And when the tenderness of the birds
and the content of the little creeping creatures have filled your heart to
bursting with a sense of God's goodness, to come and stand before the Holy
Table and pour out your joys in sweet melody--"
But Randalin's head was shaking too decidedly, though she was not ungentle in
her answering. "I give you thanks, Sister Wynfreda, but such a life is not for
me. My nature is such that I do not like the gloomy songs you sing; nor do I
care for green things, except to wear in my hair. And it seems to me that I
should be spiritless and a coward if I should like such a life. I am no
English girl, to tremble and hide under a mean kirtle. I am a Norse maiden,
the kinswoman of warriors. I think I should not show much honor to my father
and my brother were I to leave them unavenged and sit down here with you. No,
I will go to my King and get justice. When he has slain the murderer and given
me the castle again, I will come back; and you shall come and live with me,
and eat meat instead of herbs, and--"
In her desperation, Sister Wynfreda caught her by the wrists and held her. "My
daughter, my daughter, shake off this sleep of your wits, I entreat you! The
men you are trusting in are dreams which you have dreamed in the safety of
your father's arms. They among whom you are going are barbarians,--yea,
devils! It were even better had you married the son of Leofwine.
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