fox
Dunstan grieve if his pet, his favourite, gets hurt? Come, cheer up,
Elfric, my boy; dismiss dull care, and be yourself again!"

Elfric tried very hard to do so, and again partly succeeded. They had
extended their walk all round the limits of the camp. It was a beautiful
starlit night: there was a new moon, which was just going down, and an
uncertain light hung about the field which was to be the scene of the
conflict. It was one of those bright nights when the very aspect of
nature suggests thoughts of the Eternal and the Infinite; when the most
untutored being, gazing up into the deep blue void, finds his mind
struggle vainly to grasp the hidden secrets those depths conceal; when
the soul seems to claim her birthright, and dreams of an existence
boundless, illimitable, as the starry wastes around. Such were, perhaps,
the ideas which animated the philosophers of the old heathen world when
they placed their departed heroes amongst the constellations; such,
perhaps, the thoughts which led the dying apostate Julian to bid his
followers weep no more for a prince about to be numbered with the stars.

Thoughts of peace would those radiant orbs have spoken, under any other
circumstances, to the ardent youth as he gazed upon them; but now they
oppressed him with the consciousness that he was at enmity with the
mighty Unknown, that he was in danger, such danger as he could not
comprehend; not that which comes from the lance point or the sword
blade, but danger which fills the soul with the consciousness of its
existence, yet is impalpable, not having revealed itself, only its presence.

"Goodnight, Elfric," said Edwy, as they reached the camp on their
return; "goodnight. I hope you will be in better spirits in the morning."

Edwy retired within the folds which concealed the entrance to his own
tent. Close by was the tent appointed for Elfric, who acted as his page;
and the latter entered also, and sat down on a camp stool.

His bed did not seem to invite him; he sat on the seat, his face buried
in his hands; then he suddenly rose, threw himself on his knees, only
for a moment, rose up again:

"I can't, I can't pray; if my fate be death, then come death and welcome
the worst. There will at least be nothing hidden then, nothing behind
the scenes. I will not be a coward."

The phrase was not yet written--"Conscience makes cowards of us all;"
yet how true the principle then as now--true before Troy's renown had
birth, tr