so nobly begun for the deliverance of England from the
hateful yoke."

There was a dead silence, broken at last by a voice:

"But might we not first strike a blow for our own poor homes?"

"That blow shall be struck in time, and in time not far off; but
now it would be a waste, and a sinful waste of English blood, just
when every man is wanted. What can ye do against ten thousand
Normans, out here in the open country? or what good can ye hope to
do in the woods? Nay, come to the Camp of Refuge, the last retreat
of England's noblest sons; there is the noble Archbishop Stigand,
the faithful English prelate, who dared to defy the Conqueror to
his face; there the Bishops of Lincoln, Winchester, Durham, and
Lindisfarne, whose fair palaces are usurped by Norman intruders;
there the patriotic Abbots of Glastonbury and St. Albans; there
nobles, thanes--all who yet dare to hope for England's salvation;
and thence shall the tide of victory return after the ebb, and
sweep the Bastard and his Norman dogs into the sea. England shall
be England again, yea, to the latest generations."

Cheer upon cheer arose from the company; it was evident that the
envoy had gained his point. Wilfred now stood up.

"There are but two courses open to us, men of Aescendune--to return
to our haunts in the woods, to be hunted out in the next dry season
like vermin; the other, to repair to the Camp of Refuge. I, for
one, have decided; I will no longer hide in the Dismal Swamp like a
brock--I will accept the invitation of Abbot Thurstan, and live or
die by the side of the brave Hereward."

"And I," "and I," "and I."

"We cannot all go," said Wilfred; "some must remain to escort our
women and children to the woods, and to defend them there, if need
be, till the tide of victory, of which our guest has told us,
reaches these parts. This task befits the oldest men amongst us;
but let each man make his choice this evening, for by midnight all
should be settled, and we who go should be on our way to the east."

"And are we to leave Aescendune to the foe?"

"Nay, this accursed monument of Norman tyranny, this castle shall
fall, the flames shall consume it this night, and we will give
every house, barn, and stable to the flames also. The Normans shall
find poor lodgings for man and beast when they come tomorrow.
Etienne, son of the murderer Hugo, shall enter upon a desolate
heritage, and feed his horses with cinders.

"Haga, oldest retainer of our ho