And so it proved, for party after party continued to fall in. The solemn quiet, which so well befitted the house of mourning, was banished by the presence of the soldiery in such large numbers, for early in the day nearly a hundred and fifty were gathered together, and accommodation threatened to fall short.
Under these circumstances the lady Edith became very anxious that either the departure of her unwelcome guests should be hastened, or that the loved remains should be removed at once to the priory church, where she could bemoan her grief in quiet solitude, and be alone with her beloved and God. There seemed no rest or peace possible in the hall, and Redwald was apportioning all the accommodation to his followers as they came, preserving only the private apartments of the lady Edith from intrusion.
She was still expecting the arrival of Elfric, for Redwald had not communicated the news he had received, and she did not even know that King Edwy had been defeated; so absorbed was she in her grief, that she did not note the thousand little circumstances which might have told her as much.
But before the hour of terce, Alfred came into the room where she was seated with her daughter, and she saw by his troubled countenance that he had something to communicate which pained him to tell.
“Elfric!” she said—“he is well?”
“He has not come yet, my mother; and I grieve to say that we were deceived yesterday—deceived about the battle.”
“How so?”
“The king was defeated; he has fled southward, and there has been a great slaughter.”
“But Elfric?”
“No one can tell me anything about him,” said Alfred, wringing his hands. “Mother, you must leave this place.”