Wulfhere, Ælfric, and Egwina were welcomed by the monks and refreshed by the bath, for the Saxons were a cleanly people, and fond of bathing; then were they called into a long, low hall, the refectory or dining-room, and invited to partake of supper. Cakes of barley, fish, swine flesh, milk, eggs, and cheese, with plenty of mead to wash it down, constituted the repast; for even the priests of this hardy race were hearty eaters and fond of good cheer. The meat was passed round on spits, and each one cut a portion for himself with his knife, and then ate it, using the fingers to convey the food to the mouth, as there were no forks. After the meal, all gathered round the fire which was built in the centre of the room, the smoke escaping through a hole or cover in the roof. “It is forbidden us to listen to the songs of the people,” said the abbot addressing Wulfhere, “but mayhap thou canst sing to us the songs of the Church.” “Nay, good father,” answered Wulfhere, “I am not skilled in sacred song.” “Cannot thy daughter sing them?” asked the abbot. “Truly it were ill if so fair a flower should know naught of the songs of the Faith.” “I know not,” replied Wulfhere in perplexity. “There is one that I know,” interrupted Egwina, softly. “It was one that my mother sang.” “Let us hear it, daughter,” said the abbot. Without hesitation, Egwina then sang the “Crist” of Cynewulf. “It was well sung,” commented the abbot, after Egwina had concluded. “Sweet is it to Him when the voice of youth sounds His praises. Knowest thou no more, my child?” “Nay, I know none other,” answered Egwina. “Thou must not think ill of us, father,” spoke the harper hastily, “that we wot not of these things. Our aim is to please the people, and the mead hall cares but for the song of the warrior or of glory.” “True,” answered the abbot, “yet Aldhelm used thy art to advantage. Hast thou not heard how the good priest stood on the bridge of Malmesbury, where the ministrels were wont to stand, because the people would not come to worship, and there did he sing of war and the heroes, until attracted by the sweetness of his voice, he had gained their attention? Then did he change the words, and sing to them of the Holy One and the blessed Virgin. In which manner many were instructed in our sacred religion and brought to the Church.” “Sayest thou so, good father?” broke in Ælfric, the juggler. “Marry! but well would it please me to hear such songs! Canst thou or thy monks sing for us any of the songs that he sang?” “There is one, brother, which is food for reflection. That we will sing thee, and then after the Te Deum. Then shall ye tell us if aught hath happened recently from the Dane.” Without further ado, the monks began singing the following dismal dirge, the brief metre sounding abruptly on the ear with a measured stroke like the passing bell: