listen at the door.

"And now that we have done so completely with the fox," said a voice,
"what say you, comrades, to our making equal despatch with the vixen and
her cub? 'Twere easy doing, could we but discover in what corner we
might entrap them."

Kenric did not understand the purport of these words. He did not guess
that the "fox" meant his own father, and the "vixen and her cub" his
mother and Alpin. But he listened yet again.

"Wait, wait, my lord of Jura," said another voice. "'Twere better we
tarried until all the watchdogs are sound asleep. Fill me yon drinking
horn, Sweyn, for my hand trembles, and my mind is strangely cloudy."

Silence followed this speech, and Kenric crept along the corridor until
he came to the entrance of the great hall. He drew aside the arras
hangings and peered into the deserted room. All was silent as the grave.
The crackling embers of the fire gave but a sorry light, with only a
fitful glimmer that rose now and again from some half-consumed pine log.
But with the feeble moonbeams, that shone through the thin films of skin
that in those days -- except in the churches -- did service for glass,
there was still light enough in that vast room to show what terrible
deed had been enacted upon the hearthstone.

Kenric had taken but a few strides into the hall when his eyes rested
upon the form of his murdered father. He started back aghast at the
horrible sight.

"Oh, my father, my father!" he cried, flinging himself down upon the