“Let me rebuild the church first, father,” I had said to him when I returned thus rich.

“Not so, my son.  That is a matter which must be taken in hand presently, and not hurriedly.  Shelter first the man who shall do it, and provide for the fatherless at Wormingford, and it will be better done after all.”

Therefore I was very busy.  And on this day of which I speak I walked in the late afternoon, and must needs turn aside into the woods by the mere, for I had often done that of late, loving the place for old memories the more now that Olaf came into them.  It seemed to me that I had never seen the still mere look more wondrously beautiful than on this day, for we had had neither wind nor rain to mar the autumn beauty of the trees, and that was doubled by the mirror of the water.

So I lingered in that place where Olaf and I had been so nearly slain, thinking of that night and of many other days, and then I heard a footstep coming through the wood, and turned to see who it might be, for I had never met any other in the haunted place.

And there came towards me slowly a white-robed maiden who looked steadfastly at me, saying nought.  And I thought that surely she was the White Lady of the Mere.  The shadows flickered across her face and dress, and in her hand she bore a basket with crimson leaves and the like.

And then I saw that surely this was Hertha coming to meet me as in the old days when I had waited for her here—­Hertha grown older, and changed; but yet as I saw her here in the old place one could not but know her, and half I cried out her name, and then stayed with my heart beating fast.

For as she came into the clearing and was close to me she held out her hands, and the basket fell at her feet, and lo! it was Uldra, whom I loved—­and Uldra was Hertha—­and I had in my arms all that I longed for, and my trouble was gone for evermore.

“How was it that you knew me not before this?” she asked presently, while we walked together to Wormingford to find Ailwin.  They had but come back that morning.

“Always have I seemed to know you well,” I said, “but first the sisters’ dress, and then that I looked not for Hertha in London, prevented me.  And so I grew to know your looks and ways as Uldra, whom I grew to love.  Then all thought of the old likeness that puzzled me at first was forgotten.  There is no wonder in it, for you have grown from childhood to womanhood since we fled from Bures, and I have gone through much that blotted your face from my mind.  Rather do I wonder where you have been all this time.”

“One secret I may not tell you today,” she said; “and that is where our safest hiding place has been in sorest peril.  Some day I will show it you, for it is not far.  But for long did Gunnhild and I dwell with her brother in the forest and marsh fastnesses beyond the Colne.  There one might take to the woods when prowling Danes were near, though it was but twice, and but for a few hours then, that we had to do so.  There was little or no danger there when the host passed on.  Some day shall you and I ride to that quiet farmstead, for I love the kindly folk who cared for me so well.”