“Yet, natheless, give me thy palm. Believe as thou wilt. Belief cometh not at the bidding; neither doth it depart. Thou believest not; I believe. Yield, then, thy palm for my pleasure.”
Reluctantly the maiden permitted the woman to scan the lines of her hand. Gyda’s troubled look returned as she examined them.
“Dark, dark spreads the near future,” she cried. “Bright is the ending, but, oh, child! thy trouble hath but begun. Would I had left thee with Alfred. It is not yet too late. Come, let us retrace our steps. Thus only canst thou avoid the danger.”
Egwina shook her head. “No, Gyda; I wish not to return. If danger or trouble come, I will ask for strength to meet it. Let us on.” She withdrew her palm from Gyda’s and started onward.
“But thy life endeth in glory,” said Gyda, comfortingly more to herself than to Egwina. “It endeth in great glory. What doth it matter after all if we go not back? What hath been woven, hath been woven!” She lapsed into silence which was broken by her presently: “Child, wouldst thou not do something for me?”
“Willingly, Gyda, if I can.”
“Thou canst if thou wilt.” The woman’s tone was low, and her manner almost supplicating.
“What is it, Gyda?”
“Call me no longer Gyda, but mother. Once I had a child, and she would have been like unto thee had she lived, but Hela took her from me. Wilt thou, Egwina?”
“I will try,” and the girl turned to her in sudden pity, moved by the yearning in the woman’s voice, and laid her hand gently upon her arm.