tent. Close by was the tent appointed for Elfric, who acted as his page;
and the latter entered also, and sat down on a camp stool.

His bed did not seem to invite him; he sat on the seat, his face buried
in his hands; then he suddenly rose, threw himself on his knees, only
for a moment, rose up again:

"I can't, I can't pray; if my fate be death, then come death and welcome
the worst. There will at least be nothing hidden then, nothing behind
the scenes. I will not be a coward."

The phrase was not yet written--"Conscience makes cowards of us all;"
yet how true the principle then as now--true before Troy's renown had
birth, true in these days of modern civilisation.

He could not sleep peacefully, although he laid himself down; his hands
moved in the air, as if to drive off some unseen enemy, as if the danger
whose presence was impalpable to the waking mind revealed itself in sleep.

"No, no" he muttered; "let the blow fall on me, on me, on me alone!"
then he rose as if he would defend some third person from the attack of
an enemy, and the word "Father" once or twice escaped his lips; yet he
was only dreaming.

"Father!" again he cried, in the accents of warning, as if some imminent
danger menaced the loved one.

He awoke, stared about, hardly recognising where he was.

"What can I have been dreaming about?" he cried; "what can it all mean?