“I wished to speak with you, Elfric,” said the abbot, “upon a very serious matter.  When you first came here, I was delighted to have you as a companion to the prince.  You were evidently well brought up, and bore an excellent character; but, I grieve to say, you have greatly changed for the worse.  Are you not aware of it?”

“No, father.  What have I done?”

Dunstan sighed at the tone of the reply, and continued—­“It is not any particular action of which I wish to accuse you, but of the general tenor of your conduct.  I do not speak harshly, my boy; but if truth be told, you are as idle as you were once diligent, as sullen and reserved as once candid and open:  and, my son, your face tells a tale of even worse things, and, but that I am puzzled to know where you could obtain the means of self indulgence, I should attribute more serious vices to you.”

“Who has accused me, father?”

“Yourself—­that is, your own face and manner.  Did you ever contemplate yourself in a mirror when at home?  There is a steel one against that wall, go and look at yourself now.”

Elfric blushed deeply.

“My face is still the same,” he said.

“It is the same, and yet not the same.  Innocence once took her place at its portals, and had sealed it as her own; the expression is all changed; my boy, I am absolutely certain that all is not well with you.  For your own sake, delay no longer to avoid the danger of losing your salvation, for the habits you form now will perhaps cling to you through life.  Turn now to your own self; confess your sin, and be at peace.”

“I came to confession at Shrovetide; I am not required to come now, am I?”

“Required?  No, my boy, it is your own sense of guilt, alone, which should draw you.  The Church, since there has been no public scandal, leaves you to your own judgment at such a time as this.  Have you never felt such remorse of conscience as would tell you your duty?”

“Never.”

He thought of Good Friday, and blushed.

“Your tone and words belie each other, my boy.  God grant you repentance; you will not accept my help now, but the time may come when you will seek help in vain.”

Elfric bowed, without reply, and at a sign left the chamber.

A few weeks later, at the beginning of November, Edred left London for a tour in the west, and quitted his nephews with more than his usual affection, although his goodbye to Elfric was more constrained, for the good old king, not knowing the whole truth, was beginning to fear that Elfric was a dangerous companion.  He little thought that he was rather sinned against than sinning.

Dunstan was to follow him in a week, and only remained behind to discharge necessary business.

The heart of the amorous Edwy beat with delight as he saw his uncle depart, and he made arrangements at once to spend the night after Dunstan’s departure in mirth and jollity at the house of Ethelgiva and her fair daughter.