The road which ran across the river at this spot continued southward into Wessex, and, so far as we could learn, was free from danger, so I determined to send my brethren to Abingdon by easy stages along its course, while I turned back with Father Adhelm, to share the misfortunes of my kindred and lay brethren in the woods.  So we embraced each other and parted; and we two watched, with loving hearts, until the glades of the forest hid our brethren, dear to us in the Lord, from our sight, dimmed as were our eyes with tears.  Then we plucked up our courage, and turned our thoughts to those others, dear and near to us, who had taken to the woods, where it was again our duty to seek them.

Wiglaf rowed us back in a light skiff up the stream, not without much protest, for he feared the Danes would surely catch us, and at every bend of the stream he crept round, as if he expected to see a fleet of boats sweep towards us, while he kept in the middle, as if dreading an arrow from every bush.  At length we reached the immediate neighbourhood, over which the smoke still hung like a black pall.  Here Father Adhelm and I landed, and, giving Wiglaf our blessing, bade him depart in peace, which the good soul flatly refused to do until assured of our safety.

So, hiding the boat behind some bushes, we crept forward together, till, getting through the underwood, we came to the edge of the covert.

Before us lay the fated village, one mass of deformed and blackened ruins, from which the dark smoke ceaselessly arose, and made the air painful to breathe.

But there was no sign of life; no living thing seemed to breathe there; the place seemed abandoned for ever.  It was a dull day, dull as the gloom which was upon our spirits; the very heavens seemed to have put on funeral attire, and the chilly wind which swept over the scene seemed quite at home.

We emerged cautiously from our cover, and soon stood where, a few days before, the priory had risen, beautiful before God; it was but a huge pile of blackened timber and stone; and even more conspicuous above all other ruins, by the black smoke it still sent forth, was that which had been the hall.

While we stood and pondered, Wiglaf suddenly started.

“I hear the tramp of men,” he said.

Then I listened, and distinctly heard the footfall of men and horses.  We paused; it drew nearer.  We were on the point of taking to the woods again, when I thought I caught the sound of the word of command in the English tongue, and the voice seemed familiar.

We advanced still cautiously amongst the ruins, until we saw fifty or sixty horsemen cross the wooden bridge which the Danes had left uninjured, and advance with horror-stricken faces.

They were my brother and his men.

I recognised Elfwyn amongst them.  I rushed up to him, and our tears mingled together.

“They are safe, are safe,” I cried.