The children ran quickly out. Egwina cast a hasty glance at the youth Ethelred. He wore a slightly disappointed look on his face, for he had heard so much of the atheling that he had supposed him older than this boy. At this moment, the door was thrown open and into the hall there stepped a youth somewhat younger than himself—a falcon on his wrist, hounds at his heels. “Edward, my son!” Elswitha rose excitedly. “Give good welcome to these friends who hath glad news of thy father.” Edward! Egwina looked up in amazement. It was the youth whom she had seen in the forest. The recognition was mutual. “’Tis the gleemaiden!” exclaimed the lad, advancing toward her. “Truly, maiden, thou dost appear to be the good Flygia of our family, as the witch-wife would say. Thrice hast thou brought to us succor. Once in the forest; again on the night of the attack of the Danes didst thou and thy father strive to save us from their fury; now thou art a fair bode from my father.” He took her hand gently, and Egwina grew rosy in confusion, more overwhelmed by his simple words than those of the others, because of her surprise at finding him the atheling. Elswitha’s mother, Eadburga, now entered and with her Ethelfleda, the maid of the forest. Egwina was not astonished at beholding her. Nothing, it seemed, could surprise her now. Not even did she see the quizzical smile with which Ethelred regarded her. Ethelfleda took charge of her impetuously. “Hast thou kept the ring?” she asked, after she had thanked and caressed the girl. “Yes; though once I came near losing it,” returned Egwina, showing it to her. “Losing it? Tell me, and tell all that hath befallen thee since the people pressed us asunder,” urged Ethelfleda. “My daughter,” spoke Alfred’s wife, “let the maiden with the others refresh herself. Then shall all tell of themselves.” And so it was arranged. Elswitha would suffer nothing more to be said until they were rested. Then the maiden recounted all that had happened from the time she met them in the forest until the present. “Beautiful is the chain which the Danish jarl gave thee,” said Ethelfleda, examining it. “Curiously wrought, and of pure gold. I wot that it be charmed, as many of their ornaments are.” “Yes; the amulet, the jarl claimed, brought to the wearer the realization of every wish—” began Egwina, and then paused in some dismay, remembering Ethelred. “It belongeth no longer to her,” laughed the youth, joining them. “Doth it not? How does that come?” asked Ethelfleda. “She said that she would give it me were the youth and the maiden of the forest the same as the atheling and his sister,” said Ethelred, merrily. “So ye see that it is hers only by my will.” “And it is thy will, is it not?” insinuated Alfred’s son, gently. “Nay, brother,” spoke Ethelfleda, who was of sterner mold than the atheling, “if the maiden hath promised it, the word should be kept.”