PRINCE AND VIKING.

My vespers were done, and I was bethinking me of retiring to rest, when I heard the plaintive voice of Ethel beseeching me to let her come within my tent. I had scarce time to reply when the poor child came rushing into my tent, bathed in tears, and in great distress. I soothed her as best I could. Then I gently inquired as to the cause of her grief, when, without answering me, she thrust into my hand the letter of the Prince. "I scarce know what he means," she said, burying her face in her hands.

I read the letter with a burning sense of shame and indignation, and my heart ached for this poor child who, in the purity of her patriotism and her unquenchable love for her country and the Saxon cause, had braved this rough journey and its exposure, in the hope that her woman's devotion might nerve the arms of the remnant of Saxon leaders still left to the cause. But this ghastly unmasking of a Prince who was false, fickle, shameless, and altogether worthless, was a cruel wound to her—a wound that would fester and rankle, but was destined never to heal again. She quietly lifted her tear-stained face, and timidly inquired, "Is it as I feared, Father?"

"Alas! my child," said I, "'tis a vile, dishonouring missive, and altogether without excuse. To come from a prince, and from a would-be king also—'tis sad to think of it."

"My country! my unhappy country! what will become of thee?" was the heart-broken exclamation as she fell at my feet, her long, fair hair falling in dishevelled tresses around.

"Comfort thee, my poor child," said I, though I scarce had heart or hope for anything. I endeavoured to calm her with such soothing, hopeful words as I had at command; but I saw that words were in vain.

"Father," said she, "my life is a weary burden. My people's woes are breaking my heart. I had vainly hoped that our scattered and hunted people might have been rallied by the presence amongst them of their Prince—that factions would have come together, and a bold stand might have been made for liberty; but to find my Prince so poor in valour and so rich in all cowardly and licentious feeling—so bereft of honour and chivalry as to offer dishonourable proposals to a forlorn and wretched girl like myself—this is more than I can bear. I have watched and prayed these two nights, hoping that favouring Heaven would smile upon us again, and upon this council. But as I watched in lonely vigil, I could hear no answering voice, saving the soughing of the night-winds in the passes of these lonely hills; and they seemed to bear no message to me, saving a message of desolation and death. Is there any rest, any joy, for one like me in life, Father? Surely the grave is the only hope for me!"

"My poor child," said I, "let us not think of death until He who gave us life shall say 'It is enough.' Let us obey, and submit to the chastening hand of our Father in heaven. Perhaps we err greatly in cherishing thoughts of resistance and of bloodshed. Let us rejoice that there is a kingdom which is stable, and which shall know no end; whose Prince is the Prince of Peace. Angels are its heralds, and saints its warriors. Love and mercy are the twin pillars of our Prince's throne; and gentle hands and loving hearts may battle for His supremacy. 'Tis a Kingdom in which torn and bleeding hearts may find the herb called heartsease, and sweet content. Into this Kingdom let us press, my child, and for it let us contend, for the kingdoms of this world are fickle, and built up on fraud and wrong; and they will ultimately shrivel up and pass away like the mists of the morning, and be no more."

"I fear me, Father, that the fierce war-spirit of my ancestors reigns in my heart. I am more than half heathen, it seems to me. I have been hoping for revenge for a murdered father and brother, and for a ravished country. They tell me the fair Torfrida, forsaken by her lord, this Hereward, has taken shelter in the monastery of Crowland. Shall I join her there? This fierce agitation is more than I can bear."

"What does thy heart say, Ethel?"

"My heart is not to be trusted, Father, for 'tis wayward and wilful, and there is strong need for some curb, some overmastering restraint, to crush its fierce revolt."

"Thine, I fear, Ethel, is not the nature to bear easily the constraints of the cloister, unless it were first schooled by the iron rod of discipline. Listen to nature's own prompting; I fancy it declares strongly for the freer life of the camp and the field. There is scope for activity, and I think a fair measure of protection, where Oswald is. On his virtue, wisdom, and valour, much depends, and I believe he will be equal to winning many privileges for us."

