The Normans had all left the castle and village before sunset, leaving the gates open and the drawbridge down, as they expressly said that the English might be under no temptation to devastate a place which must soon be in their hands again.

The castle lay empty and deserted for an hour or two; the cattle, too many to be removed, began to low and bleat because they missed their customary attention; only in the Priory of St. Denys did things go on as usual; there the bells rang out for vespers and compline, and the foreign brethren went on their way as if the events of the day had no importance for them.

It was already nightfall, when the forests gave up hundreds of armed men from their dark shade, who poured down like a torrent upon Aescendune, and directed their course towards the castle, where they were somewhat astonished to find the drawbridge down, the gates open.

At first they paused as if they feared treachery, but Wilfred stepped forward and stood in the gateway.

Turning round he addressed the multitude.

“Men of Aescendune, bear me witness that, in the name of my fathers and ancestors, I, their heir, take possession of mine inheritance.”

A loud burst of cheers greeted these words, and the English, following their young lord into the castle, found it utterly deserted.

No words can describe the glee with which they paraded the battlements, and flung out the ancient banner of the house of Aescendune to the winds, from the summit of the keep, after which they penetrated chamber after chamber, with almost childish curiosity, so new was the idea of such a building to their imaginations.

But it was with sensations of chilling horror that they explored its dungeons beneath the very foundations of the towers.  Some were cells for solitary confinement, of the shape of a tomb and not much larger, the stone doors of which shut with a gloomy solemn sound—­the knell of hope to the captive.

And then they came to the torture chamber, of which they had already heard from Ordgar, son of Haga, and saw the seat of judgment, so often occupied by him who had now passed to his dread account; they beheld the rack, the brazier, the thumbscrew, and shuddered.

“I am sick,” said the English heir; “take away these accursed things; burn what will burn, and throw the rest in the river; should our grandchildren find them, they may well ask what they were made for.”

Meanwhile the monks at the new priory were calmly awaiting their fate with a courage worthy of a better cause.  They heard the joyful shouts of the English as they took possession of the castle, without flinching; they rang their bells loudly and defiantly, for the compline service at the third hour of the night (9 P.M.) This last act of audacity was too much; the natives surrounded the new priory, beat at its doors, rang the bell at the gate, blew their horns, and made a noise which baffles description, while they proceeded to batter down the gates.