ising, as the blast of the horn was
repeated. "Go, Osmond, with the porter, and see whether he who comes at
such an hour be friend or foe. Stay you here, my Lord," he added, as
Richard was running after Osmond; and the little boy obeyed, and stood
still, though quivering all over with impatience.

"Tidings from the Duke, I should guess," said Fru Astrida. "It can
scarce be himself at such an hour."

"Oh, it must be, dear Fru Astrida!" said Richard. "He said he would come
again. Hark, there are horses' feet in the court! I am sure that is his
black charger's tread! And I shall not be there to hold his stirrup!
Oh! Sir Eric, let me go."

Sir Eric, always a man of few words, only shook his head, and at that
moment steps were heard on the stone stairs. Again Richard was about to
spring forward, when Osmond returned, his face showing, at a glance, that
something was amiss; but all that he said was, "Count Bernard of
Harcourt, and Sir Rainulf de Ferrieres," and he stood aside to let them
pass.

Richard stood still in the midst of the hall, disappointed. Without
greeting to Sir Eric, or to any within the hall, the Count of Harcourt
came forward to Richard, bent his knee before him, took his hand, and
said with a broken voice and heaving breast, "Richard, Duke of Normandy,
I am thy liegeman and true vassal;" then rising from his knees while
Rainulf de Ferrieres went through the same form, the old man covered his
face with his hands and wept aloud.

"Is it even so?" said the Baron de Centeville; and being answered by a
mournful look and sigh from Ferrieres, he too bent before the boy, and
repeated the words, "I am thy liegeman and true vassal, and swear fealty
to thee for my castle and barony of Centeville."

"Oh, no, no!" cried Richard, drawing back his hand in a sort of agony,
feeling as if he was in a frightful dream from which he could not awake.
"What means it? Oh! Fru Astrida, tell me what means it? Where is my
father?"

[Picture: The oath of the vassals]

"Alas, my child!" said the old lady, putting her arm round him, and
drawing him close to her, whilst her tears flowed fast, and Richard
stood, reassured by her embrace, listening with eyes open wide, and deep
oppressed breathing, to what was passing between the four nobles, who
spoke earnestly among themselves, without much heed of him.

"The Duke dead!" repeated Sir Eric de Centeville, like one stunned and
stupefied.

"Even