“Gladly, Siegbert,” and Egwina hastily donned coverchief and neckcloth. “How seemeth she to-day?” “Brighter; but it is the brightness that precedes dissolution,” answered Siegbert, seriously. “Then dost thou think that she will not get well?” “She will not. She can not,” returned the Saxon. “Misease hath entered upon her vitals so thoroughly that naught can cure her.” “Hath her father sent to Alfred to know where Cuthbert lies?” asked Egwina, anxiously. “Mickle have been the miracles that have been wrought at his tomb, and could she but reach the place it might be that she, too, would be favored.” “Nay; Hilda could not reach it unless it were very near. I think the end not far off.” In silence did they proceed to the vill of Guthrum. It had been the property of the kings of the royal family of Anglia, and was a low, rambling structure built in the usual style of the Saxons. As they entered its portals, Egwina could not but notice the difference between the court of the Danish king and that of King Alfred. At Alfred’s court there was an air of quietness, of moderation, and of learning. Under the trees, in the rooms, and everywhere about the palace might be seen men of erudition, with book or tablet in hand, engaged either in absorbing the wisdom of the ancients or imparting it to others. Smiths and artisans were occupied in work of their various crafts, while the army, one-half of which the king kept ever by him, could be seen as they were being drilled in the tactics of war. Everything betokened an alert monarch trying to educate his people in all that goes to make civilization and refinement. Here Danes lolled listlessly about—some under the trees playing quoits, or clustered together about some skalds listening eagerly to recitals of heroes or battles, or to the harp and song, things of which they never seemed to weary; others still were throwing spears or shooting arrows at a mark, while many feasted and drank in the great mead hall. If the Saxons were hearty eaters and drinkers and believers in good cheer, insisting upon their four meals a day from ealdorman to ceorl, the Danes surpassed them. Nothing here evidenced that superior intelligence which was the animus and life of the Saxon king. Egwina, without being able to define it, felt the difference. Siegbert hurried her through the courtyard and the mead hall, where Guthrum sat with his jarls, and into the bower chamber of Hilda. The Danish maiden reclined languidly on a couch. Her face was paler than it had been the day before, and dark rings encircled her eyes. “I am glad that ye have come,” she cried. “I feared that ye had stopped by the way to talk. I wot that, being Saxons, ye would have much to say, but I hoped that ye would not.” “Nor did we,” soothed Egwina, gently. “Tell me, Hilda, how fares it with thee to-day?”