ronger than the lightning, and invisible as the wind,
render loathsome her beauty; yea, make her as a vile worm which crawleth
on the ground, with venom in its mouth."

Again was heard the deep voice of the enchantress, mingled with the
croaking of the raven, and the screeching of the owls, as she rushed
from her cave, crying--"It shall be as thou hast said."

Terror had entranced the soul of the fair Agitha--it had brought a sleep
over her senses. The enchantress grasped her hand. She threw her arm
around her.

"Away, accursed!" she exclaimed unto Bethoc the queen; "fly! lest the
power of the enchantment fall upon thee also. Fly! lest it overtake thee
as darkness overtaketh the benighted traveller. Fly! ere the wand of the
worker of wonders is uplifted, and destruction come upon thee."

The followers of Bethoc quaked with dismay. They turned with her and
fled to the tower of Ida. Of their outgoing and their incoming none
knew.

The maidens of Bernicia wept when the loss of Agitha was known.
"Beauty," said they, "hath perished. Agitha, whose face was as the face
of heaven when its glories appear--as the face of the earth when its
flowers give forth their fragrance--Agitha is not!" And because she was
not, the people mourned. Queen Bethoc alone rejoiced, and was silent.

Dismay and wonder spread over the land--for a tale was told of a
serpent-worm, fearful in magnitude and of monstrous form, which was seen
at Spindleston, by the cave of Elgiva--the worker of wonders--the woman
of power.

The people trembled. They said of the monster--"It is Agitha, the
beloved!--the daughter of our king, of conquering Ethelfrith. Elgiva,
the daughter of destruction, who communeth with the spirits of the air,
and defeateth armies by the waving of her wand, hath done this. She hath
cast her enchantments over Agitha, the fairest of women--the meekest
among the daughters of princes."

The bards raised songs of lamentation for her fate. "Surely," said
they, "when the Chylde Wynde cometh, his sword, which maketh the brave
to fall and bringeth down the mighty, will break the enchantment." And
the burden of the songs was--"Return, O valiant Chylde, conqueror of
nations--thou who makest kings captives, return! Free the enchanted!
Deliver the beautiful!"

Now, the people of the land where the Chylde and his warriors landed,
were stricken with terror at their approach. They fled before them, as
sheep fly upon the hills when the howl of t