Halfred dreaded that he might terrify the gentle harper if he stepped suddenly out of the thicket before him.
Therefore he called to him first, from a distance, in a soft voice, slowly drawing nearer.
"Hail, gentle boy! If thou art mortal, may the Gods be gracious to thee. If thou art thyself a God, or as I surmise one of the light elves, then be not ungracious to me, a mortal man."
Then the boy turned slowly towards him, without seeming to be terrified, or even surprised, and as Halfred now drew nearer, he said in a melodious vibrating voice--
"Welcome, Halfred. Art thou come at last? I have tarried long for thee."
And he offered him both hands; the glance of the golden eyes sinking deep into Halfred's soul.
Halfred, however, dared not to touch those hands. He felt, from the very depths of his being, a quickening warmth uprise, and send rippling through body and soul a quiver of delight--of joy in surpassing beauty--but also of holy awe, as in the presence of gods or spirits; for he had no longer any doubt that it was no earthly being who stood before him.
Voice and breath almost failed him as he asked--
"Who hath proclaimed to thee Halfred's coming, and name!"
"Then art thou indeed, as I had already perceived, the prince of the light elves, to whom moon and stars speak words. Be gracious to me, O loveliest of the Gods."
Then the boy smiled. "I am a child of earth, like thyself, Halfred. Draw nearer. Take my hands."
"But who art thou, if thou art mortal!" asked Halfred, still hesitating.
"Thoril, King Thorul's orphan grandchild."
"And wherefore dwellest thou here alone, on this small island, as though hidden, and not in King Thorul's hall?"
"He dreamed thrice that danger threatened me, in the month when the wild roses blow; a strange ship which should come into his harbour would carry me away, never to be seen again.
"To render me quite safe against this danger he sent me here to this small outlying island, at which, because of its circling cliffs, no ship can land. Only Moëngal, his ancient armour-bearer, and his wife, my foster-mother, are with me; yonder, in that small wooden house, behind the beech mound, we live. But so long as the dear lord shines, and the gay butterflies flit over the flowers, I tarry here in hidden airy bower."