In neither couple could the marriage at first have been called one of inclination on the part of the ladies, but love came after marriage.  Although the knights and barons of the Norman invasion would, no doubt, be considered rude and rough in these days of broadcloth and civilization, yet their manners were gentle and polished by the side of those of the rough though kindly Saxon franklins; and although the Saxon maids were doubtless as patriotic as their fathers and mothers, yet the female mind is greatly led by gentle manners and courteous address.  Thus then, when bidden or forced to give their hands to the Norman knights, they speedily accepted their lot, and for the most part grew contented and happy enough.  In their changed circumstances it was pleasanter to ride by the side of their Norman husbands, surrounded by a gay cavalcade, to hawk and to hunt, than to discharge the quiet duties of mistress of a Saxon farm-house.  In many cases, of course, their lot was rendered wretched by the violence and brutality of their lords; but in the majority they were well satisfied with their lot, and these mixed marriages did more to bring the peoples together and weld them in one, than all the laws and decrees of the Norman sovereigns.

This had certainly been the case with Editha, whose marriage with Sir William had been one of the greatest happiness.  She had lost him, three years before the story begins, fighting in Normandy, in one of the innumerable wars in which our first Norman kings were constantly involved.  On entering the gates of Erstwood, Cuthbert had rushed hastily to the room where his mother was sitting with three or four of her maidens, engaged in work.

“I want to speak to you at once, mother,” he said.

“What is it now, my son?” said his mother, who was still young and very comely.  Waving her hand to the girls, they left her.

“Mother,” he said, when they were alone, “I fear me that Sir Walter is about to make a great raid upon the outlaws.  Armed men have been coming in all the morning from the castles round, and if it be not against the Baron de Wortham that these preparations are intended, and methinks it is not, it must needs be against the landless men.”

“What would you do, Cuthbert?” his mother asked anxiously.  “It will not do for you to be found meddling in these matters.  At present you stand well in the favour of the Earl, who loves you for the sake of his wife, to whom you are kin, and of your father, who did him good liegeman’s service.”

“But, mother, I have many friends in the wood.  There is Cnut, their chief, your own first cousin, and many others of our friends, all good men and true, though forced by the cruel Norman laws to refuge in the woods.”

“What would you do?” again his mother asked.

“I would take Ronald my pony and ride to warn them of the danger that threatens.”

“You had best go on foot, my son.  Doubtless men have been set to see that none from the Saxon homesteads carry the warning to the woods.  The distance is not beyond your reach, for you have often wandered there, and on foot you can evade the eye of the watchers; but one thing, my son, you must promise, and that is, that in no case, should the Earl and his bands meet with the outlaws, will you take part in any fray or struggle.”