“Wouldst rather be with him in thy heaven than with me in Niflheim?” asked the woman, jealously.
“Mind it not, Gyda. He is mine own granther, and he loves me.”
“So do I love thee. It groweth dark, Egwina. Lie closer.”
Egwina crept close to Gyda, and the woman drew her within her arms.
“Shall I not help thee to thy couch, Gyda?”
“Thou canst not, child. What doth it matter where we meet Hela?”
Then there fell a silence. Weakened by the trying days that had preceded, the blow seemed to have robbed the girl of all energy, and soon she fell into a deep sleep.
Suddenly she awakened. The light streamed faintly into the room. Stiff from long lying, she tried to move, but only did so with much difficulty. Raising herself on one arm, she turned toward the figure at her side. Noting how perfectly still Gyda lay, she bent over her and looked into her face. She was dead.
With a scream of horror, Egwina sprang up. At this instant a man and woman, attracted by her cry, entered the room. Egwina took a step toward the woman, then clasping her hands to her head, she reeled and fell an unconscious heap on the floor.
“’Tis a pity that the jade waxeth sick at this time,” a voice broke rudely upon Egwina’s ear one morning as she awoke with the clear light of reason in her eyes. “Here we but get done wailing for the mother, when the daughter must be sick also.”