companion, for Father Cuthbert speaks well of your learning. You write
the Latin tongue, he tells me, with some little facility."

Elfric feared his powers had been overrated.

"I trust you have resumed your studies after your long holiday,"
continued Dunstan. "Youth is the season for sowing, age for reaping."

"I have had a very bad headache," said Edwy, "and have only been able to
write a page of Latin. Here it is, father."

And he extended the exercise Elfric had written to the abbot, who looked
at the writing for one moment, and then glanced severely at the prince.
The character was very like his own, but there was a difference.

"Is this your handwriting, Prince Edwy?" he asked.

"Of course. Elfric saw me write it, did you not?"

Elfric was not used to falsehood; he could not frame his lips to say "Yes."

Dunstan observed his confusion, and he turned to the prince with a look
in which contempt seemed to struggle with passive self-possession.

"I trust, Edwy," he said, "you will remember that the word of a king is
said to be his bond, and so should the word of a prince be if he ever
hopes to reign. I shall give Father Benedict charge to superintend your
studies as usual."

He wished them a grave good morning, and left the room.