"Go to that aperture, and through it thou mayst tell your grief, or whatever thou hast to say, to Father Alphege."
Brian went to the spot, but he knelt not.
"Father Alphege, is it thou?" he said.
"It is I. What does Brian Fitz-Count seek of me? Art thou a penitent?"
"I know not. A witch sent me to thee."
"A witch?"
"Yes—Hertha of Cwichelm's Hlawe."
"Why?"
"Listen. I adopted a boy, the son of a man I had slain, partly, I think, to atone for a crime once committed, wherein I fired his house, and burnt his kith and kin, save this one boy. I loved him; he won his way to my heart; he seemed like my own son; and then he betrayed me. And now he is doomed to death."
"To die WHEN?" almost shrieked the priest.