Wilfred.
The great wonderment of Ella may be conceived: he had always mourned
over Edwy as a headstrong youth, dead to religion, and now he was called
upon to contemplate him in so different a light. The reader may wonder
at his credulity, but if he had listened to the sweet voice of the
beautiful king, had gazed into that innocent-looking face--those eyes
which always seemed to meet the gaze, and never lowered themselves or
betrayed their owner--he would, perhaps, have been deceived too; yet
Edwy was overdoing it, and a look from Redwald warned him of the fact.
He took the other line.
"Alas!" he said, "I have been very very unworthy of St. Wilfred's fond
interest in me, and may have done very rash things; but some day the
saint may rejoice in me again, and then he shall not find in me a
rebellious son."
Further than this he was not disposed to go, for in truth he felt
himself sickened by his very success in deceit, although half disposed
to be proud of it at the same time. But Redwald had taken up the
conversation.
"These halls of yours seem old, venerable thane; has your family long
dwelt under this hospitable roof?"
"My remote ancestor fought by the side of Cynric in the victories which
led to the foundation of Mercia."
"Ah! many a sad yet glorious tale and legend for the gleeman's harp,
doubtless, adorns your annals."
"Not many; we have our traditions."
"For instance, is there one connected with the foundation of the priory
hard by?"
"It is of recent date, my father built it.
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