With dark looks and unrepentant mien he sat down in the midst of them and removed his shoes and leather hose. Then forth from the church did he wend his way to begin his pilgrimage.
And never again did Egwina behold him.
[CHAPTER XXIV—ADIVA TAKES MATTERS INTO HER HANDS]
For a short time after this the days of Egwina were peaceful. Adiva petted and coddled her as only good motherly women can do, and the maiden felt that at last she had found a haven of rest, for weary was she of wandering.
“Never again shalt thou leave us, little one,” declared Adiva, one day, as she and the maiden employed themselves as in the olden days with shuttle and distaff. “Never again! Thou shouldst not have left us at all, for thou didst first belong to us. Did not Denewulf find thee in the forest? Now thou shalt remain always.”
“But the king?” said Egwina, bending low over her work. “Doth he not visit thee, Adiva—he or some of his family?”
“Well-a-day, yes,” answered Adiva. “What of it, child? Couldst thou not stay out of the way until they had departed? ’Tis not as in the forest. Then there was but the two rooms. Wottest thou not that the manor of the bishop hath more?”
Egwina laughed with something of her old brightness.
“There!” cried the good woman, delightedly, “gladness doth it bring to my heart to hear thee laugh like that! Laugh an’ thou wilt, even though it be at my foolish pride. ’Tis something better to be the wife of a bishop than of a swineherd, is it not?”
“But still he is the same, Adiva, swineherd or bishop,” said the maiden. “What doth it matter what he doeth? ’Tis the man whom thou hast wed.”