Nothing more passed between them until they reached the threshold of Kenric's humble dwelling, where, in silence and darkness, with the door ajar, listening to every distant sound of the fitful breeze or passing water, the fair young wife sat awaiting them.
She arose, as they entered. "Ah! it is thou, Eadwulf; I thought so, from the first. Enter, and sit. Wilt eat or bathe first? thou art worn and weary, brother, as I can see by this gloaming light. There is a good bed ready for thee, under the rafters, and in the morning thou wilt awake, refreshed and strong——"
"Thou thoughtst so from the first. I warrant me thou didst—mayhap thy husband told thee so. Brother, too! he hath not greeted me as brother. Eat, bathe, sleep? neither of the three, girl. I'll drink first of all; and, if that please thee, then eat, then sleep; and bathe when I may, perhaps not at all."
"Bring him the mead-pitcher, Edith, and the big horn, and then avoid ye. There is blood on his hand, and worse than blood on his soul. Leave the meat on the board. I'll see to him."
And when his wishes were fulfilled, they were left alone, and a long, gloomy conversation followed; and, if the dark, sullen, and unthankful heart of the younger brother was in no sort touched, or his better feelings—if he had any—awakened, at least his fears were aroused, and, casting aside all his moroseness, he became a humble, I had almost said a craven, suppliant for protection.
"Protection!" said Kenric, "I have it not to give, nor can I ask those who could. I know not, in truth, whether in sheltering you, even now, I do not risk the safety of all that is dear to me. What I can do, I will. This night, and all the day to-morrow, I will conceal thee here, come of it what come may; and, at the dead of the next night, will guide thee, through the passes, to the upper hill country, where thou wilt soon find men, like thyself, of desperate lives and fortunes. Money, so much as I have, I will give thee, and food for thy present need; but arms, save thy wood-knife, thou shalt take none hence. I will not break faith nor betray duty to my lord, let what may come of it; and, if I find thee trespassing on his chase, or hunting of his deer, I will deal with thee as a stranger, not as a kinsman. No thanks, Eadwulf; nor no promises. I have no faith in thee, nor any hope, save that we two may never meet again. And so, good-night."
And with the word, he led him to a low room under the rafters, furnished with a tolerable bed, but remote from all observation, where he was tended all the following day, and watched by Edith, or by himself in person, until the next night settled dark and moonless over wild fell and mountain tarn; when he conducted him up the tremendous passes which lead to the desolate but magnificent wilderness, stretching, in those days, untrodden save by the deer, the roebuck, the tusky boar, the gray wolf, or the grizzly outlaw, for countless leagues around the mighty masses of Helvellyn, Saddleback, and Skiddaw, the misty mountain refuge of all conquered races—of the grim Celts from the polished Romans, of the effete Britons from the sturdy Saxons, of the vanquished Anglo-Saxons, from the last victorious Normans.
They parted, with oaths of fidelity and vows of gratitude never to be fulfilled on the part of Eadwulf, with scarce concealed distrust on the part of Kenric.
It was broad day when the latter returned to his happy home by Kentmere; and the first object he beheld was his wife, gazing despondingly on his own crossbow and bolts, each branded with his name—"Kenric, born thrall of Philip de Morville," of which, unwittingly he had disarmed his brother on the night of his arrival.
His heart fell as he looked upon the well-known weapons; and thought that probably it was one of those marked and easily-recognized bolts which had quivered in the heart of the bailiff of Waltheofstow; but his wife knew not the dark tale, and he was not the man to disturb her peace of mind, however his own might be distracted, by any dubious or uncertain fear.