She sank back in the strong arms of the Saxon, who strode off as if the burden he bore were naught for his strength. Egwina stood for a long time on the knoll where they had left her.
“Why doth my heart beat at sound of his voice or look of his eye?” she mused. “Something doth draw me to him. I would, oh, I would that he were sibbe to me. Never before have I so longed for one to be near to me as I do him. Oh, would that he were of my kith! But God doeth all things well, and it may be that I am bereft of kin that I may the more readily give myself to the service of Heaven.”
With an involuntary sigh, she turned her steps in the direction of the abode of Anlaf.
[CHAPTER XXVI—THE ECLIPSE]
Egwina awaited the coming of the next day with impatience. She could not define the feeling that possessed her. She would not go to the forest lest Siegbert might come, and she sought to pass the time until his arrival as best she might. It was not until the sun had risen high in the heavens that the young man came.
“Fair day to thee, maiden,” he said in his grave voice. “Wilt thou come now to Hilda, daughter of Guthrum?”
“Gladly, Siegbert,” and Egwina hastily donned coverchief and neckcloth. “How seemeth she to-day?”
“Brighter; but it is the brightness that precedes dissolution,” answered Siegbert, seriously.
“Then dost thou think that she will not get well?”
“She will not. She can not,” returned the Saxon. “Misease hath entered upon her vitals so thoroughly that naught can cure her.”