Without more ado the Saxon lifted him in his arms and bore him into the cottage. Egwina hastened forward.
“Bear him to thy bed, Siegbert,” she said. “The poor man is ill.”
The man whose form Siegbert was supporting turned his head and looked at her.
“Little one, is it thou?” he said.
With a cry, Egwina sprang toward him, and fell upon her knees before him.
“My king! my king!” she cried, covering his hands with kisses.
Alfred tried to raise her, but the effort was too much for him, and he became unconscious.
“Oh, Siegbert, ’tis the king, the king!” cried Egwina as Siegbert laid him on a couch.
“Yes, my sister; but now aid me to bring him from his swound, and then will I go for a leech.”
In response to their restoratives the king soon showed signs of returning consciousness. Egwina explained rapidly to Siegbert as they ministered to him. “’Tis the same misease which hath afflicted the king since he was a young man. ’Twas at his wedding feast, I have heard them say, when first it seized upon him. The merriment was at its height when he was taken with it. Some there were, and are yet, who thought that wicca craft had been wrought upon him; but go, my brother, for the leech. See! he openeth his eyes.”