it was this that seemed to stand between him and
Yseult. But love is stronger than all else, and Harold loved.

Harold did not tell Yseult of the curse that was upon him, for he
feared that she would not love him if she knew. Whensoever he felt the
fire of the curse burning in his veins he would say to her, "To-morrow
I hunt the wild boar in the uttermost forest," or, "Next week I go
stag-stalking among the distant northern hills." Even so it was that
he ever made good excuse for his absence, and Yseult thought no evil
things, for she was trustful; ay, though he went many times away and
was long gone, Yseult suspected no wrong. So none beheld Harold when
the curse was upon him in its violence.

Alfred alone bethought himself of evil things. "'T is passing
strange," quoth he, "that ever and anon this gallant lover should quit
our company and betake himself whither none knoweth. In sooth 't will
be well to have an eye on old Siegfried's grandson."

Harold knew that Alfred watched him zealously, and he was tormented by
a constant fear that Alfred would discover the curse that was on him;
but what gave him greater anguish was the fear that mayhap at some
moment when he was in Yseult's presence, the curse would seize upon him
and cause him to do great evil unto her, whereby she would be destroyed
or her love for him would be undone forever. So Harold lived in
terror, feeling that his love was hopeless, yet knowing not how to
combat it.

Now, it befell in those times that the country round about was ravaged
of a werewolf, a creature that was feared by all men howe'er so
valorous. This werewolf was by day a man, but by night a wolf given to
ravage and to slaughter, and having a charmed life against which no
human agency availed aught. Wheresoever he went he attacked and
devoured mankind, spreading terror and desolation round about, and the
dream-readers said that the earth would not be freed from the werewolf
until some man offered himself a voluntary sacrifice to the monster's
rage.

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