Then again came the remembrance of that strange partiality, even amounting to fondness, which Brian had ever shown him, and he could but contrast the coldness and indifference of his own father with the fostering care of the awful Lord of Wallingford.
But blood is thicker than water: he could no longer serve the murderer of his kindred—Heaven itself would denounce such an alliance; yet he did not even now wish to wreak vengeance. He could not turn so suddenly: the old man's solution was the right one—he would fly the country and go to the Crusades.
But how to get out of England? it was no easy matter. The chances were twenty to one that he would either meet his death from some roving band or be forcibly compelled to join them.
The solution suddenly presented itself.
He would seek his father, take sanctuary at Dorchester, and claim his aid. Even Brian could not drag him thence; and the monks of all men would and could assist him to join the Crusades.
Strong in this resolution, he returned to the cottage.
"Your grandfather is asleep; you must not disturb him, Osric, my dear boy."
"Very well, my old nurse, I will sleep too; my heart is very heavy."
He lay down on a pile of leaves and rushes in the outer room, and slept a troublous sleep. He had a strange dream, which afterwards became significant. He thought that old Judith came to him and said—