"O my king," said Heregar, "why have you thus hidden yourself from us? All the land is mourning for you."
Then Alfred looked sadly at him and wistfully, answering:
"First, because I must hide; lastly, because I would be hidden: but between these two reasons is one of which I repent—because I despaired."
"Nay," said Denewulf, "it was not despair; it was grief and anxiousness and thought and waiting for hope. Never have you spoken of despair, my king."
"But I have felt it," he answered, "and I was wrong. Hope should not leave a man while he has life, and friends like these, and counsellors like yourself. Now have I been rebuked, and hope is given me afresh."
Then he smiled and turned to me.
"Why, Ranald my cousin, this is kindness indeed. I had not thought that you would bide with a lo
