"I can say no more; something has spoilt a noble nature. Do you not dread Brian's return?"
"No."
"Why not? I should in your place. He loved you."
"I have a secret to tell him which, methinks, will explain all."
"Wilt not tell it me?"
"No; I may not yet."
And Alain took his departure sorrowfully, none the wiser.
The sound of trumpets—the beating of drums. The Baron returns. He enters the proud castle, which he calls his own, with downcast head. The scene in the woods near Byfield has sobered him.
One more grievous blow awaits him,—one to wound him in his tenderest feelings, perhaps the only soft spot in that hard heart. What a mystery was hidden in his whole relation to Osric! What could have made the tiger love the fawn? Was it some deep mysterious working of nature?