“A man, as you are, for I was once young—not as you are, for I am very old, and yet like you, for I am young again.”
“You speak in riddles. What are you doing here, and where have you sent Unorna?”
“When I was old, in that long time between, she took me in, and I have slept beneath her roof these many years. She came to me to-day. She told me all her story and all yours, waking me from my sleep, and asking me what she should do. And she is gone to do that thing of which I told her. Wait and you will see. She loves you well.”
“And you would help her to get my love, as she had tried to get it before?” the Wanderer asked with rising anger. “What am I to you, or you to me, that you would meddle in my life?”
“You to me? Nothing. A man.”
“Therefore an enemy—and you would help Unorna—let me go! This home is cursed. I will not stay in it.” The hoary giant took his arm, and the Wanderer started at the weight and strength of the touch.
“You shall bless this house before you leave it. In this place, here where you stand, you shall find the happiness you have sought through all the years.”
“In Unorna?” the question was asked scornfully.
“By Unorna.”
“I do not believe you. You are mad, as I am. Would you play the prophet?”