Deirdre and her foster-mother dwelt in the bothy mid the hills without the knowledge or the suspicion of any living person about them and without anything occurring, until Deridre was sixteen years of age.  Deirdre grew like the white sapling, straight and trim as the rash on the moss.  She was the creature of fairest form, of loveliest aspect, and of gentlest nature that existed between earth and heaven in all Ireland—whatever colour of hue she had before, there was nobody that looked into her face but she would blush fiery red over it. (Celtic Fairy Tales, Jacobs, 1892)