“I have already said that Alfgar is a Christian.”

But Edric had already, by his adroit suggestion about St. Brice’s day, predisposed the company to doubt the genuineness of Alfgar’s conversion.

A long pause succeeded, which no one seemed to care to break.  Ethelred was anxious for his favourite; the traitor himself was studying how to meet the accusation; the Prince was furious, and was striving in vain to repress his surging passions, the others were perplexed.

The messenger returned after a time to say that Alfgar had left the palace.

“Left the palace!” said Edmund.

“About half-an-hour since.”

“There is some vile treason here,” said Edmund.

“Treason! on whose part?” said Edric.

“Thine, villain.”

“I am glad you think so, for you give me an opportunity of demonstrating to the court how unreasonable your hatred makes you, and how unjust.  I have not left the king’s presence since your first appearance.”

“It is true,” said Ethelred.

Edmund was completely baffled.

“It appears to me,” said the king, “that he fears the discovery of his villainy, and has taken himself off.  I will offer a fitting reward to the man who shall produce him; meanwhile, it is useless to continue this scene.”

“Wait at least a few minutes,” said Edmund, and went forth himself.

Vainly he sought through all the courts of the palace—­once he thought Alfgar, whose fidelity he never suffered himself to doubt, might be in the chapel, and went there in vain.

At last he found a servitor who had seen him go with some men into the city, and hurried forth in search of him.  He passed through all the streets inflaming the curiosity of the watchmen; the darkness (for there were very few lamps or lights of any kind, in those days, for public use) was intense, a drizzling rain was falling, and at length, weary, wet, and dispirited, he returned to the palace, and found that the council, tired of waiting, had at length broken up.

The bishop offered him hospitality, evidently sympathising with his distress, and once suggested a doubt of the fidelity of his page, but Edmund repelled it instantly.

“He is true as life,” he said.

“But the king himself is witness that Edric has not left his presence.”

“If not, he has plenty of villains about him to anticipate his orders, vile as Godwin, port-hund of Shrewsbury.  Depend upon it they have murdered him, but if so, I will have vengeance, such vengeance—­I will challenge the villain Edric to single combat.”

“The Church would forbid it.”

“Do you then sympathise with the hypocrite?”

“Alas, my son! who can read the heart of man?  I know not what to think.”

“But you could read the history of the last campaign.  A fool might—­I beg pardon—­were not all our plans known beforehand?  Did not all our enterprises fail?  Were not all our ambushes anticipated?  Did we not fall into all theirs?  If they had had a prophet like Elisha, who told the king of Israel all Benhadad said in his council chamber, they couldn’t have managed better.  Can you explain this?”