For a short time after this the days of Egwina were peaceful. Adiva petted and coddled her as only good motherly women can do, and the maiden felt that at last she had found a haven of rest, for weary was she of wandering. “Never again shalt thou leave us, little one,” declared Adiva, one day, as she and the maiden employed themselves as in the olden days with shuttle and distaff. “Never again! Thou shouldst not have left us at all, for thou didst first belong to us. Did not Denewulf find thee in the forest? Now thou shalt remain always.” “But the king?” said Egwina, bending low over her work. “Doth he not visit thee, Adiva—he or some of his family?” “Well-a-day, yes,” answered Adiva. “What of it, child? Couldst thou not stay out of the way until they had departed? ’Tis not as in the forest. Then there was but the two rooms. Wottest thou not that the manor of the bishop hath more?” Egwina laughed with something of her old brightness. “There!” cried the good woman, delightedly, “gladness doth it bring to my heart to hear thee laugh like that! Laugh an’ thou wilt, even though it be at my foolish pride. ’Tis something better to be the wife of a bishop than of a swineherd, is it not?” “But still he is the same, Adiva, swineherd or bishop,” said the maiden. “What doth it matter what he doeth? ’Tis the man whom thou hast wed.” “Thou art young,” remarked Adiva, with an upward lift of the head. “Wisdom thou wilt acquire as thou growest older. Denewulf was good enow as a husband when a swineherd, but few were the mancuses and pence that came our way. Now doth he wear the bishop’s stole and all bow down to him. Well-a-day, child! It doth make a difference. But thou hast not yet said that them wouldst stay with me. To tell the truth,” she lowered her voice, “there are times when lonely I be in spite of greatness.” “If it will please thee, then will it please me,” answered the maiden. “Weary am I of wandering, and fain would I dwell where friends abide, if it so be that I may not see the king nor Edward. It hath seemed to me of late, Adiva, that in some way I should show my gratitude to God for His mercy to me. Some service would I render Him for His judgment. Why, Adiva, when I think that there was not even a scar, I wonder what I have done that so great a favor should be shown me.” “Trouble not thy head about it,” said the dame, hastily. “Oft have I heard that such things were past finding out. Why, Denewulf, bishop though he be, wottest not the why of many things!” “The maiden is right,” said Denewulf, entering at this moment. “I, too, Egwina, have thought of the miracle, for such it was, and it hath seemed to me that thou wert spared that thou mightest give Him thy service. To chaste and holy Mary thy life should belong. Thou seekest repose, my child; find it in the cloister.” “The cloister!” Adiva threw up her arms in dismay. “Yon pretty child? Denewulf, what aileth thee?”