The dog, followed closely by the men, is on the bank.  The men curse and swear, but the dog plunges into the chilly stream, which, being swollen, has too rapid a current to freeze.  Alfgar sees the brute swimming after the boat; he ceases to use the pole, but takes his sword, kneels on the stern of the boat, and waits for the mastiff.  It gains the boat, and tries to mount, when the keen steel is driven between the forepaws to its very heart.  One loud howl, and it floats down the stream, dyeing the waters with its life-blood.

“Cursed Dane!” shouts Higbald. “thou shalt pay with thy own life blood.”

“When you catch me; and even then you must fight for it.  Meanwhile, if you be an Englishman, warn the good people of Dorchester that the Danes are upon them.  Your Edric has betrayed them.”

Reaching the other shore, Alfgar finds smooth meadows all covered with snow.  He knows his way now.  A little higher up he strikes the main road which leads to Clifton, and rushes on past field and grove, past hedgerow and forest.  Behind him the heavens are growing angry with lurid light, before him the earth lies in stillness and silence; the moonbeams slumbering on placid river, glittering on frozen pool, or silvering happy homesteads—­happy hitherto.  He sees the lights in the hall of Herstan yet burning, and casting their reflection abroad.  He is at the foot of the ascent leading up to it.  One minute more and—­

. . . . . .

Christmas day was almost over when the population of Herstan’s village of Clifton obeyed the summons with alacrity to spend the evening in the hall in feasting and merriment.  They had all duly performed the religious duties of the day, and had been greatly edified by the homily of Father Cuthbert at mass; and now innocent mirth was to close the hallowed day—­mirth which they well believed was not alien to the birthday of Him who once sanctified the marriage festivities at Cana by His first miracle.

So thither flocked the young and the old:  the wood rangers and hunters from the forests of Newenham, where Herstan had right of wood cutting; the men who wove baskets and hurdles of osier work from the river banks; the theows who cultivated the home farm; the ceorls who rented a hide of land here and a hide there—­all, the grandfather and the grandson, accepted the invitation to feast.  The rich and the poor met together, for God was the Maker of them all.

The huge Yule log burnt upon the hearth as it had done since it was lighted the night before; a profusion of torches turned night into day; the tables groaned with the weight of the good cheer; in short, all was there which could express joy and thanksgiving.

The supper was over; the wild boar roasted whole, the huge joints of mutton and beef, the made dishes, the various preparations of milk, had disappeared, the cheerful cup was handed round; after which the tables were removed, the gleemen sang their Christmas carols, and all went merry as a “marriage bell.”