like a desert to her.

Wilfred came and stood beside her, and her hand played with his
flowing hair until she felt that he was sobbing by her side.

"What is the matter, my dear boy?"

"Matter! I cannot bear it any longer. I must break the promise thou
hast forced me to give."

"Break thy promise, Wilfred? What would thy sainted father say, did
he hear thee? And how dost thou know that he does not hear?"

"If he were here he would exact no such promise, I am sure; he
would not at least make me appear as a coward in outlandish eyes,
and cringe before these proud Frenchmen."

Wilfred used the word Frenchmen with the greatest scorn. He knew
that the Normans scorned the name as much as they did the name
Englishmen, of which their descendants lived to be so proud.

What was this promise which bound the poor lad as in a chain of
iron?

Not on any account to let himself be drawn into a quarrel with
Etienne.

"Thy father would feel as I do, dear son, were he in our place.
Dost thou not see that we poor English only hold our own by
sufferance, and that any pretext upon which they could seize would