On Easter Day they both received the Holy Communion in the royal chapel.
From that time remorse ceased to visit the heir of Æscendune, as if he had at last quenched the Spirit, and he became so utterly wild and reckless, that at last Dunstan thought it necessary to speak to him privately on the subject. It was nearly six months after Easter.
The boy entered the study set apart for the use of the great monk and statesman with a palpitating heart, but he managed to repress its beatings, and put on a perfectly unconcerned expression of countenance. He had gained in self control if in nothing else.
“I wished to speak with you, Elfric,” said the abbot, “upon a very serious matter. When you first came here, I was delighted to have you as a companion to the prince. You were evidently well brought up, and bore an excellent character; but, I grieve to say, you have greatly changed for the worse. Are you not aware of it?”
“No, father. What have I done?”
Dunstan sighed at the tone of the reply, and continued—“It is not any particular action of which I wish to accuse you, but of the general tenor of your conduct. I do not speak harshly, my boy; but if truth be told, you are as idle as you were once diligent, as sullen and reserved as once candid and open: and, my son, your face tells a tale of even worse things, and, but that I am puzzled to know where you could obtain the means of self indulgence, I should attribute more serious vices to you.”
“Who has accused me, father?”
“Yourself—that is, your own face and manner. Did you ever contemplate yourself in a mirror when at home? There is a steel one against that wall, go and look at yourself now.”
Elfric blushed deeply.
“My face is still the same,” he said.