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Updated: May 2, 2025
Wilfred bowed in submission, well knowing how vain it was to contend with the wild spirit of chivalry which so often impelled his master upon dangers which he might easily have avoided, or rather, which it was unpardonable in him to have sought out.
He only added, "When we meet again, my son, thou mayst judge thy king differently." Wilfred left the ducal tent; the authority of Count Eustace speedily procured the assistance of some Norman camp followers, and the body was reverently removed from the heap of slain, and placed upon a litter.
Dolores, though hitherto ungracious, missed her attentions, and decided that they were 'all falseness. Wilfred absolutely did tease and annoy her whenever he could, Fergus imitated him, and Valetta enjoyed and abetted him.
We were born on his Norman estates, and trained up from childhood to do his will, and that of the devil. We all promised to do whatever he should ask, and to keep the matter a secret. Then he told us that we were to burn the Priory of St. Wilfred at midnight, and to allow none to escape.
But Wilfred could not; in his then frame of mind, he could not confide the story of his mother's woes to a Norman to his fevered mind one of the intruders was as bad as another as well bring a complaint before one wolf that another wolf had eaten a lamb. "I cannot," was his reply; "it would be useless if I did." "Why? I have befriended thee once." "Art thou not a Norman?" "Ah!
Imagine the good Father's astonishment when the following night he received Wilfred safe and sound from the hands of Hugo, to do penance. "Wilfred, my dear boy, tell me all. What has become of the letter I entrusted you with?" "It was taken from me in my sleep. Write another; oh father, let me start again at once!" "The roads are all beset, my dear child, as I have heard today.
It is unnecessary at present to mention what took place in the interim betwixt Wilfred and his deliverer; suffice it to say, that after long and grave communication, messengers were dispatched by the Prior in several directions, and that on the succeeding morning the Black Knight was about to set forth on his journey, accompanied by the jester Wamba, who attended as his guide.
Something that passed in his hearing, gave him the impression that he was in great danger, if not actually dying; but his cry was still for Bernard, who had not ventured to go to bed; but it was still, "Oh, Bear, save me! Don't let me die with this upon my name! I can't go to God!" "There's nothing for it, Wilfred, but to tell your father. He will pardon you. Your mother has, you see.
The good monk, who was supporting him and breathing words of Christian hope into his ears, left him as the prior and Wilfred entered. The prior took the monk's place, and supported the head of the penitent. "Look," he said, as he raised him upon his arm, "Wilfred of Aescendune, the son of thy late lord." The poor wretch groaned such a deep hollow groan. "Canst thou forgive me?" he said.
Wilfred Horton found himself that fall in the position of a man whose course lies through rapids, and for the first time in his life his pleasures were giving precedence to business. He knew that his efficiency would depend on maintaining the physical balance of perfect health and fitness, and early each morning he went for his gallop in the park.
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