“Thou mayst not tell how Wilfred escaped either,” added Etienne, who in his heart thought that the outlaws had fired the place and released him from his imposed penance.

“On all these points my lips are sealed.  Perhaps in God’s own time thou wilt learn the truth.”

“Then I may not act as a mediator between my father and his fugitive vassals?”

“Not under present circumstances.  There is a dark mystery, which God in His mercy hides from thee.”

They had now gained a slight elevation, and could see the tops of the trees below them for miles, including a portion of the swamp.

“Father, how full the woods are of smoke:  look, it is rolling in great billows over the tree tops.  Surely the woods are on fire.”

“I have heard that in foreign countries the woods are so dry in summer that they burn easily, and that people caught in the forests have great difficulty in saving their lives; but it is not so here, the reeds and flags of the marshes alone are on fire.”

“Methinks I hear the shouts of men who strive for mastery,” and as he spoke, the fire of the warrior kindled in his eyes.

“Thou mayst not join them if such be the case; thou wilt keep thy promise, my son.”

“Yes,” said the tamed tiger cub, with a sigh; “yet I would fain know what my father is doing.  Let us go on.”

Two more hours of forest travelling carried them far from the sound of the conflict and they gained the outskirts of the forest.  Entering some nicely cultivated meadows, they came in sight of a small Norman priory, which Etienne had visited in earlier days, when out on woodland expeditions; for it was miles from Aescendune, and the way lay through the forest.

“Farewell my son, I must leave thee here.  They are thy countrymen in yonder cell, and will gladly entertain thee.”

“Thy blessing, my father.”

“It is thine, my son.  Do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with thy God, and He will bless thee.”

Etienne sat on the trunk of a fallen tree, for he was very tired, and watched the departing figure of Father Kenelm.  His eyes were dim, for he felt very much touched, for the time at least.

But he was now restored to life and liberty, and no bird in the sky, no deer on the mountain, felt more blithe and happy than he soon began to feel.

There is an old adage about the Evil One.  It is said he became sick and wanted to be a monk, but when he became well—­well—­Was this the case with Etienne?

Time will show:  for the present we leave him blowing the horn suspended at the gate of St. Ouen’s priory.

CHAPTER XVI.  RETRIBUTION.

“Raro antecedentem scelestum
Deseruit pede Poena claudo.”

It was midday, and the sun was pouring the full power of his noontide beams on the wilderness of reeds and flags which overspread the southern side of the Dismal Swamp, reposing on the treacherous surface of bog, quagmire, and quicksand.