But two days, and the dread choice had to be made--the crisis in the life of Alfgar, a crisis which has its parallel in the lives of many around us--approached, and he had to choose between Christ and Odin, between the death of the martyr and apostasy. He walked to and fro upon the ramparts, after his father left him, in the growing darkness, feebly illuminated by the light of a new moon. Below him, in the central area, a huge fire burned, whereat the evening meal was preparing for the royal banquet, for Sweyn and his ferocious chieftains were about to feast together. Escape was hopeless. Even had he not been bound by the promise given to his father, it would have been very difficult. He felt that his motions were watched. The island was full of foes, their fleet occupied the Solent. No; all that was left was to die with honour. But to bring such disgrace upon his father and his kindred! "Blood is thicker than water," says the old proverb, and Alfgar could not, even had he wished, ignore the ties of blood; nature pleaded too strongly. But there was a counter-motive even there--the dying wishes of his mother. If his father were Danish, she was both English and Christian. Before him the alternatives were sharply defined: Apostasy, and his ancestral honours, with all that the sword of the conqueror could give; and on the other hand, the martyr's lingering agony, but the hope of everlasting life after death. He could picture the probable scene. The furious king, the scorn of the companions with whom he had vied, nay, whom he had excelled, in the exercises of arms, end the ignominious death, perhaps that painful punishment known as the "spread eagle." No, they could not inflict that on one so nobly born, the descendant of princes. Alas! what might not Sweyn do in his wrath? Was Christianity worth the sacrifice? Where were the absolute proofs of its truth? If it were of God, why did He not protect His people? The heathen Saxons had been victorious over the Christian Britons; and now that they had become Christian, the heathen Danes were victorious over them. Was this likely to happen if Christ were really God? Again Odin and Frea, with their children, and the heroes sung by the scalds, in the war songs which he heard echoing from around the fire at that moment: "How this one was brave, And bartered his life For joy in the fight; How that one was wise, Was true to his friends And the dread of his foes." Valour, wisdom, fidelity, contempt of death, hatred of meanness and cowardice, qualities ever shining in the eyes of warlike youth. This creed had sufficed for his ancestors for generations, as his father had told him. Why should he be better than they? If they trusted to the faith of Odin, might not he? And then, if he lived, when the war was carried into Mercia, he would save his English friends, even although forced to live unknown to them.