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The werewulf by Eugene Field. In
the reign of Egbert the Saxon. There

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dwelt in Britain a maiden named esolt
who was beloved of all, both for

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her goodness and for her beauty.
But though many a youth came wooing her,

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she loved Harold only, and to
him she plighted her Trothe Among the

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other youth of whom Isolta was beloved
was Alfred, and he was sore angered

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that isolt showed favor to Harold,
so that one day Alfred said to Harold,

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is it right that old Siegfried should
come from his grave and have is

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Isolta to wife? Then added he
prithee, good sir, Why do you

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turn so white when I speak your
grandsire name? Then Harold asked, what

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know you of Siegfried that you taunt
me? What memory of him should vex

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me? Now we know and we
know, retorted Alfred, there are some

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tales told us by our grandma's we
have not forgot. So Ever, after

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that, Alfred's words and Alfred's bitter
smile haunted Harold by day and night.

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Harold's grandsire, Sigfried the Teuton,
had been a man of cruel violence.

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The legend said that a curse rested
upon him, and that at certain times

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he was possessed of an evil spirit
that wreaked its fury on mankind. But

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Ziegfried had been dead full many years, and there was nought to mind the

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world of him, save the legend
and a cunning wrought spear, which he

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had from Brunhilde, the witch.
This spear was such a weapon that it

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never lost its brightness, nor had
its point been blunted. It hung in

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Harold's chamber, and it was the
marvel among weapons of that time. Hisolt

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knew that Alfred loved her, but
she did not know of the bitter words

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which Alfred had spoken to Harold.
Her love for Harold was perfect in its

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trust and gentleness. But Alfred had
hit the truth. The curse of old

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Ziegfried was upon Harold, slumbering.
A century had awakened in the blood of

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the grandson. And Harold knew the
curse that was upon him, and it

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was this that seemed to stand between
him and Isault. But love is stronger

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than all else, and Harold loved
Harold did not tell Isult of the curse

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that was upon him, for he
feared that she would not love him if

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she knew. Whensoever he felt the
fire of the curse burning in his veins,

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he would say to her, Tomorrow
I hunt the wild boar in the

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uttermost forest, or next week I
go stag stalking among the distant northern hills.

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Even so it was that he ever
made good excuse for his absence,

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and is Old thought no evil things, for she was trustful. Aye,

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though he went many times away and
was long gone, is Old suspected no

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wrong. So none beheld Harold,
when the curse was upon him in its

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violence, Alfred alone bethought himself of
evil things. Tis passing strange quoth he

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that ever and Anon, this gallant
lover, should quit our company and betake

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himself. Whither none knoweth in sooth
twill be well to have an eye on

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Old. Ziegfried's grandson. Harold knew
that Alfred watched him zealously, and he

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was tormented by a constant fear that
Alfred would discuss the curse that was on

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him. But what gave him greater
anguish was the fear that mayhap, at

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some moment when he was in Eaesault's
presence, the curse would seize upon him

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and cause him to do great evil
unto her, whereby she would be destroyed,

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or her love for him would be
undone forever. So Harold lived in

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terror, feeling that his love was
hopeless, yet knowing not how to combat

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it. Now it befell in those
times that the country round about was ravaged

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of a werewolf, a creature that
was feared by all men. Howe'er so

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valorous. This werewolf was by day
a man, but by night a wolf,

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given to ravage and to slaughter,
and having a charmed life against which

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no human agency availed aught. Wheeresoever
he went, he attacked and devoured mankind,

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spreading terror and desolation round about.
And the dream readers said that the

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earth would not be freed from the
werewolf until some man offered himself a voluntary

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sacrifice to the monster's rage. Now, although Harold was known far and wide

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as a mighty huntsman, he had
never set forth to hunt the werewolf,

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And strange eno, the werewolf never
ravaged the domain while Harold was therein whereat.

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Alfred marveled much, and oftentimes he
said, our Harold is a wondrous

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huntsman, who is like unto him
in stalking the timid doe and in crippling

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the fleeing boar. But how passing
well doth he time his absence from the

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haunts of the werewolf? Such valor
beseemeth our young Ziegfried, which, being

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brought to Harold, his heart flamed
with anger. But he made no answer,

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lest he should betray the truth he
feared. It happened so about that

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time that he is Old said to
Harold, wilt thou go with me tomorrow,

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even to the feast in the Sacred
Grove? That can I not do?

