they took charge of me, to what family I had belonged, and how I
was akin to him.

"That was not my mother's name," I answered. "It was that of a
playfellow of mine. How could you know it?"

"One will go back in thought and word to old times when one is
sick," the lady said, smiling. "This was a name often on your lips
as I sat by you in your sickness. It was ever 'Mother' and
'Hertha'. Olaf said that you had no sisters, or I should have
thought you called to one of them, maybe."

Then I remembered at last; and for a little while I sat silent, and
my heart was sorely troubled. And the trouble was because my
growing thought of Sexberga taught me, all in a flash as it were,
when the remembrance of Hertha was brought thus clearly back to me,
what tie bound me to Bures and to this more than playmate of mine.
In truth, I think that had it not been for this, until I had been
back in Bures again I should not have recalled it.

Now I was glad that I had said nought that might have made my
liking for the maiden plain to her, and so things would be the
easier. Yet for a few moments the thought of saying nought of the
old betrothal came to me--of letting it remain forgotten. And then
that seemed to me to be unworthy of a true man. It was done, and
might not be undone by my will alone. I would even speak plainly of
the matter; and at least I had not gone so far in any way that the
lady could blame me for silence. So I hardened my heart--for indeed
the trouble seemed great--and spoke quickly.

"Hertha was nearer to me than sister, for we were betrothed when I
was but thirteen and she eleven."

I think the trouble in my voice was plain, for the lady deemed that
there was some to be told.

"Where is she now?" she asked. "I hope that no harm came to her
when the evil Danes overran your land."

"I know not where she may be, dear lady," I said. "We know that she
was in safety after the first peril passed. Now our land is in
Danish hands, and I have no news from thence for four years."

"There are many places here where one might hide well enough," she
said thoughtfully. "I suppose her people could find the like in
your country. But it would be a dull life enough."

Then I told her of Gunnhild the nurse and her wisdom, and said that
none knew the land around Bures better than she, while she had
friends everywhere.

"Then you may find your Hertha yet," the lady said at last; and as
she spoke Sexberga, of whom my mind was ful