“When the people heard of it they made a great outcry, for he was a holy man, much noted for good works and well-beloved. So the pope would not let him go, and it became his hope that some day the gospel should be taken into our land. When he became pope, he at once sent St. Augustine, a holy man, with a multitude of priests, and thus did they change our forefathers into Christians.” “What said they?” inquired the Danish girl. “How could they turn them from the old gods? Methinks that I should like to know what was said.” “Dear Hilda,” and Egwina looked distressed, “I would that there was some one that thou couldst question aside from me. I know so little; I only know that I believe. I would that King Alfred were here! He could tell thee all that thou askest.” “But dost thou not know somewhat of what passed between them?” asked the girl impatiently. “Methinks that were my people to change so, I would know wherefore it was done. Bethink thee! Dost thou not remember something of it?” “Methinks,” said the Saxon maid, musingly, “that I have heard that which passed between them, but, Hilda, I cannot tell thee what it was. It hath been custom so long for our people to be Christian that they no longer question the whyfore.” “I can tell thee, Hilda,” spake Siegbert, in his deep musical voice. “The king and his thegns were debating the old and the new religions in the witan, when a thegn arose and said: ‘Thou dost remember, it may be, O king, that which sometimes happens in winter, when thou art seated at table with gesiths and thegns. Thy fire is lighted and thy hall warmed, and without is rain and snow and storm. Then comes a swallow flying across the hall. He enters by one door and leaves by another. The brief moment while he is within is pleasant to him; he feels not rain nor cheerless winter weather; but the moment is brief—the bird flies away in the twinkling of an eye, and he passes from winter to winter. Such, methinks, is the life of man on earth, compared with the uncertain time beyond. It appears for a while, but what is the time which comes after—the time which was before? We know not. If, then, this new doctrine may teach us somewhat of greater certainty, it were well that we should regard it.’” “Why, Siegbert,” exclaimed Hilda, “I knew not that thou didst know aught of it.” “Dost thou forget that once I was in a monastery?” asked Siegbert. “True, I did forget. How comes it that thou hast not told me before?” questioned Hilda. “Never have I heard thee speak as thou hast spoken to-day,” answered the young man. “Willingly would I have told thee of it.”