“I do not want to rend and devour.  I am no cannibal; but, Elgitha, your wicked husband—­”

“Stay, Edmund, do not slander the husband before his wife.”

“This is a business!  What am I to say?  I cannot dissemble, and pretend to love him, were he ten times my brother-in-law.”

“Nor can I ask it,” said a deep voice behind, and Edric stood before Edmund, his eyes cast down, his hands meekly clasped.  “Edmund, I have often deeply injured you, and betrayed your confidence.”

“You have indeed.”

“But now I repent me of my wickedness.  It burdens me so heavily that, but for your sister, I would retire into a monastery, and there end my days.”

“It would be the best thing you could do.”

“It would indeed.”

This conference had taken place at the end of the great hall, which was a very spacious chamber, and the speakers were separated by a screen from the company.

“Edmund,” cried his sister, “I see what you will do.  You will make me a widow; for Edric cannot live if you refuse him forgiveness.  Night after night he tosses on his uneasy bed, and wishes that it were day.  Surely, Edmund, you have need of forgiveness yourself, yet you refuse to forgive.”

“You preach like a bishop, but—­”

“Well, you have a real bishop here.  Call him, and let him judge between us.”

Edmund mechanically obeyed, and he called Father Cuthbert also, in whose judgment he had great faith.

“What am I to do?” he said.  “My country’s wounds, inflicted by this man, yet bleed.  Am I to give him the hand of friendship?”

“I do not deserve it,” said Edric, meekly.

“My lord,” said the bishop, gravely, “man may not refuse forgiveness to his fellow worm; but, Edric, hast thou truly repented of thy sin before God and his Church?”

“I have indeed.  I have fasted in sackcloth and ashes, I have eaten the bread of affliction.”

“Where?”

“In my sad retreat, my castle in Mercia.”

“But some public reparation is due.  Art thou willing to accept such penance as the Church, in consideration of thy perjuries, thy murders, which man may not avenge, since treaties protect thee—­but which God will surely remember, if thou repent not—­to accept such penance, I say, as the Church shall impose?”

“I submit myself to your judgment, most reverend father.”

“It shall be duly considered and delivered to thee; and in consideration of that fact, I think, my lord, you cannot, as a Christian man, refuse to be reconciled.”

“O Edmund, my brother, be merciful!” said Elgitha.

“I yield,” said Edmund, “but not tonight,” he said, as Edric stretched out his hand, reddened by many a dark deed of murder; “tomorrow, before God’s altar.  I shall be at St. Frideswide’s at the early mass.”

And he returned to the company.

A cloud was evidently on his spirits that night, which did not wear off the rest of the evening.  The party separated at what would now be called an early hour.  The bishop and Father Cuthbert lodged at the monastic house of Osney; Elfwyn, his wife and child, as also Herstan, with his little party, were accommodated in the mansion.