CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
HOW WE BROUGHT THE MAIDEN TO HER FATHER'S HOUSE.
A month later, Ludar and the maiden and I stood on a cliff in Cantire which overlooks the Irish coast.

The September sun was dipping wrathfully on the distant Donegal heights, kindling, as he did so, the headlands of Antrim with a crimson glow.

Below us, the Atlantic surged heavily and impatiently round the rugged Mull.

Opposite--so near, it seemed we might almost shout across--loomed out, sheer from the sea, the huge cliff of Benmore, dwarfing the forelands on either hand, and looking, as we saw it then, anything but the Fair Head which people call it.

Scarcely further, on our right, lapped in the lurid water, lay the sweet Isle of Raughlin, ablaze with heather, and resounding with its chorus of sea-birds.