The top of it came bang against the stone, and lifted it so far that
he got head and neck through. The thing was done! With one more
Herculean lift of his body and the stone together, like a man rising
from the dead, he rose from the crypt into the passage.
But the door of the chapel would not yield to a gentle push.
"My lady," he cried, "don't be afraid. I must make a noise. It's
only Donal Grant! I'm going to drive the door open."
She heard the words! They woke her from her swoon of joy. "Only
Donal Grant!" What less of an only could there be in the world for
her! Was he not the messenger who raised the dead!
She tried to speak, but not a word would come. Donal drew back a
pace, and sent such a shoulder against the door that it flew to the
wall, then fell with a great crash on the floor.
"Where are you, my lady?" he cried.
But still she could not speak.
He began feeling about.
"Not on that terrible bed!" she heard him murmur.
Fear lest in the darkness he should not find her, gave her back her
voice.
"I don't mind it now!" she said feebly.
"Thank God!" cried Donal; "I've found you at last!"
Worn out, he sank on his knees, with his head on the bed, and fell a
sobbing like a child.
She would have put out her hand through the darkness to find him,
but the chain checked it. He heard the rattle of it, and understood.
"Chained too, my dove!" he said, but in Gaelic.
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