Beowald alone had not stopped searching. The mist did not hinder him, for neither darkness nor mists made any difference to him. He wandered about all night long, looking for his friends, the big mountain goat keeping him company.
When the sun was high in the sky Beowald made his way back to the temple-cave. He listened outside. There was no sound. He went to the big stone image at the back. It was still split in half. Beowald stood thinking. Should he go down himself, and seek for the others? The villagers had already said there was nothing below but empty caves, with rushing water in one. Beowald would be lost in a strange place. But something made him decide to try.
The blind goatherd slipped down into the hole, hanging deftly on to the rope. Down he went, and down, and came at last to the little cave below. He explored it carefully with his hands stretched out in front of him, going round the rocky, irregular walls.
He soon found the opening that led into the narrow, rocky passage. He went down it, feeling before him and beside him with his hands. Down and down went the passage, curving as it descended.
Beowald came out into the cave of the waterfall, and stood there, deafened by the roar. Water swirled over his feet. At first he was so deafened by the terrific noise that he heard nothing more.
And then, to his extreme astonishment, he heard his name called.
“Beowald! Beowald!”
“Look — it’s Beowald! Beowald, help us, quickly!”
Beowald the goatherd stood at the entrance of the waterfall cave, his blind eyes seeing nothing, his ears hearing voices he could hardly believe in!
But even more astonished were the five captives! Beowald had appeared before them, like a wizard, just as they had given up all hope of being saved!