"Still, it may be our father and his men; they may have worn the spoils of the enemy."
The spoils generally went the other way, Alfgar thought, but did not say.
They crossed the ford in silence, intent only on reaching home. For a long time they could follow the trail of the horsemen.
"Who can lead them?" said Bertric, as they bounded onward. "They seem to know the country."
A sad and harrowing suspicion had filled Alfgar's mind, that these men might be deputed to avenge the fiery death of his father --and to avenge it, probably, on the very people who would have died to prevent it.
But the one desire uppermost in the minds of the whole party was to hasten home. They feared every moment that they might see the bright flame through the trees, or that the wind might bring them the tidings that they were all too late--too late to save those whom they loved from outrage and death.
So they continued running, or walking when breath failed, at the utmost speed they could command, and just as the sun set they arrived at the crest of a hill, from which they could see the hall.
"Thank God, it yet stands!" said they both.
They descended, and plunged again into the wood which lay between them and the goal; their theows, less perfectly trained, and perhaps less ardent, fell slightly behind. They came upon the spot where they had left the deer, not, however, with any intention of encumbering themselves with the burden, as may be imagined. They looked, however, at the tree where they had hung the carcase, and their eyes met each other's.
"It is gone," said Alfgar, with bated breath.