“And why? You have wronged him, and he will forgive you, doubtless, like a good Christian as he is.”
“That is his concern. But if I see him, I cut off his head. And, as Uncle Brand knows, I always sleep with my sword under my pillow.”
“O that such a mother should have borne such a son.” groaned the Abbot, as they went in.
On the fifth day came Martin Lightfoot, and found Hereward in Prior Brand’s private cell.
“Well?” asked Hereward coolly.
“Is he—? Is he—?” stammered Brand, and could not finish his sentence.
Martin nodded.
Hereward laughed,—a loud, swaggering, hysterical laugh.
“See what it is to be born of just and pious parents. Come, Master Trot-alone, speak out and tell us all about it. Thy lean wolf’s legs have run to some purpose. Open thy lean wolf’s mouth and speak for once, lest I ease thy legs for the rest of thy life by a cut across the hams. Find thy lost tongue, I say!”
“Walls have ears, as well as the wild-wood,” said Martin.