I have chosen the god Dagda, as He
has chosen me. His passion is for retribution against the
violent---the axe-wielders and plunderers, the outwardly strong. It is
He who spoke through the prophet long ago."
"Mother," said Mary. "Please don't be angry, but you're frightening
me. You know I don't pass judgment, and that I'm trying to understand.
. . and love you. But this isn't what I want, what I need to know."
With this the old woman, whose eyes had lost their focus and begun to
stare off into space, came back to herself. "Aye, lass, I hear what it
is you're telling me. I was only trying to give you a glimpse of that
part of myself which cannot be shown in outward events. You'll be
wanting to know about the circumstances of your birth..... About your
father."
At this the cold eyes gleamed with unspeakable malice, and with a
shiver of stark insight Mary discovered the source, the burning heart
of her mother's hatred. It was as if all the bitter rage she felt for
the world of men, every grudge, even blame for the war itself, had
been focused upon this one man as the symbol, the living embodiment of
evil, and sole object of revenge.
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