came in to ask her counsel how best to deal with Wayland, as he did
not think it wise to put him to death, for he hoped to make some
profit out of his skill. 'His heart will beat high,' said the Queen,
'when he sees his good sword, and beholds his ring on Banvilda's
finger. But cut asunder the sinews of his strength, so that he can
never more escape from us, and keep him a prisoner on the island of
Savarsted.'

The King was pleased with the Queen's words, and sent soldiers to
carry Wayland to the tower on the island. The sinews of his leg were
cut so that he could not swim away; but they gave him his boots, and
the chests of gold they had found in his house. Here he was left, with
nothing to do from morning till night but to make helmets and drinking
cups and splendid armour for the King.

On this island Wayland remained for a whole year, chained to a stone
and visited by no one but the King, who came from time to time to see
how his prisoner was getting on with a suit of golden armour he had
been ordered to make. The shield was also of gold, and on it Wayland
had beaten out a history of the gods and their great deeds. He was
very miserable, for the hope of revenge which had kept him alive
seemed as far off as ever in its fulfilment, and finding a sword he
had lately forged lying close to his hand, he seized it, with the
intent of putting an end to his wretched life. He had hardly stretched
out his hand when a bird began to sing at the iron bars of his window,
while the evening sun shone into his prison. 'I should like to see the
world once more,' thought he, and, raising himself on the stone to
which his chain was fastened, he was able to look at what lay beneath
him. The sea washed the base of the rock on which the tower was built,
and on a neck of land a little way off some children were playing
before the door of a hut. Everything was bathed in red light from the
glow of the setting sun.

Wayland stood quite still on the top of the stone, gazing at the scene
with all his eyes, yet thinking of the land of his birth, which was so
different. Then he looked again at the sea, which was already turning
to steel, and in the distance he saw something moving on the waves. As
it came nearer he discovered it was a young Nixie, or water sprite,
and she held a lyre in her hand, and sang a song which blended with
the murmur of the waves and the notes of the bird. And the song put
new life and courage into his heart, for it tol