The woman in the chariot had drawn nigh to the ford by which they were standing, and, without pause, she swung her steeds into the shallows and came across the river in a tumult of foam and spray.
"Does she not drive well?" cried Crimthann admiringly.
"When you are older," the king counselled him, "you will admire that which is truly admirable, for although the driving is good the lady is better."
He continued with enthusiasm:
"She is in truth a wonder of the world and an endless delight to the eye."
She was all that and more, and, as she took the horses through the river and lifted them up the bank, her flying hair and parted lips and all the young strength and grace of her body went into the king's eye and could not easily come out again.
Nevertheless, it was upon his ward that the lady's gaze rested, and if the king could scarcely look away from her, she could, but only with an equal effort, look away from Crimthann.
"Halt there!" cried the king.
"Whom should I halt for?" the lady demanded, halting all the same, as is the manner of women, who rebel against command and yet receive it.
"Halt for Dermod!"
"There are Dermods and Dermods in this world," she quoted.
"There is yet but one Ard-Rí," the monarch answered.
She then descended from the chariot and made her reverence.
"I wish to know your name?" said he.
