“There is one matter that we must speak of tomorrow, for it is weighty and needs thought.  Let it bide now, for it is nought unhappy, and so come to me at noon and we will speak thereof.  Now your friends will seek you, and I will not say more.”

I left him then with a little wonder as to what this business might be, but thought little of it, as it would very likely be a matter of taking some men on some errand or the like house-carle work, and then I bethought me that I would even go and see how fared Elfrida.  It was not unpleasant to think of taking her by surprise, for I did not suppose that she had heard of my return yet.  At all events, she would have no chance of making up some stiff greeting for me.  Wherefore I went down the street with my head in the air, making up my mind how I would greet her, and maybe I thought of a dozen ways before I reached the ealdorman’s door.

His welcome was hearty enough at all events, but before I could make up my mind to ask for Elfrida, who was not to be seen at first, though I had counted on finding her at her wheel in the great hall of the house, as was her wont in the afternoon, he had wasted a long hour in hearing all that he could of my affairs, as may be supposed.  There had been some strange rumours flying about since I was lost.  I began to wish that I had brought Thorgils home with me, for it was plain that I should have to go over all this too often, and he cared not at all how many times he told the same tale.

At last I was able to find a chance of asking how fared the lady Elfrida, and at that the ealdorman laughed.

“What, has not all this put that foolishness out of your head?” he said.

“No, it has not,” I answered pretty shortly.

But all the same, the old thought that I had remembered her less than I would have it known did flash across me for a moment.

“Well, I will send for her, and she will tell you for herself how she fares.”

He sent, and then in about half an hour she came, just as I was thinking I would wait no longer.  And if she had been stiff with me in the orchard it was even more so now, and I did not seem to get on with her at all.  She said, indeed, that she was glad to see me back, but in no way could I think that she looked more so than any one else I had met.

So we talked a little, and then all of a sudden her father said: 

“Ho!—­Here comes that South Saxon again.”

Then at once a blush crept slowly over her fair face, and she tried not to look toward the great door in vain, though no one came in, and presently she was gone with but a few words to me.  I did not like this at all, but the ealdorman laughed at her and then at me, the more that he saw that I was put out.

“Never mind, Oswald,” he said.  “That vow of yours pledged you to no more than duty to any fair lady.”

“Maybe it is just as well that it did not,” I answered, trying to laugh also.