From out this wild confusion the bright guide conducted the three virgins, to a cave close by the river's brink, and charged them hide until the wrath of the enraged foe should be abated. Here, said he, you are in perfect safety. No one living knows of this retreat. Here sleep and take your rest. May angels watch around your flinty couch. Farewell, I must begone on the employ assigned me by your father and by mine. He left the lamp and went his way. Forthwith they kneeled in prayer, thanking their Saviour for their great deliverance, then laid them down to rest. They kissed the cross, and folded closely in each other's arms, cheek leaning unto cheek, with holy hymns they sung themselves asleep.
Great was the rage among the Danish chiefs, and wide the search for these presumptuous and bold aggressors. The host was all discouraged and amazed, and nought but terror reigned. Earldoms were offered for the audacious maids, dead or alive. But nor alive nor dead could they be found, either by friend or foe. O dreadful were the execrations uttered by the Danes. They called them demons, witches, and the worst of all incendiaries. Well they might. The terror of their arms was broken. Great was the rejoicing mid the hills and glens of Albyn, but the eastern vallies groaned beneath the fury of the savage Dane, and Christian blood was shed on every cross.
The virgins waked at morn, and still the lamp sent forth its feeble glimmer through the cave. The day-beam through the crevice of the rock streamed in and mixed with it. The virgins strove to rise, to speak—to sing a morning hymn. But all their limbs were cold, and their tongues clove fast to their thirsty palates. Lena, first of all the three, upraised her pallid form, and on the lamp turning her drowsy eye, there did it settle, closed, and oped again, but still with faded and uncertain light, as if the mind were lacking. Long she sat, half raised in this uneasy torpid state,—this struggle 'twixt oblivion and life. Oft she assayed her sisters to awake, by naming them; but still as oft the names died in a whisper. By degrees her mind dawned into recollection, as the moon breaks o'er the sullen twilight. Then the wonders, that she had seen o'ernight, aroused her soul to all its wonted energy. She kneeled, and thanked her Maker for the great deliverance to them vouchsafed. And when her sisters woke, they woke to join her in a heavenly song.
"What ails our sister? Here we are in safety. Why does our dear beloved not rest in peace? The night is not far spent: the dawn of morn is yet far distant. O dear Lena sleep. Sleep on, and take your rest. The morning sun is yet beneath the deep. Our limbs are cold; our eyes are heavy; yet we cannot rise, for we are weary, and not half awake."
"Wake, my beloved sisters. It is time. The noon is at its height. See how the sun peeps through the granite cliffs, and on the stream sheds ray of trembling silver. Let us rise and talk of all the wonders we have seen."
Long they conversed in tears of gratitude, still peeping from their cavern, lest the Dane again should find and drag them to the altar. Sore were they pressed by hunger. From the stream they drank abundantly with thankful hearts. But food for many a day and many a night they scarce had tasted, and they longed for it with more than ordinary longing. Night approached; and there they sat, not knowing what to do, a prey to gnawing hunger. At the last, young Lena said, "I cannot ween that heaven hath wrought a miracle for our relief, and for no higher purpose than that we should be left to die of hunger in this dark and hideous den. Again I'll put my life into its hand, and go into the city after twilight in search of bread; and if I die I die: Heaven's will be done." Her sisters looked at her, and blessed her in the holy Virgin's name. They could not bid her go where danger waited, so great, so imminent; and yet they felt they could not press her stay. With cautious eye, and with enfeebled step, trembling she sought the city gate. But when, afar, she saw by torch-light porters striding to and fro, with glittering lances of enormous length, and ponderous battle axes, her heart failed, and she drew back. But then she thought again of those she left behind, and all the throes of perishing with hunger, and resolved to risk all hazards. The huge gate stood open, and strangers went and came. "I'll join," thought she, "this straggling crew, and enter among them; they speak my native tongue. Ah! they must be a band of traitorous base renegades, that have renounced the cross and joined the Dane; else wherefore free to go and come and trade? I'm all unsafe with such. The strangers eyed her with most curious and piercing looks, and whispered as they went. They seemed afraid, and shunned her by the way, as they who shun a being infected by the pestilence, or spirit from the dead. No one addressed a word to her, but hurried to the gate.
She came alone, for feeble was her step, and her breast palpitating as with throb of burning fever, hopeless of admission.
The porters stared with wide extended gaze, and eyes protruding; but no word they spoke, nor crossed their lances. Straight she entered in. "What can this mean?" thought she; "There is a change since yester-even that it passes thought to comprehend. These keepers are not Danes; I heard them speak in Albyn's ancient tongue; and yet methinks they wear the Danish garb. How's this? that I am free to come and go, as in my childhood, when the land was free?"
She passed the sacred fane, and there beheld crowds entering in; but fast she sped away, weening they went to Odin's cursed rites.