Offa resolved to seek the boy, and to adopt him, as if in reparation for
the past. The effort he had made had cost him a bitter pang, and the
father's heart was well-nigh broken. For a time the inquiries were
unsuccessful. It was discovered that the mother was dead, that she had
died before the tragedy, but not a word could be learned respecting the
boy, and many had begun to doubt his existence, when, after years had
elapsed, one of the executioners of the cruel doom deposed on his
deathbed that a boy of some ten summers had appeared on the beach, had
called the victim "father," and had so persistently entreated to share
his doom, that they had allowed him to do so, but had concealed the
fact, rightly fearing blame, if not punishment. The priest who had
attended his dying bed, and heard his last confession, bore the tidings
to Offa at the penitent's desire.

The old thane never seemed to lift up his head again: the sacrifice his
sense of duty had exacted from him had been too great for a heart
naturally full of domestic affection, and he sank and died after a few
months in the arms of his younger and beloved son Ella.

The foundation of the neighbouring priory and church of St. Wilfred had
been the consolation of his later years, but the work was only half
completed at his death. It was carried on with equal zeal by Ella, now
the Thane of Aescendune.

He married Edith, the daughter of a rich thane of Wessex, and the
marriage proved a most happy one.

Sincerely religious, after the fashion of their day, they honoured God
with their substance, enriched the church of St. Wilfred, where the dust
of the aged Offa awaited the resurrection of the just, and continued the