gained a long start, and eventually reached a hill, from which
they obtained their first view of the sea. It was eventide, and the
western sun, sinking towards the promontories beyond the distant Exe,
reddened the waters with his glowing light. Dunstan and his brethren
thanked God.

"We have come to the setting sun," said they, "and at eventide have seen
light; let us thank Him Who hath preserved us."

But the guide, who knew what relentless pursuers were yet behind, would
allow them no rest. In another hour they reached a small fishing village
on the coast, where a solitary bark was kept. The owner was just about
to put out for an evening's fishing, but at the earnest request of his
visitors, backed by much gold, he consented to take them over to the
opposite coast.

"The weather promises to be very clear and fine," he said; "and we may
sail across without any danger."

It was indeed a lovely night; they stepped on board, the anchor was
loosed, the sail set, and with the wind behind, they stood rapidly out
to sea. They were quite silent, each immersed in his own thoughts. At
last they heard the sound of horsemen galloping on the fast-receding
shore, and looking back, they saw twelve riders reach the beach, and
pause, looking wistfully out to sea.

"Our soul is escaped, even as a bird out of the snare of the fowler; the
snare is broken, and we are delivered," said Dunstan.

"Our help standeth in the name of the Lord, Who hath made heaven and
earth," replied Father Guthlac.

Meanwhile, Alfred rapidly gained strength. Happily no bones were broken,
he was only sadly bruised. The next day he expressed his earnest wish to
return home, but his host would not permit him, saying he should have to
answer to Dunstan some day for his guest.

The time passed monotonously enough that second day, yet not
unpleasantly: there were a thousand things to observe in the woods and
marshes around, full of animal life.

Early in the morning, a sweet fresh morning, the cowherd drove his
cattle forth to graze, where he knew the pastures were sweetest, and
Alfred would willingly have gone, too, but they told him he must rest.
So he took his breakfast of hot milk and bread, with oat cakes baked on
the hearth, and waited patiently till the warmth of the day tempted him
out, under the care of Oswy, to watch the distant herd, to drink of the
clear spring or recline under some huge spreading beech, while the
breeze made sweet melodies in h