Wilfred spent a few happy days with his brother-in-law cheered by the society of his sister and her children.
Between him and Etienne all clouds had departed; they had learned, amidst the perils of the return journey, to appreciate each other, and wondered they had ever been such foes.
Once only he visited the Dismal Swamp, the scene of such exciting events in his earlier life. He found it an utter wilderness, not a house had been left standing; Etienne had wished to abolish the very remembrance of the scenes in which, as his conscience told him, he had acted so ill a part, and when he had succeeded in persuading the English to trust him, and return to Aescendune, he had fired the little hamlet and reduced it to ashes.
The brook murmured in solitude and silence, the birds sang undisturbed by the strife of men.
The scene of Edwin's death from the arrows of Etienne's followers could hardly be identified; but under the very tree where Pierre had fallen in stern retaliation, Wilfred knelt, and besought pardon for himself and rest for the soul which he had sent so hurriedly before the judgment seat.
"Oh how much we had to forgive each other, Etienne and I," he said half aloud.
These words caused him to raise his head, and look instinctively over the place where the light wind was bowing down the heads of the tall reeds and sedges, which grew where the fire, that destroyed Count Hugo and his band, had swept over their predecessors.
These remembrances saddened him, he returned to the castle--the prey of conflicting emotions.
But much did Wilfred marvel at the peace and concord that reigned in this happy village, in such contrast to the discord which elsewhere marked the relations between Englishman and Norman, the conquered and the conquerors; and one day he ventured to remark upon the happy change to his old rival and brother-in-law.
"Come with me," said Etienne, "and I will explain it all."