“Tis a Christian hymn, skald. Hast not something gayer? Some song of the deeds of thy heroes or ours? Once were Saxon and Dane brothers from the same Alfadur, but now hath the Saxon forsaken his gods.” “Brothers they be still under the All-father,” returned Alfred. “Brothers, Guthrum, in stronger bonds than those of yore. And brother’s hand should not be lifted against brother.” “Thy harp,” said Guthrum impatiently. “’Tis music I crave, not thy words.” Again did the king sing, and this time accompanied by the maiden. Guthrum raised his hand. “Wait, skald. Wondrous is thy skill on the harp, and delectably also doth the maiden wield the cymbals. I would that my daughter should hear ye.” He motioned to some of his servitors, who left the hall, and soon returned bearing a chair in which was seated the form of a girl. She was very pale, but her dark eyes were bright, and her countenance, though wan, showed traces of beauty. “What aileth thy daughter, O king?” came from Alfred pityingly as he looked on the white face of the girl. “Her knee is swollen, and vain hath been all leech’s care,” returned Guthrum. “It hath been long since she hath stood. It pricks me to the heart thus for Hilda to be so sore afflicted.” “Her knee?” The Saxon king drew near the maiden. “Wheaten flour boiled in milk and applied while warm hath been known to work wonders for such misease. Knowest thou not that Cuthbert was so cured?” “Cuthbert? No, I know naught of him. Was he afflicted as I?” spoke the Danish girl eagerly. “In the very self-same manner, maiden. Listen and, if thou wishest, I will tell thee how the good saint was cured.” “But thy harp,” interposed Guthrum. “Work no charm, sir skald, but give us of thy skill.” “Nay, my father,” spake the maiden Hilda. “He worketh no charm, and I would hear of this Cuthbert. Speak on, skald.” Alfred looked at Guthrum, and the latter bowed in assent to his daughter’s wish. “Cuthbert,” began the minstrel, “was a noble youth destined for a holy man. He had alway been straight and handsome, but all at once— “The youth now bent beneath a sudden pain² And led his languid footsteps with a pine. When on a day as in the air he placed His weary limbs, and meek yet mourning lay, A horseman clothed in snowy garments came, And graceful as a courser:—He saluted The youth reclined, who offered his obeisance. “My prompt attentions should be gladly paid To you if grievous pains did not withhold me; See how my knee is swelled—no leech’s care Through a long lapse of time has soothed the evil.” Straight leaped the stranger from his horse and stroked The part diseased, thus counselling: