Egwina awaited the coming of the next day with impatience. She could not
define the feeling that possessed her. She would not go to the forest
lest Siegbert might come, and she sought to pass the time until his
arrival as best she might. It was not until the sun had risen high in
the heavens that the young man came.
"Fair day to thee, maiden," he said in his grave voice. "Wilt thou come
now to Hilda, daughter of Guthrum?"
"Gladly, Siegbert," and Egwina hastily donned coverchief and neckcloth.
"How seemeth she to-day?"
"Brighter; but it is the brightness that precedes dissolution," answered
Siegbert, seriously.
"Then dost thou think that she will not get well?"
"She will not. She can not," returned the Saxon. "Misease hath entered
upon her vitals so thoroughly that naught can cure her."
"Hath her father sent to Alfred to know where Cuthbert lies?" asked
Egwina, anxiously. "Mickle have been the miracles that have been wrought
at his tomb, and could she but reach the place it might be that she,
too, would be favored."
"Nay; Hilda could not reach it unless it were very near. I think the end
not far off."
In silence did they proceed to the vill of Guthrum. It had been the
property of the kings of the royal family of Anglia, and was a low,
rambling structure built in the usual style of the Saxons. As they
entered its portals, Egwina could not but notice the difference between
the court of the Danish king and that of King Alfred.
At Alfred's court there was an air of quietness, of moderation, and of
learning. Under the trees, in the rooms, and everywhere about the palace
might be seen men of erudition, with book or tablet in hand, engaged
either in absorbing the wisdom of the ancients or imparting it to
others. Smiths and artisans were occupied in work of their various
crafts, while the army, one-half of which the king kept ever by him,
could be seen as they were being drilled in the tactics of war.
Everything betokened an alert monarch trying to educate his people in
all that goes to make civilization and refinement.
Here Danes lolled listlessly about--some under the trees playing quoits,
or clustered together about some skalds listening eagerly to recitals of
heroes or battles, or to the harp and song, things of which they never
seemed to weary; others still were throwing spears or shooting arrows at
a mark, while many feasted and drank in the great mead hall. If the
Saxons were hearty eaters and drinkers and believers in good cheer,
insisting upon their four meals a day from ealdorman to ceorl, the Danes
surpassed them. Nothing here evidenced that superior intelligence which
was the animus and life of the Saxon king.
Egwina, without being able to define it, felt the difference. Siegbert
hurried her through the courtyard and the mead hall, where Guthrum sat
with his jarls, and into the bower chamber of Hilda. The Danish maiden
reclined languidly on a couch. Her face was paler than it had been the
day before, and dark rings encircled her eyes.
"I am glad that ye have come," she cried. "I feared that ye had stopped
by the way to talk. I wot that, being Saxons, ye would have much to say,
but I hoped that ye would not."
"Nor did we," soothed Egwina, gently. "Tell me, Hilda, how fares it with
thee to-day?"
"I am better," answered the girl, brightly. "Much better! My father hath
sent a bode to the Saxon king to learn of St. Cuthbert's tomb, and as
soon as he returns I shall be taken there. Then shall I be well again.
How good it would seem never to have pain here again!"
She laid her hand on her breast and the muscles of her face twitched.
"Here is my harp," she continued, after a moment, handing the instrument
to Egwina. "Sing me one of thy songs. Dost remember what thou and the
king did sing when ye came to the camp?"
"Yea," answered Egwina, briefly.
"Then sing the same songs as ye did then. I like the Saxon king and fain
would I be reminded of him. Gentle was he to me, though I were the
daughter of his foe who had driven him from his throne. In his palace
nobly did he demean himself towards my father, and bestowed upon him
twelve manors and many presents. Stay," as Egwina swept the strings of
the harp, "knowest thou the king's favorite songs?"
"Yea, they are the Christian hymns," replied Egwina, promptly.
"Then sing those, and afterward shalt thou sing the others."
Again the maiden swept the strings, saying as she did so: "Methinks the
king liketh this hymn the best of any. 'Tis a hymn of thanksgiving on
the creation.
"Befits it well that man should raise
To Heaven the song of thanks and praise,
For all the gifts a bounteous God
From age to age hath still bestowed.
The kindly seasons' tempered reign,
The plenteous store, the rich domain
Of this mid earth's extended plain,
All that His creatures' wants could crave,
His boundless pow'r and mercy gave.
Noblest of yon bright train that sparkles high,
Beneath the vaulted sky,
The sun by day, the silver'd moon by night,
Twin fires of Heav'n, dispense for man their useful light.
