him a pillow, and the other was starting after her
cordial, he opened his eyes.

"Master!" he muttered. "Master? Have they gone?"

In an instant Sister Wynfreda was on her knees beside him. "Is it the
English you mean? Did they beset the castle?"

Slowly the man's clouded eyes cleared. "The Sisters--" he murmured. "I
had the intention--to get to you--but I fell--" His words died away in
a whisper, and his eyelids drooped. Sister Sexberga turned again to seek
her restorative. Sister Wynfreda leaned over and shook him.

"Answer me, first. Where is your master? And young Fridtjof? And your
mistress?"

He shrank from her touch with a gasp of pain. "Dead," he muttered.
"Dead--At the gate--Frode and the boy--The raven-starvers cut them down
like saplings."

"And Randalin?"

"I heard her scream as the Englishman seized her--Leofwinesson had her
round the waist--they knocked me on the head, then--I--I--" Again his
voice died away.

Sister Wynfreda made no attempt to recall him. Mechanically she held his
head so that her companion might pour the liquid down his throat. That
done, she brought water and bandages, and stood by, absent-eyed and in
silence, while Sexberga found his wounds and dressed them. It was the
older woman who spoke first.

"The fate of this maiden lies heavy on your mind, beloved," she said
tenderly; "and I would have you know that my heart also is sorrowful.
For all that she is the fruit of darkness, it was permitted by the Lord
that Randalin, Frode's daughter, should be born with a light in her
soul. It was in my prayers that we might be enabled to feed that
light as it were a sacred lamp, to the end that in God's good time the
spreading glory of its brightness might deliver her from the shadows
forever."

Staring before her with unseeing eyes, Sister Wynfreda nodded an absent
assent. "To me also it seemed that the Lord had led her to us... I keep
in mind how she looked when she came that first morning... a bit of
silk was in her hand, which Frode had given her for a present, because
a golden apple was wrought upon it. She came on her horse, with the boy
Fridtjof, to offer us bread from the castle kitchen if we would agree
to teach her the secret of such handiwork. And when we said that for the
sake of bread to lighten the evil days we would comply with her in the
matter, she laughed with pleasure, and her laughter was as grateful
to the ear as the chime of matin bells. I can see her again as sh