St. Andrew's Day.--

Our patient has lain some time in a state of delirium, whereat no one
could wonder. In his ravings he was incessantly acting over the scenes
through which he had passed during the dreadful night which followed
St. Brice's Day. But, thanks to a good constitution, today he has
taken a favourable turn, and seems likely to recover from a blow which
would have hopelessly shattered a frailer frame.

I was seated by his couch when he seemed to awake out of sleep, and I
saw his bright dark eyes fixed inquiringly on me.

"Where am I?" he inquired.

"In the Hall of Aescendune; you have been very ill here."

"Indeed! I have had such dreadful dreams!--but were they all dreams?"

"Your mind has been wandering for days, my dear son. You must not talk
too much."

He was silent, but evidently pondered more.

December 25, Christmas Day, 1003. {iv}--

All the household has given itself up to joy and gladness; even poor
Alfgar, who has been released today from the confinement of his
chamber, has entered into the general joy, although ever and anon
relapsing into sadness.