iended, I must
ask a few questions. He appeared to me naturally affectionate and
ingenuous--one who would love those who treated him well, but who
would grievously resent scorn and contempt; tell me honestly, didst
thou receive him as a brother, as thou wert bound to do,
considering the alliance between thy father and his mother, or
didst thou regard him simply as thy rival?"

Etienne hesitated.

"My son, thou cravest knighthood; the true knight is bound to speak
the truth."

"I own, father, that I felt him my rival."

"And never thought of him as a brother?"

"Never."

"Then, naturally, this led to injurious words and contemptuous
deeds?"

"I cannot deny it; nor do I now regret it, knowing what he is."

"Perchance, my son, thou hast had much to do with making him what
he is. One more thing: of course Wilfred would naturally sympathise
with the old retainers of his father. Tell me, didst thou ever
ill-use them in his sight?"

"I may have done so sometimes. But, my lord, you, who at the head
of an army, recently sanctioned the mutilation of the rebels in
Dorsetshire--"

"My child, peace and war are different things, and in the latter,
men are compelled to do that, from which in days of peace they
would shrink, only that timely severity may prevent further
bloodshed, and so save many Christian lives. But I am speaking of
what thou didst to thine own father's vassals in time of
peace--didst thou ill-treat them before thy English brother?"

"I may have been sharp sometimes, and used the ashen twig freely."

"Only the ashen twig? My son, tell me all the story about the
'young poaching churl' who was the cause of such deadly enmity
between you."

Etienne told it with reluctance.

"Pray was the lad in any manner dear to Wilfred?"

"He was his foster brother," said Etienne, covering his face as
conscience smote him, for he remembered the death of Eadwin, and
the way in which the mother of the murdered boy had returned good
for evil.

"Then, my son, thou canst not acquit thyself of blame."

"But even if I were in fault so far, father, the terrible events
which have occurred since do not lie at my door--the burning of the
monastery, the death of my poor father."

"Only so far as this, that all might have been prevented hadst thou
received Wilfred as a brother, for thou didst drive him to the
woods--according to thine own account. But depend upon it, there is
more behind. A brave youth like Wilfred would