he previous night, when, sound
in body, he had wandered beneath the glittering canopy of the heavens;
and thus reminded, all the thoughts of that previous night came back
upon him, especially the remembrance of his sin, of his desertion of his
father, of his vicious life at court, of his neglect for three years and
more of all the obligations of religion, and he groaned aloud in the
anguish of his spirit.

"Oh! spare me, my God!" he cried, "for I am not fit to die! Spare me,
that I may at least receive my father's forgiveness."

For he felt as if he could not ask God to forgive him until he had been
forgiven by his father. Little did he think, poor boy, that that father
lay cold in death; that never could he hear the blessed words of
forgiveness from his tongue; neither had he the consolation of knowing
how completely he had been forgiven, and how lovingly he had been
remembered in his father's last hours upon earth.

"I cannot die! I cannot die!" thus he cried; and he strove again to
raise himself from the ground, but in vain; strove again, as if he would
have dragged his feeble body through pain and anguish all the way to
Aescendune, but could not. The story of the prodigal son, often told him
by Father Cuthbert, came back to him, not so much in its spiritual as in
its literal aspect: he would fain arise and go to his father; but he
could not.

"O happy prodigal!" he cried; "thou couldst at least go from that far
off country, and the husks which the swine did eat; but I cannot, I cannot!"

While thus grieving in bitterness of spirit, he saw a light flitting
about amongst the dead bodies, and stopping every now and then; once he
saw it pause, and heard a cry of expostulation, then a faint scream, and
all was still; and he comprehended that this was no ministering angel,
but one of those villainous beings who haunt the battlefield to prey
upon the slain, and to despatch with short mercy those who offer resistance.

He lay very, very quiet, hoping that the light would not come near him,
and he trembled every time it bent its course that way; but at length
his fears seemed about to be realised--it drew near, and he saw the
face of a hideous looking hag, dressed in coarse and vile garments, who
held a bloody dagger in the right hand, and kept the left in a kind of
bag, tied to her person, in which she had evidently accumulated great
store. Her eyes were roaming about, until the light suddenly was
reflected from the p