After mass I mingled with the dispersing congregation. The weather was
very gloomy--the faces of the congregation yet more so. All seemed to
apprehend coming evil. Instead of returning cheerfully home they stood
together in groups, talking in low tones, as if they feared to speak
their thoughts aloud.

Most of them evidently were men of peace, but not all, as I have
already hinted; and, as I drew near a group standing behind the great
yew tree, I heard one of these latter discoursing to his fellows.

"Heard you the prior's sermon?" said Siric, for that was the fellow,
Siric of the Wold; "a fine homily he gave us on St. Brice--that man
of peace."

"It was easy for him to be a man of peace," returned another; "he
hadn't got Danes for his neighbours."

"Holy Job himself would have turned cutthroat if he had."

"Then they have been insulting, robbing, and murdering all over the
country."

Just then I interrupted them, for I could no longer hear the
blasphemy.

"How now, Siric," said I; "hast thou come to Aescendune to revile the
saints?"

"Nay, Father," said he, with a mocking smile; "I was only rejoicing