"You shall escape no more," cried his late gaoler, and brought his axe down with a mighty rush. Alfgar leapt nimbly aside, and before his bulky but clumsy antagonist could recover his guard, passed his keen sword beneath the left arm, through the body, and the giant staggered and fell, a bloody foam rising to his lips, as he quivered in the agonies of death.
All was again silent. The Danes, discomfited for the moment, having lost half their number, had retired, probably waiting for reinforcements, and the victor addressed Edmund.
"Look," he cried; "this man is a servant of Edric Streorn."
"Is it true, fellow?" said Edmund sternly.
"What if it is? I am dying now, and it cannot matter to me."
The last words were interrupted by a convulsive struggle.
"Art thou an Englishman or a Dane?" said the Etheling, bending over the dying ruffian in his anxiety to learn the whole truth.
"What is that to thee?"
"Much, if thou wouldst escape death."
"Escape death! I cannot. Neither wilt thou escape Edric Streorn, and I shall not die unavenged. Ah! young springal, thou wilt not escape again. To think that thy puny hand should give Higbald his death blow! Ah, I am choked!"