ue in these days of modern civilisation.

He could not sleep peacefully, although he laid himself down; his hands
moved in the air, as if to drive off some unseen enemy, as if the danger
whose presence was impalpable to the waking mind revealed itself in sleep.

"No, no" he muttered; "let the blow fall on me, on me, on me alone!"
then he rose as if he would defend some third person from the attack of
an enemy, and the word "Father" once or twice escaped his lips; yet he
was only dreaming.

"Father!" again he cried, in the accents of warning, as if some imminent
danger menaced the loved one.

He awoke, stared about, hardly recognising where he was.

"What can I have been dreaming about?" he cried; "what can it all mean?
I thought I was at Aescendune;" and he strove vainly to recall the
scenes of his dream.

The tread of the passing guard was the only sound which broke the
stillness of the camp.

"I cannot sleep," said Elfric, and walked forth.

The night was waning, and in the east a red glow was creeping upwards;
the stars were, however, still brilliant. Opposite, at the distance of
less than a mile, the reflection of the camp fires, now low, revealed
the presence of the enemy; before him the mist slowly arose in white
thin smoke-like wreaths, from the grass whereon many should soon sleep
their last sleep, now in unconsciousness of their fate.

"I wonder where I shall lie?" thought Elfric, as if it were certain he
would fall.

He felt cooler now, as the hour drew near; he watched the red light
creeping upward, and saw the light clouds above catch the glow, until
the birds began their songs, the glorious orb arose to gild the coming
strife, and the shrill trumpet in the camp was answered by the distant
notes in the camp of the foe, like an echo afar off.

CHAPTER XVII. THE SLEEP OF PEACE.

The first day after the departure of the king from Aescendune passed
rapidly away. The soldiers who had remained behind with Redwald were
quiet and orderly in their demeanour, and even, in obedience to secret
orders, attended the evensong at the minster church, as if moved thereto
by devotion, although the curious spectator might easily discover the
unaccustomed character of their service, by the difficulty with which
they followed the prayers, and the uneasy impatience with which they
listened to a lengthened exposition of a portion of the Anglo-Saxon
version of the Gospels from Father Cuthbert.

The old thane an