yet alive at Aescendune, the hallowed temple of the martyr would not
want its due honour.

All his heart was with his English friends; he felt that in going to
the Danish camp he was really going to his death, for although within
a few years the conversion of the Northmen took place, yet at this
period their hatred of Christianity was simply ferocious, and his
father belonged to the old heathen conservatives of his day, as did
all his kinsfolk.

"O Aescendune, once happy Aescendune!" was the thought, the bitter
thought, as each hour placed a larger barrier of space between Alfgar
and his late home; all its happy memories came freshly back upon him,
and particularly the thought of Ethelgiva, his betrothed, from whom he
was so ruthlessly torn, torn as if he left part of himself behind.

They reached the confines of the forest by daybreak. Before them
stretched an open country, where wild heaths alternated with
cornfields, and wooded hills were of frequent occurrence upon the
landscape.

All at once a signal of caution was given, and the whole party retired
again within the cover of the wood, where they could see, for they
were on an eminence, the whole district before them without being
seen.

A body of fifty English soldiers was passing on the road, which lay at
the distance of a few hundred yards only, travelling at a considerable
speed, as if they anticipated the emergency of Aescendune, and hurried
to the rescue. Alfgar knew them at once; they were Elfwyn and his