“Thinkest thou that Alfred will let thee go from him?” cried Gyda. “I trow not! I trow not! Thou art born for greatness, and it is much to ask of thee.”
She drew her mantle over her head, and turned to go.
“Natheless, Gyda, wait for a little and I will speak with him,” urged Egwina, laying her hand upon the woman’s shoulder.
“Wait I will, maiden. Till the dawn I will wait. Again will I read the runes, and see if thou wilt come. Dark and clouded have they been of late, and seid and galdra have availed me naught; but once more will I try. Fount, and tree and scin-laeca, shall all be consulted.”
She glided away, and was lost in the darkness.
“Strange, strange woman,” said the girl musingly, with a shudder. “I pity her, and yet my heart revolts from dwelling with her; but still will I ask the king.”
“Egwina, art thou here?” Edward came to her side at this moment. “Vainly have I sought thee through hull and bower, and only caught sight of thee but now. Why didst thou leave the mirth?”
“I was awearied, Edward, but now will I return with thee.”
“Soon will we re-enter, Egwina. Ethelfleda wishes thee to sing the same song which she heard thee sing when first thou didst sing for her.”
“That will I do gladly,” and Egwina turned. “’Tis but a short time that Ethelfleda remaineth with us, and gladly will I do aught that she asketh.”