"Father, may I confide a maiden's secret to thee? I love him whom thou hast named. 'Twere heaven, indeed, to share his toils and privations—nay, even to be near him. But 'tis agony, and soon I fear it will be sin. His heart has fallen captive to a Norman lady who saved his life, and I know he cannot be mine. Advise me, Father, in this sore strait, I beseech you."

"Thy love is unknown to him, my child, is it not?"

"He knows not; I could not bear it for one hour if he knew it."

"'Tis a hard lesson, my poor child, but thou mayest have to learn that the essence of love is sacrifice. The human heart will not be hindered here, but will raise its own altar, free of all dictation. Alas! full oft it must offer itself, and be both priest and victim. Many are the sad hearts that here have offered sacrifice before thy day. Alas! many here will offer a hopeless, heart-consuming sacrifice when thou art gone. If it should be that there is demanded of thee a painful act of self-renouncement, strength and fortitude are always given us when we are minded to do a brave deed. I shall be near, my child; let us await what Providence has in store for us calmly. Lie down upon my couch, and rest. I will lay this matter before our people, and I will not be long."

I immediately gathered up the letter, which had fallen at my feet, and betook myself to the yeoman's dwelling-house, and knocked at the door. There was immediately a hush of voices, and some one under his breath said, "Who knocks?" "Adhelm," said I. My voice was well known to many who were inside, and the door was opened without more ado. Gathered here, evidently in secret conclave, were Sigurd and a number of the followers of the Prince. Their lowering brows told me plainly that mischief was brewing; nevertheless, I determined to execute my purpose, come what might. The Prince said,—

"What wouldest thou have with us, reverend Father? We are now discussing purposes of bloodshed, unfitted, I fear, for saintly ears. But if thou wilt be brief, our royal pleasure shall be at thy service."

"I am afraid my message is one which can scarcely be welcome to your Highness's ears; nevertheless, it is enjoined upon a bishop that he be found faithful."

"Well, be faithful an' thou wilt, Bishop; but let not thy exordium be drawn out any longer than is necessary. So to the point without further prevarication, an' it please you."

"Well, to the point then, Prince," said I. "I hold in my hands an epistle, which purports to have come from your Highness, and is addressed to the Saxon maiden, Ethel. I would fain know if it is indeed from yourself."

"What have I to do to answer thy impertinent questions, priest?" said he, snatching the letter from my hands.

"Since it is so, and as I feared, I have to denounce thee, Prince, as becomes my office; and I say fearlessly that the offering of dishonouring proposals such as these to a virtuous and gentle maiden, is an act of unblushing infamy, and I disown thee and thy cause."

"I am a thousand times thy debtor, dog of a priest, if thou wilt rid me of thy presence, and of all such eavesdropping carrion, who worm themselves into the secrets of silly wenches, to the annoyance of their betters."

"Stay a moment, sire," said Sigurd, who was evidently in a towering rage. "I would know further of this matter. If thou hast offered an insult to this girl, to this Ethel, I have something to say to thee, as well as this priest. Let me see that letter," said he, striving to take it from the Prince's hand; but the Prince hastily drew back, and attempted to tear it in pieces. Sigurd instantly grasped him with his iron fists, and wrung the letter from him as though he were a child; then, handing it to me, he said, "Read it for us, priest. I have no scholar's gear."

I took the epistle and read it in the hearing of the assembled company. When I had finished it, Sigurd drew his sword, and stalking up to the Prince, he said,—

"I will cut thy craven soul from thy craven body for offering this insult to the daughter of Beowulf."

