r was ever heard of again.

Imagine the good Father's astonishment when the following night he
received Wilfred safe and sound from the hands of Hugo, to do
penance.

"Wilfred, my dear boy, tell me all. What has become of the letter I
entrusted you with?"

"It was taken from me in my sleep. Write another; oh father, let me
start again at once!"

"The roads are all beset, my dear child, as I have heard today. I
have already sent a messenger, but tremble for his safety."

"What can I do to avenge my mother--my dear mother?"

"Wait, my child, only for a little while; God is too just to let
such crime remain unpunished."

"Why was not his arm outstretched to save? Oh, my father, I shall
become an infidel if this villain escapes unpunished!"

"Only wait; one day is with Him as a thousand years."

"But I shall not live a thousand years; I must see the day myself."

"Nay, dear child, thou art not thyself; this is wicked. Go into the
church and pray for the grace of patience."

"I cannot pray--I must act."

"Go and pray, my son. Come to me again in half an hour; I have
inquiries to make which touch thy safety. I would fain know why the
baron sent thee here, since he knoweth all; it would seem the last
thing he would be likely to do."

The good prior soon found by personal observation that the
monastery was watched, and had been so since Wilfred entered it,
and saw at once that did he start again the lad would never reach
his journey's end, and that suspicion would be thrown upon him and
his brethren.

He did not hesitate long; he had no doubt that Wilfred's life was
somehow threatened, and resolved to secure his safety. He sent for
a certain brother Kenelm, a monk in priestly orders, who had long
been entrusted with a delicate duty.

"How are our poor brethren in the woods, my brother?"

"They are faring well; there is no lack of venison, and their corn
crops are ripening for harvest. The land, thou knowest, hath been
cultivated for many years."

"It is providential that the Normans have never discovered that
little Zoar, which may remain unknown until their tyranny be
overpast; for surely God will not quite forget this poor people,
sinners although we have all been."

"The morass grows wider and deeper every year; the course of the
brooks which form it has been quite choked, and their waters but
tend to increase the desolation around."

"Couldst thou find thy way there this very night?"

"Surely, if