Where'er on earth his lot be sped,
For man the clouds their richness shed,
In gentle dews descend, or op'ning pour
Wide o'er the land their fertilizing shower.
"Not such the doom
Our sorrowing fathers heard of old,
The doom that in dread accents told
Of Heaven's avenging might, and woe, and wrath to come.
'Lo! I have set thee on earth's stubborn soil
With grief and stern necessity to strive;
To wear thy days in unavailing toil,
The ceaseless sport of tort'ring friends to live.
Thence to thy dust to turn, the worm's repast,
And dwell where penal flames thro' endless ages last.
"'Thrice holy He,
The Spirit Son of Deity!
He called from nothing into birth
Each fair production of the teeming earth;
He bids the faithful and the just aspire
To join in endless bliss Heaven's angel choir.
His love bestows on human kind
Each varied excellence of mind.
To some His Spirit-gift affords
The power and mastery of words.
So may the wiser sons of earth proclaim,
In speech and measured song, the glories of His name.'"
"Doth the king like that?" asked the girl, wistfully.
"Yes, Hilda. Doth it not please thee?"
"It is like the king," said Hilda. "Lofty and grand! Far beyond the
simple ken of a maiden's knowledge, even as the king is beyond a
maiden's understanding. Siegbert, what is the little song that thou dost
sing?"
"Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost," chanted
Siegbert. "As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be. World
without end. Amen. Amen."
Egwina joined in, and Hilda looked at them wonderingly.
"Do ye know that as ye were singing, methought that ye looked alike,"
said she. "Hast thou a brother, maiden?"
"No," answered Egwina, sadly. "None of kith and kin have I. Oft hath it
saddened my heart, and it hath brought mickle grief to me that I had
none."
"Hadst thou never one?" began Siegbert, when Hilda interrupted him.
"I weary of the harp and even of song, Siegbert. Prithee carry me into
the courtyard, and let me be in the sunshine."
Siegbert lifted her up. Egwina stood, not knowing what to do.
"Come thou also," said Hilda. "I weary not of thy presence. The music
doth tire me, but thy talk doth not."
Out under the trees they went, Siegbert bolstering up Hilda with
pillows.
"How bright is the sun!" said she. "How good its warmth feels!" She lay
for a few moments basking in its rays. Then throwing out her hands,
exclaimed with sudden energy: "O sun! Thou bright star of day! If the
Saxon God be the Supreme One and Odin not the All-Powerful, darken thy
rays I entreat. Turn day into night, that I may know truth, truth. It
shall be a sign, and my life shall be the offering."
A silence fell upon Egwina and Siegbert and those of the jarls who were
near enough to hear the words. Involuntarily all glanced at the sun.
Brightly it shone as ever. A scornful laugh broke from Hilda's lips.
"What is your Saxon God?" she cried. "Powerless is He, or the sun would
darken. What! hath He not so much power as that? Out upon Him!"
"Behold!" exclaimed Siegbert, abruptly.
All eyes were turned toward the sky. An undeniable shadow was stealing
over the sun. A hush fell upon them. Almost breathless, Hilda watched
the bright orb. The breeze rustled the leaves in the tree-tops with a
soft, murmuring sound, as if uneasy at the phenomenon. Deeper grew the
shadow, for over the sun's bright disc spread a darkening cloud.
The loud laughter of Dane and the song of skald were hushed. Knowing
naught of the cause, the jarls rushed forth from the mead hall with
Guthrum at their head. Awed and panic-stricken, many threw themselves on
the ground in paroxysms of terror.
"'Tis Ragnarok, the twilight of the gods!" cried Guthrum in fear. "Dim
groweth the sun! Soon will the stars fall, and time shall be no more!"
With hoarse cries the Danes repeated, "Ragnarok! Ragnarok!"
In the distance the cocks crew, and the birds chirped in the
tree-branches as they nested to rest. Egwina and Siegbert drew close to
Hilda. She had sprung to her feet and, tense and rigid, stood regarding
the sun with awe. Darker grew the sky, until an intense darkness, black
as starless night, spread over the earth. Only for a few moments did the
phenomenon last, and then the shadow began to lighten. The cloud passed,
and again the sun shone forth bright and beautiful.
Then only did the rigidity of the form of the maiden relax.
"I am answered!" she cried, with a dazzling smile as she turned to them.
"Gloriously hath the Supreme One honored me! Heed well, ye jarls, what
Hilda saith: The Saxon God is Supreme. I know it."
She half turned to her father, who sprang forward. Before he could reach
her, with an upflinging of her arms toward that orb which had so
wondrously answered her, Hilda fell prone upon the sward.
When they reached her she was dead.