“What would she say now?” he whispered.

“Enough,” I said, for the sister, having seen that we waited, unbarred the gate and let us in.  Then she pointed to a door on our right, and went away.

I took Relf’s arm and led him to this door—­for he was going to follow the sister—­and we opened it.  It led into a small high-roofed chamber, that had a great crucifix painted in bright colours on the east wall, and pictured legends on the rest, between high narrow windows.

But there stood Uldra, no longer in convent dress, but in some robe of dark blue and crimson that became her well, so that at first I hardly knew her, for now for the first time I saw her bright brown hair that the novice’s hood had hidden from me.  I could not say that Uldra was fair as Sexberga to look on, but, as ever, I thought that her face was the sweetest that I had seen in all my life.

I was a little abashed before this grave and stately maiden, who was the same, and yet not the same, as she who had been through so much danger and trial with me, and I could not find a word to say at first.  Nor could she, as it seemed, and so we looked at one another until she smiled.  It was only for a moment, however, for when her face lighted up thus, Relf found his voice and spoke.

“I have come to thank you, lady, for saving my comrade’s life yesterday,” he said, taking her hand and kissing it.  “I had lost a good friend but for you, he tells me.”

“But for the thane, your friend, I know not what would have become of us,” she answered.  “The thanks are from me to him, rather.”

“Yet I think that I owe you somewhat,” Relf said, “and now I am minded to try to show that I would thank you in deed, and not in word only.”

He paused, and Uldra looked at me as if asking if I could throw any light on this stranger’s meaning.

“Relf, the Thane of Penhurst, is he who gave me shelter and care when I was hurt in a fight and a flood last winter,” I said.  “He has indeed been a good friend to me.”

“Not I,” said Relf; “you fought for me.  It was my wife and Sexberga, my daughter, who tended you.”

Now at that name, which she already knew, the maiden looked quickly away from me, and a little flush began to creep up into her face, with pleasure as it would seem.

“I have heard of your daughter Sexberga already,” she said to Relf with a little smile.

“Why, that is well,” he said.  “Now, after her wedding my wife will be sorely lost for want of a companion, and I would ask you to come home to Penhurst with us, and bide there until you may seek your friends again—­or as long as you wish.  And glad shall we be of your help at the wedding feast.”

So he spoke cheerfully, trying to make all the honour come from her, as kindness to himself and his wife.  But though the tears came into Uldra’s eyes at the good thane’s plain meaning, she was silent yet, save that she said: