“Many masses have we sung under Guthrum,” laughed another. “But a short time and no priest, monk, or nun shall be left of all the English. Joyously doth the death cry of such fall upon my ear. No music is sweeter than the prayer that priest or nun utter at the point of the sword.” The conversation roused the girl from the stupor into which she was falling. With an effort she shook off the lethargy that was numbing her faculties, and stole away into the wold. When out of hearing of the Norsemen, she broke into a run, and did not stop until forced by sheer exhaustion to do so. Deep into the wood had she penetrated. There was no sound save the sighing of the wind through the leafless boughs. Where should she go? What should she do? She knew not. On every side was the Dane. No safe shelter was to be found in hut or abbey, even if she had known where to go to find either. In the wold lurked the wild beasts, and the chill of the winter. Death was on every hand. If not from the Dane, then from cold or brute of the forest. In agony of mind she buried her face in her hands and groaned aloud. The sun set and the twilight threw among the trees long, dark shadows that caused the girl to cower in fear. “Blessed Heaven aid me,” was her agonized appeal, “for I know not what to do.” Even as she strove to find comfort in prayer there sounded upon the air the dismal howl of a wolf. It was answered by another and then another until the whole forest resounded with their yells. Egwina bounded to her feet, her heart beating wildly, her eyes dilated with terror. Now she could hear the soft pat, pat of their feet as they came closer, and soon the bushes round about seemed filled with a thousand gleaming eyes. With an energy born of despair, the girl began to climb the tree under which she had been crouching. It was an oak with low-spreading branches. Into these she clambered and ensconced herself on one of the boughs. It was not a moment too soon. Snarling and howling, emboldened by the shadow of the deepening twilight, a whole pack bounded into the space under the tree. The girl clung desperately to the bough, watching in terror the attempts of the animals to reach her, and shuddering at the glare of their ferocious eyes. [Illustration: _SHE BEGAN STRIKING THE CYMBALS TOGETHER._] One, bolder than the rest, made a great spring and narrowly escaped touching one of the lower branches. Egwina started with fear and the start jarred the cymbals that were attached to the chain worn across her shoulder and breast. The instruments gave forth a musical sound. Instantly the tumult below ceased. The wolves fell back and looked up inquiringly. Hope arose in the girl’s heart. Passing one of her arms around the branch to keep herself from falling, she grasped the cymbals and began striking them together. The effect was magical. The animals settled themselves on their haunches to enjoy the music.