men, very inaccessible.

At last Alfred learned that he would be in Worcester by a certain day,
and he started at once for that city. He arrived there after a tedious
journey; the roads were very difficult, and when he reached the city he
heard the cathedral bells, and went at once to the high mass, for it was
a festival. There he saw Dunstan as he had seen him before at
Glastonbury, at the altar, amidst all the solemn pomp in which our
ancestors robed the sacred office.

Immediately after the service he repaired to the palace, and put in his
name. Numbers, like himself, were awaiting an audience, but only a few
minutes had passed ere an usher came into the antechamber and informed
him that Dunstan requested his immediate presence.

He followed the usher amidst the envy of many who had the prospect of a
long detention ere they could obtain the same favour, and soon he had
clasped Dunstan's hand and knelt for his blessing.

"Nay! rise up, my son, it is thine: _Deus benedicat et custodiat te, in
omnibus viis tuis_. Thinkest thou, my son, thy name has been forgotten
in my poor prayers? God made thee His instrument, but thou wast a very
very willing one; and now, my son, wherein can I serve thee? Thou hast
but to speak."

Thus encouraged, Alfred told all his tale, and Dunstan listened with
much emotion.

"Yet two days and I will be with you at Aescendune. Go back and comfort
thy brother; he shall indeed have my forgiveness, and happy shall I be
as an ambassador of Christ to fulfil the blessed office of restoring the
lost sheep to the fold, the prodigal to his Heavenly Father."

When Alfred returned to Aescendune he found Elfric eagerly awaiting him;
he had not been so well in the absence of his brother, and every one saw
symptoms of the coming end.

Still he seemed so happy when Alfred delivered his message that every
one remarked it, and that evening he sat up later than usual, listening
as Father Cuthbert read for the hundredth time his favourite story from
King Alfred's Anglo-Saxon version of the Gospels, the parable of the
prodigal son, which had filled his mind on the night after the battle;
then he spoke to his mother about past days, before a cloud came between
him and his home; and talked of his father, and of the little incidents
of early youth. Always loving, he was more so than usual that night, as
if he felt time was short in which to show a son's love.

That night his mother came, as she always came,