"Monster!" said Alfgar, "you tempt like Satan. Away, and leave me to my fate."
"You will think better of it by and by when confinement upon bread and water has tamed you. I will come once more, but it will be the last time; and, mark you, should your people be defeated-- the Danes I mean--still your escape would not necessarily follow; the house might take fire, it is of timber, and would soon burn down; a sad misfortune it would be.
"Good morning. I am going to mass with the king; shall I say a Pater and an Ave for you, since you are prevented from being there. The saints have you in their holy keeping!"
His manner throughout had been like that of a cat playing with a mouse, and there was quite a gratified smile upon his lips as he went.
Strange to say, Alfgar felt less miserable after he was gone. The wickedness of Edric seemed so great, his hypocrisy so unblushing, that in his simple faith Alfgar could not believe that he would be allowed to succeed. Many a holy text in the Psalms came to his mind, and seemed to assure him of Divine protection.
"I myself have seen the ungodly in great power; and flourishing like a green bay tree.
"I went by, and, lo! he was gone; I sought him, but his place could nowhere be found.
"Seek innocency, and take heed to the thing that is right: for that shall bring a man peace at the last."
"So, come what will," said he, "I will trust in Him and never will I save my life by uttering one word which might betray the innocent."
In this manner days lengthened into weeks. He tried in vain to open any intercourse with his ferocious jailor, whose ward was sometimes shared by a comrade, when there was much ungodly revelry below, and snatches of Danish war songs mingled with profane oaths. The deep, deep bay of the mastiff sometimes gave warning of the advent of a stranger, or of the step heard from the distance, in the still deep night; but this was all that Alfgar could learn of the outer world, from which he was banished at so critical a moment.