Her companion looked at her in surprise, and his curiosity increased.
“I know nothing of myself,” she continued. “I remember neither father nor mother. I grew up in the forest, among people who did not love me, but who taught me, and respected me as though I were their superior, and who sometimes feared me. When I look back, I am amazed at their learning and their wisdom—and ashamed of having learned so little.”
“You are unjust to yourself.”
Unorna laughed.
“No one ever accused me of that,” she said. “Will you believe it? I do not even know where that place was. I cannot tell you even the name of the kingdom in which it lay. I learned a name for it and for the forest, but those names are in no map that has ever fallen into my hands. I sometimes feel that I would go to the place if I could find it.”
“It is very strange. And how came you here?”
“I was told the time had come. We started at night. It was a long journey, and I remember feeling tired as I was never tired before or since. They brought me here, they left me in a religious house among nuns. Then I was told that I was rich and free. My fortune was brought with me. That, at least, I know. But those who received it and who take care of it for me, know no more of its origin than I myself. Gold tells no tales, and the secret has been well kept. I would give much to know the truth—when I am in the humour.”
She sighed, and then laughed again.
“You see why it is that I find the idea of a brother so hard to understand,” she added, and then was silent.
“You have all the more need of understanding it, my dear friend,” the Wanderer answered, looking at her thoughtfully.