when he was asleep, to
his chamber to gaze upon him, when she was struck by the difficulty of
his breathing; she felt alarmed when she saw the struggles he seemed to
make for breath, and saw the damp sweat upon his brow, so she called Alfred.

Alfred saw at once that his brother was seriously worse, and summoned
Father Cuthbert, who no sooner gazed upon him than he exclaimed that the
end was near.

During all that night he breathed heavily and with difficulty, as if
each breath would be the last. Towards morning, however, he rallied, and
immediate danger seemed gone, although only for a short time.

He sat up for the last time that day. It was a lovely day in May, and in
the heat of the day he seemed to drink in the sweet atmosphere, as it
came gently through the open window, laden with the scents of a hundred
flowers. Often his lips moved as if in prayer, and sometimes he spoke to
his brother, and asked when Dunstan would come; but he was not equal to
prolonged conversation.

At length one of the ceorls came riding in to say that the Bishop, with
his retinue, was approaching the village, and Father Cuthbert went out
to meet him. The impatient anxiety of poor Elfric became painful to witness.

"He is coming, Elfric! he is coming!" said Alfred from the window. "I
see him near; see! he stops to salute Father Cuthbert, whom he knew
years ago; I must go down to receive him.

"Mother! You stay with Elfric."

A sound as of many feet; another moment, a firm step was heard upon the
stairs, and Dunstan entered the room.

He advanced to the bed, while all present stood in reverent silence, and
gazed upon the patient with a look of such affection as a father might
bestow upon a dying son as he took the weak nerveless hand.

Elfric looked round with a mute appeal which they all comprehended, and
left him alone with Dunstan.

"Father, pardon me!" he said.

"Thou askest pardon of me, my son--of me, a sinner like thyself; I
cannot tell thee how freely I give it thee; and now, my son, unburden
thyself before thy God, for never was it known that one pleaded to Him
and was cast out."

When, after an interval, Dunstan summoned the lady Edith and Alfred back
into the room, a look cf such calm, placid composure, such satisfied
happiness, sat upon his worn face, that they never forgot it.

"Surely," thought they, "such is the expression the blessed will wear in
heaven."

And then, in their presence, Dunstan administered the