hou shalt heap coals of fire on his head."

Etienne now felt these coals of fire.

He was not all pride and cruelty. His education had made him what
he was, and probably, under the same circumstances, with such a
father and the training of a Norman castle, many of my young
readers who have detested his arrogance would have been like him,
more or less.

"Their lot forbids, nor circumscribes alone,
Their growing virtues, but their crimes confines."

But now the generosity which lay hidden deep in his heart was
awakened; the holy teachings which, in his childhood he had heard
at his mother's knee--a mother who, had she lived, might have
influenced his whole conduct--came back to him. There were many
pious mothers, after all, in Normandy. Pity they had not better
sons.

"Forgive us our trespasses."

The daily ministrations of the poor childless widow, whom he had
made childless, were a noble commentary on these words.

"Mother," he said, one day, "forgive me--I have much to be
forgiven--I cannot tell thee all."

"Nay, thou needst not; thou art forgiven for the love of Him who
has forgiven us all."

For a long time yet he lingered a prisoner on his couch; for fever
had so weakened him that he could hardly support his own weight.

But at length convalescence set in, and his strength returned; but
he could only take exercise--which was now necessary to his
complete recovery--when Father Kenelm was at hand to act as a
scout, and warn him to retire in the case of the approach of any
Englishman; for although he had adopted the English dress, yet his
complexion and manner would have betrayed him to any observer close
at hand.

At length came the day of deliverance.

It was a day in early April. The east winds of March had dried the
earth, the sun had now some power, and the trees were bursting into
leaf in every direction. It was one of those first days of early
summer, which are so delicious from their rarity, and seem to
render this earth a paradise for the time being.

The convalescent was out of doors, inhaling the sweet breeze, in
the immediate proximity of the hut, when the good father appeared.

"My son," he said, "dost thou feel strong enough to travel?"

"I do, indeed, father," said the youth, his heart bounding with
delight; "but may I go, and without any ransom?"

"Surely; we have not preserved thy life from love of filthy lucre."

"I feel that father, in my very heart; but hast thou no pledge to