“But I shall even yet fulfil my vow, and the vow of the man I slew, through my boy, when he has gained his spurs. My sinful steps are not permitted to press that soil, once trodden by those blessed feet, nailed for our salvation to the holy rood. Hubert will live and bear the sword of the slain Sieur de Fievrault, sans peur et sans reproche. Then I may lay me down in peace and take my rest.”
“Will thou not see my husband?”
“I cannot reveal myself here in this castle to any one but thee, and as my tormentor pays his visits again, I will betake me to the Priory of Lewes.”
“And must thou leave thy ancestral halls, and bury thyself again, my brother?”
“I must. My task is done. I came but to feast my eyes with the sight of thee, and to tell thee that thy nephew, the true heir of Walderne, lives, satisfied that thou wilt not now allow him to be defrauded of his rights.”
“Why not reveal thyself to my husband?”
“I cannot—at least not in this house; but in the morn, after I have parted for Lewes, tell him all.”
“And what proofs shall I give if he ask them?”
“Let him seek me at Lewes or, better still, refer to Simon de Montfort, who is the guardian of the boy, and has him in safe keeping at Kenilworth.”
“Sybil,” cried a voice.