duda, who dwelt in an
enchanted castle, which many brave heroes had tried to enter, but
the dark sorcerer had slain them all. Three high walls surrounded
the castle, and many had scaled the first of these, but none had ever
returned alive. But Sculloge was not to be daunted, and, taking from
his father-in-law a black steed, he set out for the fortress of Fiach
O'Duda. Over the first high wall nimbly leaped the magic horse, and
Sculloge called aloud on the Druid to come out and surrender his sword.
Then came out a tall, dark man, with coal-black eyes and hair and
melancholy visage, and made a furious sweep at Sculloge with the flaming
blade. But the Druidic beast sprang back over the wall in the twinkling
of an eye and rescued his rider, leaving, however, his tail behind in
the court-yard. Then Sculloge returned in triumph to his father-in-law's
palace, and the night was spent in feasting and revelry.

Next day Sculloge rode out on a white horse, and when he got to Fiach's
castle, he saw the first wall lying in rubbish. He leaped the second,
and the same scene occurred as the day before, save that the horse
escaped unharmed.

The third day Sculloge went out on foot, with a harp like that of
Orpheus in his hand, and as he swept its strings the grass bent to
listen and the trees bowed their heads. The castle walls all lay in
ruins, and Sculloge made his way unhindered to the upper room, where
Fiach lay in Druidic slumber, lulled by the harp. He seized the sword
of light, which was hung by the chimney sheathed in a dark scabbard, and
making the best of his way back to the good king's palace, mounted his
wife's steed, and scoured over land and sea until he found himself in
the gloomy glen where Lassa Buaicht was still crying and cursing and
betting on his left hand against his right.

"