d dame led her guest.

"Thou art Norman," she said.

"I am the son of the lord of Aescendune. If thou canst aid me to
escape my foes, thou shalt name thy own reward."

"Not all the gold thou hast would tempt me to aid thee; but the
love of One who died for us both forbids me to give thee up to
death. Thou art too young, poor youth, to be answerable for thy
father's sins."

A proud speech was on his lips, but prudence prevailed, and the
worthy cub of the old wolf determined to wear sheep's clothing till
his claws were grown again.

"The saints reward thee," he said, "since no other reward thou wilt
have."

He could say no more, but staggered into her hut, his strength
quite gone.

Nearer and nearer drew the cry of hounds and men.

"Save me if thou canst," he said.

She took him behind the curtain, made him lie down on the couch,
which was her own, and covered him completely over with a coverlet.
Then she charged him to lie quiet, whatever happened, and shut the
door of her hut.

By and by it burst open, and Wilfred stood in the doorway.

"Mother, hast thou seen any one pass this way? The Normans have
been in the hamlet: we have slain all but one, and he, the worst of
all, has escaped us."

"Canst thou not spare even one poor life?"

"Nay, it is Etienne, son of the old fiend Hugo; besides, once safe
off, he would betray our secret before we are ready for action."

"I cannot help thee in thy chase; thou knowest how I hate and
shrink from bloodshed, as did thy sainted mother."

"Yes, but they did not shrink from poisoning her--they whom she
would not have harmed to save her own life."

"God will avenge--leave all to Him."

"Nay, mother, we waste time; if thou hast not seen him, we go."

"Hast thou seen my Eadwin? He is generally here with the lark?"

Wilfred's face changed; he stammered out some evasive reply, and
dashed out to join the men and hounds, who were quite at fault;
they had lost the scent far below, where Etienne entered the brook,
and were diligently investigating, one by one, all the tracks that
led from the morass.

Etienne had heard all, and his heart smote him. From the language
used, the words he had heard, he felt that this old woman must be
the foster mother of his rival, and, if so, the mother of that very
Eadwin he had so cruelly put to death the previous night; he quite
understood Wilfred's evasive reply.

His heart smote him, and he repented of this cruelty, at least: he