what you mean."

"Is not the expression of the face identical? Are they not the same
features, as one might say?"

"Yet Redwald is much darker."

"Because his mother was Danish, and he has inherited some of her
peculiarities, that is all."

"Still," said the steward, "every one supposed that the unhappy Oswald
perished at sea with his son. Never shall I forget the grief of the old
thane Offa, when inquiring for the son, he learned that he had gone with
the father to his death. He would have adopted him."

"And do we not," added a Benedictine. "say a mass daily at St. Wilfred's
altar for the souls of Oswald and his son Ragnar?"

"Oswald may be dead; Ragnar yet lives in Redwald. The name alone is
changed."

"But where are the proofs? We cannot wholly trust an imaginary resemblance."

"It is not imaginary; and these are the proofs in question. The night
after the murder" (all looked at each other as if a sudden inspiration
struck them), "as I was going to the chapel from the lady Edith's
apartments, I passed through a passage little used, but leading past the
chamber allotted to Redwald, and only separated by a thin wainscoting. I
was startled as I passed it by the sound of a pacing to and fro; an
incessant pacing; and I heard the inmate of the room soliloquising with
himself as in a state of frenzied feeling. I caught only broken words
but again and again I heard 'Avenged;' and once 'Father you are
avenged;' and once 'Little do they know who is their guest;' once 'It is
a good beginning,' and such like ejaculations. I remained a long time,
because, as you will all see, the murderer stood revealed."

"Then why did you not tell us before?" exclaimed all, almost in a breath.

"Because it would have been of no avail. Had there been the least chance
of calling him to account, I should, you may be sure, have proclaimed
his guilt. But early in the morning fresh forces began to arrive to his
aid. My only endeavour was to get the lady Edith and her remaining
children safe from the castle; and it was only by dissembling my
feelings, by talking face to face with the man of blood, by pretending
to trust him, that I could succeed. Had he not thought us all perfectly
satisfied, he would never have left the hall to go foraging in person;
and now all would be well, but for this sad, sad chance, which has
placed the poor lad Elfric in his power."

"But," said Alfred, "this makes the case worse than ever. Poor Elfric!
they w