“He can hardly help himself. Still, the smoke of those fires, which, I trust, betokens good cheer; and the peaceful aspect of that party coming out to meet us, in the midst of whom I recognise old Ella and his son Alfred, Elwy’s brother, does not look much like compulsion.”
“Making the best of a bad bargain, perhaps.”
“I prefer to think otherwise.”
At this moment the two parties met, and Edwy at once dismounted from his courser with that bewitching and kingly grace which became “Edwy the Fair.” He advanced gracefully to the old thane, and, presenting the customary mark of homage, embraced him as a son might embrace a father—“For,” said he, “Elfric has taught me to revere you as a father even if Æscendune had not taught me before then. I robbed you of your son, now I offer you two sons, Elfric and myself.”
The tears stood in the old man’s eyes at this reception, and the mention of his dear prodigal son.
“He is well, I hope?” said he, striving to speak with such sternness and dignity as sell-respect taught in opposition to natural feeling.
“Well and happy; and I trust you will see him in a day or two, when we shall have chastised our rebels; justice, mingled with mercy, must first have its day.”
“Where is he now?”
“With the main body of the army; in fact, he is my right hand. It is my fault, not his, that he is not here now; but we could not both leave, and he preferred that I should come and proffer my filial duty first, and perhaps that I should assure you of his love and duty, however appearances may have seemed against him.”
Then the eye of Edwy caught Alfred. It must be remembered that Elfric had kept the secret of his brother’s supposed death, even from the king.