“Sit we down,” commanded the Danish girl imperiously. “Much doth it tire me to stand, and I would talk with thee.” The young man spread a mantle upon the sward, and Hilda sank down upon it. Egwina resumed her seat, looking at the Saxon attendant as she did so. Well worthy of attention was he. He carried himself nobly; his form was strong, muscular, and symmetrically developed. His face was marvelously beautiful, but the eyes caught and held the gaze. Deep blue were they, and full of unfathomable sorrow, yet full also of that strength which is self-conscious of power. His bearing toward the Danish maiden was tender in the extreme. He bore her pettishness and imperiousness not as a slave, but indulgently as one bears the caprices of a loved child. Again and again Egwina found her glance wandering to his face, and she caught herself listening to his voice as he spoke to Hilda, with a strange throb of the heart. “Lean against me, Hilda,” he was saying. “Then thou wilt not be so tired.” “It is better,” admitted Hilda, leaning contentedly against his broad chest. “Now tell me, maiden. Art thou wandering through Danelagh, or what dost thou here?” “Nay; I wander no more,” answered Egwina. “Here in East Anglia do I abide for a time only. I wot not when I shall go hence, but methinks it will not be long. Hast thou trouble again with thy knee?” “No; didst thou not know that thy King Alfred did cure me? No longer do I suffer from my knee, but hot and sharp is the pain here,” and she laid her hand on her breast. “I would that I knew more of that Cuthbert of whom the king told me. And he was afflicted even as I with the lameness of the knee. Prithee, maiden, dost thou know aught of him?” “Only that he was an holy and an austere man; the bishop of Lindisfarne,” replied Egwina. “Many miracles have been wrought by his tomb, and many did he perform himself.” “Oh, that I might visit his tomb!” exclaimed the Danish girl, fervently. “I wish not to die yet. I am so young, so young!” She burst into a passion of weeping. Siegbert drew her to him, and gently stroked her hair. “But are there no leeches, no remedies?” cried Egwina, her heart full of sympathy for the girl. “Everything hath been tried,” said Siegbert, and again Egwina felt that strange throbbing of the heart as he spake. “Everything; but Hilda thinketh that nothing will cure her save a visit to the tomb of Cuthbert.” “Then why doth she not go?” asked Egwina. “Could she not be taken there?” “No, maiden.” The Saxon’s voice was grave. “When the Danes spread over the country, destroying the monasteries, Cuthbert’s remains were taken up and carried away by the monks when they fled. Now, none know where they be.” “I feel sure that King Alfred will know,” cried Egwina. “He hath rebuilt the monasteries, and oh! I know that he will know.” “Thinkest thou so?” cried Hilda with eagerness. “I will tell my father and he will send to the king.”