not what
hideous trophies or past storms the smiling depths conceal.

So was it with this treacherous penitent.

His presence, however, somewhat chilled the conversation, and they
broke up early; the more so as it was a vigil, the vigil of St.
Andrew, and men strictly observed the law of the Church on such
subjects in those days.

When he bade Edmund goodnight, Edric said:

"You cannot tell how true a peace has found its home in my breast
since our reconciliation, which I feel I owe greatly to the
intercession of your patron St. Edmund, to whose tomb I made a
pilgrimage, where I besought this one grace--our reconciliation."

Edmund thought of the holy thorn; but Edric continued:

"And you will be glad to hear that the bishop has decided upon my
penance. It is to be a pilgrimage to the Holy Land."

"I am heartily glad to hear it," said Edmund, speaking the very truth,
although he did try to forgive as he hoped to be forgiven.

And they separated.

Meanwhile happiness and expectation were high in the breasts of the
happy lovers, Alfgar and Ethelgiva. The morrow was to unite them. The
ladies sat up nearly all night making the wedding robes complete, and
richly adorning them--Hilda, Bertha, and Ethelgiva, with many skilful
handmaidens.

They had almost finished their task, and were about to separate, when
St. Frideswide's bell tolled the first hour of the morning (one
o'clock).

"We are very late," said the lady Hilda, as well she might, for our
ancestors generally retired early, as they rose early; and they bade
each other goodnight.

"Happy, happy Ethelgiva!" said the mother as she kissed her darling,
not without a maternal sigh, for she felt as if she were losing her
only child, who had for so many a year been the light of their
woodland home--her only child, who had filled not simply her own place
in their affections, but as far as she might the place of the loved
Bertric.

But the kiss was suspended. The whole party stood silent and
breathless; for a loud and bitter cry, as of one in extreme anguish,
broke upon the silence of the night.

Ethelgiva uttered but one word as she bounded towards the staircase,
for she knew the voice:

"Alfgar!"

CHAPTER XXIII. WHO HATH DONE THIS DEED?

Alfgar never saw his beloved lord enter his chamber with a look of
greater weariness than he bore that night.

"It has been a hard fight, old friend," said the familiar king, "but
we have conquered; for my part