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flames of the stars had e out everywhere。 the ground sloped more and more until at last they rode far above the woods upon the wide top of the mountain。 the woods lay spread out mile after mile below； and away to the south shot up the red glare of the burning town。 but before and above them were the little white flames。 the guide drew rein suddenly； and pointing upwards with the hand that did not hold the torch； shrieked out； look； look at the holy candles！ and then plunged forward at a gallop； waving the torch hither and thither。 do you hear the hoofs of the messengers？ cried the guide。 quick； quick！ or they will be gone out of your hands！ and he laughed as with delight of the chase。 the troopers thought they could hear far off； and as if below them； rattle of hoofs； but now the ground began to slope more and more； and the speed grew more headlong moment by moment。 they tried to pull up； but in vain； for the horses seemed to have gone mad。 the guide had thrown the reins on to the neck of the old white horse； and was waving his arms and singing a wild gaelic song。 suddenly they saw the thin gleam of a river； at an immense distance below； and knew that they were upon the brink of the abyss that is now called lug？na？gael； or in english the strangers leap。 the six horses sprang forward； and five screams went up into the air； a moment later five men and horses fell with a dull crash upon the green slopes at the foot of the rocks。
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THE OLD MEN OF THE TWILIGHT
小说
at the place； close to the dead mans point； at the rosses； where the disused pilot？house looks out to sea through two round windows like eyes； a mud cottage stood in the last century。 it also was a watchhouse； for a certain old michael bruen； who had been a smuggler in his day； and was still the father and grandfather of smugglers； lived there； and when； after nightfall； a tall schooner crept over the bay from roughley； it was his business to hang a horn lanthorn in the southern window； that the news might travel to dorrens island； and from thence； by another horn lanthorn； to the village of the rosses。 but for this glimmering of messages； he had little munion with mankind； for he was very old； and had no thought for anything but for the making of his soul； at the foot of the spanish crucifix of carved oak that hung by his chimney； or bent double over the rosary of stone beads brought to him a cargo of silks and laces out of france。 one night he had watched hour after hour； because a gentle and favourable wind was blowing； and la mere de misericorde was much overdue； and he was about to lie down upon his heap of straw； seeing that the dawn was whitening the east； and that the schooner would not dare to round roughley and e to an anchor after daybreak； when he saw a long line of herons flying slowly from dorrens island and towards the pools which lie； half choked with reeds； behind what is called the second rosses。 he had never before seen herons flying over the sea； for they are shore？keeping birds； and partly because this had startled him out of his drowsiness； and more because the long delay of the schooner kept his cupboard empty； he took down his rusty shot？gun； of which the barrel was tied on with a piece of string； and followed them towards the pools。
when he came close enough to hear the sighing of the rushes in the outermost pool； the morning was grey over the world； so that the tall rushes； the still waters； the vague clouds； the thin mists lying among the sand？heaps； seemed carved out of an enormous pearl。 in a little he came upon the herons； of whom there were a great number； standing with lifted legs in the shallow water； and crouching down behind a bank of rushes； looked to the priming of his gun； and bent for a moment over his rosary to murmur： patron patrick； let me shoot a heron； made into a pie it will support me for nearly four days； for i no longer eat as in my youth。 if you keep me from missing i will say a rosary to you every night until the pie is eaten。 then he lay down； and； resting his gun upon a large stone； turned towards a heron which stood upon a bank of smooth grass over a little stream that flowed into the pool； for he feared to take the rheumatism by wading； as he would have to do if he shot one of those which stood in the water。 but when he looked along the barrel the heron was gone； and； to his wonder and terror； a man of infinitely great age and infirmity stood in its place。 he lowered the gun； and the heron stood there with bent head and motionless feathers； as though it had slept from the beginning of the world。 he raised the gun； and no sooner did he look along the iron than that enemy of all enchantment brought the old man again before him； only to vanish when he lowered the gun for the second time。 he laid the gun down； and crossed himself three times； and said a paternoster and an ave maria； and muttered half aloud： some enemy of god and of my patron is standing upon the smooth place and fishing in the blessed water；
and then aimed very carefully and slowly。 he fired； and when the smoke had gone saw an old man； huddled upon the grass and a long line of herons flying with clamour towards the sea。 he went round a bend of the pool； and ing to the little stream looked down on a figure wrapped in faded clothes of black and green of an ancient pattern and spotted with blood。 he shook his head at the sight of so great a wickedness。 suddenly the clothes moved and an arm was stretched upwards towards the rosary which hung about his neck； and long wasted fingers almost touched the cross。 he started back； crying： wizard； i will let no wicked thing touch my blessed beads； and the sense of a the old great danger just escaped made him tremble。
if you listen to me； replied a voice so faint that it was like a sigh； you will know that i am not a wizard； and you will let me kiss the cross before i die。
i will listen to you； he answered； but i will not let you touch my blessed beads； and sitting on the grass a little way from the dying man； he reloaded his gun and laid it across his knees and posed himself to listen。
i know not how many generations ago we； who are now herons； were the men of learning of the king leaghaire； we neither hunted； nor went to battle； nor listened to the druids preaching； and even love； if it came to us at all； was but a passing fire。 the druids and the poets told us； many and many a time； of a new druid patrick； and most among them were fierce against him； while a few thought his doctrine merely the doctrine of the gods set out in new symbols； and were for giving him wele； but we yawned in the midst of their tale。 at last they came crying that he was ing to the kings house； and fell to their dispute； but we would listen to neither party； for we were busy with a dispute about the merits of the great and of the little metre； nor were we disturbed when they passed our door with sticks of enchantment under their arms； travelling towards the forest to contend against his ing； nor when they returned after nightfall with torn robes and despairing cries； for the click of our knives writing our thoughts in ogham filled us with peace and our dispute filled us with joy； nor even when in the morning crowd