Part 37 (2/2)
His presence, however, somewhat chilled the conversation, and they broke up early; the more so as it was a vigil, the vigil of St. Andrew, and men strictly observed the law of the Church on such subjects in those days.
When he bade Edmund goodnight, Edric said:
”You cannot tell how true a peace has found its home in my breast since our reconciliation, which I feel I owe greatly to the intercession of your patron St. Edmund, to whose tomb I made a pilgrimage, where I besought this one grace--our reconciliation.”
Edmund thought of the holy thorn; but Edric continued:
”And you will be glad to hear that the bishop has decided upon my penance. It is to be a pilgrimage to the Holy Land.”
”I am heartily glad to hear it,” said Edmund, speaking the very truth, although he did try to forgive as he hoped to be forgiven.
And they separated.
Meanwhile happiness and expectation were high in the b.r.e.a.s.t.s of the happy lovers, Alfgar and Ethelgiva. The morrow was to unite them. The ladies sat up nearly all night making the wedding robes complete, and richly adorning them--Hilda, Bertha, and Ethelgiva, with many skilful handmaidens.
They had almost finished their task, and were about to separate, when St. Frideswide's bell tolled the first hour of the morning (one o'clock).
”We are very late,” said the lady Hilda, as well she might, for our ancestors generally retired early, as they rose early; and they bade each other goodnight.
”Happy, happy Ethelgiva!” said the mother as she kissed her darling, not without a maternal sigh, for she felt as if she were losing her only child, who had for so many a year been the light of their woodland home--her only child, who had filled not simply her own place in their affections, but as far as she might the place of the loved Bertric.
But the kiss was suspended. The whole party stood silent and breathless; for a loud and bitter cry, as of one in extreme anguish, broke upon the silence of the night.
Ethelgiva uttered but one word as she bounded towards the staircase, for she knew the voice:
”Alfgar!”
CHAPTER XXIII. WHO HATH DONE THIS DEED?
Alfgar never saw his beloved lord enter his chamber with a look of greater weariness than he bore that night.
”It has been a hard fight, old friend,” said the familiar king, ”but we have conquered; for my part, I would far sooner have stood out against him, battle-axe in hand, than have met this struggle, could I have foreseen it beforehand; but now I have given him the kiss of peace, peace it must be; he has no more to dread from me.”
”Nor you from him, I trust.”
”I must trust so, or I should not feel I had really forgiven, and I cannot give my hand where my heart is not; but yet it was such a fight. 'Tis easy to stand in the deadly gap and keep the foe from a beleaguered citadel: men praise the deed, and there is a feeling of conscious pride which sustains one, but the truly great deeds are those which no chronicler records. It requires more bravery to forgive sometimes than to avenge.”
”I can well believe that, my lord.”
”Well, if my path has been beset with foes, so has it with friends. Such love as yours, Alfgar, I say as yours has been!-- well, few kings share such affections.”
”My lord, you first loved me; at least you saved me from a fearful death.”
”And you have warded off death from me again and again in the battlefield; nay, deny it not, nor say it was merely your duty, men do not always do such duty.”
”My lord, you praise me more than I can feel I deserve.”
<script>