"I may not tell thee;" and Osric shuddered.
"The Normans have spoilt thee then, in deed and in truth. Wilt thou not even tell us whether Herwald yet lives?"
"I may not for the present; if my father bid me tell thee, thou shalt know. Leave me for the present; I have just buried my grandfather; let me rest for the day at least."
The outlaw, for such he was, ceased to importune him at this plaintive cry; then like a man who takes a sudden resolution, stepped aside, and Osric passed on. When he reached home he half expected to find a messenger from Wallingford chiding his delay; then he sat a brief while as one who hardly knows what to do, while old Judith brought him a savoury stew, and bade him eat. Several times she looked at him, like one who is burning to tell a secret, then pursed up her lips, as if she were striving to repress a strong inclination to speak.
At length Osric rose up.
"Judith," he said, "I may stay here no longer."
"Thou art going to Dorchester?"
"I am."
"What shall I say when the Lord of Wallingford sends for thee?"
"That I am gone to Dorchester."