And a sweet desire of home and kindred rose up before him—of his father’s loving welcome, his fond mother’s chaste kiss, and of the dear old woods and waters—the hallowed associations of his home life. He rose up to seek Father Benedict, determined to enter upon the path of peace at any cost, when Edwy entered. He did not see in the gathering darkness the traces of emotion visible on poor Elfric’s countenance, and he began in his usual careless way—“How are you, Elfric, my boy; glad Lent is nearly over? What a dismal time that wretched monk preached this morning!” “Edwy, I am utterly miserable: I must tell all; I cannot live like this any longer.” “What a burst of penitence! go to confession; to be sure it looks well, and if one can only manage to get out a few tears they account him a saint; tell me the receipt.” “But, Edwy, I must tell all!” “Not if you are wise.” “Why not? It is all in secrecy.” “No it is not; you will be required as a penance to go and tell the king all that we have done; you may do so, and I will manage to represent matters so as to throw the whole blame on you; you will be sent home in disgrace.” Poor Elfric hung down his head; the thought of his disgrace reaching home had not occurred to him. “Come,” said Edwy, “I don’t want to be hard upon you. Cheer up, my man. What have you done amiss? Only enjoyed yourself as nature has guided you. Why should you think God meant us to pass through life like those miserable shavelings Edred delights to honour? Cheer up, Elfric; your bright face was never meant for that of a hypocrite. If you are so dreadfully bad, you are in a pretty numerous company; and I don’t think the shavelings believe their own tales about fire and torment hereafter. They are merry enough, considering.” In short, poor Elfric’s short-lived penitence was given to the winds. Edwy went alone to be shriven on the morrow. On Easter Day they both received the Holy Communion in the royal chapel. From that time remorse ceased to visit the heir of Æscendune, as if he had at last quenched the Spirit, and he became so utterly wild and reckless, that at last Dunstan thought it necessary to speak to him privately on the subject. It was nearly six months after Easter. The boy entered the study set apart for the use of the great monk and statesman with a palpitating heart, but he managed to repress its beatings, and put on a perfectly unconcerned expression of countenance. He had gained in self control if in nothing else. “I wished to speak with you, Elfric,” said the abbot, “upon a very serious matter. When you first came here, I was delighted to have you as a companion to the prince. You were evidently well brought up, and bore an excellent character; but, I grieve to say, you have greatly changed for the worse. Are you not aware of it?” “No, father. What have I done?”