"Poor Bruno," he said, as he gave his gallant hound one sigh. "Less fortunate than thy lord; that mongrel cur hath slain thee: but I may not stay to waste tears over thee," and remounting, he rode away unscathed from the struggle, leaving the horse of the vanquished one to roam the downs.
And as he rode, his thoughts were again on his lost child, and on the boy whom he had seen on the previous day, and sent before him in durance. Was it possible this was his son? Nay, the old man, who would not lie to save his life, had affirmed the contrary. Still he would make further inquiries, and keep the lad in sight, if not assured of his birth and parentage.
A thought struck him: should he threaten the torture to the aged Englishman, and so strive to wring the secret—if there were one—from him. Yet he hesitated, and debated the question with its pros and cons again and again, until the greater urgency of the coming struggle extinguished all other thoughts in his mind.
He had enemies, yes, bitter ones, and now that the dogs of war were allowed to be unchained, he would strike a blow for himself, as well as for Maud. Why, there was that hated rival, the Lord of Shirburne, who boasted that he kept the Key of the Chilterns in his hand—there was his rival of Donnington Castle over the downs—what splendid opportunities for plunder, vainglory, and revenge.
In such meditations did the Lord of Wallingford ride home through the forest, and adown the Moreton brook.
* * * * *
Meanwhile his defeated foe, upon whom the victor had scarcely bestowed a passing thought, lay stiff and stark upon the ground.
The night wind sang a dirge over him, but no human being was there to see whether the breath was yet in him. But a canine friend was there—his poor wolf hound—mangled by the teeth of his foe, but yet alive and likely to live. And now he came up to the prostrate body of his master and licked his face, while from time to time he raised his nose in the air, and uttered a plaintive howl, which floated adown the wind an appeal for help.
Was it a prayer for the living or the dead?
Surely there were the signs of life, the hues of that bloodless cheek are not yet those of death; see, he stirs! only just a stir, but it tells of life, and where there is life there is hope.