"Yes," said Osric, blushing. He was getting ashamed of the relics of his religious observances; "but Mass and meat, you know, hinder no man. I shall be at Wallingford ere noon, and the horse will start about the dusk of the evening. God speed thee." And they parted.
The Castle of Oxford was one of the great strongholds of the Midlands. Its walls and bastions enclosed a large area, whereon stood the Church of St. George. On one side was the Mound, thrown up in far earlier days than those of which we write, by Ethelflæda, sister of Alfred, and near it the huge tower of Robert d'Oyley, which still survives, a stern and silent witness of the unquiet past. In an upper chamber of that tower was the present apartment of the warlike lady, alike the descendant of Alfred and the Conqueror, and the unlike daughter of the sainted Queen Margaret of Scotland. And there she sat, at the time when Osric met Alain at Iffley Church, impatiently awaiting the return of her favourite squire, for such was Alain, whose youthful comeliness and gallant bearing had won her heart.
"He tarries long: he cometh not," she said. "Tell me, my Edith, how long has he been gone?"
"Scarce three hours, madam, and he has many dangers to encounter. Perchance he may never return."
"Now the Saints confound thy boding tongue."
"Madam!"
"Why, forsooth, should he be unfortunate? so active, so brave, so sharp of wit."
"I only meant that he is mortal."
"So are we all—but dost thou, therefore, expect to die to-day?"
"Father Herluin says we all should live as if we did, madam."