The eyes of the fair enemy of the abbot flashed fire, and she exchanged some very significant words with her mother, Ethelgiva, who occupied the next chair.

“Come, my fairy-given [xxvi] one, you must not be too hard on Redwald, who doubtless did his best—­

“How was it, Elfric?”

“The devil was certainly on Dunstan’s side:  he and no other could have betrayed our coming, for betrayed it was.”

“How long had he left when you reached the abbey?”

“Only an hour or two; but there was a sound of mocking laughter, doubtless caused by his incantations, which kept us for some hours forcing doors and the like.”

“And you could discover no cause?”

“None whatever; however, we found he had taken the Foss Way for the coast, and followed, and nearly caught him.”

“What prevented you?”

Elfric turned pale as if with great mental emotion, and tried to proceed in vain.

“You are not well,” said Elgiva, anxiously.

“Not quite,” he said; and then, overcoming his feelings by a vigorous effort, while no one save Redwald suspected the true cause, he continued: 

“There had been a great storm, and they had broken down the only bridge which existed for miles over a swollen river:  we lost hours.”

“And yet, as your messengers told us, you arrived in time to see him leave the coast.”

“The vessel which bore him was still distinctly in sight when we stood on the sands.”

“But had you no means of following?”

“None:  it was a lonely fishing village with a small harbour, and his bark was a mere fishing smack, the only one of the place.”

“I trust the sea has swallowed him,” said the king; “but there is a rumour today that he is playing the saint in Flanders with great pomp.  Well, only let him show his face in England again, and the devil may pinch my nose with his tongs if I leave him a head on his shoulders:  he shall be a sacrifice to your outraged dignity, my Elgiva.”

“And yours, my Edwy.”

Husband and wife were quite agreed on this subject:  they had never forgiven Dunstan in the least degree, and, identifying him with religion, had well-nigh abjured it altogether.

The ordinary dishes being now removed, the guests all partook lavishly of wine, and, their heads already heated, yielded entirely to the excitement of the moment.  Toast after toast was drunk to the king:  he was compared to Apollo for his beauty, and Elgiva to Venus, while the old northern mythology was ransacked also for appellations in honour of the youthful pair.

Adjoining, in the outer hall, the higher domestics had their music and dancing, and the king and queen came to honour the entertainment by their presence.  So the happy hours wore away, and at length the company were on the eve of departure, for fatigue was making itself felt, when an ominous blowing of a horn was heard at the outer gate.