ld fowl, while my poor father was
alive."

"And thou knowest the buildings in the midst of the firm ground?"

"Well."

"Thou hast never told thy Norman companions about them?"

"Never! they one and all think the morass a mere desert, a
continuous swamp."

"So much the better, my dear son, for more than half the poor folk
who have deserted the village are there, and Father Kenelm will
take thee to them, for he knoweth the way, ministering to them
weekly as he does."

"But why may I not stay here?"

"I dare not keep thee, dear child; I fear some plot against thy
life; nay, the morass is the only safe place for thee till we can
communicate with the bishop, who has once befriended thee and may
do so again."

"Oh father, let it not be long!"

"That is in God's hands; abide patiently and wait thou on the Lord,
and He shall make thy path plain. Now eat; I will not say one word
more till thou art full."

Poor Wilfred did his best, and ate the last meal he was ever to eat
under that fated roof. The good fathers never suspected the real
design of their remorseless enemy.

The supper over, beneath those beams which were soon to fall
blazing upon their fated inmates, the lad bid a last farewell to
the good prior, to whom he had transferred the affection he once
felt for his dear parents. He fell on his shoulder, he wept,
embraced, and parted. The good prior wept, too. They never met
again.

"Take care of the precious lad, Father Kenelm; remember thou hast
the hope of Aescendune with thee."

They entered the little "punt" very quietly. The night was warm,
but fortunately obscure. They unmoored, and dropped down the stream
in perfect silence, listening to the bell as it tolled for
compline.

At length they reached the place the prior had indicated. They left
the boat, and entered the forest in safety, utterly undiscovered--here,
only Father Kenelm's accurate knowledge of the place could have availed
them in the darkness.

In three hours they had traversed ten woodland miles, and drew near
the quagmires. The path became fearfully intricate, and Wilfred was
startled by the marsh fires, while Father Kenelm began to pray for
the poor souls--he somehow supposed them to be, or to represent,
poor silly wandering souls--the while the night owl sang a dismal
chorus to his ditty. They followed a devious winding road--in and
out--with much care, the father holding Wilfred's hand all the
time, until they emerged and found