r feelings. But you will stay with us, will you not?"

"I will stay; many thanks for your kindness."

After this I had nothing further to detain me at the castle, so I left
for the priory.

It was a black dark night. The violence of the wind almost lifted me
from my feet; not a star could be seen but occasionally a sharp
hailstorm pelted down. Glad was I, although the distance was not
great, to see the lights of the priory, and to dry my chilled limbs
and wet garments before the fire in the common room while I told my
brethren the tidings of the night, and the suspicions which we
entertained.

When I had finished there was a dead pause, during which the howling
blast without, as it dashed the hail against the casement, seemed a
fitting accompaniment to our sombre thoughts.

The compline bell rang.

This office is always full of heavenly comfort, but there seemed a
special meaning tonight in one verse--"A thousand shall fall beside
thee, and ten thousand at thy right hand, but it shall not come nigh
thee."

Yet the thousands were heavy on our hearts, and I meditated some means
of carrying tidings of their danger to our pagan neighbours; but I
knew nothing of the details of the plot, only that there was a plot,
and I knew that if I sent a brother, the Danes, in their hatred to
monks, would probably set their huge dogs at him before he could
speak, and perhaps worry him to death. Neither could any other
messenger approach their dwellings safely at night.

I tried to hope, but against reason, that we had perhaps exaggerated
the danger. Still, after the compline was over, we sat in deliberation
a long time in the hall. The novices and lay brothers, ignorant of the
peril, had retired to rest; but we, who knew the portentous state of
things around us, could not have slept had we retired. Ever and anon
we looked forth from doors and windows into the black darkness
without; but although it was near midnight, neither sight nor sound
told of aught amiss, and we were beginning to yield to fatigue, when I
ascended the tower in company with Father Adhelm, to survey the scene
for the last time. It was so windy that we could hardly stand upon the
leaded roof, and although we gazed around, nought met our eyes until
we were on the point of returning.

"Listen!" said Father Adhelm, the subprior.

It was unnecessary. Borne upon the wind, a loud noise, as of men who
shout for mastery, met our ears, followed or intermingled with