Father Kenelm came and read to her the story of the widow's son at Nain, from King Alfred's Anglo-Saxon version of the Gospels. Not even to him did she confide the secret, or tell who was separated from the good priest only by a curtain--an instinct told her it was right to tend and save--she would trust nothing else.
But in spite of this resolution the good father discovered it all; for while he read the sweet story of old, he heard a cry in Norman French.
"Keep off the fiend--the hobgoblin--he has got burning arrows--snakes! snakes! there are snakes in the bed!"
"What means this, good mother?"
"Oh, thou wilt not betray him."
"Hast thou a fugitive there? Methinks I know the voice. Can it be the son of the wicked baron?"
"He is not answerable for his father's sin; oh, do not betray him--he is mad with fever."
"Dost thou mean to release him, should he get well? Methinks it were better that he should die."
"With all his sins upon his head? May the saints forbid."
"At least were he but absolved after due contrition, and thou knowest that thou hast little cause to love him."