“Behold,” cried a voice without, “he hath digged and graven a pit, and is fallen himself into the destruction he made for others.” It was Father Swithin, who had observed the face at the window, and who raised the cry which now drew all the enemy to gaze upon him, for they had no longer a foe to destroy. The flames now filled the room, but still he clung to the window, and thus protracted his torments; his foes, even the stern monk, could but pity him now, so marred and blackened was his visage, so agonised his lineaments; like, as they said, the rude pictures of the lost, where the last judgment was painted on the walls of the churches. Yet he uttered no cry, he had resolved to die bravely; all was lost now. Another moment, and those who watched saw the huge beams which supported the building bend and quiver; then the whole framework collapsed, and with a sound like thunder the roof tumbled in, and the unhappy Ragnar was buried in the ruin; while the flames from his funeral pyre rose to the very heavens, and the smoke blotted the stars from view. “Even so,” said the monk, solemnly, “let Thine enemies perish, O Lord, but let them that love Thee be as the sun, when he goeth forth in his might.” But those were not wanting who could not sympathise with the stern sentiment, remembering better and gentler lessons from the lips of the great Teacher and Master of souls. “He has passed into the Hands of his God, there let us leave him,” said Father Cuthbert, who had just arrived at the moment. “It is not for us to judge a soul which has passed to the judgment seat, and is beyond the sentence of men.” Meanwhile, they had borne Elfric first to the priory, for they judged it not well that he should yet be brought to his mother; they feared the sudden shock. Many of the good monks had studied medicine, for they were in fact the healers both of soul and body throughout the district, and they attended him with assiduous care. They put him to bed, they gave him cordials which soon produced quiet sleep, and watched by him for many hours. It was not till the day had far advanced that he awoke, greatly refreshed, and saw Father Cuthbert and Alfred standing by him. They had allayed the fever, bound up the wound, which was not in itself dangerous, and he looked more like himself than one could have imagined possible. And now they thought they might venture to summon the lady Edith; and Alfred broke the intelligence to her, for she knew not the events of the night. “Mother,” he said; “we have news of Elfric, both bad and good, to tell you.” “He lives then,” she said; “he lives!” “Yes, lives, and is near; but he was wounded badly in the battle.” “I must go to him,” she said, and arose, forgetting all possible obstacles in a mother’s love. “He is near at hand, in the priory; you will find him much changed, but they say he will do well.” She shook like an aspen leaf, and threw her garments around her with nervous earnestness.