“But let us go to our brethren; they await us,” said Dunstan, speaking to the prior. “Brother Osgood, take these our guests to the refectorarius, and ask him to see that they and all their company taste our bounty at least this day; tomorrow we may have nought to offer them.” In the famous chapter of the whole house of Glastonbury which followed, and which became historical, prompt resolution was taken on Dunstan’s report, which did honour to the brotherhood, as evincing both their resignation and their trust in God, Who they believed would, to use the touching phrase of the Psalmist, “turn their captivity as the rivers in the south;” so that they “who went forth weeping, bearing good seed, should come again with joy, and bring their sheaves with them.” So it was at once agreed that the whole community should break up immediately; that within the next hour all the monks should depart for the various monasteries of the Benedictine order; and that Dunstan himself, with but two companions, should take refuge across the sea, sailing from the nearest port on the Somersetshire coast. A dozen of the brethren were to return with Father Cuthbert and Alfred to Æscendune at once, and to bear with them all the necessary powers for the accomplishment of the good thane’s wishes in regard to the monastery of St. Wilfred, while Father Cuthbert was then and there admitted by Dunstan to the order of St. Benedict —the necessity of the case justifying some departure from the customary formalities. All being completely ordered and arranged, the chapter broke up, and within an hour the monks were leaving as rapidly as boys leave school when breaking-up day comes, but not quite so joyously. They strove to attract as little attention as possible, and, in most cases, travelled in the ordinary dress of the country. Father Cuthbert and the Benedictines who were to accompany him on his return—- so much more speedy than had been anticipated —were already prepared to start, when, to their surprise, Alfred could not be found. Alfred was at that moment in the cell of Dunstan, with whom he had obtained, not without great trouble, another brief interview. “God bless you, my son,” said Dunstan, “and render unto you according to all you have done for His glory this day, and restore you your brother safe in body and soul!” But it was not merely for a blessing that Alfred had sought the abbot. “Father,” he said, “if I have happily been of service to you, I ask but one favour in return; one brother has sought your life, let the other remain with you as a bodyguard.” “But your father?” “I am satisfied that I am but speaking as he would have me speak.” “But you will become an exile.” “Gladly, if I can but serve you, father.” “But, my child, I have no means of support for you abroad; as monks we shall find hospitality in every Benedictine house, but you are only a layman.” “Then, father, I but ask you to allow me to accompany you to the coast.”