Never had she performed to so attentive an audience and never had she done so well. On and on she played until her arms ached, and she would fain have stopped but that at the least cessation of the music the wolves began their leaping and snarling again. It grew darker and darker. The shadowy outlines of their bodies became indistinct and at last melted into the darkness, and only the fiery gleam of their eyes told the girl that they were still below. Would she be obliged to pass the night thus? she asked herself. Could she hold out until morning, or would she become so wearied that she would finally lose her hold and fall into that savage pack? Resolutely she put such thoughts from her, for they took the courage out of her heart and sapped the strength of her body. How long she played she did not know, but after what seemed to her a very long time she heard the winding of a horn drawing near. Presently through the woods came the flickering glow of torches. With a cry of gladness Egwina called loudly: “For the love of Heaven, who ever ye be, succor me, I pray you.” “What have we here?” shouted a voice in reply, and a man ran forward. “Where are ye that called?” “Here, here!” cried the girl joyfully. “In the tree.” The wolves, as the music ceased, began howling again, and, as a party of men with dogs dashed among them, attacking them with clubs, the most of the pack took to their heels, while the remaining few ceased their yells and in sullen silence let the ceorls club them to death. As the last one was dispatched, the trembling girl descended from the tree. No sooner had she reached the ground than she fell into a passion of weeping. “There! there!” said one with gruff kindness. “Thou art safe now. The wolves cannot harm thee.” But nature had been too severely tried, and Egwina sobbed on. The ceorls, seeing that she could not control herself, wisely left her alone, and presently when her sobs had subsided she looked up. “’Tis unmannerly, I wot,” she said sweetly, “but I could not keep back the tears. I thank ye all for your kindness. Had ye not come when ye did, I fear that I should not have held out much longer.” “Fleest thou from the Dane?” asked one. The girl nodded, her heart swelling at the thought of her grandfather, and then she told them of the attack on the palace at Chippenham and all that had followed. The men listened in silence until she had finished, and then one said, “Where is the king? What hath become of him?” “I know not,” answered Egwina. “I trow that he liveth, for when granther and I rested in one of the villages, his messenger of war passed through. But the Saxons would not hearken to the summons.”