Then the old woman drew nigher to her and sat down in the dust at her feet, for she was now sitting down again, and took her hand and kissed it and fondled it, and seemed loth to leave handling the beauty of the Hall-Sun; but she looked kindly on the carline, and smiled on her, and leaned down to her, and kissed her mouth, and said:

  “Damsels, take care of this poor woman, and make her good cheer; for she is wise of wit, and a friend of the Wolfings; and I have seen her before, and spoken with her; and she loveth us.  But as for me I must needs be alone in the meads for a while; and it may be that when I come to you again, I shall have a word to tell you.”

  Now indeed it was in a manner true that the Hall-Sun had no authority in the Wolfing House; yet was she so well beloved for her wisdom and beauty and her sweet speech, that all hastened to do her will in small matters and in great, and now as they looked at her after the old woman had caressed her, it seemed to them that her fairness grew under their eyes, and that they had never seen her so fair; and the sight of her seemed so good to them, that the outworn day and its weariness changed to them, and it grew as pleasant as the first hours of the sunlight, when men arise happy from their rest, and look on the day that lieth hopeful before them with all its deeds to be.

  So they grew merry, and they led the carline into the Hall with them, and set her down in the Women’s-Chamber, and washed her feet, and gave her meat and drink, and bade her rest and think of nothing troublous, and in all wise made her good cheer; and she was merry with them, and praised their fairness and their deftness, and asked them many questions about their weaving and spinning and carding; (howbeit the looms were idle as then because it was midsummer, and the men gone to the war).  And this they deemed strange, as it seemed to them that all women should know of such things; but they thought it was a token that she came from far away.

  But afterwards she sat among them, and told them pleasant tales of past times and far countries, and was blithe to them and they to her and the time wore on toward nightfall in the Women’s-Chamber.

  CHAPTER XI—THE HALL-SUN SPEAKETH

  But for the Hall-Sun; she sat long on that stone by the Women’s-door; but when the evening was now come, she arose and went down through the cornfields and into the meadow, and wandered away as her feet took her.

  Night was falling by then she reached that pool of Mirkwood-water, whose eddies she knew so well.  There she let the water cover her in the deep stream, and she floated down and sported with the ripples where the river left that deep to race over the shallows; and the moon was casting shadows by then she came up the bank again by the shallow end bearing in her arms a bundle of the blue-flowering mouse-ear.  Then she clad herself at once, and went straight as one with a set purpose toward the Great Roof, and entered by the Man’s-door; and there were few men within and they but old and heavy with the burden of years and the coming of night-tide; but they wondered and looked to each other and nodded their heads as she passed them by, as men who would say, There is something toward.

  So she went to her sleeping-place, and did on fresh raiment, and came forth presently clad in white and shod with gold and having her hair wreathed about with the herb of wonder, the blue-flowering mouse-ear of Mirkwood-water.  Thus she passed through the Hall, and those elders were stirred in their hearts when they beheld her beauty.  But she opened the door of the Women’s-Chamber, and stood on the threshold; and lo, there sat the carline amidst a ring of the Wolfing women, and she telling them tales of old time such as they had not yet heard; and her eyes were glittering, and the sweet words were flowing from her mouth; but she sat straight up like a young woman; and at whiles it seemed to those who hearkened, that she was no old and outworn woman, but fair and strong, and of much avail.  But when she heard the Hall-Sun she turned and saw her on the threshold, and her speech fell suddenly, and all that might and briskness faded from her, and she fixed her eyes on the Hall-Sun and looked wistfully and anxiously on her.

  Then spake the Hall-Sun standing in the doorway:

  “Hear ye a matter, maidens, and ye Wolfing women all,

And thou alien guest of the Wolfings!  But come ye up the hall,

That the ancient men may hearken: for methinks I have a word

Of the battle of the Kindreds, and the harvest of the sword.”

  Then all arose up with great joy, for they knew that the tidings were good, when they looked on the face of the Hall-Sun and beheld the pride of her beauty unmarred by doubt or pain.

  She led them forth to the dais, and there were the sick and the elders gathered and some ancient men of the thralls: so she stepped lightly up to her place, and stood under her namesake, the wondrous lamp of ancient days.  And thus she spake:

  “On my soul there lies no burden, and no tangle of the fight

In plain or dale or wild-wood enmeshes now my sight.

I see the Markmen’s wain-burg, and I see their warriors go

As men who wait for battle and the coming of the foe.

And they pass ’twixt the wood and the wain-burg within earshot of the horn,

But over the windy meadows no sound thereof is borne,

And all is well amongst them.  To the burg I draw anigh

And I see all battle-banners in the breeze of morning fly,

But no Wolfings round their banner and no warrior of the Shield,

No Geiring and no Hrossing in the burg or on the field.”

  She held her peace for a little while, and no one dared to speak; then she lifted up her head and spake:

  “Now I go by the lip of the wild-wood and a sound withal I hear,

As of men in the paths of the thicket, and a many drawing anear.

Then, muffled yet by the tree-boles, I hear the Shielding song,

And warriors blithe and merry with the battle of the strong.

Give back a little, Markmen, make way for men to pass

To your ordered battle-dwelling o’er the trodden meadow-grass,

For alive with men is the wild-wood and shineth with the steel,

And hath a voice most merry to tell of the Kindreds’ weal,

’Twixt each tree a warrior standeth come back from the spear-strewn way,

And forth they come from the wild-wood and a little band are they.”

  Then again was she silent; but her head sank not, as of one thinking, as before it did, but she looked straight forward with bright eyes and smiling, as she said:

  “Lo, now the guests they are bringing that ye have not seen before;

Yet guests but ill-entreated; for they lack their shields of war,

No spear in the hand they carry and with no sax are girt.

Lo, these are the dreaded foemen, these once so strong to hurt;

The men that all folk fled from, the swift to drive the spoil,