Our minds being made up as to the course to be pursued, we rowed quietly down the stream, fearing pursuit.

Down the stream about two hours’ journey an old Roman road, leading southward, crossed the river, where a bridge had once existed, long since swept away by time, but there was a tolerable ford quite safe, save in winter floods.

Hard by stood a hostelry, and thither we journeyed in our heavily-laden bark.

The light of the conflagration grew dimmer as we rowed down the stream, but it still lighted up the heavens with an angry glare.  It was yet deep night when we drew near the inn, and we lay awhile on our oars, to listen for signs of pursuit; but there was nought to disturb the dead silence of the night, so we proceeded.

All the household were buried in sleep when we knocked at the doors—­a proof that they had not observed the redness in the skies, or little sleep, I trow, would they have taken.

We were so exhausted with the fatigues and excitement of the enemy, that we hailed this lonely habitation as a little Zoar.  It showed how safe people were feeling in Mercia, that we could not wake the good people for a long time, and we were getting impatient, for they seemed like the seven holy sleepers of Ephesus, awaiting the cessation of persecution.  I wish we could all sleep like those Ephesians, and awake in better days.

But their dogs were awake, and saluted us with a vociferous barking, and would not allow us to land until they were driven away by the oars which our theows used with much effect upon their hides.

At last a window was thrown open above.

“Who are you who travel at this time of night?” said a voice, which tried to be firm.

“The poor brethren of St. Benedict from Aescendune.”

“Now the saints help thy lying tongue,” thus irreverently he spoke, “do holy men travel like robbers in dead of night?”

“Look, my brother, over the tree tops, and you may learn the cause of our wanderings; dost thou not even yet see the angry glare in the heavens?  It is from Aescendune; the Danes have burned it.”

“Good lack, poor Aescendune! and the people?”

“Are all safe, we trust, in body.”

“God be praised!” and the host hurried down and admitted us.

His wife hasted to light a good fire, and to prepare us a breakfast; in short, we had fallen amongst the faithful, and we met great hospitality, for which may God repay the worthy host, Goodman Wiglaf.

We were so fatigued in mind and body that we no sooner lay down than we fell asleep, and slept until the sun was high in the heavens.

Wiglaf watched the river jealously to see that no foe pursued; but, as we afterwards learned, they had other things to think of.