When it was ended, the baron called old Osbert the seneschal and
gave his instructions. They led the youth away; he did not return
the baron's half-ironical salutation, but departed with his guards
in silence.
High was the wassail in the castle that night, and many casks of
wine were broached; at length all sought their couches and slept
heavily.
But in the middle of the night many sleepers were aroused by the
cry of FIRE! yet so heavy with wine were they, that few arose; hut
most heard it as a man hears some sound in his sleep, which he half
suspects to belong to dreamland, and turns again to his pillow.
Imagine the surprise with which such men (including Etienne,
Pierre, and the other late companions of the unhappy Wilfred)
learned that the monastery had caught fire accidentally in the
night, and that so sudden had been the conflagration that none had
escaped.
None! No; so far as men could discover. The priory built by Offa of
Aescendune was a heap of smoking embers, and monks were there none,
neither had any heard aught of the English heir of Aescendune.
The poor English who yet remained in the village were weeping over
their lost friends, and the very Norman men-at-arms were hushed in
the presence of their sorrow.
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