"Better a thousand times to be here, only bear up till God releases you, and He will make up for all this. You will not think of the billows past when you gain the shore."
"But, father, anything is better than this—these horrid sights, these dreadful faces, and my father a baron."
"Thou art saved many sins," said and felt the priest; "war is a dreadful thing, strife and bloodshed would have been thy lot."
"But I loved to hunt, to fight; I long to be a man, a knight, to win a name in the world, to win my spurs. Oh, what shall I do, how can I bear this?"
"And do you feel like this, Richard," said the priest, addressing the younger boy.
"Indeed I do, how can I help it? Oh, the green woods, the baying of the hounds, the delightful gallop, the sweet, fresh air of our Berkshire downs, the hall on winter nights, the gleemen and their songs, their stories of noble deeds of prowess, the——"
"And the tilt-yard, the sword and the lance, the tournament, the melée," added the other.
"And Evroult, so brave and expert; oh what a knight thou wouldst have made, my brother."
"And our father loved to see us wrestle and fight, and ride, and jump, and called us his brave boys; and our mother was proud of us—oh, how can we bear the loss of all?"
What could be said: nature was too strong, the instincts of generations were in the boys, the blood of the sea-kings of old ran in their veins.