shut his eyes for an instant, fearing lest, as in dreams, his blow had
come to naught; lest his sword had turned aside, or melted like water in
his hand, and the next moment would find him crushed to earth, blinded and
stunned. Something tugged at his sword. He opened his eyes, and saw the
huge carcass bend, reel, roll slowly over to one side dead, tearing out of
his hand the sword, which was firmly fixed into the skull.

Hereward stood awhile staring at the beast like a man astonished at what
he himself had done. He had had his first adventure, and he had conquered.
He was now a champion in his own right,--a hero of the heroes,--one who
might take rank, if he went on, beside Beowulf, Frotho, Ragnar Lodbrog, or
Harald Hardraade. He had done this deed. What was there after this which
he might not do? And he stood there in the fulness of his pride, defiant
of earth and heaven, while in his heart arose the thought of that old
Viking who cried, in the pride of his godlessness: "I never on earth met
him whom I feared, and why should I fear Him in heaven? If I met Odin, I
would fight with Odin. If Odin were the stronger, he would slay me; if I
were the stronger, I would slay him." And there he stood, staring, and
dreaming over renown to come,--a true pattern of the half-savage hero of
those rough times, capable of all vices except cowardice, and capable,
too, of all virtues save humility.

"Do you not see," said Martin Lightfoot's voice, close by, "that there is
a fair lady trying to thank you, while you are so rude or so proud that
you will not vouchsafe her one look?"

It was true. Little Alftruda had been clinging to him for five minutes
past. He took the child up in his arms and kissed her with pure kisses,
which for a moment softened his hard heart; then, setting her down, he
turned to Martin.