"Here, my son," said the old warrior, as he pointed out the blackened ruins, "here stood our home, where now the screech owl haunts, and the wolf has its den. There, where the broken shaft yet remains, was the chamber in which thou first sawest the light, and wherein thy mother died there, where snake and toad have their home, was the great hall. Surely the moonbeams fall more peacefully on the spot now all has been avenged, and the halls of the murderers have fallen in their turn. But how didst thou escape?" "The folk of Aescendune saved me, father." "But how; from the burning pile?" "Nay. I had spent the previous day with them, and returned home only in time to find the place in flames. The enemy seized me, and would have slain me, but Elfwyn and his brother, Father Cuthbert, delivered me; and now thou hast slain their Bertric, and burnt both hall and priory." "Think not that I owe them gratitude for aught they have done. They tampered with thy faith, I now apprehend, even before the night of St. Brice, and perhaps drew from thee the knowledge which enabled them to surprise so large a party in my house. But all this was to make thee abandon the gods of thy fathers, and to inflict the worst injury they could upon a warrior. I trust they have failed!" "Father, I am a Christian!" "Say not that again, boy, if thou would not have me kill thee." "I can but say it, father. In all that touches not my faith and duty as a Christian, I am bound to love, honour, and obey you. But our religion forbids me to nourish revenge." "Of what religion, pray, were they who would have slain thy father on St. Brice's night?" Alfgar hung his head. "When Christians practise themselves what they teach, then we will heed their pretensions, but not till then. Their religion is but a cloak for their cowardice, and they put it aside as a man throws away a useless garment when they have the chance of slaying their foes without danger." "There are good and bad Christians, father." "Commend me to the bad ones then. Do not speak to me of a religion which makes men cowards and slaves. These English were warriors once, till the Pope and his bishops converted them, and now what are they? cruel and treacherous as ever, only without the courage of men." Alfgar felt the injustice of all this, and with the example of Bertric in his mind, he cared nor for the accusation of cowardice. "Here, then, my boy, on this spot where thou wert once cradled, renounce all these Christian follies and superstitions, and thou shalt go back with me to the camp of King Sweyn, where thou shalt be received as the descendant of warrior kings, and shalt forget that thou, the falcon, wert ever the inmate of the dovecote." There was a time when this temptation would have been almost irresistible, but that time was over, and after one earnest prayer for strength from above, Alfgar replied.