Half a dozen hands, however, immediately grasped him, and kept him from his purpose; but, standing like a tiger at bay, his words coming hissing through his foaming lips with tumultuous rage, he shouted,—

"I disown thee, too, dastardly villain, for I perceive there is not a drop of honest blood, either Saxon or Skald, in thy craven body! Get thee gone quickly, for I warn thee to pollute no longer Saxon soil with thy loathsome, cowardly presence. And beware, too! for if to-morrow's sun finds thee within reach of my arm, I will avenge this insult in thy coward's blood."

I confess I could not but look with admiration on this sturdy descendant of the Viking rovers. Though he was rough and uncouth as the wild hills of Westmoreland, over which he had hunted and fought from his youth, yet he loved the beautiful Ethel with a love as deep and pure as a mother's—a love so utterly unselfish that he would willingly renounce his hope and his claim, nor murmur if Ethel's love should find its requital in the love of Oswald. But he was beside himself with rage when he found that this fair Saxon, whose love was of priceless value to him, should be deemed a fitting object of this princeling's insults. It is needless to say that this unprincipled act alienated finally the small remnant of Saxons who hitherto had hoped to see Edgar occupy the throne, last filled by the valorous Harold.

BADGER ON THE ALERT.

After the incidents narrated in the foregoing chapter, there followed a scene of complete disorder. Many of those who were well affected towards the Prince and his cause, fell away from him, and quitted the dwelling with Sigurd and myself; and speedily the Atheling was left quite alone, saving his personal friends, who had journeyed with him from Scotland, and who were mostly foreigners.

Whilst this had been transpiring, most of the camp was wrapped in profound slumber. The followers and housecarles who had accompanied their masters, had found resting-places in the outhouses, amid the hay and bracken which had been accumulated for the fodder and bedding of the cattle during the winter months. But Badger was ill at ease amid it all. Some presentiment of evil disturbed his slumbers, and he turned uneasily again and again; finally he sprang bolt upright, and grasped his sword, at the same time giving Wulfhere a rough shake, which thoroughly roused him also on the instant.

"What is the matter, Badger? Anything amiss?"

"Hush! there are men astir in the camp. I warrant there is some mischief abroad, and I'll know the bottom of it."

At that moment two men entered stealthily at the farther end, where the horses were stalled. Wulfhere and Badger drew their swords, and instinctively ran their fingers down the blades in the darkness. The movements of the two men were plainly visible to the watchers, for the moonlight streaming in through the open door showed their outline very distinctly as they moved to and fro. Immediately the men began to saddle several horses belonging to the Prince, and then they led them out.

"There is a move of some sort, Wulfhere, and I warrant mischief is in it, for there are snakes about. A murrain on them! I am determined to know what it means. You stay here," said Badger—he, at the same time, stealing noiselessly out at the opposite end of the building.

As soon as he reached the open air, he saw, across the enclosure, that there were lights in the dwelling; so he nimbly dodged round, keeping in the shadow of the buildings, until he reached the rear of the house. There, peering through a crazy, patched window, he not only saw what was going on inside, but he overheard this conversation between the Atheling and his favourite Alred:—

"My stomach will stand no more on't, sweet Alred. Such a ruffian, boorish crew are not fit company for a prince. Then I believe that huge, over-grown Norse clown would carry out his threat, and take my life in a moment, if he got the chance. Curses on them all! Upon my soul, I wish the Normans would swoop down upon them, and cut the vile hogs into mincemeat."

"Bravo, Prince! That is a Heaven-sent suggestion, upon my soul!" interjected Alred. "I match you against any one of the seven sages. Whew! it just jumps with my humour. The Normans are in force, too, not more than half a dozen miles away. What a tour-de-force to bring the Normans down upon them by the morning! 'Twould be a stroke of policy William could not excel. Ah! look here—speaking of William: he would load you with favours, and replenish your royal treasury bountifully; then, heigho! there would always be a flowing bowl of Rhenish, or good Canary, and the sweet blue eyes of my lady-love would sparkle again. A fig for a kingdom, and the toiling and moiling of it! Give me the jolly life where care sits lightly, and my own sweet will can be indulged. To Rouen, say I again, with William's goodwill and his gold pieces!"

