asking for honest pledges in
return for his own oath. Whereon from across the courtyard, where a
few wounded men lay--a voice weak with pain cried, with a strange
laugh:

"Get him the holy ring, that he may be well bound. It hangs yonder
where I put it, in the gateside timbers."

Erpwald glowered into the darkness, but he could see nothing of the
man who had spoken. But one of his men had seen the spear cast, and
knew what was meant, though the fight had set it out of his mind.
So he ran, and found the shaft easily in the darkness, and took the
ring from it, bringing it back to Erpwald.

"It is luck," he said. "Spear and ring alike have marked the place
for Woden."

"Hold your peace, fool," snarled Erpwald, with a sharp look at
Owen.

And at that Stuf laughed again, unheeded.

Then Owen swore as he had promised, on the cross hilt of his sword,
and Erpwald swore faith on the ring, and so the swords were
sheathed at last; and when they had disarmed all our men but Owen,
Erpwald's men took torches from the hall and went to tend the
wounded, who lay scattered everywhere inside the gate, and most
thickly where my father fell.

Owen went to that place, with a little hope yet that his friend
might live, but it was not so. Therefore he knelt beside him for a
little while, none hindering him, and so bade him farewell. Then he
went to Stuf, who was sorely hurt, but not in such wise that he
might not recover.

"What will you do with the child?" the man asked.

"Have no fear for him. I shall take him westward, where my own
people are. He shall be my son, and I think that all will be well
with him hereafter."

"I wit that you are not what you have seemed, Master," Stuf said.
"It will be well if you say so."

Then Owen bade him farewell also, and went to find me and get me
hence before the ale and mead of the house was broached by the
spoilers. And, as I have said, I was already dressed, and I ran to
his arms and asked what all the trouble was, and where my father
had gone, and the like. I think that last question was the hardest
that Owen ever had put to him, and he did not try to answer it
then. He told me that he and I must go to Chichester at once, at my
father's bidding; and I, being used to obey without question, was
pleased with the thought of the unaccustomed night journey. And
then Owen bethought him, and left me for a moment, going to the
chest where my father had his store of money. It was mine now, and