“It is for him!” she said. She imprinted her last kiss on his sleeping forehead, she gazed upon him with fond, fond love; love had been her all, her heaven: and then she opened the door noiselessly.
Athelwold waited without.
“Well done, noble girl!” he said; “thou keepest thy word right faithfully.”
She strove to speak, but could not; her pale bloodless lips would not frame the words. Silently they descended the stairs; the dawn reddened the sky; a horse with a lady’s equipments waited without, and a guide.
The old thane slipped a purse of gold into her hands.
“You will need it,” he said. “Where are you going? you have not told us.”
“It is better none should know,” she said; “I will decide my route when without the city.”
They never heard of her again.[xxxii]
When Edwy awoke and found her gone he was at first frantic, and sent messengers in all directions to bring her back; but when one after another came back unsuccessful, he accepted the heroic sacrifice and submitted.
Wessex, therefore, remained faithful to him, at least for a time, but Mercia was utterly lost; and Edgar was recognised as the lawful king north of the Thames, by all parties; friends and foes, even by Edwy himself.