An officer addressed Ragnar—“There are three thralls locked up in an outbuilding, shall we leave them to burn?” “Nay; why should we grudge them their miserable lives; they have done us no harm.” At that moment a loud cry of dire alarm was heard, the trampling of an immense body of horse followed—a rush into the hall already filled with smoke—loud outcries and shrieks from without. “What is the matter?” cried Ragnar. “The Mercians are upon us! the Mercians are upon us!” Ragnar rushed to the gateway, and a sight met his startled eyes he was little prepared to behold. The clouds had been driven away by a fierce wind, the moon was shining brightly, and revealed a mighty host surrounding the hall on every side. Every horse before the gateway was driven away or seized, every man who had not saved himself by instant retreat had been slain by the advancing host; without orders the majority of his men had repassed the moat, and had already raised the drawbridge against the foe, not without the greatest difficulty. “Extinguish the fires which you have raised; let each man fight fire—then we will fight the Mercians.” It was high time to fight fire, rather it was too late. CHAPTER XXIII. “VENGEANCE IS MINE, I WILL REPAY.” When the door was finally closed upon the brothers and their faithful thrall, Alfred did not give way to despair. The words of Ragnar, “If there be a God, let Him deliver you,” had sunk deeply into his heart, and had produced precisely the opposite effect to that which his cousin had intended; it seemed as if his cause were thus committed to the great Being in Whose Hand was the disposal of all things; as if His Honour were at stake, Whom the murderer had so impiously defied. “‘If there be a God, let Him deliver you,’” repeated Alfred, and it seemed to him as if a Voice replied, “Is My Arm shortened, that It cannot save?” But how salvation was to come, and even in what mode danger was to be expected, was unknown to them; nay, was even unguessed. They heard the bustle below, which followed Ragnar’s announcement of his intended departure from Æscendune. They heard the mustering of the horses—and at last the conviction forced itself upon them that the foe were about to evacuate the hall. But in that case, how would he inflict his sentence upon his victims? The dread truth, the suspicion of his real intention, crept upon the minds of both Alfred and Oswy. Elfric yet lay insensible, or seemingly so, upon the bed, lost to all perception of his danger. Alfred sat at the head of the bed, looking with brotherly love at the prostrate form of him for whom he was giving his life; but feeling secretly grateful that there was no painful struggle imminent in his case; that death itself would come unperceived, without torturing forebodings.