She half turned to her father, who sprang forward. Before he could reach her, with an upflinging of her arms toward that orb which had so wondrously answered her, Hilda fell prone upon the sward.
When they reached her she was dead.
[CHAPTER XXVII—SIEGBERT’S STORY]
It was seven days since the death chant had arisen in the house of Guthrum for Hilda.
A melancholy had settled upon the spirits of Egwina. Unable to content herself, she wandered from wood to house and back again to wood. Usually bright and cheerful, the girl felt herself weighed down by a heavy depression born of loneliness, and she dwelt morbidly upon the happy days in the king’s household. A conviction that this was the manner in which she was to be convinced that she was set apart for the cloister was fast stealing over her.
One morning, after a sleepless night, she arose from her couch with the determination to return to Denewulf, and tell him that she was ready to devote herself to the life of a nun. After all, it was not so dreadful a thing. Alfred’s second daughter, Ethelgiva, was so set apart, and if she could give up the pomp and majesty of a king’s court for such a holy life, why should she rebel, who was only a simple gleemaiden?
Should Adiva send for the king, she would tell him that it was her wish and he would respect it. Thus reasoned Egwina. Having reached this determination, the maiden sought Anlaf to ask him to take her into Berkshire that day, but the Dane responded that it could not be done until the morrow. So Egwina started off for her accustomed retreat on the knoll.
To her surprise, she found Siegbert there. She had not seen him since the day of Hilda’s death, and now hastened to greet him, feeling again that strange pleasure in being near him.
“Siegbert, glad am I to behold thee once more, for to-morrow I go to Berkshire, and I feared that I should see thee not again.”
“I wished to see thee also,” replied the young man, “because I, too, go away.”