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Answered, Hold, I am privily
summoned hence to Normandy upon a mission

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of which I shall some time tell
THEE. And I pray THEE on thy

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love for me. Go not to
the feast in the Sacred Grove without me?

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What sayest thou cried, isould shall
I not go to the feast of

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Saint ALFREDA? My father would be
sore displeased were I not there with the

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other maidens. Tware greatest pity that
I should despite his love. Thus,

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but do not I beseech THEE?
Harald implored, Go not to the feast

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of Saint Alfreda in the Sacred Grove, and thou would thus love me?

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Go not see thou my life on
my two knees. I ask it how

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pale thou art, said Isoult,
and trembling, go not to the sacred

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grove. Upon the morrow night he
begged. Isoult marveled at his acts and

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at his speech. Then for the
first time she thought him to be jealous,

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whereat she secretly rejoiced being a woman. Ah quoth she thou dost doubt

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my love? But when she saw
a look of pain come on his face,

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she added, as if she repented
of the words she had spoken.

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Or dost thou fear the werewolf?
Then Harald answered, fixing his eyes on

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hers, Thou hast said it it
is the werewolf that I fear. Why

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dost thou look at me so strangely? Harold, cried Isoult. By the

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cruel light in thine eyes, one
might almost take THEE to be the werewolf.

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Come hither, sit beside me,
said Harold, tremblingly, and I

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will tell THEE why I fear to
have thee Go to the feast of Saint

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Alfreda to morrow evening hear what I
dreamt last night? I dreamt I was

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the werewolf. Do not shudder,
dear love, for twas only a dream.

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A grizzled old man stood at my
bedside and strove to pluck my soul

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from my bosom. What wouldst thou? I cried, Thy soul is mine?

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He said, thou shalt live out
my curse. Give me thy soul,

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hold back thy hands, give me
thy soul. I say, thy

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curse shall not be upon me.
I cried, What have I done that

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thy curse should rest upon me?
Thou shalt not have my soul for my

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offense, shalt thou suffer? And
in my curse thou shalt endure hell.

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It is so decreed, So spake
the old man. And he strove with

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me, and he prevailed against me, and he plucked my soul from my

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bosom, and he said, go
search and kill. And and lo I

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was a wolf upon the moor.
The dry grass crackled beneath my tread.

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The darkness of the night was heavy, and it oppressed me. Strange horrors

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tortured my soul, and it groaned
and groaned, jailed in that wolfish body.

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The wind whispered to me with its
myriad voices. It spake to me

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and said, go search and kill. And above these voices sounded the hideous

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laughter of an old man. I
fled the more whither I knew not,

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nor knew I what motive lashed me
on. I came to a river,

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and I plunged in. A burning
thirst consumed me, and I lapped the

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waters of the river. They were
waves of flame, and they flashed around

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me and hissed. And what they
said was go search and kill. And

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I heard the old man's laughter again. A forest lay before me, with

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its gloomy thickets and its somber shadows, with its ravens, its vampires,

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its serpents, its reptiles, and
all its hideous brood of night. I

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darted among its thorns and crouched amid
the leaves, the nettles, and the

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brambles. The owls hooted at me, and the thorns pierced my flesh.

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Go search and kill, said everything. The hares sprang from my pathway,

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the other beasts ran bellowing away.
Every form of life shrieked in my ears.

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The curse was on me. I
was the werewolf. On on I

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went with the fleetness of the wind, and my soul groaned in its wolfish

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prison. And the winds and the
waters and the trees bade me go search

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and kill. Thou, a cursed
brute, go search and kill? Nowhere

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was there pity for the wolf?
What mercy? Thus should I the werewolf

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show? The curse was on me, and it filled me with a hunger

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and a thirst for blood. Skulking
on my way within myself, I cried,

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let me have blood, Oh,
let me have human blood, that

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this wrath may be appeased, that
this curse may be removed. At last,

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I came to the sacred grove.
Somber loomed, the poplars, the

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oaks frowned upon me. Before me
stood an old man, twas he grizzled

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and taunting, whose curse I bore. He feared me. Not all other

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living things fled before me, But
the old man feared me. Not A

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maiden stood beside him. She did
not see me, for she was blind.

