A historical adventure by Irish poet and novelist Katharine Tynan.
on, Walter Fitzmaurice, but of a noble house. How is it that you eat the bread and run at the stirrups of the Sassenach who is the destroyer of your race?"
I stretched my hands imploringly to the cowled figure.
"He rescued me from death," I cried; "he warmed me with his love. He has taught me all a noble youth should know."
"You love him?"
"I love him."
"Listen, boy. They think they have destroyed the Desmonds, root and branch, as a man might tread out under his heel a nest of vipers. Yet hope is not dead. The line of the Geraldines is not destroyed. Return to your own people and leave this evil knight."
"Alas, I cannot," I said, "for I love him."
"The blood of your kin is red on his hands."
"And yet I love him."
"He and his freebooters have wasted the country that was the portion of your fathers. Whom he spared to slay famine and pestilence have slain."
"I should have died of the hunger," said I, "had he not delivered me."
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