“Evil hast thou brought to me instead of good,” she exclaimed. “Yet did not the volva tell me by the fount when the scin-laeca rose from the grave that jewel of Saxon I must have to complete my knowledge? One of the line of Cerdic, and from Cerdic came Alfred. Why, then, do I falter? Why grow the runes dark before me? Gunnehilde hath said that a loss was coming, and death. Death? No, I defy it! Hela shall not yet have her prey; I will try the charm despite mone (monk) and priest.” She arose and started across the bridge from the mainland. “Come,” she called to the maiden, who lingered, half terrified by her manner. Then she turned, and almost ran on the bridge. She had but reached the middle of it, when her foot slipped and she fell. As she did so, the jewel dropped from her hand into the water below. With a moan of anguish the woman lay prone upon the bridge. Egwina hurried to her. “Art ill?” she asked. “Let me help thee up.” Gyda rose hopelessly. “Fate must be met,” she said, with despairing calmness. “I have had my moan; now will Gyda accept that which Skulda hath spun for her.” She turned to go back to the mainland. “But wilt thou not go to the island?” asked the girl. “Nay; ’tis useless. Home now do we wend our way. If Gunnehilde readeth the runes aright it will not be for long.” In melancholy silence, with no beguiling of the journey by song or talk, the two wended their way to the woman’s home which was in Berkshire. The life of Egwina now became very different from what it had been. Life at Alfred’s vill had been full of duties and pleasures. Here the seid woman’s time was filled by consultations of bark and fountain, and by exercises of her art into which she tried to get the girl to join. Egwina’s soul sickened with loathing at sight or sound of magic, and she resisted all efforts to get her assistance in the rites. Vainly she strove to lead the woman from the subject, and, remembering what the abbot had told of the good priest Aldhelm and his singing, tried by singing Christian hymns to inculcate a longing to hear of the Christian’s God. But Gyda would have none of them. “Sing them not,” she said. “Much doth thy voice please me, but sing not if they be all that thou canst sing. Galdra doth not flourish where such songs are sung.” And Egwina ceased singing entirely. As the woman grew more feeble, she practiced her rites more and more until the house seemed peopled by demons who waited only a summons to step forth. Her temper, too, became very uncertain. She loaded Egwina with caresses, and railed at her alternately. Although she grew thin and pale under this treatment, Egwina bore patiently with her, for she knew that death was fast approaching. “Give me thine arm,” said Gyda one day to Egwina. “Hela will sit with me soon, and I would fain prepare for her coming.” Leaning heavily upon Egwina’s shoulder, she went into her room. “Leave me,” she commanded. “I will call thee when I need thee.”