"Let us away, Alred! Upon my soul, revenge is sweet. You say right, too; when one does a service for William, there follow royal gifts enow. I would rather have a double purpose than a bootless errand, any day? Where are the churls who are saddling the horses?"

Having overheard this speech, Badger darted back to his comrade, who was awaiting his return impatiently.

"Heigho, Wulfhere! this princeling plots mischief. He will betray the camp, the hound, I do believe. Come along; let us dog his footsteps."

So the pair sallied out of the enclosure in the wake of the Prince, his parasites, and several serving-men. The party slowly threaded their way through the woods and entered a narrow defile between precipitous hills on either side; all the while being steadily followed by the two Saxons. Suddenly, on one side, the mountain range came to an abrupt termination, ending in a bold promontory running up to a point. At this juncture the valley broadened out into magnificent proportions, and a spacious lake of water gleamed in the darkness. Turning to the left, they skirted the lake for a couple of miles or more. Suddenly, however, they were confronted by a pair of Norman sentries, who challenged the party, and some time was spent in pourparlers; then one of the sentries accompanied them to the Norman encampment, not more than a quarter of a mile away, the lurid light of their fires making visible some portions of the Norman quarters.

Wulfhere and Badger were obliged to come to a halt, for the remaining sentry barred their further progress, even if they dared come nearer the encampment of the enemy. They waited and watched until they saw the forms of the Prince and his followers come within the circle of light thrown off by the blazing wood fires.

"Now," said Wulfhere, "there is nothing more to be done, Badger, I think. Let us go back now, and promptly warn our friends."

"Hold there, Wulfhere; there is something more to be done. Get thee back, and do thine errand. I have a little further business here, I can see. Tell the Earl I shall be rounding the great Nab's Head about break of day."

"What hast thou in the wind, Badger? Thou wilt be hazarding one prank too many some of these days."

"Never fear, comrade, I know my way about, whether it be light or dark. Besides, my business is such as would disgrace a half-bred knight like thyself. Dost thou see, Grizzly here, and myself, have no dignity to uphold? so we may do anything either boldly or slily, as it suits our humour, if it only brings grist to the mill. Well, now be off. There is no time to talk, for it only hinders business. Come, Grizzly," said Badger, addressing his hound as soon as the form of Wulfhere was lost to view. "You know, Grizzly, you and I are not supposed to be above borrowing a few head of cattle, or to be too proud to do our own droving, at a pinch."

The fact was, the lynx eyes of Badger had espied a herd of cattle lying together under the trees by the side of the lake, although the darkness was so deep that none but keen eyes would have detected their presence. He had seen them at once, and instantly his nimble brain began revolving some scheme for carrying them off.

"The cackling and talking has come to naught, as it mostly does," said he grunting to himself; "but beshrew me if I like a bootless errand. I'll try a cast of my own net, whether there is aught to it or not."

Now there was but one formidable obstacle in the way, and that was the solitary sentinel who still stood at his post, and who continued slowly pacing to and fro in a limited space.

Badger turned to the hound and addressed him, for he was in the habit of having sundry conferences with his favourite, who had partnered him in many a daring exploit.

"Well, Grizzly, what is to be done now? Eh, sir? We must have yon cattle, Grizzly, come fair or come foul. There is this scurvy Norman in the way. What are we to do with him? I think we can dispose of him somehow or other. What say you?"

Grizzly answered by a vigorous attempt to lick Badger's chops.

