ed lad
with the dreamy blue eyes held a kerchief to his head that was
stained with blood.

"Art hurt, Edred?" asked the mother, looking up.

"'Tis but a scratch," answered the boy. "I am not quite a match for
Bertram yet; but I will be anon. I must learn to be quicker in my
defence. Thanks, gentle mother; belike it will be better for it to
be bound up. It bleeds rather too fast for comfort, but thy hands
will soon stop that."

The other boys fell upon the fruit with right good will, whilst the
mother led her second son to the small pump nigh at hand, and
bathed and dressed the rather ugly wound in his head.

Neither mother nor son thought anything of the hurt. It was easy
enough to give and receive hard blows in the tilt yard, and bruises
and cuts were looked upon as part of the discipline of life.

As soon as the dressing was over, Edred joined his brothers, and
did his share in diminishing the pile of luscious fruit. And as
they ate they chattered away to the old woman of their prowess in
tilt yard and forest, relating how Bertram had slain a fat buck
with his own hands the previous day, and how they had between them
given the coup-de-grace to another, which had been brought to bay
at the water, father and huntsmen standing aloof to let the boys
show their strength and skill.

Nine years had passed since that strange night when Bertram had
been awakened by the advent of the mysterious stranger at his
bedside. He had developed since then from a sturdy little boy into
a fine-grown youth of seventeen, who had in his own eyes, and in
the eyes of many others, well-nigh reached man's estate; and who
would, if need should arise, go forth equipped for war to fight the
king's battles. He was a handsome, dark-haired, dark-eyed youth,
with plenty of determination and force of character, and with a
love of Chad so deeply rooted in his nature, that to be the heir of
that property seemed to him the finest position in all the world,
and he would not have exchanged it for that of Prince of Wales.

The second son, Edred (Ethelred was his true name; he was called
after his mother, Etheldred), was some half-head shorter than his
brother, but a fine boy for all that. He was fifteen, and whilst
sharing to a great extent in the love of sport and of warlike games
so common in that day, he was also a greater lover of books than
his brothers, and would sometimes absent himself from their
pastimes to study with Brother Emmanuel and l