Liornung's fiddle was out of his pack and he was carelessly drawing notes from it, pondering on the lesson of Nethwador and Bellyn earlier that day. He wondered where Nethwador would go when their travels were over. Liornung would dearly love to instruct him further on the art of music; Nethwador had deep talent.
Argeleafa was sitting by herself again. Liornung frowned and thought for a moment, and then his face brightened and he gestured to her, calling her name. She came a little closer. "Argeleafa, we have given everyone a chance to sing except you," he said, shaking his head. "I am most ashamed of myself." He picked up his bow and ran it down the strings once. "Would you sing while I play?"
"What would you have me sing?" she asked, glancing at Ędegard. He smiled encouragingly at her and she grew in confidence.
"Name a tune," replied Liornung. She blushed slightly, leaned forward, and whispered something in his ear. He nodded and began to play a sad and mysterious tune. Argeleafa sang thus:
"My young love said to me, 'My mother won't mind
and my father won't slight you for your lack of kind.'
She stepped away from me and this she did say:
'It will not be long, love, till our wedding day.'
She stepped away from me and she moved through the fair
and fondly I watched her move here and move there;
and then she turned homeward with one star awake
like the swan in the evening moves over the lake.
The people were saying, no two e'er were wed
but one had a sorrow that never was said
and I smiled as she passed with her goods and her gear,
and that was the last that I saw of my dear.
Last night she came to me, my dead love came in.
So softly she came that her feet made no din.
She laid her hand on me and this she did say:
'It will not be long, love, 'til our wedding day.'"
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