paid, and that his beloved master was in danger.

"Nay, nay, Eadwin, I shall do very well--if not, there is not much
left to live for now--only you must take care of yourself, or they
may avenge themselves on you; indeed, when the baron hears the
tale, I doubt not that he will send for you, and then I may not be
able to save you--you must fly."

"Not till I know--"

"Yes, this very night--thou knowest the Deadman's Swamp?"

"Well."

"The Normans could never find thee there, and thou and I have
threaded its recesses a hundred times; go to the hollow tree where
we have slept before now in our hunting days. I will seek thee
tomorrow, if I live. If I do not appear before midday, you had
better seek our people, whom these tyrants have driven to the
greenwoods."

"I know where to find them, but you will come; why not fly to the
woods with me now?"

"Honour prevents. And after all, you had better say goodbye at once
to those at home, and be off: perhaps I had better say goodbye for
thee--it will be safest."

A few more parting instructions, and they separated; the young
thrall actually kneeling and kissing his young lord's hand with
that devoted love nought save such obligations could give.

Wilfred was returning to the castle, when he met Pierre, who was
evidently seeking him.

"Wilfred," he said, "I have come to offer you my services for
tomorrow; you will want the offices of a friend."

"Art thou my friend?"

"Yes, since I see thou art not a coward. While I saw thee suffering
insult after insult without ever resenting them, I thought thee
craven, and could not speak thee fair; now thou art as one of us."

"Thou art not like other Normans, then."

"I am not Norman, but Breton, and perhaps we do not love the
Normans over much in Brittany; at least, I can feel for one in thy
position."

"Thanks," was all that Wilfred could stammer out.

These were almost the first kind words he had heard since his
mother's death, save in those stolen moments when he had been alone
amidst his English thralls and churls, and they had been but few.

"Thou art not so skilled in fencing as Etienne; I should advise an
hour or two in the tilt yard, and I can tell thee of some of his
feints, which are not a little dangerous."

"Thanks, I shall not have too much time."

"Dost thou think the baron will give leave?"

"Yes; he hates me in his heart. Were I the better swordsman, he
might not consent."

"I agree with thee--wert