He had sent Martin back to his house, to tell Torfrida to prepare bath and food; for the Countess Gyda, with all her train, was coming to be her guest. And when they entered the court, Torfrida stood ready. “Is this your lady?” asked Gyda, as Hereward lifted her from her horse. “I am his lady, and your servant,” said Torfrida, bowing. “Child! child! Bow not to me. Talk not of servants to a wretched slave, who only longs to crawl into some hole and die, forgetting all she was and all she had.” And the great Countess reeled with weariness and woe, and fell upon Torfrida’s neck. A tall veiled lady next her helped to support her; and between them they almost carried her through the hall, and into Torfrida’s best guest-chamber. And there they gave her wine, and comforted her, and let her weep awhile in peace. The second lady had unveiled herself, displaying a beauty which was still brilliant, in spite of sorrow, hunger, the stains of travel, and more than forty years of life. “She must be Gunhilda,” guessed Torfrida to herself, and not amiss. She offered Gyda a bath, which she accepted eagerly, like a true Dane. “I have not washed for weeks. Not since we sat starving on the Flat-Holme there, in the Severn sea. I have become as foul as my own fortunes: and why not? It is all of a piece. Why should not beggars beg unwashed?” But when Torfrida offered Gunhilda the bath she declined. “I have done, lady, with such carnal vanities. What use in cleansing that body which is itself unclean, and whitening the outside of this sepulchre? If I can but cleanse my soul fit for my heavenly Bridegroom, the body may become--as it must at last--food for worms.” “She will needs enter religion, poor child,” said Gyda; “and what wonder?” “I have chosen the better part, and it shall not be taken from me.” “Taken! taken! Hark to her! She means to mock me, the proud nun, with that same ‘taken.’” “God forbid, mother!” “Then why say taken, to me from whom all is taken?--husband, sons, wealth, land, renown, power,--power which I loved, wretch that I was, as well as husband and as sons? Ah God! the girl is right. Better to rot in the convent, than writhe in the world. Better never to have had, than to have had and lost.” “Amen!” said Gunhilda. “‘Blessed are the barren, and they that never gave suck,’ saith the Lord.” “No! Not so!” cried Torfrida. “Better, Countess, to have had and lost, than never to have had at all. The glutton was right, swine as he was, when he said that not even Heaven could take from him the dinners he had eaten. How much more we, if we say, not even Heaven can take from us the love wherewith we have loved. Will not our souls be richer thereby, through all eternity?” “In Purgatory?” asked Gunhilda.