Edmund said. "Once at sea and on her way south she may well despair of escape, and may consent, from sheer hopelessness, to become his wife. Were it not that her hut is so strongly guarded at night I would try to approach it, but as this cannot be done I must take my chance in the day. To-morrow I will dress myself in your garments and will hide in the wood as near as I can to the hut; then if she come out to take the air I will walk boldly out and speak with her. I see no other way of doing it."
On the following morning, attired in the Dane's clothes and helmet, Edmund took his place near the edge of the wood. It was not until late in the afternoon that Freda made her appearance. The moment was propitious; almost all the men were at work on the ships and their oars. The women were cooking the evening meal, and there was no one near Freda, with the exception of the two armed Danes who sat on the trunk of a fallen tree on guard, a short distance away.
Edmund issued boldly from the wood, and, waiting till Freda's steps, as she passed backwards and fowards, took her to the farthest point from the guards, he approached her.
"Freda," he said, "do not start or betray surprise, for you are watched."
At the sound of his voice the girl had paused in her steps, and exclaimed in a low voice, "Edmund!" and then, obeying his words, stood motionless.
"I am near you, dear, and will watch over you. I have not strength to carry you away; but my ship will be at the mouth of the river as you pass out. Hang a white cloth from the window of your cabin in the poop as a signal. If we fail to rescue you there we will follow you wheresoever you may go, even to Italy, where I hear you are bound. So keep up a brave heart. I have seen your father, and he has sent me to save you. See, the guards are approaching, I must go."
Edmund then made for the forest. "Stop there!" the guards cried. "Who are you, and whence do you come?"
Edmund made no answer, but, quickening his steps, passed among the trees, and was soon beyond pursuit. This, indeed, the Danes did not attempt. They had been surprised at seeing, as they supposed, one of their party addressing Freda, for Sweyn's orders that none should speak with her were precise. He had given this command because he feared, that by the promise of rich rewards she might tempt some of his followers to aid her escape. They had, therefore, risen to interrupt the conversation, but it was not until they approached that it struck them that the Northman's face was unfamiliar to them, and that he was not one of their party, but Edmund had entered the wood before they recovered from their surprise. Their shouts to him to stop brought Sweyn to the spot.
"What is it?" he asked.
"A strange Northman has come out of the wood, and spoken to the lady Freda."
Sweyn turned to his captive. She stood pale and trembling, for the shock of the surprise had been a severe one.
"Who is this whom you have spoken to?" he asked. Freda did not answer.
"I insist upon knowing," Sweyn exclaimed angrily.
Freda recovered herself with an effort, and, raising her head, said, "Your insistence has small effect with me, as you know, Jarl Sweyn; but as there is no reason for concealment I will tell you. He is a messenger whom my dear father has sent to me to tell me that some day he hopes to rescue me from your hands."
Sweyn laughed loudly.
"He might have saved himself the trouble," he said. "Your good father lies wounded near Paris, and by the time he is able to set out to your rescue we shall be with Hasting on the sunny waters of Italy, and long ere that you will, I hope, have abandoned your obstinate disposition, and consented to be my wife."
Freda did not answer at once. Now that there was a hope of rescue, however distant, she thought it might be as well to give Sweyn some faint hope that in time she might yield to his wishes. Then she said:
