an impression on the mighty Conqueror himself, who
felt a passing interest in the brave boy.

Still he would only interpose to stay the execution of the unjust
law, and to keep off the greedy Norman nobles, who were already
prowling around the fair manor, on one condition: the lady of
Aescendune must marry a Norman knight, recommended by himself; in
which case, the right of succession after the death of his
stepfather should rest with Wilfred, who by that time would
doubtless have become Norman in all but lineage--so thought the
Duke.

At first poor Lady Winifred utterly refused to consent; but when
the prior of St. Wilfred reminded her that, in that case, she would
lose all power of protecting her tenantry--the widows and orphans
of those who had died around her husband, and that by refusal of
the terms she threw away Wilfred's inheritance, and consigned
herself and children to beggary--then she wavered, and after many a
painful scene gave way, and consented to become the bride of Hugo
de Malville, the earliest applicant for her hand and estate, when
the year of mourning for her lost Edmund should have elapsed.

"I may give my hand," she said, "but can never give my heart."

The good Bishop of Coutances saw that the preliminaries were fairly
arranged, for Hugo de Malville came from his diocese, where, if the
truth be told, he had not borne an exemplary character, and the
bishop would fain have found a better father for the young Wilfred;
only the Conqueror was peremptory, and would brook no interference
with his arrangements.

Therefore, all the good prelate could do was to see that the
marriage contract was fairly drawn up by clerkly hands--that
Wilfred stood next in succession. There was need of this, for Hugo
had a son of the same age, a hopeful youth, named Etienne, the only
being on earth whom he was known to love.

This lad was named next in order of succession to Wilfred, failing
issue from the new marriage.

The morning sun was shining brightly one October day, in the year
of grace 1067, on the old moated manor of Aescendune, on its clear
river and its deep woods, now bright with all the gorgeous tints of
autumn.

All the good people of that well-known neighbourhood--well-known we
mean to the readers of the former Chronicles--were gathered
together in crowds on the green between the castle and the
venerable priory of St. Wilfred, founded, as related in the first
of these veritable family legends, b