He heard the song of joy and peace within as he paused one moment before blowing the horn which hung at the outer gate. Peace! Peace! The whole wide world rejoiceth now, Let war and discord cease; Christ reigneth from the manger, Away with strife and danger; Our God, before whom angels bow, Each taught this lesson by his birth, Good will to men, and peace on earth. Peace! Peace! Hark, through the silent air Angelic songs declare God comes on earth to dwell O hear the heavenly chorus swell, Good will to men, And on earth, peace. He could bear it no longer, the contrast was too painful, he must break the sweet charm, the hallowed song, for the sky was reddening yet more luridly behind him, and each moment he expected to see Dorchester burst forth into flames. O what a Christmas night! He blew the horn, and had to blow it again and again before he was heard. At length a solitary serf came to the gate: "Who is there?" "A messenger for the Etheling; is Prince Edmund with you? I would see him." "All are welcome tonight, but I fear you will find the Etheling ill-disposed to leave the feast." "Let me in." Astonished at the tone of the request, the porter reluctantly complied, first looking around. "Why, thou art wild and breathless; is aught amiss?" "Step out and look over the hills; what dost thou see?" "Why, the heaven is in fire; is it the northern lights?" "Southern, you mean; the Danes are upon us." Staggered by the tidings, the man no longer opposed his entrance, and Alfgar staggered into the hall, forgetting that he was come amongst them like one risen from the dead. He entered the hall at first unnoticed, but the merry laughter and cheerful conversation withered before his presence, as of one who came to blast it. Father Cuthbert and Edmund, amongst others, turned round to see what caused the lull, and started from their seats as they beheld at the end of the room Alfgar, his face pale as one risen from the dead, his black locks hanging dishevelled around his neck, his garments torn, his whole person disordered. At first they really believed he had returned from the tomb. They hesitated, but for one moment in speechless surprise, then rushed forward. "Alfgar!" cried the Prince. "My son!" cried Father Cuthbert, "whence hast thou come? dost thou yet live?" "Father; Prince; I live to warn you--the Danes, the Danes!" and he sank fainting into the arms of Herstan. "Surely he raves," said they all. The porter here ventured to speak. "My lord, please go to the front of the house and look over the water." Father Cuthbert and Edmund at once left the hall, followed by several others. The mansion was seated on a considerable elevation; below them rolled the Isis; across the river a couple of miles of flat meadow land lay between them and the Synodune hills, and beyond the lessening range of those hills, on the southeast, they looked, and behold the smoke of the country went up as the smoke of a furnace.