I tried to hope, but against reason, that we had perhaps exaggerated the danger.  Still, after the compline was over, we sat in deliberation a long time in the hall.  The novices and lay brothers, ignorant of the peril, had retired to rest; but we, who knew the portentous state of things around us, could not have slept had we retired.  Ever and anon we looked forth from doors and windows into the black darkness without; but although it was near midnight, neither sight nor sound told of aught amiss, and we were beginning to yield to fatigue, when I ascended the tower in company with Father Adhelm, to survey the scene for the last time.  It was so windy that we could hardly stand upon the leaded roof, and although we gazed around, nought met our eyes until we were on the point of returning.

“Listen!” said Father Adhelm, the subprior.

It was unnecessary.  Borne upon the wind, a loud noise, as of men who shout for mastery, met our ears, followed or intermingled with cries for help or mercy—­so we fancied at least.

While we stood rooted by horror to the spot, a bright light arose, which rapidly increased, as a conflagration well might in such a wind, and soon the whole horizon was illuminated.  I knew but one homestead in that direction—­the fortified house of Anlaf.

I thought of the poor boy, with thankfulness that we had restrained him from returning home.  He is saved, at least, thought I, as a brand from the burning.

The other brethren joined us, and after a short consultation, we determined to go to the scene in a body, to mitigate the rage of the people, and save life where we could.

So, putting our cowls over our heads, we sallied forth into the black night—­black and dark save where the light of the fire illumined the horizon, and even cast a faint ray upon our own path.  We were not used to journeys in such weather, and I am afraid we made very slow progress, but it was not for want of good will.  The fire grew brighter and brighter as we proceeded, and the shouts louder and louder.  We knew that Anlaf had a party of his countrymen, all of them obnoxious to the English, and could easily understand that they had collected themselves together for their own destruction.  Yet, when we looked around, we perceived by the blood-red reflection in the skies at other points, that the same ruthless task was being carried out in many a distant spot, as well as close at hand.

Reaching the bank of the river, we directed our course along its banks until the dark forest closed in upon us, and rapid progress became difficult.  The trees were all rocking wildly in the wind, and here and there a severed branch fell down before us.  Occasionally a gust of rain and hail descended.  The path was wet and slippery.  Poor Father Adhelm groaned aloud.  He had the podagra, (or gout), and ought not to have ventured forth; but zeal would not let him rest.

“Verily our path is hedged about with thorns.  It is hard to kick against the pricks,” said the chamberlain.