He babbled some questions, but they brought him food, and told him to sleep, so he slept.

Thus it went on, waking and sleep, sleep and waking, till at length one morning he woke up truly in the little room that opened out of the solar or sitting place of the Hall of Steeple, where he and Wulf had slept since their uncle took them to his home as infants.

More, on the trestle bed opposite to him, his leg and arm bandaged, and a crutch by his side, sat Wulf himself, somewhat paler and thinner than of yore, but the same jovial, careless, yet at times fierce-faced Wulf.
"Do I still dream, my brother, or is it you indeed ?" A happy smile spread upon the face of Wulf, for now he knew that Godwin was himself again.
"Me sure enough," he answered.

"Dream-folk don't have lame legs; they are the gifts of swords and men." "And Rosamund?
What of Rosamund?
Did the grey horse swim the creek, and how came we here?
Tell me quick--I faint for news!" "She shall tell you herself." And hobbling to the curtained door, he called, "Rosamund, my--nay, our--cousin Rosamund, Godwin is himself again.

Hear you, Godwin is himself again, and would speak with you!" There was a swift rustle of robes and a sound of quick feet among the rushes that strewed the floor, and then--Rosamund herself, lovely as ever, but all her stateliness forgot in joy.