n I grew fairly anxious, for this was more than I had looked
for. I knew that it was likely that she would soon be missed and
sought for; yet I could not think of leaving her to that chance,
with the bridge broken moreover.

I gave the bridle to Kolgrim then to hold.

"Let me see your nurse," I said gently; "I have some skill in these
troubles."

She led me into the house without a word. All the lower story was
in one great room, with a hearth and bright fire thereon in the
centre. Beyond that was a low bed, to which the maiden went. A very
old woman, happed in furs and heavy blankets, lay on it, and it
needed but one look to tell me that she needed no care but the
last. Past need of flight was she, for she was dead, though so
peacefully that her watcher had not known it.

"The sleep is good, is it not?" the maiden said, looking anxiously
into my face.

"It is good, lady," I answered, taking off my helm. "It is the best
sleep of all--the sleep that heals all things."

The maiden looked once at the quiet face, and once more at me, with
wide eyes, and then she knew what I meant, and turned quickly from
me and wept silently.

I stood beside her, not daring to speak, and yet longing to be on
the road. And so still were we that Kolgrim got off his horse and
came to the door and called me, though not loudly.

I stepped back to him.

"Come again in a few minutes and say one word--'Saxons'" I
whispered, "then we shall go."

He nodded and drew back. I think the maiden had not heard me move,
for she was bent over the bed and what lay thereon. It seemed very
long to me before I heard my comrade at the door.

"Saxons, master!" he said loudly.

"Say you so?" I answered, and then I touched the maiden's arm
gently.

"Lady, we must go quickly," I said. "The dame is past all help of
ours, and none can harm her. Come, I pray you."

She stood up then, still looking away from me, and I drew the
covering over the still face she gazed at.

"You must leave her, and I know these Saxons will not wrong the
dead," said I gently. "Your father will miss you."

"I am keeping you also in danger," she answered bravely. "I will
come."

"Loth to go am I," she said, as she gathered her wrappings to her
and made ready very quickly, "for it seems hard. But hard things
come to many in time of war."

After that she ceased weeping, and was, as I thought, very brave in
this trouble, which was indeed great to her. And when she was clad