A rapt look was in the dark eyes.  Edred caught the enthusiasm of that look, and half unconsciously sank down upon his knee.

“Bless me, even me also, O my father!” he cried, scarce knowing what words he chose; and the thin, strong hand was laid upon his head.

“God be with thee and bless thee, my son,” said the monk, in grave, steadfast tones; “and may He be thy guide and thy portion henceforth and forever.  May He show thee the way in which He would have thee to go, and give thee grace and strength to follow it unto the end.”

For a moment deep silence prevailed.  Both were rapidly reviewing the words that day spoken, and the thoughts suggested by the bare discussion of such subjects; and Edred, rising and looking with a strange smile into the monk’s face, said softly: 

“Methinks it would not be hard to die in a righteous cause; but to be hunted to death through the spite and malice of a treacherous foe, that would be an evil fate.  I would fight with the best member I possess against such an one, were he to be mine own enemy or thine.”

A smile crossed Brother Emmanuel’s face.

“Go to, boy! thou art more soldier than monk yet.  Methinks thou wouldst fight bravely and well in a good cause.  Perchance that would be the best and happiest lot for thee—­

“There be thy brothers coming up from the water.  Go join them, and think not too much for thy years.  Be a youth as long as thou mayest.  Manhood’s cares will come all too fast.”

With that he turned and went quietly towards the house, whilst Edred went forth to meet his brothers.

Chapter IV:  The Travelling Preacher.

Perhaps it was the memory of those spiteful and malicious glances bent upon his preceptor by Brother Fabian that suggested to Edred upon the day following to pay a visit to the secret chamber that had once before so well sheltered a helpless fugitive.

The secret of that chamber still remained with the three boys and their faithful esquire, Warbel.  To no other living soul in the house had any of these four ever named the matter.  The boys might not have been able to give any reason for this reticence towards their parents, but the fact remained that they had never revealed the secret to them, and that although tradition still spoke of a cleverly-masked chamber somewhere at Chad, it was now popularly supposed to have been in that part of the house which had boon demolished during the Wars of the Roses.  Children did not chatter to their parents in days of old as they do now.  They might love them never so well, but they held them in reverence and even in awe.  They were silent in their presence, as a rule, unless spoken to first, and the habit of conversational intimacy did not grow up until a much later period in their lives.  Thus the adventures of Warbel, and his strange midnight visit to their bedchamber, had never been told to Sir Oliver or his wife.  All they knew was that the man had taken refuge from the anger of the Lord of Mortimer in one of their woodmen’s huts.  They were glad to give him shelter and employment at Chad, and had never regretted the hospitality extended to him; for he had proved the most faithful of servants, and his devotion to the boys was so great that they could be trusted anywhere in his keeping.