u wert on a
wild-goose chase."

"It is a long tale to tell now, my liege."

"Have they Christianised him?" said the king, with a sly look.

"He will soon lose that," replied Anlaf.

"Yes," said the king; "we know a way of curing the folly," when, even
as he spoke, a spasm, as of mental agony, passed over him, and he
shook like an aspen, but it was gone in a minute.

Was it the fate of his father which was thus avenged?

Every one looked aside and pretended not to notice the fact, and
Anlaf, having made his homage, retired, leading Alfgar.

"You see, my son," commenced the old warrior, as he led his recovered
boy to his own quarters, "how useless it would be for you to struggle
against the tide, such a tide as no swimmer could breast."

"If he could not swim, it would be easy to drown," said Alfgar, and
there was such a despairing utterance in his tone, that his father was
checked.

The quarters of Anlaf were in the northwestern angle of the camp; they
consisted of huts hastily constructed from the material which the
neighbouring woods supplied, and one or two tents, the best of which,
stolen property, appertained to the chieftain.

Over a wide extent of desolated land, beautiful in its general
outline, where the eye could not penetrate to details, looked the
prospect. The round gently-swelling Sussex downs rose on the southern
horizon, guarding the sea, while around them were once cultivated
fields which the foe had reaped, while quick streams wound in between
the gentle elevations, crowned with wood, and here and there the mere
spread its lake-like form. The sun was now sinking behind the huge
rounded forms of some chalk hills in the west, when the camp became
gradually illuminated by the light of numberless fires, whereat oxen
were roasted whole, and partridges and hares by the dozen, for the
Danes were voracious in their appetites.

In Anlaf's quarters one huge fire blazed for all. Alfgar seemed the
only silent member of the company; the warriors related their
successes, and boasted of their exploits, and the bards sang their
ferocious ditties, until all were tired, and the quiet moon looked
down upon the sleeping camp.

O the contrast--the calm passionless aspect of the heaven and the
human pandemonium beneath.

CHAPTER VIII. FATHER CUTHBERT'S DIARY.

St. Matthew's Day, 1006.--

It is with a heavy heart that I take up my pen to write the events of
the last few days. They have been so calami