"Alfgar, I have promised to forgive our enemy."
"Edric Streorn?"
Alfgar added no more.
"Couldst thou forgive him?"
"I would try."
"His hand is red with blood. Think of Sigeferth, of Morcar, of Elfhelm, nay, of a hundred others; then think not how he has plotted against my life, but how he made my own father hate and disown me; while he, the pampered favourite, swayed all the councils and betrayed the land. O Alfgar! couldst thou forgive him?"
"He plotted against my life and my honour, too," said Alfgar, "and strove to deprive me of both; yet I am too happy now to harbour revenge."
"Well, I meet him at St. Frideswide's tomorrow, and we shall be formally reconciled in the presence of the bishop and his clergy, wherewith I trust he will be content, and not trouble me too often with his presence."
"Where is he staying now?"
"I hardly know; but after the reconciliation I must admit him as my guest, for my sister is with him, if he chooses to stay; but I hope that will not be the case."