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Now, although Harold was known far and wide as a mighty huntsman, he had never set forth to hunt the werewolf, and, strange enow, the werewolf never ravaged the domain while Harold was therein. Whereat Alfred marvelled much, and oftentimes he said: “Our Harold is a wondrous huntsman. Who is like unto him in stalking the timid doe and in crippling the fleeing boar? But how passing well doth he time his absence from the haunts of the werewolf. Such valor beseemeth our young Siegfried.”

Which being brought to Harold his heart flamed with anger, but he made no answer, lest he should betray the truth he feared.

It happened so about that time that Yseult said to Harold, “Wilt thou go with me to-morrow even to the feast in the sacred grove?”

“That can I not do,” answered Harold. “I am privily summoned hence to Normandy upon a mission of which I shall some time tell thee. And I pray thee, on thy love for me, go not to the feast in the sacred grove without me.”

“What say’st thou?” cried Yseult. “Shall I not go to the feast of Ste. Aelfreda? My father would be sore displeased were I not there with the other maidens. ‘T were greatest pity that I should despite his love thus.”

“But do not, I beseech thee,” Harold implored. “Go not to the feast of Ste. Aelfreda in the sacred grove! And thou would thus love me, go not–see, thou my life, on my two knees I ask it!”

“How pale thou art,” said Yseult, “and trembling.”

“Go not to the sacred grove upon the morrow night,” he begged.

Yseult marvelled at his acts and at his speech. Then, for the first time, she thought him to be jealous–whereat she secretly rejoiced (being a woman).

“Ah,” quoth she, “thou dost doubt my love,” but when she saw a look of pain come on his face she added–as if she repented of the words she had spoken–“or dost thou fear the werewolf?”

Then Harold answered, fixing his eyes on hers, “Thou hast said it; it is the werewolf that I fear.”

“Why dost thou look at me so strangely, Harold?” cried Yseult. “By the cruel light in thine eyes one might almost take thee to be the werewolf!”

“Come hither, sit beside me,” said Harold tremblingly, “and I will tell thee why I fear to have thee go to the feast of Ste. Aelfreda to-morrow evening. Hear what I dreamed last night. I dreamed I was the werewolf–do not shudder, dear love, for ‘t was only a dream.

“A grizzled old man stood at my bedside and strove to pluck my soul from my bosom.

“‘What would’st thou?’ I cried.

“‘Thy soul is mine,’ he said, ‘thou shalt live out my curse. Give me thy soul–hold back thy hands–give me thy soul, I say.’

“‘Thy curse shall not be upon me,’ I cried. ‘What have I done that thy curse should rest upon me? Thou shalt not have my soul.’

“‘For my offence shalt thou suffer, and in my curse thou shalt endure hell–it is so decreed.’

“So spake the old man, and he strove with me, and he prevailed against me, and he plucked my soul from my bosom, and he said, ‘Go, search and kill’–and–and lo, I was a wolf upon the moor.

“The dry grass crackled beneath my tread. The darkness of the night was heavy and it oppressed me. Strange horrors tortured my soul, and it groaned and groaned, gaoled in that wolfish body. The wind whispered to me; with its myriad voices it spake to me and said, ‘Go, search and kill.’ And above these voices sounded the hideous laughter of an old man. I fled the moor–whither I knew not, nor knew I what motive lashed me on.

“I came to a river and I plunged in. A burning thirst consumed me, and I lapped the waters of the river–they were waves of flame, and they flashed around me and hissed, and what they said was, ‘Go, search and kill,’ and I heard the old man’s laughter again.