The thoughts of the old woman were constantly recurring that day, to the hour when he had parted from her for ever. Then, the servants of the judge led him to his cottage in the wood of Weiterdingen, and exacted six hundred shillings from him, as a fine for the man he had slain. Then he had to swear a great oath, that beside his cottage and acre, he had nothing left, either above or underground. After that he went into his house, took a handful of earth, and threw it with his left hand over his shoulder, at his father's brother, in sign that his debt was thus to pass on to this his only remaining relation by blood. This done, he seized his staff, and dressed in his linen shirt, without shoes or girdle, he jumped over the fence of his acre, for such was the custom of the "_Chrene Chruda_,"[9] and thus he became a homeless wanderer, free to go out into the wilderness. So he went back to Denmark to his own Northmen and never returned any more. All that had ever reached her, was a dark rumour that he had gone over with them to Seeland, where the brave sea-kings, refusing to adopt the christian faith with its new laws, had founded a new home for themselves. All this had happened long, long ago; but the old woman remembered it all, as if it were but yesterday, that she had seen her Friduhelm going away from her for ever. Then she had hung up a garland of vervain at the little chapel of Weiterdingen, shedding many tears over it; and never had another lover been able to efface his image from her heart. The cold dreary November weather, reminded her of an old Norman song, which he had once taught her and which she now hummed to herself: "The evening comes, and winter is near, The hoar-frost on fir-trees is lying; Oh book, and cross and prayers of monk-- How soon shall we all be a dying. Our homes are getting so dusky and old And the holy wells desecrated, Thou god-inhabited, beautiful wood, Wilt thou, even thou be prostrated? And silent we go, a defeated tribe, Whose stars are all dying and sinking, Oh Iceland, thou icy rock in the sea, With thee, our fates we'll be linking. Arise and receive our wandering race, Which is coming to thee, and bringing The ancient Gods, and the ancient rights, To which our hearts are still clinging. Where the fiery hill is shedding its light, And the breakers are shorewards sweeping, On thee thou defiant end of the world! Our last long watch, we'll be keeping." Ekkehard meanwhile had got down from the saddle, and tied his horse to a neighbouring fir-tree. He now stepped over the threshold, shyly followed by Audifax. The woman of the wood threw the garment she had been working at, over the stone, folded her hands on her lap, and looked fixedly at the intruder in his monk's habit, but did not get up.