He lay very, very quiet, hoping that the light would not come near him,
and he trembled every time it bent its course that way; but at length
his fears seemed about to be realised--it drew near, and he saw the
face of a hideous looking hag, dressed in coarse and vile garments, who
held a bloody dagger in the right hand, and kept the left in a kind of
bag, tied to her person, in which she had evidently accumulated great
store. Her eyes were roaming about, until the light suddenly was
reflected from the poor lad's brilliant accoutrements, and she advanced
towards him.
He groaned, and sank backwards, and her hand was upon the dagger, while
she cast such a look as the fabled vampire might cast upon her destined
victim, loving gold much, but perhaps blood most, when all at once she
turned and fled.
Elfric knew not what had saved him; when voices fell upon his ear, and
the baying of a dog.
"Which way has that hag fled? Pursue her, she murders the wounded."
The sound of rushing feet was heard, and Elfric felt that help was near,
yet leaving him, and he cried aloud, "Help! help! for the love of God."
One delayed in his course, and came and stood over the prostrate form.
It was a monk, for the boy recognised the Benedictine habit, and his
heart sank within him as he remembered how pitilessly he had helped to
drive that habit from Glastonbury.
"Art thou grievously wounded, my son?"
"I feel faint, even unto death, with loss of blood.
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