But the speaker, whose attendance was compulsory, or he had not
been there, had few sympathisers at the moment.

"Let us hope for the best. Sir Hugo will not, cannot forget the
solemn covenant he has made today, to love and to cherish, till
death part him and his bride."

"I hardly think, good father, that day is far off, judging by her
looks."

The wax tapers cast a sweet, soft light over the pale, sad features
of Winifred of Aescendune, daughter of Herstan {vii} of
Clifftown, on the Thames, who had but lately, full of years, gone
to his rest, spared the sad days of the Conquest--days utterly
unanticipated by those who died while Edward the Confessor yet
reigned in peace, ere Harold visited the Norman court and swore
over the holy bones.

She was but fulfilling a sad duty--at least she thought so--as she
played her ill-omened part, sacrificing herself for her boy and her
only daughter Edith. For what was the alternative? Was it not to go
forth as fugitives and vagabonds on the face of the earth--a prey
to every foreign noble--leaving her own dear people of Aescendune
to the wolf, without intercessor or protector.

And thus it came to pass that Winifred of Aescendune married Hugo
de Malville.