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.
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