"Oh, is that so? Well, we shall soon reach the spot where we landed before. Shall we get out of the boat, think you?"

"I think we had better not, my lady, until we see them. What should we do if that fierce Saxon should catch us?"

"The Saxon earl told me his people would not harm us—any of them; but we must not be overbold. We are now completely out of sight of the castle; let us pull gently, and keep a sharp look-out."

So steadily they glided underneath the long arms of the trees, sending the water-hens scurrying away into the thick recesses of foliage, or diving beneath the surface, and coming up again on the other side with a plash; whilst the snipe and lovely kingfishers, on fleet wing, skimmed over the surface into the solitudes ahead.

"Surely," said Alice, "this is a slice out of Paradise."

"Yes," said Jeannette; "it is lovely. And that's the fallen tree where the Saxon and I sat together."

"Not the Saxon, Jeannette; his follower, you mean."

"Oh, but I don't think he is merely a follower, my lady. I believe they are equal; leastways, he is only a little lower in rank."

It is, perhaps, needless to say that since Oswald's recovery, scarcely had a sunny day passed when the placid bosom of the river had not been anxiously scanned by the other two persons most interested in a second meeting with these fair Norman women. It is scarcely necessary to say also that two stalwart individuals had seen the slim boat gliding slowly up the stream, and, for the last quarter of an hour, had been rapidly clearing the distance which separated them from it. We may also say, without exaggeration, that these frail women met these stalwart Saxons with much less of perturbation than when they last met; though if we were to say that there were no fluttering of hearts, and no crimson blushes mounting to the face and neck, and no trembling of limbs, as they reached out their hands to be helped on to the embankment; or if we were to say that Jeannette did not utter a little scream, and clutch Wulfhere most tenaciously, as the boat gave a treacherous lurch as she stepped from it; we should not be faithful chroniclers. Again Wulfhere and Jeannette sat on the fallen tree and watched by the boat; whilst Oswald and Alice sauntered by the river's side, and Alice told her tale of coming disaster. We know she did not resist as Oswald's arm lovingly encircled her, and he bade her be of good cheer. In low, earnest tones they talked of all that lay in their hearts; and Oswald was able to convince her that the dark cloud ahead would be found to have a silver lining. It was truly passing strange that this high-born lady should yield herself so unreservedly to this Saxon. There was no reason, or prudence, or wisdom in it possibly. But the divine instinct of love, which is born in—not acquired—but born in and indigenous to every pure and unsullied woman's heart, ventured, with sheer and utter abandonment, to give her heart to him. The same instinct which revolted in utter abhorrence at the thought of contact with the brutal Norman, drove her irresistibly to the sheltering arms of the pure-minded and valorous Saxon. They laid their plans for further interviews, all the while unconscious that eyes, glistening with fury, were peering through the brushwood, and mad hate was rankling in the breast of an unseen foe, who scarce could forbear to rush in and execute vengeance on the spot.