"He is conscious, father," said the old woman. "What does he say?" for Etienne spoke in Norman French.
"Thou hast been in great danger, my son, and this good woman hath saved thee and sheltered thee from thy foes."
"Thanks, good mother."
There was a tone of deep feeling in his voice as he said these words--"but what has passed? I have a confused remembrance of hunting and being hunted, in a midnight forest, and of a deadly combat in a dark chamber, from which I seemed to wake to find myself here."
"Thy destiny has, indeed, been nearly accomplished, and that thou art the survivor of the party with which thou didst invade the Dismal Swamp is owing to this widow woman," said the good father in the patient's own tongue.
Etienne fell back on his pillow and seemed trying to unravel the tangled thoughts which perplexed him. Once more the dame came and brought him a cooling drink. He drank it, thanked her, and fell back with a sigh.
Yes, it all came to him now, as clear as the strong daylight--and with it came remorse. He had cruelly slain young Eadwin, and the mother of the murdered lad--for he knew her--had rescued him from what his conscience told him would have been a deserved fate, at least at the hands of the English.
There are crises in all men's lives--and this was one in the life of Etienne--when they choose good or evil.
And from that time, new impressions had power over him. He lay in deep remorse, knowing that he still owed his life to the forbearance, and more than forbearance, with which he had been treated.
"If thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink: for in so doing thou shalt heap coals of fire on his head."