One day they were talking together about the majesty of God and His love, for although Tuan had now received much instruction on this subject he yet needed more, and he laid as close a siege on Finnian as Finnian had before that laid on him. But man works outwardly and inwardly. After rest he has energy, after energy he needs repose; so, when we have given instruction for a time, we need instruction, and must receive it or the spirit faints and wisdom herself grows bitter.
Therefore Finnian said: “Tell me now about yourself, dear heart.”
But Tuan was avid of information about the True God. “No, no,” he said, “the past has nothing more of interest for me, and I do not wish anything to come between my soul and its instruction; continue to teach me, dear friend and saintly father.”
“I will do that,” Finnian replied, “but I must first meditate deeply on you, and must know you well. Tell me your past, my beloved, for a man is his past, and is to be known by it.”
But Tuan pleaded: “Let the past be content with itself, for man needs forgetfulness as well as memory.”
“My son,” said Finnian, “all that has ever been done has been done for the glory of God, and to confess our good and evil deeds is part of instruction; for the soul must recall its acts and abide by them, or renounce them by confession and penitence. Tell me your genealogy first, and by what descent you occupy these lands and stronghold, and then I will examine your acts and your conscience.”
Tuan replied obediently: “I am known as Tuan, son of Cairill, son of Muredac Red-neck, and these are the hereditary lands of my father.”
The saint nodded.
“I am not as well acquainted with Ulster genealogies as I should be, yet I know something of them. I am by blood a Leinsterman,” he continued.
“Mine is a long pedigree,” Tuan murmured.
Finnian received that information with respect and interest.
“I also,” he said, “have an honourable record.”
His host continued: “I am indeed Tuan, the son of Starn, the son of Sera, who was brother to Partholon.”
“But,” said Finnian in bewilderment, “there is an error here, for you have recited two different genealogies.”
“Different genealogies, indeed,” replied Tuan thoughtfully, “but they are my genealogies.”
“I do not understand this,” Finnian declared roundly.
“I am now known as Tuan mac Cairill,” the other replied, “but in the days of old I was known as Tuan mac Starn, mac Sera.”
“The brother of Partholon,” the saint gasped.
“That is my pedigree,” Tuan said.
“But,” Finnian objected in bewilderment, “Partholon came to Ireland not long after the Flood.”
“I came with him,” said Tuan mildly.
The saint pushed his chair back hastily, and sat staring at his host, and as he stared the blood grew chill in his veins, and his hair crept along his scalp and stood on end.
