It was not without misgivings that Egwina accompanied the dame, but the latter laughed away her fears. “Wicca is Gunnehilde in truth,” she said, “but pleasant spoken. Fair will be her greeting, and I wot that thou wilt like her.” So calming her fears, Egwina fell in with the mood of her companion, and a brisk walk soon brought them to the dwelling of the woman. It was built in the centre of a knoll in a glade of the forest, and seemed in appearance not unlike the rude huts occupied by the swineherds, except that it was more compact. The turf was not intersected with twigs, as were those of the Saxons, but placed compactly against a firm foundation of board. Adiva knocked on the door while Egwina devoutly crossed herself. “Enter,” said a voice as the door was thrown open. “Enter, Adiva! Greetings to thee, and to the stranger, also, whom thou bringest with thee. With the rise of the sun knew I that thou wouldst come, and bring the maiden with thee.” Again the maiden crossed herself. Adiva went into the dwelling without hesitation, and the girl followed, although with fear and trembling. But there was naught displeasing to the eye, nor anything that would inspire awe in the room. The woman who welcomed them was tall and commanding in appearance. Her hair was dark as the raven’s wing. Her brow was thoughtful, and her eyes, dark also, shone with the calm, steady light of a student. In her right hand she carried a wand, the seid-staff of Scandinavian superstition. “Sit thee here, wife of Denewulf,” she said to the dame. “And thou, maiden, be seated upon this bench, where the light may fall upon thy brow. I would see where the Fylgia (tutelary divinity), whom Alfadur gave thee, leads thee. Thou hast come to consult the runes?” She made the statement more as a declaration than a question. Without waiting for a reply she went on: “I knew that ye would be here. When the sun rose I awoke and placed all things in readiness for ye.” “Gunnehilde,” spake Adiva, “the maiden hath had a dream. Thou wottest that it is somewhat in my ken to unravel such, but I feared to give what it seemed to me to portend.” “Dreams are oracles more potent than wicca can charm with wand or rune,” spake Gunnehilde. “Unfold it, and let me read the rede. Prophetic are the visions of the night.” Timidly Egwina told the dream. The Danish woman listened, leaning her head on her staff, her eyes never leaving the maiden’s face. When she had finished there was silence for a few moments, and then the wicca raised her head, and her eyes glowed strangely.