"Eh, sir? I don't doubt but we can finish him off easily enough, you and I together, Grizzly. But what will our Abbot say? Are you aware, sir, that you and I have a sacred calling—that we belong to the monastic order? Don't you remember the many sermons we have from our Abbot, on loving our enemies? I don't quite see the turn of the wit in the case of these Norman dogs, somehow or other. No doubt it is sound doctrine enough, but bad to practise. Well, let that pass. I have a feeling, though, I would rather not brain this fellow, if another turn will serve as well. Now it would certainly ease my mind to do it if I caught him, flagrante delicto, flagrante delicto. Grizzly, did you note, that is the monk that is speaking? You see I can mouth my Latin when it pleases me, Grizzly. There is many a scurvy monk knows less. But I say, Grizzly, I fancy the fellow's knees are knocking together already with fear at being left alone, and that is very suggestive. Let us try playing ghost with him."

So saying, Badger divested himself of his upper garments, leaving his shoulders and the upper parts of his body exposed. Then he took the garments and tied them deftly about the shoulders of Grizzly, giving him a most strange and uncouth appearance. Having done this, and without exposing themselves to view, Badger commenced to give forth, in a low tone, the most dismal groans, and varying this by most piercing shrieks of pain.

The Norman turned a terrified gaze in the direction from whence these strange noises came, evidently in great trepidation and fear. Then he darted off a few paces, as though about to beat a hasty retreat. This was enough. Badger saw at once that the ruse would answer. So, without more ado, he dropped down on all fours, and, accompanied by the dog, each of them presenting a most unearthly and fantastic appearance, they started off in the direction of the sentinel, the groans and shrieking of Badger deepening, and becoming most diabolical in tone and intensity.

The Norman for one moment turned a scared gaze on the advancing figures, which appeared to him to be none other than the Saxon devil Zernebock, of which many Normans went in mortal dread. Then, with the speed of the wind, he took to his heels and dashed off towards the camp. Quick as thought, Badger freed the dog from his trammels, and bade him fetch the cattle. In a very few minutes he was making off, all speed, with the herd.

DOG ROBS DOG.

Badger, with his valuable plunder, had four good hours start ere daybreak, which was as early as the Normans would be likely to discover their loss. It was slow and tedious work driving cattle through the passes, and the wooded country, and the most that he could hope for in the way of start would be eight or ten miles. But there was considerable probability that the enemy would plan a night attack upon the Saxons, and in that case, if the loss was discovered by those remaining in camp, they would be quite unprepared for pursuit; and if no start could be made by them before the return of the expedition, then he would have his prize safely aboard the schooner.

In the meantime, Wulfhere, summarily dismissed by his comrade, returned to the Saxon camp, ruminating upon the strange vagaries of Badger's wit. He nothing doubted but that some sufficient purpose, if not some daring exploit, dictated his erratic movements. When he reached the encampment, he lost no time in rousing his chieftain, Oswald. After a brief consultation, they decided at once to rouse the whole camp. Then a council of war was held by the leaders. Hereward and Sigurd were for forming an ambush, and trying a brush with the foe; but the more prudent were very doubtful about the success of such a movement, seeing the Normans were far more numerous than they. Ultimately, it was decided not to risk an engagement. So hasty preparations were made, and in less than an hour's time the camp was broken up, and each party chose its own route for retreat.

"Wulfhere," said Oswald, when we had collected our little party, and had started home. "I miss Badger. Is he on before?"

"Well, I almost think he will be, my lord, though I left him lurking within a bowshot of a Norman sentinel, and within sight of their camp fires. What he had in his head I know not. Some crank, I warrant, by means of which he will get the best of the enemy."

"He will be venturing too far, I doubt, some day, and he will find he has got his head in a noose which all his ingenuity will not enable him to slip."

"No fear, my lord. It will take all the wit in the Norman camp to put him in a corner where there is not room enough for him to wriggle out. There is something in that old pate of his which will make him a match for them all, and something to spare. I have an opinion he will circumvent grim Death with some dodge or other."

"Well, he will know that we shall be bound homewards, I suppose, and he will follow when it suits his humour to do so."

"Nay, I fancy he will be ahead of us even now. He gave me instructions that he would be rounding the Great Nab's head at daybreak, so we may hope to meet with him ere long."

