“Go forth, O Christian soul, from this world, in the name of God the Father Who hath created thee, of God the Son Who hath redeemed thee, of God the Holy Ghost Who hath been poured out upon thee; and may thy abode be this day in peace, in the heavenly Sion, through Jesus Christ thy Lord.”

It was over!  Over that brief but eventful life!  Over all the bright hopes which had centred on him in this world; but the battle was won, and the eternal victory gained.

We have little more to add to our tale; the remainder is matter of history.  The real fate of the unhappy Elgiva is not known, for the legend which represents her as suffering a violent death at the hands of the partisans of Edgar or Odo rests upon no solid foundation, but is repugnant to actual facts of history.  Let us hope that she found the only real consolation in that religion she had hitherto, unhappily, despised, but which may perhaps have come to her aid in adversity.

The unhappy Edwy sank from bad to worse.  When Elgiva was gone he seemed to have nothing to live for; he yielded himself up to riotous living to drown care, while his government became worse and worse.  Alas, he never repented, so far as we can learn, and the following year he died at Gloucester—­some said of a broken heart, others of a broken constitution—­in the twentieth year only of his age.

Poor unhappy Edwy the Fair!  Yet he had been his own worst enemy.  Well has it been written: 

“Rejoice, O young man, in thy youth, and walk in the ways of thine heart, and in the sight of thine eyes; but know thou that for all these things God will bring thee into judgment.”

Edgar succeeded to the throne, and all England acknowledged him as lord; while under Dunstan’s wise administration the land enjoyed peace and plenty unexampled in Anglo-Saxon annals.  Such was Edgar’s power, that more than three thousand vessels kept the coast in safety, and eight tributary kings did him homage.

Alfred became in due course Thane of Aescendune, and his widowed mother lived to rejoice in his filial care many a long year, while the dependants and serfs blessed his name as they had once blessed that of his father.

“The boy is the father of the man” it has been well said, and it was not less true than usual in this case.  A bright pure boyhood ushered in a manhood of healthful vigour and bright intellect.

Children grew up around him after his happy marriage with Alftrude, the daughter of the thane of Rollrich.  The eldest boy was named Elfric, and was bright and brave as the Elfric of old.  Need we say he never went to court, although Edgar would willingly have numbered him in the royal household.  Truly, indeed, were fulfilled the words which the Elfric of old had spoken on that Easter eve.  To his namesake, and to all that younger generation, the memory of the uncle they had never seen was surrounded by a mysterious halo of light and love; and when they said their prayers around his tomb, it seemed as if he were still one of themselves—­sharing their earthly joys and sorrows.