The other knight rode south, along the
Roman road to London, to tell King William of the rising of Kesteven, and
all the evil deeds of Hereward and of Brand.
And old Brand slept quietly in his bed, little thinking on what errands
his prior had sent his knights.
Hereward and his comrades watched that night in St. Peter's church.
Oppressed with weariness of body, and awe of mind, they heard the monks
drone out their chants through the misty gloom; they confessed the
sins--and they were many--of their past wild lives. They had to summon up
within themselves courage and strength henceforth to live, not for
themselves, but for the fatherland which they hoped to save. They prayed
to all the heavenly powers of that Pantheon which then stood between man
and God, to help them in the coming struggle; but ere the morning dawned,
they were nodding, unused to any long strain of mind.
Suddenly Hereward started, and sprang up, with a cry of fire.
"What? Where?" cried his comrades, and the monks who ran up.
"The minster is full of flame. No use! too late! you cannot put it out! It
must burn."
"You have been dreaming," said one.
"I have not," said Hereward. "Is it Lammas night?"
"What a question! It is the vigil of the Nativity of St. Peter and St.
Paul."
"Thank heaven! I thought my old Lammas night's dream was coming true at
last.
Pages:
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339