Part 38 (2/2)

”It will never be my home, Alfred.”

”You must not speak so despondently. The bright springtide will soon restore all your former health and vigour.”

”No, Alfred, no; the only home I look for is one where my poor shattered frame will indeed recover its vigour, but it will not be the vigour or beauty of this world. Do you remember the lines Father Cuthbert taught us the other night?

”'Oh, how glorious and resplendent, Fragile body, shalt thou be, When endued with so much beauty, Full of health, and strong and free, Full of vigour, full of pleasure.

That shall last eternally.'

”It will not be of earth, though, my brother.”

Alfred was silent; his emotions threatened to overcome him. He could not bear to think that he should lose Elfric, although the conviction was gradually forcing itself upon them all.

”Alfred,” continued the patient, ”it is of no use deceiving ourselves. I have often thought it hard to leave this beautiful world, for it is beautiful after all, and to leave you who have almost given your life for me, and dear mother, little Edgitha, and Father Cuthbert; but G.o.d's Will must be done, and what He wills must be best for us. No; this bright Easter tide is the last I shall see on earth; but did not Father Cuthbert say that heaven is an eternal Easter?”

So the repentant prodigal spoke, according to the lessons the Church had taught him. Superst.i.tious in many points that Church of our forefathers may have been, yet how much living faith had its home therein will never be fully known till the judgment.

”And when I look at that castle,” Elfric continued, ”our own hall of Aescendune, rising from its ashes, I picture to myself how you will marry some day and be happy there; how our dear mother will see your children growing up around her knee, and teach them as she taught you and me; how, perhaps, you will name one after me, and there shall be another Elfric, gay and happy as the old one, but, I hope, ten times as good; and you will not let him go to court, I am sure, Alfred.”

Alfred did not answer; he could not command his composure.

”And when you all come to the priory church on Sundays, and Father Cuthbert, or whoever shall come after him, sings the ma.s.s, you will remember me and breathe my name in your prayers when they say the memento for the faithful dead; and again, there shall be little children learning their paters and their sweet little prayers, as you and I learned them at our mother's knee: and you will show them my tomb, where I shall rest with dear father, and perhaps my story may be a warning to them. But you must never forget to show them how brotherly love was stronger than death when the old hall was burnt.

”After all,” he continued, ”our separation won't be long, the longest day comes to an end, and a thousand years are with Him as one day. We shall all be united at last--father, mother, Alfred, Edgitha, Elfric.

Do you not hear the Easter bells?”

They retraced their steps to the priory church for the services of Easter Eve.

”And one thing more, dear Alfred; you think me a strange penitent, that I am long, very long, before I make my confession. You do not know how I sigh for Communion; it is three years since I communicated, nearly four.

But, Alfred, there is one who tried to stop me when I began going downward, downward, and I feel as if I must have his forgiveness before I can communicate, and it is to him I want to make my last confession.

You know whom I mean; he is in England now and near.”

”I do indeed.”

”Now you know my secret, let us go into church.”

Oh, how sweetly those Easter psalms and lessons spoke to Alfred and Elfric that night; how sweetly the tidings of a risen Saviour sounded in their ears. Easter joy was joy indeed. The very heavens seemed brighter that night, the moon--the Paschal moon--seemed to gladden the earth and render it a Paradise, like that happy Eden of old times, before sin entered its holy seclusion.

Easter tide was over, and Ascension drew near, but the sweet month of May had done little to restore health to poor Elfric. He had scarcely ever had a day free from pain. His eye was brighter than ever, but his attenuated face told a sad tale of the decay of the vital power.

From the time that Alfred knew how his brother yearned for Dunstan's forgiveness, and that he would be shriven by none but him, he had sought to accomplish his wish. He heard that Dunstan had returned from abroad, and was about to be consecrated Bishop of Worcester, and to be their own diocesan, and he sought an early opportunity of seeing him.

At last, but not until after Dunstan's consecration, he gained the opportunity, not without much delay; for Dunstan was sometimes in Worcester, sometimes in London, which had thrown off Edwy's authority, and submitted, with all Ess.e.x, to Edgar; sometimes ordaining, sometimes confirming, sometimes a.s.sisting Edgar in the government; and he was, like all other great 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 ma.s.s, for it was a festival. There he saw Dunstan as he had seen him before at Glas...o...b..ry, at the altar, amidst all the solemn pomp in which our ancestors robed the sacred office.

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