Egwina laughed, interested in spite of her fears.
“Methinks I would rather choose by the countenance than the feet,” she cried merrily. “Men’s looks reflect their deeds, and a clear eye doth oft show a kind heart as well as a brave one.”
“True, child. Much wisdom is there in thy speech. Remember well thy words, and when Skulda doth mingle another’s golden thread with thine, look well to face and heart as well as strength of arm, and well-shaped feet.”
“Already is the web of her fate woven,” declared the seid woman. “Skulda hath already interwoven with hers the warp and woof of greatness.”
“How dost thou know?” cried Egwina. “Thou canst not know such things. I believe it not. Little care I for my fate until I come to it, and I wot that my life depends not on thy tongue roots.”
The ghost of a smile flitted over the face of the woman.
“Thus didst thou not speak when the vala unraveled for thee thy dream. To-night thou shalt know more of thy future, and we shall know more of thee. Thy design and what of import that is which thou dost carry in thy bosom.”
Involuntarily the maiden’s hand went to the bosom of her tunic, for there did she carry the jewel that the king had given her. A light flashed into Gyda’s eyes, and again did the maiden cross herself.
“Here are we come at last to the dwelling of Hakon the jarl,” said Sigurd, turning into the courtyard of a large wooden dwelling which had belonged to a Saxon thegn. “Here do we dwell for the night.”
“I will pass on,” said Egwina, trying to speak calmly. “I see in yon distance the house of a ceorl. Happier far will I be to abide with mine own people. I thank ye both for sweet and gracious entertainment, and bid ye God-speed.”