"What is it, then?"
"Prepare thyself, my dear child; now be composed; you must resign yourself to God's will."
"Tell me, father, and end this suspense. What is amiss?"
"Nay, he must do that; I wanted to prepare thee; but tis about thy mother."
Wilfred turned pale at once and trembled, for the one passion which divided his soul with hatred to the Normans was love for the memory of his parents. What had the man got to say about his mother?
"But this is not constancy and firmness--thou quakest like an aspen leaf."
"Tell me, was aught amiss in my mother's death?"
"Didst thou ever suspect it?"
"Yes, but I put the thought away, as though it came from Satan."
"Well, poor child, thou wilt know now, and God help thee to bear it rightly."