“How fares the king?” asked Ethelnoth.

“His dark hour came on him after you went,” Denewulf answered; “and then the pain passed, and he slept well, and now has just wakened wonderfully cheerful.  I have not seen him so bright since he came here; and he is looking eagerly for your return, seeming to expect some news.”

“It may be that our coming has been foretold him beforehand,” said Heregar.  “Our king has warnings given him in his dreams at times.”

Then from out of the house Alfred’s voice hailed us: 

“Surely that is the voice of my standard bearer.

“Come in quickly, Heregar, for all men know that hope comes with you.”

We went in; and it was a poor place enough for a king’s lodging, though it was warm and neat.  Alfred sat over the fire in the middle of the larger room of the two which the house had, and a strew of chips and shreds of feathers and the like was round him; for he was arrow making—­an art in which he was skilful, and he had all the care and patience which it needs.  When we came in he rose up, shaking the litter from his dress into the fire; and we bent our knees to him and kissed his hand.

“O my king,” said Heregar, “why have have you thus hidden yourself from us?  All the land is mourning for you.”

Then Alfred looked sadly at him and wistfully, answering: 

“First, because I must hide; lastly, because I would be hidden:  but between these two reasons is one of which I repent—­because I despaired.”

“Nay,” said Denewulf, “it was not despair; it was grief and anxiousness and thought and waiting for hope.  Never have you spoken of despair, my king.”

“But I have felt it,” he answered, “and I was wrong.  Hope should not leave a man while he has life, and friends like these, and counsellors like yourself.  Now have I been rebuked, and hope is given me afresh.”

Then he smiled and turned to me.

“Why, Ranald my cousin, this is kindness indeed.  I had not thought that you would bide with a lost cause, nor should I have thought of blame for you had you gone from this poor England; you are not bound to her as are her sons.”

“My king,” I said truly, “there are things that bind more closely even than birth.”

I think he was pleased, for he smiled, and shook his head at me as though to say that he could not take my saying to himself, as I meant it.  And then, before we could ask him more, he began to think of our needs.

“Here we have been pressed for food, friends, for the last few days, and I fear you must fast with us.  The deer have fled from our daily hunting, and the wild fowl have sought open water.  Unless our fishers have luck, which seems unlikely, we must do as well as we can on oaten bread.”

Then Ethelnoth said: 

“There have been no fish caught today, my king.”

“Why, then, we will wait till the others return; and meanwhile I will hear all the news, for Ranald and Heregar will have much to tell me.”