As they got further north, the waves increased in size, a storm arose and blew fiercely in their faces; but the rougher the lake became, the gayer and more boisterous grew George’s mood.

His companion began to be afraid, and begged that they might return, but George, though it was not his custom, made his princely authority felt, and sternly commanded the boy to do as he was bid.

All at once it became dark around them, and it seemed as if a powerful sea-horse must have got under the skiff and lifted it with his back, for George was hurled into the air.  Then he felt himself caught by a rushing whirlpool which sucked him in its circles to the bottom.  He lost breath and consciousness.  When he came to himself again, he found himself in a closed cave, amidst strange forms of grey-brown, dripping stalactites.  Above the arches of the roof he heard a loud, grunting laugh, and a voice, that sounded like the hoarse howl of a dog, cried several times:  “Here we have the Wendelin brood!  At last I have the Greylock!”

Then George remembered all that he had overheard Pepe and Nonna relate, and all that he had coaxed out of them by his questions.  He had fallen into the hands of the evil spirit, Misdral, and now the real misfortune, which had threatened him ever since his birth, was to begin.  He was freezing cold, and very hungry, and as he thought of the beautiful gardens at home, of the well-spread table in his father’s castle, at which he used to sit so comfortably in his high-backed chair, and of the well-fed lackeys, he felt quite faint.

He also realized what terrible anxiety his absence would cause his mother.  He could see her running about, weeping, with her hair in disorder, seeking him every where.

When he was smaller she had often taken him into her bed and played “Little Red Riding Hood” with him, and he said to himself that for that and many succeeding nights she would find no rest on her silken cushions, but would wet them with her tears.  These recollections brought him to the verge of weeping, but the next instant he stamped his foot angrily, in rage against his weakness.

He was only thirteen years old, but he was a true Greylock, and fear and cowardice were as unknown to him as to his ancestor, Wendelin I. So when he heard the voice of the wicked Misdral again, and listened to the curses which it heaped upon his family, George’s anger grew so hot that he picked up a stone, as the first Wendelin had done five hundred years before, to hurl it in the monster’s wrinkled face.  But Misdral did not show himself, and George had to give up the expectation of seeing him, for he gathered from the conversation between the two spirits that, owing to an oath which he had given to the fairy, Misdral dared not lay hands on a Wendelin, and that, therefore, he had planned to starve him (George) to death.  This prospect seemed all the more dreadful to the boy because of his hunger at that moment.