age, and whose interlacing branches shut out the light of the sun, lies a stagnant pool. Around the edges of its foul black water twine the snake-like roots of the trees, and on its loathsome surface at night the magic fires burn dimly. In the midst of the pond, shunned alike by man and beast, lives the wolf-like mother of Grendel. Darest thou to enter

its stagnant depths to do battle with the monster and to deliver us from her ravages?"

Straightening his massive form and throwing back his head in fierce determination, Beowulf replied, "To avenge a friend is better than to mourn for him. No man can hasten or delay by a single moment his death hour. What fate awaiteth me I know not, but I dare anything to wreak vengeance on the foul murderer, and in my efforts to bring justice I take no thought of the future."

Then the king Hrothgar ordered a noble steed with arching neck and tossing mane to be saddled and brought forth for the noble Beowulf to ride. Shield bearers by the score accompanied him as he rode on the narrow bridle path, between those darkfrowning cliffs whose rugged trees dimmed the sun and made the journey seem as though it were in twilight. In such a manner came they to the desolate lake in the gloomy wood.

The sight that met the eyes of Beowulf was enough to chill the blood of any man. On the shore among the tangled roots of the trees crawled hideous poisonous snakes, while on the surface of the water rolled great sea dragons, whose ugly crests were raised in anger and alarm. From the turbid depths of the water, unholy animals of strange and fearful shapes kept coming to the surface and swimming about with threatening mien.

Undaunted by these sickening sights, Beowulf blew a mighty blast upon his terrible war-horn, at the sound of which the noisome animals slunk back to the slimy depths of the dismal pond. Clad in his shirt of iron mail, wearing the hooded helmet that had often protected his head from the savage

blows of his enemies, and clasping in his hand the handle of his great knife, Hrunting, whose hardened blade had carried death to many a strong foeman, Beowulf fronted the awful lake.

Thus armed and protected, he plunged into the thickened oily waters, which closed quickly over him, leaving but a few great bubbles to show where he had disappeared. Into the depths of the dark abyss he swam until it seemed as though he were plunging straight into the jaws of death.

As his mighty strength neared exhaustion, Beowulf found the hall at the depth of the abyss, and there saw Grendel's mother lying in wait for him. With her fierce claws she grappled him and dragged him into her dismal water palace whose dark walls oozed with the slime of ages. Recovering his breath, and fierce at the assault, Beowulf swung his heavy knife and brought it down on the sea wolf's head. Never before had Hrunting failed him, but now the hard skull of Grendel's mother turned the biting edge of the forged steel, and the blow twisted the blade as though it were soft wire. Flinging aside his useless knife, Beowulf clutched the sea woman with the mighty grip that had slain her son, and the struggle for mastery began. More than once was Beowulf pushed nigh to exhaustion, but every time he recovered himself and escaped from the deadly grasp of the powerful fiend who strove to take his life. As he grew weaker, Grendel's mother seized her russet-bladed knife and with a mighty blow drove it straight at the heart of Beowulf. Once again his trusty shirt of mail turned the blade, and by a last convulsive effort he regained his feet.

As he rose from his dangerous position he saw glittering in his sight as it hung in the walls of water, the hilt of a mighty sword, which was made for giants, and which no man on earth but Beowulf could wield. Little he knew of its magic power, but he seized it in both hands, and swinging it about his head in mighty curves, struck full at the head of the monster. Savage was the blow, more mighty than human being ever struck before, and the keen edge of the sword crashed through the brazen mail, cleft the neck of the sea wolf, and felled her dead upon the floor. From her neck spurted hot blood which melted the blade and burned it away as frost wreathes are melted by the sun. In his hand remained only the carven hilt.

On the shore of the dark lake the Danes waited anxiously for the reappearance of Beowulf, and when blood came welling up through the dark waters they felt their champion had met his fate, and returning to Heorot, they sat down to mourn in the great mead-hall.

Then among them strode Beowulf, carrying in one hand the great head of the sea woman and in the other the blistered hilt of the sword, snakeshaped, carven with the legend of its forging. Beowulf related the story of his combat and added, "When I saw that Grendel's mother was dead I seized her head and swam upward again through the heaving waters, bearing the heavy burden with me; and as I landed on the shore of the lake I saw its waters dry behind me, and bright meadows with beautiful flowers take their place. The trees themselves put on new robes of green, and peace and gladness settled over all. God and my strong right

hand prospered me, and here I show the sword with which the giants of old defied the eternal God. The enemies of God are overcome, and here in Heorot may Hrothgar and his counselors dwell in peace."

The king and his counselors gathered round about Beowulf, and looked with wonder and amazement on the head of the fierce sea monster and read with strange thrills of awe the wondrous history of the sword and the cunning work of its forgers.

Then to Beowulf, Hrothgar spoke in friendly wise, “Glorious is thy victory, O Beowulf, and great and marvelous is the strength that God hath given thee, but accept now in the hour of thy success a word of kindly counsel. When a man rides on the high tide of success he may think that his strength and glory are forever, but it is God alone who giveth him courage and power over others, and in the end all must fall before the arrows of death. God sent Grendel to punish me for my pride when I had freed the Danes and built my pinnacled mead-hall. Then when this despair was upon me he brought thee to my salvation. Bear then thy honors meekly, and give thanks to God that made thee strong. Go now into the feast and join thy happiness to that of my warriors."

That day the high walls of Heorot rang with the thunderous shouts of the warriors and echoed the inspiring words of the Skalds who sang of Beowulf's victory. When at last darkness settled o'er the towers and pinnacles of the palace, the grateful Danes laid themselves down to sleep in peace and safety, knowing that their slumber would never again be disturbed by the old sea woman or her giant progeny.