A wail went up from the fleeing Saxons, for they knew that the light was from their dwellings, and that they were homeless. Full of anguish they redoubled their speed, and ran on, breathless and in terror, for the cries in the rear showed that the Northmen were still in pursuit; still slaying those who were unfortunate enough to fall into their hands. In every direction ran the fugitives. It was cold, for it was midwinter; but though the chill wind pierced to the very marrow, the people thought only of life for themselves and dear ones, and heeded it not. The terror-stricken inhabitants of the villages into which they fled could afford them no asylum for they knew that but a few short hours must elapse ere they would suffer a like fate. So they, too, joined the fugitives and the crowd became a multitude. At first our little band had no difficulty in keeping together, but as the numbers were increased, they pressed closer one to another, and called aloud frequently. It was just the hour before the dawn, when the flames of the burning villages had died down and a thick darkness had settled over the earth, that a cry went up from those in front that the Danes were coming from that direction also. Panic-stricken, the throng knew not which way to turn. They became confused in the darkness and made a sudden dash in opposite directions, shouting and crying as they did so. The party was swept asunder by the rush. Egwina called frantically to Ethelfleda, but the noise was so great that she could scarcely hear the sound of her own voice. Carried onward by the crowd, she did not know where she was going, or if the Danes had really fallen upon them. At last morning dawned. With the rising of the sun—the distributor of God’s blessed light—the stricken people revived somewhat from their terrors which the darkness had augmented, and proceeded more quietly. Now, too, each began to search for his relatives. To the girl’s joy, her grandfather was soon found. “Dost know what became of the others?” he inquired. “No, granther. The maiden was carried from my side when the shout went up that the Danes were coming. Alack! where can they be?” “I wot not,” answered Wulfhere moodily. “I fear, child, that this is the end. None know whether Alfred be fallen or taken prisoner. If either be true naught is left for us but loss of life or slavery.” With the morning the people scattered into the different villages in search of rest and sustenance. Wulfhere and Egwina did likewise. As they were resting in the thatched cottage of a ceorl, there came through the village one riding hotly on a palfrey. He bore an arrow in one hand and a naked sword in the other. When he reached the centre of the hamlet he stopped and called in a loud voice: “What, ho, Saxons! Listen to the words of the king. Alfred would have aid against the Dane. Let every man that is not niddering, whether in a town or out of a town, leave his house and come.”