Morning dawned. Egwina awoke from her heavy slumber, and gazed about her.
“How came I here?” she murmured as she arose. “Methinks it be strange to me.”
“Art thou up, Egwina?” asked the seid woman, entering the room at this moment. At sight of her the memory of all that had happened came back to Egwina with a shock. “That is well,” continued Gyda. “Breakfast we eat, and then wend we on our journey.”
“Where go we?” asked the maiden, turning from her that she might not see her emotion.
“To Gunnehilde’s in the forest of Selwood,” answered Gyda pretending not to notice Egwina’s grief. “Afterward to Athelney, where Alfred gathered his forces together. There, mayhap, I will acquire new virtue. The Saxon King is my Flygia. Thou dost not mind returning thither, dost thou?”
“Nay,” answered the girl sadly; “it matters not where we wayfare.”
“Be not cast down, child,” said the woman gently. “Some dark threads are woven into the woof of each life. All cannot be golden. Thou art young and soon will thy trouble fall from thee even as the shadow halting between the light and the darkness passes away into the night. Sorrow sits not long with the young. Come, let us eat.”
Egwina partook mechanically of the food set before her, and then prepared to follow Gyda on her journey. They proceeded silently, for the heart of the maiden was heavy, and Gyda, too, seemed weighed down by some care. At last the seid woman aroused herself, and turned to the girl:
“Let us beguile the journey by talk, my child. Wouldst thou that I should read thy rede for thee?”
“Nay, Gyda; I care no more for rede or rune. Dark are the shadows which they cast, and I would fain be free from their witchery.”