And, thinking quietly enough now, I made the resolve to leave at all events my revenge that I had so longed for to sleep for a while—­for the words of the good priest had bided with me, and moreover, I had some hope from his words of prophecy.  So I would see how that turned out, and then, if nought came of it, I would turn to my revenge again.

So having got thus far, the advice of the gray-haired warrior seemed as good as any, for it was easy to me to get into West Wales, and then take service with the under-king until such time as Danish or Norse vikings put in thither, as they would at times for provender, or to buy copper and tin from the miners.

But then a great longing came over me to see Alswythe once more, and learn the truth of her faith or falseness.  The man I had bound seemed to speak truth, though she was the daughter of Matelgar.  Yet if she were child of that false man, I had known her mother well, and loved her until she died a year ago.  And she was a noble lady, and full of honesty.

Now as safe a way as any into the Westland would be over the Quantocks, and so into the wilds of Dartmoor and beyond, where no man would know or care for my outlawry—­if, indeed, I found not more proscribed men there than anywhere, who had fled, as I must fly, but with a price on them.  And if I fled that way, it was but a step aside to pass close to Matelgar’s hall.

It was the least safe path for me, it is true—­for I had had a taste of what sort of reception I should meet with at his hands did he catch me or meet with me.  But love drew me, and I would venture and see at least the place where the one I loved dwelt.

Having made up my mind to that, I was all impatience to be going, and woke the collier, saying that I must be afoot.  He, poor man, started up in affright, dreaming doubtless that the fiend had returned, but recovered himself, making a low obeisance to me, quickly.

Then he brought out bread of the coarsest and cheese of the best, grumbling that the fiend had devoured his better cheer.  And I, being light hearted, having made up my mind, and being young enough not to look trouble in the face too long, asked him if he had none of the roe deer left over?

Whereat he started, and looked terrified at me.  Then I laughed, and said that Grendel had told me what was in the pot, and the man, seeing that I was not angry, began to grin also, wondering.  Then the meaning of the whole business seemed to come to him, and he sat down and began to laugh, looking at me from under his brows now and then, lest I should be wroth with him for the freedom.  But I laughed also, and so in the end we two sat and laughed till the tears came, opposite one another, and that was a thing that I had never thought to do again.  At last I stopped, and then he made haste to compose himself.

“Master,” he said, “forgive me.  But if you were Grendel, as I think now, there is a great fear off my mind.”