Then I said, and my words came to pass afterwards: 

“If they will, they shall have my best farm here for their own, that they may be near you.  Now tell me how you came to be with Elfric.”

She blushed a little, and laughed.

“When we were at Penhurst,” she said, “you told me how you were seeking me—­well, maybe I was seeking you.  It fell out thus.  When you and Olaf, whom I long to see, scattered the Danes here, Gunnhild said that we must fly, for they were seeking hiding places.  So she would go to her sister, who is abbess at Ramsey, by the great mere of Whittlesea.  So we fled there, and the journey was overmuch for her, and there she died after two days.  That was a sore grief to me, but I will not speak of grief now.  Then Ailwin told the abbess to keep me with her until all things were safe, when he would return for me.  But Gunnhild had asked her to find me a place with the Lady Algitha, Eadmund Atheling’s wife, because I should meet you in his house often enough.  That she could do, and would have done.

“Then the Danes came, and one day Elfric sent word that he was going to Normandy.  Those two sisters would go home, and so the abbess sent me with them, thinking that thus her sister’s plan for me would be best carried out.  For she was told by Elfric that you were in charge of the party, saying the sisters would be safe in your care.  Elfric might get me a place in the queen’s new household; and if not—­if you knew me not nor cared for me—­there was always the convent.”

“So all that plan came out thus—­and it is well,” I said.  “But why would you not come to Penhurst at first?”

She laughed lightly, answering: 

“Can you not guess?  Relf saw, and set things right.  Did he never tell you what was wrong?”

“He said that it was want of travelling gear,” said I.

“Why, that was not it, though being thoughtful and fatherly he asked of that first.”

“Tell me what was the trouble, then.”

“I thought—­there were things said, and you called me by her name—­that the wedding Relf spoke of was yours and Sexberga’s.  That was all.”

“Surely Relf knew not who you were?”

“No.  He did not till Ailwin came to Penhurst.”

“Then,” said I, “it passes me to know how he found out what the trouble was.”

“Because he has a daughter of his own,” she laughed.

And so she began to speak of Sexberga’s wedding, which had been not long since.

Then we came to Wormingford, and there was Ailwin, bent and aged indeed by the troubles, but well, and rejoiced to see me once more, and that I and Hertha were so happily together.  But I had to ask his pardon for my roughness to him before I could feel content.

“My son, had you not felt this matter very deeply, I know you would not have troubled yourself even to wrath about it.  Truly I was glad to hear you speak so.  There is nought to forgive.”