“Come with me,” said Etienne, “and I will explain it all.”

He led Wilfred to the Priory Church, and they entered the hallowed pale, with its round Norman arches and lofty roof, where the very tread seemed an intrusion upon the silence, which spake of the eternal repose that shall be, after the storms of this troublesome world have their end.

There is something in the Early Norman architecture which appears to the writer awe-inspiring; the massive round column, the bold and simple arch, have a more solemn effect upon his senses than the loveliest productions of the more florid and decorated period.

Such a stern and simple structure was this Priory Church of St. Wilfred of Aescendune.

It was the hour of nones, and the strains of the hymn of St. Ambrose, “Rerum Deus tenax vigor,” were pealing from the Benedictines in the choir:  which has been thus paraphrased: 

“O strength and stay, upholding all creation: 
Who ever dost Thyself unmoved abide,
Yet, day by day, the light, in due gradation,
From hour to hour, through all its changes guide.

“Grant to life’s day a calm unclouded ending,
An eve untouched by shadow of decay,
The brightness of a holy death bed, blending
With dawning glories of the eternal day {xxxi}.”

His thoughts full of the ideas suggested by the solemn strain,
Wilfred followed Etienne into the south transept.

There, upon a plain altar tomb of stone lay the effigy of an aged matron, her hands clasped in prayer, and beneath were the words: 

Hilda
in pace
BEATI PACIFICI {xxxii}.

The “rival heirs” stood by the tomb, their hands clasped, while the tears streamed down their cheeks.  It was she indeed, who by her simple obedience to the Divine law of love, which is the central idea of the Gospel, had reconciled jarring hearts, and brought about, in Aescendune, the reign of peace and love.

“I strove,” said Etienne, at last breaking the long silence, “to be a son to her, in place of the ill-fated boy whom I so cruelly slew; nor were my efforts in vain, or my repentance unaccepted.  We built her a house, on the site of her ancient cottage, and when strife arose, we often submitted the matter to her judgment, and she, who had been the foster mother of one lord, and the preserver from death of the other, reconciled the followers of both.

“When at last the hour came for her to commit her sweet soul to God, I stood by her dying bed.

“‘Mother,’ said I, ’what can I do when thou art gone to show my love for thy memory?’

“‘Only go on as thou hast begun,’ she replied, ’be a father to all thy people, Englishman and Norman alike, and their prayers will succour thee at the judgment seat of God—­I go into peace.’

“And she left peace behind her—­”

Here Etienne could say no more, and the two “rival heirs” stood a long time gazing upon the “cold marble and the sculptured stone,” while tears which were no disgrace to their manhood fell like gentle rain from heaven.