The merriment was at its height when from the upper end of the market appeared two figures that quietly stationed themselves near one of the stalls. It was Egwina and her grandfather. During a momentary lull the old gleeman struck his harp, and together he and his grandchild lifted up their voices in song. The excellence of the music, for Wulfhere was a skillful harper, the sweetness of the song, and above all the wonderful beauty of the maiden, drew all eyes in that direction. There was a murmur of approval, and the crowd surged toward them, and gathered round the two, leaving the coarser attractions of baiting and juggling for the more refined ones of melody and beauty. “Marry!” ejaculated the juggler in disgust as he found himself forsaken. “’Twere unmannerly thus to make one forego his craft.” “Be not disheartened, friend,” said he with the dancing bear as he chained the animal, and quietly stretched himself out on some straw. “Fickle is the mind of man. Make use of thy leisure while thou mayst. ’Twill be but a short time ere they will come again.” “Quotha! but the gifts will be showered upon the maiden. And, fair though she be, Ælfric would gather them to his own hoard.” And he gazed moodily at the crowd which surrounded the harper and the maiden. Song followed song in quick succession, for the Saxons loved to hear of the brave deeds of the heroes of old, until at last Wulfhere declared himself unable to sing longer, and, laden with gifts, the two slowly wended their way from the city. Vainly did the juggler await the return of an audience. The balls and knives seemed to have lost their charm for the people, and, muttering anathemas upon the ministrel and his daughter, he, too, left Winchester, but in disgust. “Well have we done, Egwina,” said Wulfhere, pausing when they were some little distance from the town, to conceal the gold and other gifts about his person. “Truly, Winchester is worthily called the first city of the Saxons. Kingly hath it proven itself to be. Were it not that I fear the Dane, beshrew me if I would ask aught better than to dwell therein.” “But why could we not, grandfather? Then might it be that we could behold again the youth and the maiden whom we met in the forest. Didst thou see aught of them?” “No, child; and let not thy heart dwell upon them. Not long are nobles mindful of their words. Whilst thou may be in favor to-day, the morrow doth full oft bring unkindness.” “But the maiden, Ethelfleda, her brother called her, seemed not like one to forget,” and Egwina twirled the sapphire ring upon her finger. “She spake as though there were truth and well-meaning in her words.” “And so there were for the time,” answered Wulfhere; “but well-a-day! she is young, and the young learn easily the lesson of forgetfulness.”