“But, Adiva, I see that it must be as he saith,” said Egwina. “Naught is left for me.” “Is there not, child? Again did I ask Gunnehilde of thy dream. Greatness is to be thy portion, and thou shalt not spoil the web woven for thee by this thing. A nunnery for thee, who art destined for the bride of Edward? I trow not! Before that shall happen, Edward himself shall be sent for, and then we shall see.” “Oh, dear Adiva, thou must not do that,” cried Egwina, distressed. “If thou dost not as I tell thee,” said Adiva, with determination written on her brow, “both the king and Edward will I send for.” “I will! I will!” cried Egwina, hastily. “Whatever thou dost say that will I do, if only, dear friend, thou wilt not send for them. Gladly would I look upon their faces unknown of them, but I durst not speak with the king. I could not bear for him to look on me with coldness.” “We will wait for a few days,” said Adiva, “and see whether Denewulf still thinketh the same. If he doth, then will I tell thee what to do. If I can o’ersuade him from such thing, then thou shalt remain with me, and naught will there be to do.” But Denewulf could not be persuaded from his idea. The honest Saxon desired only to do justice, and to his upright sense of honor this ordeal had been a failure. Only could his conscience be satisfied by a repetition of the ordeal or a retirement to the cloister. On the other hand, Egwina, actuated by the same delicate sense of honor, was overwhelmed with fear lest Adiva should send for Alfred and Edward as she had threatened. Finding that Egwina inclined more and more to Denewulf’s way of thinking, and that Denewulf was obdurate, the good dame took matters into her own hands. “Come!” said she to Egwina one day. “Thou shalt go with me this morning to see Gunnehilde. Rememberest thou that time we went through the forest to have her read thy rede for thee? Again will we go.” “But not for reading of rune or rede,” pleaded the maiden. “Sick at heart doth it make me, for it bringeth Gyda to my mind.” “No rune shall she read thee, child, though I would that thou wouldst let her. Then would she show thee that thou art destined to sit beside Edward.” “Speak not so, Adiva,” said the maiden. “Henceforth I renounce all faith in seid and galdra. Of peril they do not warn; neither keep they from sin. I will seek no more to pierce that veil by which an all-wise Father hides the future from our gaze. It bringeth naught but evil.” “Well, well, do as thou wishest,” grumbled the dame. “For my part, I find that it harms me not to be guided by Gunnehilde, and rare is she as a compounder of herbs. Here we are, child. Thou seest that we have brought the vala with us, for Denewulf, though he believeth not in her craft, wisheth her near him.” Gunnehilde greeted them with warmth. To Egwina she accorded a respect and deference that confused the maiden, who could not but see what thoughts were in her mind.