There was no ostentation in this; every monk in the monastery lived in similar simplicity. Precious books and manuscripts, deeply laden with gold and colours, were deposited on coarse wooden shelves, while the Benedictine Breviary lay on the table, written by some learned and painstaking scribe, skilful in illumination. The appearance of the abbot was little changed since we last beheld him; perhaps care had traced a few more lines in his countenance, and his general manner was more prompt and decided, now that danger menaced him, for menace him he knew it did, although he hardly knew from what quarter the bolt would fall. A lay brother brought him some slight refreshment, the first he had taken during the day. The humility inculcated by each precept of the order forbade the brother in question to speak until his superior gave him leave to do so; but Dunstan read at once the desire of his subordinate, and said: “What hast thou to tell me, Brother Osgood?” “Many people are without, seeking speech of thee.” “This is the case each day; are there any whose business appears pressing?” “A company has arrived from Æscendune, or some such place in Mercia, and two of the party—a priest and a young layman—seek an immediate interview, saying their business is of life and death.” “Æscendune!—admit them first.” The brother left the cell at once, and soon returned, ushering in Father Cuthbert and Alfred, who saluted the great churchman with all due humility, and waited for him to speak, not without much evident uneasiness; perhaps some little impatience was also manifest. “Are you of the house of Æscendune, my son?” enquired Dunstan of Alfred. “Methinks I know you by your likeness to your brother Elfric.” “I am the son of Ella, father; we have been sent on pressing business, which is notified by this parchment” (presenting the formal request on the part of the brethren of Æscendune, which was the original cause of their journey) “but we have yet a more pressing matter to bring before you: wicked men seek your life, my father.” “I am well aware of that; surely you do not dream, my son, that my eyes are closed to a fact known throughout unhappy England.” “But, my father, I speak of immediate danger, which God in His great mercy enabled me to discover but last night; this very night the abbey will be attacked, and your life or liberty in danger.” “This night!” said Dunstan, in surprise; “and how have you discovered this? Do not hesitate, my son tell me all.” Thus adjured, Alfred repeated the whole story of his discovery of the concealed expedition. “You saw the leaders closely then?” said Dunstan, when he had finished; “describe the elder one to me.” “A tall dark man, like a foreign soldier, in plain but rich apparel, a scar on the right cheek.” “Stay, my son, I know him; his name is Redwald, and he is the captain of the king’s bodyguard. Now describe the other with whom he held converse.” “Father, I cannot.”