“Open; keep not one without who may need shelter from the wind. Piercing is the blast. Open unto him whomever it may be.”
Ethelfleda opened the door not widely, as was the wont of the Saxons, for she feared that one might be without who sought the king.
“Bread, maiden! Give me bread to eat for Christ His sake,” pleaded a man who stood there. He was poorly clad and he shivered in the chill breath of the March wind.
“Enter, in His name,” cried the king, heartily. “Enter and warm thyself by the fire.”
Murmuring blessings, the man crept close to the fire and huddled over the blaze.
“Food for him,” commanded the king to Ethelfleda.
“But, my king,” remonstrated Egwina, speaking in a low tone, “there is but one small loaf of bread which is all the food that there is left. Wilt thou that it be set before the man, and thereby leave thee naught to strengthen thee for the sally to-night?”
“Give it anyway, little one,” bade the king. “We have eaten to-day; it may be that he hath not. The poor man looks as if he needed it.”
Thereupon he returned to his reading, while the maidens served the beggar. Hungrily did he eat. Soon the last morsel of bread disappeared before the voracious appetite. Then he arose, gathered the folds of his mantle more closely around him, and turned to the girls.
“Ye have heard the words of the master,” he said. “‘Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these, my brethren, ye have done it unto me.’ I thank ye, maidens, for your kindness. Most of all do I thank him who hath ministered to me from his own necessity.”