Egbert’s stone, twenty-six miles east of Selwood, was the place of the tryst. The signal for the gathering of the forces was to be a beacon light kindled on the top of Stourton’s hill, where Alfred’s Tower now stands. The light would be hidden from the Danes by the range of Wiltshire hills, while it would be visible to the low country towards the Bristol Channel and to the south as far as Dorsetshire. The time had finally come for the decisive blow to fall, so Ethelfleda and Egwina, whom the former had generously consented should accompany her, set forth, with Edward and Ethelred for protection, to light the beacon. “Prithee, Ethelfleda, let me carry the coals,” said Ethelred. “Thou has carried them a long way already, and I fear that thou wilt be tired.” “Nay; there is naught to tire me,” said Ethelfleda. “Besides, I wish to carry the embers, Ethelred. I like not to have other hands than mine touch them.” “How strong thou art in thy purpose, Ethelfleda,” said the young man with admiration. “Naught deters thee from thy enterprises after thou hast entered upon them. Art thou never discouraged?” “Sometimes,” confessed the maiden. “Yet, Ethelred, when once a purpose hath formed itself within my mind, I cannot loosen my hold upon it. Discouragements and doubts may crowd thick and fast upon me; but, I know not why, my purpose doth shine bright and clear through them all, and towards it I needs must wend my way.” “I would that it were so with me,” retorted the young man. “But ofttimes doth happenings turn me from my purpose. Would that I had thy perseverance.” “’Tis a virtue that can be cultivated,” said the girl gayly as she looked at the embers which she carried in an earthen vessel. “Here we are, Ethelred, and for thy pleasant words thou shalt hold the embers until I need them.” She gave the vessel into his hands, and sank down before the great heap of brushwood which had been gathered for the beacon. “Almost,” said she solemnly, “do I feel like offering a sacrifice on this fire that all may end as my father doth desire.” “It would not please him, sister, to have aught rendered that savored of heathenism,” said Edward. “Here are some fine twigs for the starting.” Ethelfleda took them. “Now, Ethelred, the coals,” she called. They were given her in silence, and the girl carefully fanned the embers until the fine stuff ignited. Then she arose and the four stood and watched the flames as they caught twig after twig creeping up, up, until finally the whole pile became a blazing mass which leaped and crackled, darting tongues of flame higher and higher until the surrounding wood was ruddy in the glare. The figures of the four were silhouetted against the light in bold relief, and so, standing out against the background of those dark ages, have the pictures of those four come down to us. On the morrow Ethelfleda’s own hands buckled the sword round Ethelred’s waist, while Edward chafed that he must remain.