CHAPTER VI. THROUGH SUFFERING TO GLORY.


For a few minutes Alfgar sat like one stunned by the intelligence. Joy
and fear were strangely mingled together; well did he remember
Sidroc's frequent visits to his father's English home, and that the
warrior had more than once taken him in his infancy upon his knee and
sung to him war songs, telling him that he too must be a warrior some
day.

He was roused from his reverie by the voice of Sidroc.

"Who is your companion?"

"Bertric, the son of Elfwyn of Aescendune; oh! you will see that no
wrong is done to him, will you not? his people saved my life."

"That they might make you a Christian, knowing that your father would
sooner you had expired in the flames which consumed his house.

"No," he added sternly; "he is doomed, he and his alike."

Alfgar uttered a piteous cry, and appealed so earnestly that one might
have thought he would have moved a heart of stone, yet all in vain.

"Does the eagle mourn over the death of the dove, or heed what pangs
the kid may suffer which writhes beneath its talons? If you are of the
race of warrior kings, act like one."