He looked up; the voice startled him. Well it might--it was to him a voice from the grave.
There, in the doorway, living and well, strong and well-liking, in the glare of torchlight, stood his former companion, Wilfred of Aescendune.
Their eyes met, and they gazed fixedly, yes, and proudly, upon each other; but the glance of Wilfred softened first. He saw before him the only one of his former companions who had ever given him a friendly word, whom misapprehension alone had estranged from him, which he (Wilfred) had refused to remove.
"We meet again, Pierre de Morlaix."
"Thou art not dead, then. How didst thou escape? Who burnt the monastery?"
"Art thou so demented as to ask me? Dost thou think English torches fired an English house of God? Times are changed now, and thou seest me surrounded by the vassals of my father's house, who own no lord but their natural chieftain. But where is Etienne? We have watched your party all day, and know that the young tyrant was their leader. Is he amongst the dead?"
"Look for thyself."
No. Etienne was not amongst the dead. How, then, had he escaped?
"Search the premises--search the woods--stop the paths across the morass--men and dogs, all of you. Better all the rest had escaped: he shall never, never live to be lord of Aescendune."
And Wilfred vanished to give orders out of doors.