r respective sires; but that, should
the latter die, the united estates should fall to Etienne de
Malville, did he still survive.

In this arrangement, we naturally saw danger to our own precious
charge--for our spiritual child he was--Wilfred of Aescendune.

His mother died the year after the Conquest, and passed, as we
thought, happily from a world of sin and sorrow.

The boy, at first disconsolate with grief, recovered his health and
spirits after awhile, and if allowed to live, might assuredly grow
to man's estate, and perpetuate his ancient line.

If allowed, I say, for we have just received evidence that the
mother was poisoned, and we tremble with horror lest the boy should
share her fate.

This evidence is in the form of a dying confession, which, at the
request of the poor penitent, we have written with pen and ink.

When thou hast read it, for the love of God and of His saints,
especially of our father Benedict, stretch forth thine hand and
protect the unhappy bearer, the youthful lord of Aescendune.

We commend him with all confidence to thy care.

Given at St. Wilfred's priory, in the octave of Ascension, 1068.

"Hear ye the confession enclosed," said Geoffrey.

It is five years since I fled the face of my lord, Edmund of
Aescendune, for I had slain his red deer, and sold them for filthy
lucre, and I feared to meet his face; so I fled to the great city,
even London, where I was like to starve, till a Jew, who saw my
distress, took pity on me, and gave me shelter.

His name was Abraham of Toledo, and he was mighty in magic arts,
and in compounding of deadly drugs to slay, or medicines to keep
alive. He made me his servant, and I, albeit a Christian man, soon
learned to do the bidding of the devil at his command.

One day there came a Norman noble, and bought of my master a
liquid, which would cause those who drank but one drop, daily, to
die of deadly decline within the year. I heard the bargain made as
I was compounding some drugs within a recess of my master's
chamber. No sooner was the man gone than Abraham descended the
stairs, calling for me. I managed to reach him without raising his
suspicions, when he bade me follow the retreating stranger, not yet
out of sight in the gloom, and learn his name. I did so; it was
Hugo de Malville, the new lord of Aescendune.

I knew of his marriage, and felt sure whom he wanted to destroy;
but I dared not show myself at home. At length an incurable disea