Poor Alfred felt as if his faith were very sorely tried indeed, but he strove to acquiesce.
It was now quite dark, and the ears of the would-be fugitives were strained to catch the sounds which should warn them of approaching danger.
At length they fancied they heard sounds arise from the plain before them: suppressed noises, such as must unavoidably be made by a force on its passage; and Alfred again sought the cell of Dunstan, yet dared not enter, urgent though the emergency seemed.
At this moment he was startled by a demoniacal burst of laughter, which seemed to fill the corridor in which he waited with exultant joy.
What could it be? he felt as if he had never heard such laughter before—so terrible, yet so boisterous.
A moment of dread silence, and then it began again, and filled each corridor and chamber.
At that moment Dunstan came forth, and saw the pale face of Alfred.
“It is only the devil,” he said “we are not ignorant of his devices.
“O Satan! thou that wert once an angel in heaven, art thou reduced to bray like a jackass?” [xxii]
Again the exultant peal resounded.