a deed of
scandalous atrocity, and the discovery was hard for him to bear. The
strong impression which his dream had made upon him--an impression
that he was to be the means of saving his brother from some great sin--
came upon him now with greater force than ever, and was of great
comfort. The identity of the scenery he had seen in dreamland with the
actual scenery he had gone through, made him feel that he was under the
special guidance of Providence.

Returning to the inn he sought Father Cuthbert, and found him somewhat
uneasy at his long absence, and to him he communicated all that he had
seen and heard.

The good father was a man of sound sense but of much affection, and at
first he could not credit that the boy he had loved so well, Elfric of
Aescendune, should have grown to be the associate of murderers, for such
only could either he or Alfred style the agents of Edwy's wrath.

But, once fully convinced, he was equal to the emergency.

"We will not start at once, we should but break down on the road, and
defeat our own object. We must rest quietly, and sleep soundly if
possible, and start with the earliest dawn. We shall reach Glastonbury
by midday, and be able to warn the holy abbot of his danger in good time."

So Alfred was forced to curb his impatience and to try to sleep soundly.
Father Cuthbert soon gave good assurance that he was asleep; but the
noisy manner in which the assurance was given banished sleep from the
eyelids of his anxious pupil. At length he yielded to weariness both of
mind and body, and the overwrought brain was still.

He was but little refreshed when he heard Father Cuthbert's morning
salutation, "_Benedicamus Domino_," and could hardly stammer out the
customary reply, "_Deo gratias_."

Every one rose early in those days, and the timely departure of the
party from Aescendune excited no special comment. Hundreds of pilgrims
were on the road, and Alfred expressed his conviction that there would
be force enough at Glastonbury to protect Dunstan, to which Father
Cuthbert replied--"If he would accept such protection."

On former days their journey had been frequently impeded by broken
bridges and dangerous fords; but as they drew near Glastonbury the
presence of a mighty civilising power became manifest. The fields were
well tilled, for the possessions for miles around the abbey were let to
tenant farmers by the monks, who had first reclaimed them from the
wilderness. The farm house