It took him, however, some time to grope his way among the thick brushwood and fallen stones, for the darkness was all the greater owing to his having looked so long at the light. At last he reached a loophole in the ruins, and found he was opposite to where he had previously stood.
The ruins in this part were not quite so dilapidated. There yet remained a portion of the roof that had fallen in, but still rested upon such columns as had not been thrown down on that terrible night when fire and sword had done their awful work on the peaceful household. Under this shelter the figure of the being whom he had so suddenly come upon was bending over something—what, Ceolwulf could not see, for the light of the fire, which was now sinking down, only blazed fitfully on the face of the walls, and was not powerful enough to pierce the gloom of the covered portion of the ruins.
"There's somebody else in there, that's certain, for she's talking. If she turns me into a toad for it, I must hear what she's saying," and Ceolwulf wriggled himself through the aperture, and crept stealthily nearer, and then suddenly stopped, horror-struck.
"Why, it's the voice of my dead eorl!" he exclaimed in terror, his hair standing up in fear upon his head, and his knees knocking together. He was so terrified at the thought of seeing his disembodied master, that his first thought was to fly from the spot. But the voice spoke again, feebly and with difficulty:
"Tell my children, if thou ever seest them, to revenge me on the House of Arwald, till not a stock remains from which that evil race could renew its life."
"Hush, my lord!" mumbled the aged voice of the hag whom Ceolwulf had first seen. "If I had harboured thoughts of vengeance, should I have succoured thee? Who did me and mine more grievous wrong than thou and thy fathers?"
"Then, why, in Woden's name, didst thou not leave me to die? I should have done so by this, and thought myself none the worse," answered the faint voice of the invisible speaker.
"That's right," muttered Ceolwulf to himself. "I see they tell us true. The heroes don't become less men down there in Nifleheim."
No other sound came from the deep shadow of the recess, and Ceolwulf began to think he would go on his way, only, in spite of his superstitious terrors, he wished very much to see if he could not get a glimpse of his dead lord, if indeed, there was anything to be seen.
The fire was now dying down, but occasionally flickering up, and casting weird shadows over the ruins, and Ceolwulf was just turning to go, when the voice again spoke: