"That is well; but remember, Osric, I permit none here to disobey my orders, either for the sake of the living or the dead. He is dead, then?"
"He died the night I arrived."
"May he rest in peace," said Brian carelessly, feeling glad in his heart that the old man was gone, and that there was no one left to dispute his dominion over the heart of Osric.
"But for my grandfather's vow I had returned last night after the funeral. I have discharged my debt to him, and beg pardon for my delay. I now belong to you."
It was strange, however, the wooden tone in which he spoke, like a schoolboy reciting a lesson.
"And thou shalt find in me a father, if thou always continuest to deserve it—as by obedience thou hast hitherto done—save this lapse, in place of him whom thou hast lost."
"Am I to go to Shirburne?"
"I have sent Malebouche. There are certain matters of business to talk over. I want thee to turn scribe for the rest of the day, and write letters for me. It is a thing I could never accomplish. All I can do is to sign my name, or better still, affix my seal. My pen has been the sword, my book the country around; wherein I write my black characters, as men say."
Yes, he did indeed, and the fame remains till this day.
So all the rest of the day Osric wrote at his lord's dictation. There was some especial correspondence with the leaders of the party, and that night messengers were speeding north, south, east, and west with the missives Osric had penned.