"By the name of Gurth," was the answer, and Wulnoth laughed—
"That may be, but there are some in the world who know you by another name and would call you, not Gurth the Thrall, but Guthred the Prince."
Then did Guthred stare, and pass his hands across his brow, and say—
"Who art thou, stranger, who callest me by a name now long forgotten—so long forgotten, indeed, that it has almost passed from my memory?"
"Who am I?" cried Wulnoth. "I am one who made a promise and has been all his life trying to keep it—and now has found the chance. Guthred, my brother and my Prince, have you forgotten Wulnoth?"
"Wulnoth!" cried the other, trembling with emotion. "Wulnoth! Thou Wulnoth! Nay, I can see now. I can see the same bold yet kindly eyes, the same strong form! Wulnoth, my friend, my friend, at last thou hast come to cheer me in my loneliness!"
And then did these two embrace, and, though they were men grown, they shed tears. And they sat down side by side, and allowed the two wounded thieves to slip off, for, as Wulnoth said, they owed them a kindness, since had they not attacked Guthred he would never have found him.
And Wulnoth told all his story of his journeyings, and of the death of Hubba and Hungwar, and of how Edgiva was with Alfred the King, and old Wyborga still lived, though she was feeble and old. And Guthred told him of his sorrows and trials, and how his master had died and left him to his widow, and the old woman was cross and crabbed, and fond of beating her servants, so that ofttimes Guthred had been tempted to run away and become a masterless man himself.
"Yet I tarried, Wulnoth," he said, "for ofttimes I have dreamt that you would come; and I have seen a gray and noble-looking old man, who has placed a crown upon my head and hailed me king of the north."