He rushed towards the cave of Elgiva, the worker of wonders. His warriors feared to follow him. The people stood back in dismay. For by the waving of Elgiva's wand she turned the swords of warriors upon themselves, she caused them to melt in their hands. At the mouth of her cave stood the enchantress. By her side lay the serpent-worm. "Daughter of wickedness!" shouted the Chylde, "break thy accursed spell; restore the fair form of my Agitha, else the blood of thy heart shall dissolve the charm." "Hearken, O Chylde," cried the enchantress; "thou subduer of kings, thou vanquisher of the strong--sharp is thy sword, but against me it hath no power. Would it pierce the breast that suckled thee?--the breast of her that bore thee?" From the hand of the warrior dropped his uplifted sword. "Mother!" he exclaimed. He fell on his knees before her. "Yea, thy mother," answered the enchantress; "who, when her warrior husband fell, fled to the desert, to the cave, and to the forest, for protection--even for protection from the love and from the wrath of Ethelfrith the fierce, the brother of thy warrior father, whose eyes were as the eagle's, and his arm great of strength. Uncouth is the habit, wild is the figure, and idle the art of thy mother. Broken is her wand which the vulgar feared. That mine eyes might behold my son, this cave became my abode. Superstition walled it round with fire." "And Agitha?" gasped the warrior. "Behold!" answered she, "the loathly worm at the feet of thy mother." The skins of fish of the deep sea were sewed together with cords--they were fashioned into the form of a great serpent. "Come forth, my daughter!" cried the enchantress. Agitha sprang from her disguise of skins. She sank on the breast of her hero. The people beheld her from afar. Their shout of joy rang across the sea. It was echoed among the hills. A scream rose from the tower of Ida. From the highest turret Bethoc the queen had sprung. In pieces was her body scattered at the foot of the great cliff. They were gathered together--they were buried in the cave of Elgiva. From her grave crawled an unclean beast, and it crawleth around it for ever. Ethelfrith died in battle. Woden shut his eyes and saw him not, and he fell. And Elgiva, the enchantress, the worker of wonders, was hailed as Rowena, the mother of Wynde, the subduer of princes; yea, even of Chylde Wynde, the beloved, and the lord of Agitha the Beautiful. Such was the tale of the Saxon bard. THE SABBATH WRECKS. A LEGEND OF DUNBAR.