"
"But, my child, I have no means of support for you abroad; as monks we
shall find hospitality in every Benedictine house, but you are only a
layman."
"Then, father, I but ask you to allow me to accompany you to the coast."
"I grant it, my son, for I believe God inspires the wish. Be it as you
desire, but one of your serfs must accompany you; it would not be safe
to travel home alone."
So Father Cuthbert and the Benedictines started back to Aescendune
without Alfred, bearing Dunstan's explanation of the matter to the
half-bereaved father whose faith, they feared, would be sorely tried,
and leaving Oswy to be his companion.
It was now drawing near nightfall, and the abbey was almost deserted;
all the pilgrims had left with the monks, although many of them would
willingly have put their trust in the arm of flesh and remained to fight
for Dunstan against his temporal foes, even as he--so they piously
believed--routed their spiritual enemies. In that vast abbey there
were now but six persons--Dunstan, Guthlac, Alfred, the lay brother
Osgood, Oswy, and a guide who knew all the bypaths of the country.
Desolate and solitary indeed seemed the huge pile of untenanted
buildings as the evening breeze swept through them. The last straggler
had gone; Dunstan was still in his cell arranging or destroying certain
papers, the guide and lay brothers held six strong and serviceable
horses in the courtyard below, near the open gate, impatient to start,
and blaming secretly the dilatoriness of their great chieftain.
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