My men are on guard outside." He came closer to us, the old mocking gaiety sparkling in his eyes.
"But I spoke too quickly," he whispered.

"Whether it is because the Afyo Maie fears their tongues--or--" he laughed at Larry.

"The maids are _not_ yours!" Still laughing he vanished through the curtains of the room of the fountain before I could ask him the meaning of his curious gift, its withdrawal, and his most enigmatic closing remarks.
"Back in the great old days of Ireland," thus Larry breaking into my thoughts raptly, the brogue thick, "there was Cairill mac Cairill--Cairill Swiftspear.

An' Cairill wronged Keevan of Emhain Abhlach, of the blood of Angus of the great people when he was sleeping in the likeness of a pale reed.

Then Keevan put this penance on Cairill--that for a year Cairill should wear his body in Emhain Abhlach, which is the Land of Faery and for that year Keevan should wear the body of Cairill.