He sat down as he spake, resting his harp on his knee. The maiden let fall the horn that proclaimed their coming, according to the law of the forest, threw back her hood, unfastened the fibula that closed the mantle, and tossed the garment on the log beside the old man. Thus revealed, she stood forth in all her beauty. Her long yellow hair, bound only by a golden band, was parted smoothly and hung in ringlets on her shoulders. Her complexion was dazzling in its fairness; her cheeks rosy; her eyes sparkling, and blue as periwinkles. She wore a tunic of blue woolen, falling to her ankles, and bordered by a band of needlework, for which the Anglo-Saxon women were famous. Over this was worn a short gonna of scarlet, the sleeves of which, reaching in long, loose folds to the wrists, were confined there by bracelets. The slenderness of her waist was disclosed by a girdle, and over her shoulders hung a chain, from which was suspended a pair of cymbals and the horn. A picturesque figure she made as she stood there, and one fair to look upon. The old man’s eyes rested upon her fondly, and then he spake: “Art thou not cold, Egwina? The Wyn (October) month hath bright sunshine, but his breezes carry also the chill that foretokens the coming of winter. Heaven forfend that thou shouldst become ill.” The girl laughed merrily. “Be not irked, grandfather. The mantle was wearisome, and I did but cast it aside for a time. See! Lest thou shouldst needlessly fret thy mind, I will put on the garment again, and thou shalt tell me whither we go after Winchester.” Donning the mantle she sat down beside him. The grandfather looked at her tenderly. “Egwina The Fair art thou called,” said he, “but Egwina The Good art thou also. From Winchester, dear child, and its market, we will wend our way to the royal vill at Chippenham, where the king is to winter.” “Why to Chippenham?” asked the girl. “It is not often, grandfather, that thou carest to follow the king.” “True, child; for Alfred hath scops of his own in his court, and needeth not the glee of Wulfhere, the harper. But even as yon oak hath gathered the moss of years, so have sorrows come to me, and fain am I to lay down their burthen. Of bards there are many; but few glee maidens there be who sing as thou dost. For thy sake do I hope that the king will take us under his hand.” “But if he will not, then whither?” asked the maiden. “He will,” answered Wulfhere positively. “The meanest wayfarer hath the right to bed and board for a day and a night in any house. Thinkest, then, that Alfred will not give shelter and food to a gleeman and maiden? I trow that he will.” “Will not the court be hindrance to thee?” questioned the girl gently. “Dear grandfather, thou hast been so free always, I fear me much that thou wilt mislike to be housed with one lord.”