"Nay, grandfather, I must go, the reeds are dry, they will burn us all together. They may show me mercy if I own it bravely."
"Nay, they love their deer too well; they will hang thee on the nearest beech."
"Look! they have fired the reeds."
"It may be our salvation: they cannot penetrate them when burning, and see, if the smoke stifle us not, the fire will not reach us; there is too much green and dank vegetation around the brook between us and the reeds."
"Ah! the wind blows it the other way; nay, it eddies—see that tongue of flame darting amongst the dry fuel—now another: that thick smoke—there it is changed to flame. Oh, grandfather, let us get off by the other side—at once—at once."
"Thou forgettest I am a cripple; but there may be time for you and Judith to save yourselves."
"Nay," said Osric, proudly, "we live or die together."
"Judith will stay with her old master," said the poor thrall, "and with her young lord too."
They were yet "lords" in her eyes, bereft although they were of their once vast possessions.
"Perhaps we are as safe here; their patience will wear out before they can penetrate the island. See, they are firing the reeds out yonder. Normans love a conflagration," said the old man.