“Sit down, man,” said Ian, “and tell us everything about Holwick. We should much like to know all that befell after we escaped.”
“Oh, but tarry a little, Ian,” said Aline; “there is something that must be done first. You tell Walter what we have been doing, while I talk awhile with Wilfred. Wilfred, come hither,” she continued, leading the way to one of the double seated windows.
“I am so glad to see you again, Wilfred,” she said, when they had sat down, “and you are looking well.”
“Yes, Mistress Aline, and I am glad to see you, and, oh, Mistress, you are looking bonnie in those brave things,” he added in a burst of boyish admiration, and then subsided overcome by shyness for having said too much.
“Wilfred,” she said, “you recall the last time that we met and what we spake about?”
“I do, indeed, and I shall not forget your sympathy.”
“Do you remember my saying that I thought the spirit of light must in its own time triumph over the spirit of darkness? I did not know at the time what moved me to say it. I only meant it in a general way, and yet I had a strange presentiment that it had some special meaning for you.”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Wilfred, what was the sad news that you heard at Kirkoswald? Tell me.”
“They told us that little Joan had gone to Durham and died there.”