“Give me thine arm,” said Gyda one day to Egwina. “Hela will sit with me soon, and I would fain prepare for her coming.”
Leaning heavily upon Egwina’s shoulder, she went into her room.
“Leave me,” she commanded. “I will call thee when I need thee.”
Thus adjured, the maiden left her with some uneasiness, for Gyda seemed much weaker. Long she remained waiting, and hearing no sound became uneasy, and softly entered the room. Gyda sat before a large box on the floor fingering lovingly the coins and gems which it contained. So intent was she that she did not hear the girl enter. Egwina started to leave the room as quietly as she had entered it, but in so doing she made a noise which caused the woman to look up. With an exclamation of rage she sprang to her feet with unwonted vigor, her eyes flaming with anger.
“How durst thou spy upon me?” she cried in fury. “How durst thou, girl? Thinkest thou to get the gold now? But thou shalt not.”
“Nay, nay, Gyda,” began Egwina, soothingly, advancing toward her. “I did but come to see why thou wert so still.”
“Tell me not that thou didst not spy upon me. Thou didst!” and the enraged woman struck her violently with her staff.
The blow was so sudden and severe that Egwina fell heavily to the floor. Instantly the woman’s anger fled when she saw what she had done, and she tottered to the girl, her strength leaving her.
“Forgive me, my pretty one! I meant it not. Gyda meant not to harm thee.” But the maiden had fainted.
As soon as she saw this the woman dragged herself back to her treasure, and restored it to its hiding place. Then again she approached the girl and hung over her prostrate form, moaning, and strove feebly to revive her. Presently Egwina recovered consciousness. Gyda caressed her tenderly.