"Monster!" said Alfgar, "you tempt like Satan. Away, and leave me to my fate." "You will think better of it by and by when confinement upon bread and water has tamed you. I will come once more, but it will be the last time; and, mark you, should your people be defeated--the Danes I mean--still your escape would not necessarily follow; the house might take fire, it is of timber, and would soon burn down; a sad misfortune it would be. "Good morning. I am going to mass with the king; shall I say a Pater and an Ave for you, since you are prevented from being there. The saints have you in their holy keeping!" His manner throughout had been like that of a cat playing with a mouse, and there was quite a gratified smile upon his lips as he went. Strange to say, Alfgar felt less miserable after he was gone. The wickedness of Edric seemed so great, his hypocrisy so unblushing, that in his simple faith Alfgar could not believe that he would be allowed to succeed. Many a holy text in the Psalms came to his mind, and seemed to assure him of Divine protection. "I myself have seen the ungodly in great power; and flourishing like a green bay tree. "I went by, and, lo! he was gone; I sought him, but his place could nowhere be found. "Seek innocency, and take heed to the thing that is right: for that shall bring a man peace at the last." "So, come what will," said he, "I will trust in Him and never will I save my life by uttering one word which might betray the innocent." In this manner days lengthened into weeks. He tried in vain to open any intercourse with his ferocious jailor, whose ward was sometimes shared by a comrade, when there was much ungodly revelry below, and snatches of Danish war songs mingled with profane oaths. The deep, deep bay of the mastiff sometimes gave warning of the advent of a stranger, or of the step heard from the distance, in the still deep night; but this was all that Alfgar could learn of the outer world, from which he was banished at so critical a moment. CHAPTER XV. FATHER CUTHBERT'S DIARY AT CLIFFTON. SUNDAY BEFORE ADVENT.-- The evening, after the Vesper service in the church was over, and darkness had closed in, we all sat down to our evening meal. The doors were shut to keep out the storm, and I had already said grace, when the Etheling suddenly appeared. His manner struck us all. He looked wild and agitated, and his first words cast a chill over us. "Where is Alfgar?" "Is he not with you, what has happened?" said I and Herstan, speaking in the same breath. "No, I have lost him. I had hoped to find him here; they must have murdered him," he cried. "Murdered him?" "Yes, he was too dangerous to Edric to be suffered to live. I might have foreseen it; and they have put him out of the way by cowardly assassination," insisted the Etheling. There was too much reason in his words. "Besides," said he, "if he were well and uninjured, would he not have come here, where he was sure of a welcome?"