Still there came no reply, and almost crazed by the darkness and the silence, Wulfhere ran across the courtyard and began to pound with all his might upon the portals of the convent, calling upon the abbot as he did so.
“What hath happened?” cried the abbot from within in response to the clamor. “Why rouse ye reverend men from needed slumber?”
“Because,” cried Wulfhere, frantically, “something hath befallen my child. I know not what evil hath been wrought, but only that she lieth dead or in a swoon. For the love of heaven, good father, open unto me!”
There was a rattle of chains, and then the door swung back, and the old man was surrounded by the monks.
“What is it, son?” demanded the abbot.
“I know not,” cried Wulfhere, “save only that Egwina cried out to me in terror. Now lies she there, and whether she be quick or dead I wot not. Come!”
The abbot was quick to act.
“A leech and herbs,” he commanded. Without further parley, he ran rapidly with Wulfhere to the guest-house, the monks following.
Egwina still lay unconscious on the floor. The abbot and Wulfhere stroked her hands while the leech applied various restoratives. Soon the maiden showed signs of returning consciousness, and the leech gave her a drink which he prepared from the herbs. In a short time she had so far recovered as to be able to tell her story.
“And see, granther,” she concluded, “the ring that the maiden gave me hath been taken.”