“Not longer must we talk, Adiva. The maiden must begin to prepare for the ordeal. Let her come triumphant from that, and thou wilt have time to talk enow.”
“Must she?” Adiva began to weep.
“Grieve not, dear Adiva,” comforted Egwina. “I fear naught. Why should I? Am I not innocent? I am ready, Denewulf.”
Thus did she enter upon her preparation for the trial. Three days were consumed in making ready. She ate only bread and salt and herbs, and drank but water; spending much time in prayer.
It was the night before the ordeal was to take place that Egwina was awakened by a dim light in the little room which was kept for such as demanded the trial by fire or water. A touch fell softly on her arm, and some one began rubbing it from the elbow down. Wondering much, the maiden sat up on her couch and, behold! Adiva was gently stroking her right arm.
“Adiva, what doest thou to my arm?” questioned the girl.
“Nay, my pretty one, ask me not. No harm, I’ll warrant thee.”
“What is that with which thou anointest it?” demanded the girl.
“Why shouldst thou wish to know?” cried the good dame. “’Tis but a salve that I had made for thee.”
“But why dost thou use it on my arm?”