The dancing had not long begun when the Cneamhaire slipped out unnoticed.
 Up the path he went towards the cliff side of the island. Still onwards until he was on the top of the height. He paused there. Though a strong, stout man, age was pressing on him, and he had, perforce, to rest.
 The moon was high in the sky, and the island and the sea could be plainly seen. The scene before him was beautiful and calm, but within the heart of the old man a storm was raging. Thus it was he did not notice how beautiful the world seemed about him. God only knew what was oppressing him.
 He waved his arms above his head and spoke aloud :
 “It is my own! Mine alone! Nobody else has any claim to it. I paid well for it — right well.”
 On he went again, walking, ever walking, just as if he had it in his mind thus to subdue the storm in his heart.
 He was not long walking at that rate until he drew near to the cliffs.
 Then he stopped suddenly, for he thought he heard some¬ body’s voice. He set himseif to listen, and after a short space of time he was certain of it. The voice of a woman crying, that it was, without doubt.
 When he looked towards the place whence the sound came he saw clearly somebody leaning against the fence.
 He drew near, and perceived at once that it was Maire Bhan who was there before him.

 [...]

 “Isn’t it a great wonder you wouldn’t be looking out to get a wife to suit you,” said Peadar’s father to him a couple of clays later. “ Isn’t Maire Chatach, the daughter of the widow over in Cronn-an-Bhaile, a nice, good-looking girl? ”
 Peadar set himself to listen. If the sun fell down out of the sky it would not surprise him more. He was unable to say as much as a word.
 “It is time for Cait, too, to settle down in a place of her own. Two mistresses wmuld not go well together in one house. What do you think of young Mac Donnchadha? He has not a sod of land, but, even so, he is a fine, strong boy. Honest people they were, his seven generations before him.”
 Peadar could not get out a word, and he did not understand the state of the question at all. In truth, he did not, any more than a shoemaker’s last, as one might say; but if he were present in the little room beyond the kitchen afterwards, it is likely that he would understand the whole matter right well. It is an old proverb, and it is a true one, which says that a straw shows how the wind blows.
 By-and-by, when the young people were down in the muirbheach, the Cneamhaire comes in to Peadar’s father and a bag in his hand.
 He draws the full of his hand of gold pieces from the bag, and counting out sixty pounds on the table before him, he says, looking steadily and sharply at the other man :
 “ Tomas Sheaghan Ruaidhri will never put the top of his dirty finger on my money. By heavens, he’ll not. It is to love and to youth I am giving it.” [End.]