The travellers, however, used such speed as to reach the convent of St

Withold's before the apprehended evil took place. The Abbot, himself of

ancient Saxon descent, received the noble Saxons with the profuse and

exuberant hospitality of their nation, wherein they indulged to a late,

or rather an early hour; nor did they take leave of their reverend host

the next morning until they had shared with him a sumptuous refection.

As the cavalcade left the court of the monastery, an incident happened

somewhat alarming to the Saxons, who, of all people of Europe, were most

addicted to a superstitious observance of omens, and to whose opinions

can be traced most of those notions upon such subjects, still to be

found among our popular antiquities. For the Normans being a mixed race,

and better informed according to the information of the times, had lost

most of the superstitious prejudices which their ancestors had brought

from Scandinavia, and piqued themselves upon thinking freely on such

topics.

In the present instance, the apprehension of impending evil was inspired

by no less respectable a prophet than a large lean black dog, which,

sitting upright, howled most piteously as the foremost riders left the

gate, and presently afterwards, barking wildly, and jumping to and fro,

seemed bent upon attaching itself to the party.

"I like not that music, father Cedric," said Athelstane; for by this

title of respect he was accustomed to address him.

"Nor I either, uncle," said Wamba; "I greatly fear we shall have to pay

the piper."

"In my mind," said Athelstane, upon whose memory the Abbot's good

ale (for Burton was already famous for that genial liquor) had made a

favourable impression,--"in my mind we had better turn back, and abide

with the Abbot until the afternoon. It is unlucky to travel where your

path is crossed by a monk, a hare, or a howling dog, until you have

eaten your next meal."

"Away!" said Cedric, impatiently; "the day is already too short for

our journey. For the dog, I know it to be the cur of the runaway slave

Gurth, a useless fugitive like its master."

So saying, and rising at the same time in his stirrups, impatient at the

interruption of his journey, he launched his javelin at poor Fangs--for

Fangs it was, who, having traced his master thus far upon his stolen

expedition, had here lost him, and was now, in his uncouth way,

rejoicing at his reappearance. The javelin inflicted a wound upon the

animal's shoulder, and narrowly missed pinning him to the earth; and

Fangs fled howling from the presence of the enraged thane. Gurth's heart

swelled within him; for he felt this meditated slaughter of his faithful

adherent in a degree much deeper than the harsh treatment he had himself

received. Having in vain attempted to raise his hand to his eyes,

he said to Wamba, who, seeing his master's ill humour had prudently

retreated to the rear, "I pray thee, do me the kindness to wipe my eyes

with the skirt of thy mantle; the dust offends me, and these bonds will

not let me help myself one way or another."




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