Part 38 (1/2)

”No more of this, Elgiva; you shall not go, I swear it! come weal or woe. Are we not man and wife? Have we not ever been faithful to each other?”

”But this dreadful Church, my Edwy, which crushes men's affections and rules their intellects with a giant's strength more fearful than the fabled hammer of Thor. It crushed the sweet mythology of old, with all that ministered to love, and subst.i.tuted the shaveling, the nun, the monk; it has no sympathy with poor hearts like ours; it is remorseless, as though it never knew pity or fear. You must yield, my Edwy! we must yield!”

”I cannot,” he said; ”we will fly the throne together.”

”But where would you go? this Church is everywhere; who would receive an excommunicate man?”

”I cannot help it, Elgiva; say no more, it maddens me. Talk of our early days, before this dark shadow fell upon us.”

She took up her harp, as if, like David, she could thereby soothe the perturbed spirit; but its sweet sounds woke no answer in his breast, and so the night came upon them--night upon the earth, night upon their souls.

Early in the morning she rose, strong in a woman's affection, while Edwy yet slept, and hastily arrayed herself; she looked around at her poor household G.o.ds, at the harp, at the many tokens of his love.

”It is for him!” she said. She imprinted her last kiss on his sleeping forehead, she gazed upon him with fond, fond love; love had been her all, her heaven: and then she opened the door noiselessly.

Athelwold waited without.

”Well done, n.o.ble girl!” he said; ”thou keepest thy word right faithfully.”

She strove to speak, but could not; her pale bloodless lips would not frame the words. Silently they descended the stairs; the dawn reddened the sky; a horse with a lady's equipments waited without, and a guide.

The old thane slipped a purse of gold into her hands.

”You will need it,” he said. ”Where are you going? you have not told us.”

”It is better none should know,” she said; ”I will decide my route when without the city.”

They never heard of her again.[x.x.xii]

When Edwy awoke and found her gone he was at first frantic, and sent messengers in all directions to bring her back; but when one after another came back unsuccessful, he accepted the heroic sacrifice and submitted.

Wess.e.x, therefore, remained faithful to him, at least for a time, but Mercia was utterly lost; and Edgar was recognised as the lawful king north of the Thames, by all parties; friends and foes, even by Edwy himself.

CHAPTER XXV. ”FOR EVER WITH THE LORD.”

Many months had pa.s.sed away since the destruction of the hall of Aescendune and the death of the unhappy Ragnar, and the spring of 958 had well-nigh ended. During the interval, a long and hard winter had grievously tried the shattered const.i.tution of Elfric. He had recovered from the fever and the effects of his wound in a few weeks, yet only partially recovered, for the severe shock had permanently injured his once strong health, and ominous symptoms showed themselves early in the winter. His breathing became oppressed, he complained of pains in the chest, and seemed to suffer after any exertion.

These symptoms continued to increase in gravity, until his friends were reluctantly compelled to recognise the symptoms of that insidious disease, so often fatal in our English climate, which we now call consumption.

It was long before they would admit as much; but when they saw how acutely he suffered in the cold frosts; how he, who had once been foremost in every manly exercise, was compelled to forego the hunt, and to allow his brother to traverse the woods and enjoy the pleasures of the chase without him; how he sought the fireside and s.h.i.+vered at the least draught; how a dry painful cough continually shook his frame, they could no longer disguise the fact that his days on earth might be very soon ended.

There was one fact which astonished them. Although he had returned with avidity to all the devotional habits in which he had been trained, yet he always expressed himself unfit to receive the Holy Communion, and delayed to make that formal confession of his sins, which the religious habits of the age imposed on every penitent.

Once or twice his fond mother, anxious for his spiritual welfare, pressed this duty upon him; and Alfred, whom he loved, as well he might, most dearly, urged the same thing, yet he always evaded the subject, or, when pressed, replied that he fully meant to do so; in short, it was a matter of daily preparation, but he could not come to be shriven yet.

When the winter at last yielded, and the bright spring sun spoke of the resurrection, when Lent was over, they hoped at least to see him make his Easter communion, and their evident anxiety upon the subject at last brought from him the avowal of the motives which actuated his conduct.

It was Easter Eve, and Alfred had enticed him out to enjoy the balmy air of a bright April afternoon. Close by the path they took, the hall was rapidly rising to more than its former beauty, for not only had the theows and ceorls all shown great alacrity in the work, but all the neighbouring thanes had lent their aid.

”It will be more beautiful than ever,” said Alfred, ”but not quite so homelike. Still, when you come of age, Elfric, it will be a happy home for you.”