But now, after one of her monotonous rambles, like unto one distraught in the woods, had come this glad surprise. A new life burst upon her—something to live for, and, rushing forward, she threw her arms around the neck of her recovered boy.
“My mother,” said he in an agitated voice. “Nay, she has been long dead.”
But as he gazed, the same instinct awoke in him as in her, and he lost self control. The sermon ended abruptly, the preacher was conquered by the man. The hearers gathered in groups and discussed the event.
“This explains how he knew all about us!”
“It is Martin, little Martin, who should have been our chieftain.”
“The last of the house of Michelham!”
“Turned into a preaching friar!”
Grimbeard mused in silence. At last he gave a whispered order.
“Treat them both well, to the best of our power. But they must not leave the camp.”
“Mother,” said Martin, “why that cruel message of thy death? Thou hadst not otherwise lost me so long.”