“Who are you, and what do you seek?” was the cry.
“We are bringing my young lord, Elfric of Æscendune, home from the battlefield wounded.”
“Wait a while.”
A few minutes passed; then the drawbridge was lowered, and the bearers bore their burden into the courtyard. Every moment Elfric expected to see the beloved faces bending over him; but all seemed strange, till he remembered that Redwald had remained behind at the hall; the four bearers spoke uneasily to one another, and Oswy disappeared in the dusky twilight.
At length three or four men, in the military costume so familiar to Elfric, approached the litter; and raising him, bore him into the interior of the building, up the stairs, into the gallery, which partly ran round at the height of the first floor. The door of a room was opened, a familiar room; it had been his father’s bedroom, and Elfric was placed on the bed.
“Ask them to come to me,” he said “father, mother, Alfred, Edgitha!—where are they?”
But minute after minute passed by, and no one came near; there was no light in the room, and it was soon very dark. Elfric became very uncomfortable; it was not the kind of reception he had promised himself.
“Why does not my father come,” he muttered impatiently, “to see his wounded boy?” and he felt at one moment his pride revive, then a sickening feeling of anxiety filled his heart.
But it was not until an hour had passed that he heard a heavy step on the stairs, and soon the door opened, and Redwald appeared.
Elfric gazed upon him with surprise; especially when he noted the stern cold look which sat on his features. As Redwald did not speak, Elfric took the initiative.