Thus we kept steadily pressing on through the darkness, and ere long the beams of the morning sun shot up athwart the eastern sky, and our march became much more easy and pleasant. By-and-by we rounded the bluff promontory indicated by Badger, and known as the "Great Nab's head;" and shortly we espied Badger, and his comrade Grizzly, seated most contentedly on a mossy bank, Badger regaling himself with a hunch of bread, and salt beef, whilst Grizzly, foraging for himself, was putting the finishing touches to a rabbit he had killed.

"Well, Badger," said the Earl, "alive and well, I see. What exploit have you been perpetrating? Reconnoitring the Norman camp, eh?"

"Reconnoitring, my lord? Mercy on us, no!—if that means sitting on a boulder like a moulting fowl, and gazing at nothing in particular. I never reconnoitre; that means can anything be done. I always know something can be done if one sets about it."

"Very good philosophy, Badger—well to the point. What have you been doing, then? What is the trick this time? and have you been found out for once in a way?"

"Just come with me, my lord, and we'll see."

So saying, he led us over the shoulder of the hill, revealing to us a lovely little dell where there was a stream of fresh water and an abundance of fresh green herbage. Here, also, were about twenty head of cattle browsing lustily.

"There, my lord. I thought we should have a bootless errand, for the wagging of tongues and the cackling of geese I never could understand; they are both pointless, and equally profitable. I never was a great hand at crooning since I was a baby, so I give that business up. But I owe a grudge to the Normans, and I borrowed these few cattle from them. They will be of service, I trow, on the top of the hill. And if you find you don't need them, why, there's no harm done—send them back again."

"Well, every man wields his own staff best, Badger. You do credit to yours. But I think we had better be moving, or the Normans may fetch them before they get to their journey's end."

"Quite ready, my lord. We can now reach the boat without another halt, if the Normans do not dock our tails in the meantime. Come, Grizzly, the drover's trade is a thriving trade in these times. The thieving Scot and the robber Dane have turned over their business to honester men. I never dreamed it was so respectable and well-spoken a trade as I find it to be now."

So saying, Badger and his hound set about collecting the beasts, and soon we were able to resume our march with as much celerity as we could command. Everybody seemed anxious to hear Badger's recital of his exploit, which he told us with much grim humour, and evidently much inward relish.

We were able to reach our destination without molestation from the enemy, their energies being fully occupied by other matters until we had got clear away. It was thought desirable not to embark until nightfall, unless we were compelled to do so; for it was more than probable, had we put out to sea, the movements of the vessel would have been observed by the enemy. A gangway, however, was laid ready for emergencies, whilst scouts were posted at points of observation, thus making it impossible for us to be surprised. During the day, the cattle were permitted to graze in the wood near, and when the shades of night gathered about us, they were driven aboard, and we weighed anchor and stood across the bay. Ultimately we reached our destination without mishap, though we had, in consequence of our cattle, to travel with the utmost circumspection.

WILD DARING OF SIGURD THE VIKING.

It was a most grievous disappointment to Sigurd when the Saxon leaders finally decided not to attack the Normans, and thus checkmate them as they sought to capture the Saxons whilst in council. When he saw that there was no hope of the Saxons uniting in this, he appealed most importunately to Hereward to join him, but in vain. When everything failed, so insatiate was his thirst for vengeance that he determined to attack them single-handed, trusting to his prowess, and his familiarity with the passes and the mountain retreats, to secure for himself immunity from capture.

"If I had but a dozen of my hardy mountaineers, I would lead these Normans a dance before this day was done!" he muttered, as he saw the remnant of the Saxons departing. His hatred of the Normans had so eaten into his soul, that every opportunity to attack them was a favourable one, and he was ready for any scheme of wild daring if only Norman blood could be spilled. So, alone, he grimly and resolutely strode up the pass, until he reached a spot he deemed suitable for his purpose. Boulders and bushes intermingled thickly on one side; on the other was a precipice—a sheer drop of twenty feet into a trout-stream, which threaded its way amid limestone boulders.

