There is an old adage about the Evil One. It is said he became sick and wanted to be a monk, but when he became well--well--Was this the case with Etienne?
Time will show: for the present we leave him blowing the horn suspended at the gate of St. Ouen's priory.
[CHAPTER XVI]. RETRIBUTION.
"Raro antecedentem scelestum
Deseruit pede Poena claudo."
It was midday, and the sun was pouring the full power of his noontide beams on the wilderness of reeds and flags which overspread the southern side of the Dismal Swamp, reposing on the treacherous surface of bog, quagmire, and quicksand.
Signs of life there were none, save when the bittern rose from its nest, amidst the long reeds or sedgy grass, or the moor fowl flew over the surface of the inky water, which here and there collected into pools. The feeble hum of insects filled the air, but all else was peace and solitude.
Save that there was a sign of life on the farther side of the Swamp--a solitary figure half concealed by bushes, stood watching on a promontory of firm land, looking anxiously--from his slight elevation over the surface of the fen.
He was an aged man, who had seen some ninety summers; his long beard descended below the girdle which confined his brown tunic at the waist. It was Haga, the father of Ordgar.
"My eyes are not what they were, and I see no sign as yet. Ah, here comes little Siward!"
A boy of some twelve years approached him very silently, as if some serious business was about to be transacted, of such nature as to subdue boyish loquacity.