If he did remember it, he took care not to show it that night. He was as calm and self-possessed as a man could be--as a smiling sea under the summer sky--smiling so that the heedless voyager knows not what hideous trophies or past storms the smiling depths conceal.
So was it with this treacherous penitent.
His presence, however, somewhat chilled the conversation, and they broke up early; the more so as it was a vigil, the vigil of St. Andrew, and men strictly observed the law of the Church on such subjects in those days.
When he bade Edmund goodnight, Edric said:
"You cannot tell how true a peace has found its home in my breast since our reconciliation, which I feel I owe greatly to the intercession of your patron St. Edmund, to whose tomb I made a pilgrimage, where I besought this one grace--our reconciliation."
Edmund thought of the holy thorn; but Edric continued:
"And you will be glad to hear that the bishop has decided upon my penance. It is to be a pilgrimage to the Holy Land."
"I am heartily glad to hear it," said Edmund, speaking the very truth, although he did try to forgive as he hoped to be forgiven.
And they separated.
Meanwhile happiness and expectation were high in the breasts of the happy lovers, Alfgar and Ethelgiva. The morrow was to unite them. The ladies sat up nearly all night making the wedding robes complete, and richly adorning them--Hilda, Bertha, and Ethelgiva, with many skilful handmaidens.