Between him and Etienne all clouds had departed; they had learned, amidst the perils of the return journey, to appreciate each other, and wondered they had ever been such foes.

Once only he visited the Dismal Swamp, the scene of such exciting events in his earlier life. He found it an utter wilderness, not a house had been left standing; Etienne had wished to abolish the very remembrance of the scenes in which, as his conscience told him, he had acted so ill a part, and when he had succeeded in persuading the English to trust him, and return to Aescendune, he had fired the little hamlet and reduced it to ashes.

The brook murmured in solitude and silence, the birds sang undisturbed by the strife of men.

The scene of Edwin's death from the arrows of Etienne's followers could hardly be identified; but under the very tree where Pierre had fallen in stern retaliation, Wilfred knelt, and besought pardon for himself and rest for the soul which he had sent so hurriedly before the judgment seat.

"Oh how much we had to forgive each other, Etienne and I," he said half aloud.

These words caused him to raise his head, and look instinctively over the place where the light wind was bowing down the heads of the tall reeds and sedges, which grew where the fire, that destroyed Count Hugo and his band, had swept over their predecessors.

These remembrances saddened him, he returned to the castle--the prey of conflicting emotions.

But much did Wilfred marvel at the peace and concord that reigned in this happy village, in such contrast to the discord which elsewhere marked the relations between Englishman and Norman, the conquered and the conquerors; and one day he ventured to remark upon the happy change to his old rival and brother-in-law.

"Come with me," said Etienne, "and I will explain it all."

He led Wilfred to the Priory Church, and they entered the hallowed pale, with its round Norman arches and lofty roof, where the very tread seemed an intrusion upon the silence, which spake of the eternal repose that shall be, after the storms of this troublesome world have their end.

There is something in the Early Norman architecture which appears to the writer awe-inspiring; the ma.s.sive round column, the bold and simple arch, have a more solemn effect upon his senses than the loveliest productions of the more florid and decorated period.

Such a stern and simple structure was this Priory Church of St.

Wilfred of Aescendune.

It was the hour of nones, and the strains of the hymn of St.

Ambrose, "Rerum Deus tenax vigor," were pealing from the Benedictines in the choir: which has been thus paraphrased:

"O strength and stay, upholding all creation: Who ever dost Thyself unmoved abide, Yet, day by day, the light, in due gradation, From hour to hour, through all its changes guide.

"Grant to life's day a calm unclouded ending, An eve untouched by shadow of decay, The brightness of a holy death bed, blending With dawning glories of the eternal day {x.x.xi}."

His thoughts full of the ideas suggested by the solemn strain, Wilfred followed Etienne into the south transept.

There, upon a plain altar tomb of stone lay the effigy of an aged matron, her hands clasped in prayer, and beneath were the words:

HILDA IN PACE BEATI PACIFICI {x.x.xii}.

The "rival heirs" stood by the tomb, their hands clasped, while the tears streamed down their cheeks. It was she indeed, who by her simple obedience to the Divine law of love, which is the central idea of the Gospel, had reconciled jarring hearts, and brought about, in Aescendune, the reign of peace and love.

"I strove," said Etienne, at last breaking the long silence, "to be a son to her, in place of the ill-fated boy whom I so cruelly slew; nor were my efforts in vain, or my repentance unaccepted. We built her a house, on the site of her ancient cottage, and when strife arose, we often submitted the matter to her judgment, and she, who had been the foster mother of one lord, and the preserver from death of the other, reconciled the followers of both.

"When at last the hour came for her to commit her sweet soul to G.o.d, I stood by her dying bed.

"'Mother,' said I, 'what can I do when thou art gone to show my love for thy memory?'

"'Only go on as thou hast begun,' she replied, 'be a father to all thy people, Englishman and Norman alike, and their prayers will succour thee at the judgment seat of G.o.d--I go into peace.'

"And she left peace behind her--"

Here Etienne could say no more, and the two "rival heirs" stood a long time gazing upon the "cold marble and the sculptured stone,"

while tears which were no disgrace to their manhood fell like gentle rain from heaven.

Soon after this Wilfred had a long conference with Prior Kenelm.

The result was, that he announced his intention of retiring from the world and ending his days in the cloister. His years had been years of strife and tumult--he would give the residue to G.o.d.

So he entered the famous order of St. Benedict, and after the death of Father Kenelm became the prior of the monastery dedicated to his patron saint--founded by his own forefathers.

His greatest joy was when surrounded by his nephews and nieces--yea, great-nephews and great-nieces, after the happy marriage of Edward of Aescendune to Lady Agatha of Wilmcote.

Etienne and Edith lived blessed in each other's love to the end.

The Norman estates fell to Hugh, the English ones to Edward, who not unworthily represented both English and Norman lines--"a knight without fear and without reproach."

The last years of our hero, Wilfred, were years of tranquil happiness and serene joy, such as Milton wrote of in later ages, in those lines of wondrous beauty:

"Let my due feet never fail To walk the cloisters hallowed pale, With storied windows richly dight, Casting a dim religions light, And let the pealing organ blow To the foil-voiced choir below, Bring all heaven before mine eyes, Dissolve me into ecstasies."

In the ruins of the abbey of St. Wilfred the spectator may notice a cross-legged knight, whose feet rest upon a vanquished lion. His whole att.i.tude is expressive of intense action; the muscles seem strained in the effort to draw his sword and demolish a Turk, while the face expresses all that is n.o.ble in manly courage.

Hard by lies a prior in his vestments, his hands meekly clasped.

The colour has not yet quite faded, which embellished the statue; but the remarkable thing is the face. Even yet, in spite of the broken and mouldering stone, there is a calmness of repose about that face which is simply wonderful.

It has been our task to call them both back to life--knight and prior, and to make them live in our pages. Pardon us, gentle readers, for the imperfect way in which we have fulfilled it.

Thus ends the Third and last Chronicle of Aescendune.

i Ordericus Vitalis, lib. iv. 523.

ii William of Malmesbury.

iii Sa.s.senach equals Saxon.

iv It seems strange how such a misconception could ever have arisen and coloured English literature to so great an extent, for if we turn to the pages of the contemporaneous historians, such as Henry of Huntingdon, William of Malmesbury, Florence of Worcester, Ordericus Vitalis--born within the century of the Conquest--we find that they all describe the Anglo-Saxons as English, not Saxons.

v See the Second Chronicle, chapter VI.

vi Genealogy of Aescendune.

The reader may be glad to have the genealogy of the family, in whom it has been the author's aim to interest him, placed clearly before him. The following table includes the chief names in the three Chronicles; the date of decease is given in each case.

Offa, 940.

* Oswald, 937.

+ Ragnar, 959.

* Ella, 959.

+ Elfric, 960.

+ Alfred, 998, m. Alftrude.

o Elfric, 975.

o Elfwyn, 1036, m. Hilda.

# Bertric, 1006.