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Kill, kill, cried the old
man, and he pointed at the

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girl beside him. Hell raged within
me. The curse impelled me. I

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sprang at her throat. I heard
the old man's laughter once more, and

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then then I awoke, trembling cold, horrified. Scarce was this dream told

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when Alfred strode that way? Now
by our lady, quoth he I bethink

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me never to have seen a sorrier
twain. Then Isoult told him of Harald's

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going away, and how that Harald
had besought her not to venture to the

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feast of Saint Alfreda in the sacred
grove. These fears are childish, cried

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Alfred boastfully. And thou sufferest me, sweet lady, I will bear thee

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company to the feast, and a
score of my lusty yeomen, with their

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good ewbows and honest spears, they
shall attend me. There be no werewolf

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I trow will chance about with us
whereat Isoult laughed merrily, and Harold said,

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tis well, thou shalt go to
the sacred grove, and may my

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love and Heaven's grace forefend all evil. Then Harald went to his abode,

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and he fetched Old Ziegfried's spear back
unto his olt, and he gave it

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into her two hands, saying,
take this spear with thee to the feast

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tomorrow night. It is Old Ziegfried's
spear, possessing mighty virtue and marvelous,

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and Harold took Isoult to his heart
and blessed her, and he kissed her

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upon her brow and upon her lips, saying, well, oh, my

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beloved, how wilt thou love me
when thou knowest my sacrifice? Farewell,

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farewell forever, oh alderlifest mine.
So Harald went his way, and Esult

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was lost in wonderment. On the
morrow night came Eesult to the sacred grove,

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wherein the feast was spread, and
she bore Old Ziegfried's spear with her

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in her girdle. Alfred attended her, and a score of lusty yeomen were

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with him. In the grove.
There was great merriment, and with singing

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and dancing and games withal did the
honest folk celebrate the feast of the fairs

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Saint ALFREDA. But suddenly a mighty
tumult arose, and there were cries of

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the werewolf. The werewolf terror seized
upon all stout hearts were frozen with fear.

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Out from the further forest rushed the
werewolf wood Wroth, bellowing hoarsely,

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gnashing his fangs and tossing hither and
thither the yellow foam from his snapping jaws.

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He sought Exult straight, as if
an evil power drew him to the

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spot where she stood. But Ezult
was not afeared. Like a marble statue,

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she stood and saw the werewolfs coming. The Yeomen, dropping their torches

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and casting aside their bows, had
fled. Alfred alone abided there to do

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the monster battle. At the approaching
wolf, he hurled his heavy lance,

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but as it struck the werewolf's bristling
back, the weapon was all too shivered.

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Then the werewolf, fixing his eyes
upon Isoult, skulked for a moment

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in the shadow of the Ewes,
and thinking then of Harald's words, Esult

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plucked Old Siegfried's spear from her girdle, raised it on high, and with

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the strength of despair, sent it
hurtling through the air. The werewolf saw

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the shining weapon, and a cry
burst from his gaping throat of human agony,

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and Isoult saw in the werewolf's eyes
the eyes of someone she had seen

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and known, but twas for an
instant only, and then the eyes were

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no longer human, but wolfish in
their ferocity. A supernatural force seemed to

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speed the spear in its flight.
With fearful precision, the weapon smote home

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and buried itself by half its length
in the werewolf's shaggy breast, just above

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the heart. And then, with
a monstrous sigh, as if he yielded

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up his life without regret, the
werewolf fell dead in the shadow of the

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Ewes. Then Ah, Then in
very truth, there was great joy,

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and loud were the acclaims. While
beautiful in her trembling, Pallor Isult was

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led unto her home, where the
people set about to give great feast to

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do her homage, for the werewolf
was dead, and she it was that

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had slain him. But Isoult cried
out, go search for Harold, Go

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bring him to me, Nor eat
nor sleep till he be found. Good,

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my lady, quoth Alfred, how
can that be, since he hath

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betaken himself to Normandy. I care
not where he be, She cried,

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My heart stands still until I look
into his eyes again. Surely he hath

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not gone to Normandy. Out spake
Ubert, this very eventide I saw him

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enter his abode, They hastened thither
a vast company. His chamber door was

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barred. Harold Harold come forth,
They cried as they beat upon the door,

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but no answer came to their calls, and knockings afeared. They battered

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down the door, and when it
fell, they saw that Harold lay upon

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his bed. He sleeps, said
one. See he holds a portrait in

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his hand, and it is her
portrait. How fair he is, and

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how tranquility he sleeps. But no, Harold was not asleep. His face

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was calm and beautiful, as if
he dreamt of his beloved. But his

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raiment was red with the blood that
streamed from a wound in his breast,

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a gaping, ghastly spear wound just
above his heart, And of the werewolf,