“Nay; I noted naught,” returned the stranger.
“Good mother, be wroth with him no longer,” cried Egwina entering. “His mind is full of graver matters than woman’s work.”
“Graver matters!” echoed Adiva, who was evidently in a bad way. “Graver matters! I wot that they fall not heavily upon him at meal time. ’Tis pity that a body can’t leave the house for a minute without a wite’s letting the loaves burn.”
“Thou speakest truly,” said the stranger humbly. “He who eats should also work. That I have not done, but I will mend my ways, good dame.”
“There! it may be that I spake too quickly.” Adiva was somewhat mollified by his evident contrition. “After all, there’s no great harm done, and thou hast truly a good heart. I should have known better than to trouble thee. Thou hast brought us many a fine buck, and marry, that is man’s work more than this.”
“Natheless, I will be more careful another time,” said Wilfred, reseating himself, and all went as before.
Shortly after this, Egwina was much troubled about a strange dream that she had. In some confusion and much distress of mind, for, like every one of the time, she was superstitious, she unfolded it to Adiva.
“Good mother, I fear I know not what, so queer a dream had I.”
“Tell it, child. Once I could unravel the meaning of night fancies, but it hath been long since I tried my skill. The young care more for such things. Denewulf looks with awe upon a Morthwytha, but he laughs to scorn a reader of dreams. But dear heart! Here do I let my tongue run on and thou hast not yet spoken thy dream. Say on, child.”
“I dreamed,” said Egwina, “that I was in a lofty hall. Around me were silken hangings, and the tables and chairs were carved with fine workmanship. Many were my thegns, and they served me from vessels of silver and gold. As I feasted many came and bowed down before me. All at once a great light, that shone glorious as the sun, burst from my body. The eyes of all men were uplifted toward it, and they were dazzled by its radiance.”