But the monastery was already watched and neither letter nor messenger was ever heard of again.

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.  I have already sent a messenger, but tremble for his safety.”

“What can I do to avenge my mother—­my dear mother?”

“Wait, my child, only for a little while; God is too just to let such crime remain unpunished.”

“Why was not his arm outstretched to save?  Oh, my father, I shall become an infidel if this villain escapes unpunished!”

“Only wait; one day is with Him as a thousand years.”

“But I shall not live a thousand years; I must see the day myself.”

“Nay, dear child, thou art not thyself; this is wicked.  Go into the church and pray for the grace of patience.”

“I cannot pray—­I must act.”

“Go and pray, my son.  Come to me again in half an hour; I have inquiries to make which touch thy safety.  I would fain know why the baron sent thee here, since he knoweth all; it would seem the last thing he would be likely to do.”

The good prior soon found by personal observation that the monastery was watched, and had been so since Wilfred entered it, and saw at once that did he start again the lad would never reach his journey’s end, and that suspicion would be thrown upon him and his brethren.

He did not hesitate long; he had no doubt that Wilfred’s life was somehow threatened, and resolved to secure his safety.  He sent for a certain brother Kenelm, a monk in priestly orders, who had long been entrusted with a delicate duty.

“How are our poor brethren in the woods, my brother?”

“They are faring well; there is no lack of venison, and their corn crops are ripening for harvest.  The land, thou knowest, hath been cultivated for many years.”

“It is providential that the Normans have never discovered that little Zoar, which may remain unknown until their tyranny be overpast; for surely God will not quite forget this poor people, sinners although we have all been.”

“The morass grows wider and deeper every year; the course of the brooks which form it has been quite choked, and their waters but tend to increase the desolation around.”

“Couldst thou find thy way there this very night?”

“Surely, if there were need.”

“There is great need.  The young thane, Wilfred, is in danger—­there is some plot against his life.  What it is I know not, but our poor house has been watched ever since he has been here.  Come to the window and look; I have blown out the light; now look—­dost thou not see a man under the shade of the beech, near the entrance gate?”