"The fate of this maiden lies heavy on your mind, beloved," she said tenderly;
"and I would have you know that my heart also is sorrowful. For all that she
is the fruit of darkness, it was permitted by the Lord that Randalin, Frode's
daughter, should be born with a light in her soul. It was in my prayers that
we might be enabled to feed that light as it were a sacred lamp, to the end
that in God's good time the spreading glory of its brightness might deliver
her from the shadows forever."

Staring before her with unseeing eyes, Sister Wynfreda nodded an absent
assent. "To me also it seemed that the Lord had led her to us... I keep in
mind how she looked when she came that first morning... a bit of silk was in
her hand, which Frode had given her for a present, because a golden apple was
wrought upon it. She came on her horse, with the boy Fridtjof, to offer us
bread from the castle kitchen if we would agree to teach her the secret of
such handiwork. And when we said that for the sake of bread to lighten the
evil days we would comply with her in the matter, she laughed with pleasure,
and her laughter was as grateful to the ear as the chime of matin bells. I can
see her again as she sat above us in her saddle, laughing: her long hair blew
about her, and the red blood glowed in her cheeks, and her eyes were like
pools that the sun is shining on--" Suddenly the Sister's voice broke, and she
hid her face in her hands.

The old nun regarded her compassionately. Hers had been a long hard life, and
she was very near the mountain-top from whose summit the mystery of the
valleys is revealed.

After a time she spoke with tender reverence: "Almighty Father, who hast given
us strength to endure our own trials without murmuring, grant us also the
grace to accept patiently the chastening of those we love."