Behind him the gaunt, gloomy mountains shot up far away, their lower parts covered thickly with bracken, bushes, and boulders; behind and amid which a retreating figure need never be exposed for more than a second at a time. Looking around for a second or two, he gave a grunt of satisfaction, and then he climbed a few yards from the path, and laid himself down amid the bracken and deep grass, with his broad sword unsheathed and laid by his side, ready for the fray. Thus he waited for the oncoming Norman soldiery. For more than an hour he lay thus in ambush, with wild and turbulent passions fermenting in his breast, and a wild look in his eyes—reason for the moment dethroned by this one overmastering passion.

Presently on the still night air was borne the sound of stealthy footsteps. Sigurd bounded to his feet as the first sounds broke upon his ear. He fixed tightly his helmet, closed his visor, and adjusted his coat of link-mail, which had swung a little awry. Then, grasping his powerful broadsword, he made a vigorous lunge at an invisible foe, and then, with a grunt of satisfaction, he took his stand behind a massive boulder, flanked on the side next the advancing foe with a thick network of shrubs, through which, however, he could watch the movements of the Normans. The darkness was ebbing away fast. Already the morning's sun had smitten the head of mighty Helvellyn in the distance, and bathed his kingly head in a halo of golden glory; but substantial remains of laggard night still hung moodily about the bottom of the pass, as though nature, in shame and sadness, would fain cast her mantle over this mad strife of men, and over the deed about to be enacted before her eyes. Slowly, with hushed voices and stealthy tread, on came the unsuspecting foe. The head of the column threaded its way past the lurking-place. Sigurd clenched his sword with an impatient grip, for the sight of Norman foemen, within reach of his sword, was well nigh more than he could resist. On they passed, all unconscious that a human tiger was lurking near and making ready for his spring. File after file of the Normans strode on, mostly afoot, but some were leading their horses. Now the rear men are abreast. A second more, their backs are seen. A spring and a blow, and the hindmost Norman is cloven to the waist, and drops with scarce a groan. There is a wild shriek, and consternation is rampant amongst the rearmost ranks.

Sigurd, in mad rage, hacks and hews at the panic-stricken crew, cutting down man after man with terrific celerity, whilst some, in their efforts to escape his onslaught, fall over the precipice. Presently the Normans discover that but one solitary Saxon attacks them. A shout goes up, "The mad Saxon! Cut him down! Down with him! Run him through!" Immediately a hundred swords are whipped from their scabbards, and a united rush is directed towards him. Sigurd sees his chance is gone; he dashes along the path in swift retreat, followed by the yelling foe. Presently he darts from the path and makes for the hills, tearing through bracken, furze, and brushwood, and leaping boulders with an agility none but a mountaineer and a hunter who had been wont all his life to go swinging over these mountain sides, until the sinews of his legs had become like thongs of steel, could make pretence to imitate. Presently he turns to glance at the crew behind, and he laughs a savage laugh as he sees them huddling together like sheep at the bottom of the pass, some afraid to follow, and all of them conscious of the hopelessness of it. With an exclamation of contempt, he catches up a fragment of rock and hurls it with terrific energy amongst them, striking one of them on the shoulder, and knocking him to the ground with a broken shoulder-blade. Then, with a hysterical laugh, and a fierce brandish aloft of his sword, he dashes off again towards the summit. With wondering gaze the Normans watch him scaling, ridge after ridge, the beetling brow of the hill far above them, like a stag bounding from the hunter. Presently he darts over the topmost ridge, and is lost to view. He halts in a tiny hollow of the mountain's brow, and, pulling out his sword, dripping with gore, he wipes it on the sward.

THE SAXON DEVIL AND THE WICKED ABBOT.