But Father Dicoll said nothing. If he had said anything it would have been to reprove Ædric for his impatience; but he was a wise man, who trusted to silence for doing the work of words—a method which, however, requires great knowledge in its application.
It was not long before Corman had run his raft alongside the quay, and with provoking deliberation, as it seemed to Ædric, moored her to a post; he then picked up the oars, and putting them over his shoulder, came up to Father Dicoll and Ædric.
"Well, brother Corman, and how hast thou fared?" said Father Dicoll.
"Well enough. Wilfrid will have a litter brought down to the shore yonder by noon to-morrow, and Ædric is to go there to meet him. He promises to care for him well; and he also told me news which, if it be true, may make a great deal of difference to the boy's fortunes, and indeed for all the country round."
"What was that?"
"Why, that Centwine of Wessex is dead, and bid all men own the outlaw Cædwalla to be king in his stead, before he died."
"How knew Wilfrid of that?"
"How knows Wilfrid of everything? He is not like us. He is troubled about much serving; the doings of the world concern him, and the great ones of the earth are those in whom he delights."
Father Dicoll said nothing, but turned towards their hut. Ædric followed, leaning on Corman's arm, and using a stick for a crutch.
When they got inside Father Dicoll prepared their frugal meal, as Corman was tired with his long walk and row. Then they had evening service, and after that Ædric was attended to; the bandages on his leg were changed, and he was made comfortable for the night. He felt very sad as he lay down, and felt much inclined to rebel at being sent away without having a voice in the matter; but the lessons of the last few days were beginning to bear fruit, and he recognised the duty of submitting his own inclinations to the wisdom of those whom he had found by experience to be kind and good.