I was seated by his couch when he seemed to awake out of sleep, and I saw his bright dark eyes fixed inquiringly on me.

“Where am I?” he inquired.

“In the Hall of Aescendune; you have been very ill here.”

“Indeed!  I have had such dreadful dreams!—­but were they all dreams?”

“Your mind has been wandering for days, my dear son.  You must not talk too much.”

He was silent, but evidently pondered more.

December 25, Christmas Day, 1003. {iv}—­

All the household has given itself up to joy and gladness; even poor Alfgar, who has been released today from the confinement of his chamber, has entered into the general joy, although ever and anon relapsing into sadness.

He knows all now:  a day or two agone, when all the household had gone to hunt in the woods, I was alone with him in his chamber, and thought that at last I must discharge the painful task of telling him the truth.

“My boy,” I said, “you have not lately inquired about your father.”

He looked at me very sadly.

“I know all,” he said, “that you would tell me.  I have no father, no mother, no kinsfolk.”

“Some of our people have told you then?”

“No.  At first the events of that fearful night seemed all like a dream, and mingled themselves with the strange spectres which haunted me in delirium; but afterwards the real separated itself from the unreal, and I knew that my father and all his friends, my Danish uncles amongst them, had perished with the whole household assembled there that fatal day.  I also remembered, but faintly, how I came here.  Did not you save me from the murderers?”

I briefly explained the whole circumstances to him, adding such words of consolation as I could think of, and telling him that he must always look upon Aescendune as his home.  At length he rose.  He had not replied.

“Pardon me, my father,” he said, “but may I retire to my chamber?  I wish to say much, but I am too weak now.”

“Meanwhile, you will not leave us?”

“I have no other home.”

And he retired to his little chamber, from which he emerged no more today.

Feast of the Epiphany.—­

This day my catechumen Alfgar was baptized in the priory church.  It seemed useless to delay longer, as he was fully prepared both intellectually and spiritually, nay, has been so for some time, only the tragic event which deprived him of his Danish kinsfolk had distracted him for a time from spiritual things.  Nay, had he not been surrounded by real Christians and loving friends here at Aescendune, I fear the Church would have lost him altogether.  Such a commentary was the massacre of St. Brice on the Christian doctrine of love and forgiveness!  He felt it grievously at first, but he was able at length to distinguish between men that say they are of Christ, and are not, and those who really set the example of that Lord and his Saints before them.  He is now one of ourselves; a sheep safe in the fold, and the dying wish of his sainted mother is fulfilled.  My brother intends to adopt him as a son, and as his family is small, the proposal meets my approbation.  Bertric and Ethelgiva already love him as a brother.