O'Keefe's arms tightened around her, his head dropped lips seeking, finding hers--passionately! From Olaf came a deep indrawn breath that was almost a groan.

But not in my heart could I find blame for the Irishman! The priestess opened eyes now all misty blue, thrust him back, stood regarding him.

O'Keefe, dead-white, raised a trembling hand to his face.
"And thus have I sealed my oath, O my lord!" she whispered.

For the first time she seemed to recognize our presence, stared at us a moment, then through us, and turned to O'Keefe.
"Go, now!" she said.

"Soon Rador shall come for you.