The Ward of King Canute | Page 6

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
she sat above us in her saddle, laughing: her long hair blew about her,
and the red blood glowed in her cheeks, and her eyes were like pools
that the sun is shining on--" Suddenly the Sister's voice broke, and she
hid her face in her hands.
The old nun regarded her compassionately. Hers had been a long hard
life, and she was very near the mountain-top from whose summit the
mystery of the valleys is revealed.
After a time she spoke with tender reverence: "Almighty Father, who
hast given us strength to endure our own trials without murmuring,
grant us also the grace to accept patiently the chastening of those we
love."
The bowed head of Sister Wynfreda sank lower, and slowly the
heaving of her breast was stilled. In the chapel four feeble old voices
raised a chant that trembled and shook like a quivering heart-string.
"I beseech thee now, Lord of Heaven, And pray to thee, Best of
human-born, That thou pity me, Mighty Lord! And aid me, Father
Almighty, That I thy will May perform Before from this frail life I
depart."

Tremulously sweet it drifted out over the garden and blended with the
aroma in the air. The wounded man smiled through his pain.
Raising her tear-stained face at last, Sister Wynfreda said humbly,
"God pardon me if I sin in my grief, but to me it seems so bitter a thing
when trouble comes upon the young. The first fall of the young bird in
its flight, the first blow that startles the young horse,--I flinch before
them as before my own wounds. When the light of the fair young day
dies before the noon, I feel the shadow in my heart; and it saddens me
to find a flower that worms have eaten in the bud and robbed of its brief
life in the sun. How much more, then, shall I grieve for the blighting of
this human flower? I declare with truth that the first time I saw her my
heart went out to her in a love which taught me how mothers feel. Her
freshness and gladness have fed my starved heart like wine. I cannot
bear that trouble should crush them out of her in the very flower of her
youth; I cannot bear that tears should wear channels down her soft
cheeks and dim the brightness of her eyes. Sooner would I give what
remains to me of life! Sister, do I sin? Do I seem to murmur against His
will? But I have grown used to suffering, while she--what has she
known but love? Oh, have I not suffered enough for both? Could she
not have been spared?" Her voice mounted to a cry of exceeding
bitterness.
Sister Sexberga rose, stretching toward her a tremulous pitying hand.
The light that shines on the mountain-top was very bright on her
wrinkled old face. She said softly, "It is not for me to say that you sin in
your grief, most dear sister. But I give you this thought for your
comfort: if you, who are tied to her by no bond of the flesh can feel for
her so great and brooding an affection, what then must be the love of
Him who fashioned her fair young body and lit the light of her glad
spirit? Of a surety its tender yearning can be no less than yours. It may
be that with tears He would wash the dust of the world from her eyes,
that her sight may be clear for a vision of holier things. But believe that,
even as you would shelter her, so will He not forsake her in her
helplessness. Believe, and be eased of your fear." A rustling of her robe
across the grass, and she was gone.

The chant ceased, the wavering treble dying away in a note of haunting
sweetness. The man moaned and clutched at his wound; and the bowed
figure by his side roused herself to tend him. Then a grating of rusty
hinges made her turn her head.
Under the crumbling arch, relieved against the green of the lane beyond,
stood the figure of a slender boy wrapped in a mantle of scarlet that
bore a strangely familiar look.