"There are two horses," I answered; "splendid animals, that could fly away with it. Perhaps, I had better look at them, to see if they are all right," and I went towards the stable.
"They are, indeed, splendid animals," said the monk, who looked at them with a critical eye, as he took the candle from my hand that he might view them better, and he evinced an interest in, and a knowledge of, horseflesh that surprised me not a little, seeing that he was a poor monk, that was forced to make his journeys on foot. After bolting the stable door we returned to the house, and shortly after the monk, who refused to join me in a beaker of mead, although I urged he would sleep all the better for it, went to his couch, and when I had finished my beaker, I followed his example, and was soon fast asleep.
I slept soundly, as was my wont, but at daybreak I was awakened by the frantic yelping of the hounds, while the raven, flapping his wings in wild shouts of excitement, croaked "_Grob grob! Carna, carna! Coin! coin!_" I felt the cold air of the morning on my face, and the grey light came through the open door. I leaped from my couch, and looked about me. The harper was sound asleep, so also was the old chief, but the couch which the maiden had occupied was vacant, as was that of the monk, and the stranger was nowhere to be seen.
I rushed out, the stable door was open, and the chariot had disappeared. In the stable was a monk's robe and cowl. The hounds were still yelping in the distance, but not frantically as at first, and I pushed on towards them. I met them returning with bloody mouths, and in a few seconds one of the shepherds followed with a huge coat, torn almost to tatters, and stained with blood. It was the remains of the great coat which the stranger had worn the night before!
"The bloody mouths of the hounds supplied the answer, at least so said the harper, when I related to him what had happened. The stranger was a man wolf, who was allowed to assume human form by night, but had to take that of the wolf by day.[2] He must have slept till daybreak, and not being able to escape from the neighbourhood of the _Brugh_ in human shape, fell a prey to the hounds."
[2] This belief was common in the old days in Ireland, and wolf stories still survive in the Celtic romances which have come down to us.