Egwina shook her head. “No, Gyda; I wish not to return. If danger or trouble come, I will ask for strength to meet it. Let us on.” She withdrew her palm from Gyda’s and started onward. “But thy life endeth in glory,” said Gyda, comfortingly more to herself than to Egwina. “It endeth in great glory. What doth it matter after all if we go not back? What hath been woven, hath been woven!” She lapsed into silence which was broken by her presently: “Child, wouldst thou not do something for me?” “Willingly, Gyda, if I can.” “Thou canst if thou wilt.” The woman’s tone was low, and her manner almost supplicating. “What is it, Gyda?” “Call me no longer Gyda, but mother. Once I had a child, and she would have been like unto thee had she lived, but Hela took her from me. Wilt thou, Egwina?” “I will try,” and the girl turned to her in sudden pity, moved by the yearning in the woman’s voice, and laid her hand gently upon her arm. “Thou wilt?” exclaimed Gyda, joyously. “I will be so good to thee, child. Thou shalt not regret it. Now sing to me, my daughter! Sing for thy mother. Often had Gyda heard the echo of thy sweet voice in her heart. Sing, my pretty one; ’twill cheer both thee and me.” Bravely subduing her own feelings, Egwina sang the songs the woman asked for, and thus alternately singing and talking, the journey to the hut of Gunnehilde was at last accomplished. Gyda bade the maiden remain without the hut, for she feared that the vala would recognize her. “Stay thou here until my return, my child. Move not from the log where thou sittest, for thou mightest stray too far into the forest. I go to consult the vala.” Egwina sat down as the woman bade her. It was some little time ere Gyda returned. When she did so she seemed deeply stirred and somewhat upset. “Move quickly,” she cried. “Let us to Athelney. It may be that there Gyda will regain that power which now comes not at her bidding.” Egwina followed after her. A brisk walk soon brought them to the island, but lo! a great change had taken place. Instead of the fortifications and rude huts which Alfred had erected during his time of need, there rose the stately walls of a monastery. With a cry of despair, the wicca dropped upon the ground. “What is it?” cried Egwina, coming to her. “Child, child, I am undone! Seest thou not yon walls? They have taken the charm from the place. Curses be upon them! No galdra or seid can flourish in the shadows of such walls.” She moaned in her despair; then from her bosom drew the jewel of Alfred.