he hungry wolf is heard. He
overthrew their king, he took possession of his kingdom. He took his
crown, and he brought it to Ethelfrith, whose ambition was boundless as
the sea. He brought it as the price of Agitha's hand.

It was morn. The sun rose with his robes of glory over the sea. Bethoc,
the daughter of Gormack the weird, stood upon the turrets of Ida's
tower. She was performing incantations to the four winds of heaven. She
called upon them to lift up the sea on their invisible wings, to raise
its waves as mountains, and whelm the ships upon its bosom. But the
winds obeyed not her voice, and the sea was still. In the bay of Budle
lay the vessels of the Chylde Wynde, and the weapons of his warriors
flashed in the sunbeams and upon the sea. Therefore was the spirit of
Queen Bethoc troubled. It was troubled lest the enchantment should be
broken--Agitha delivered from the spell, and her wrongs avenged.

As a great wave rolleth in majesty to the shore, so advanced the warrior
ships of Chylde Wynde, the subduer of heroes. The people came forth to
meet him with a shout of joy. "He is come," they cried; "the favoured of
the stars, the Chylde of the sharp sword, is come to deliver Agitha the
beautiful, to break the spell of her enchantment."

He heard the dark tale. His bosom heaved. He rent the robe that covered
him. His grief was as the howling of the winter wind, in a deep glen
between great mountains. He threw himself upon the earth and wept.

But again the spirit of Woden came upon him. It burned within his bosom
as a fierce flame. He started to his feet. To his lips he pressed the
sword of his father. He vowed to break the enchantment that entombed his
betrothed.

He rushed towards the cave of Elgiva, the worker of wonders. His
warriors feared to follow him. The people stood back in dismay. For by
the waving of Elgiva's wand she turned the swords of warriors upon
themselves, she caused them to melt in their hands.

At the mouth of her cave stood the enchantress. By her side lay the
serpent-worm.

"Daughter of wickedness!" shouted the Chylde, "break thy accursed spell;
restore the fair form of my Agitha, else the blood of thy heart shall
dissolve the charm."

"Hearken, O Chylde," cried the enchantress; "thou subduer of kings, thou
vanquisher of the strong--sharp is thy sword, but against me it hath no
power. Would it pierce the breast that suckled thee?--the breast of her
that bore thee?"

From the hand of