“Yes, I have you! Hold me. Love me. Let me feel that one thing loves me upon earth. I want love; I must have it: and if God, and His mother, and all the saints, refuse their love, I must turn to the creature, and ask it to love me, but for a day.” “For ever, mother.” “You will not leave me?” “If I do, I come back, to finish what I have begun.” “More blood? O God! Hereward, not that! Let us return good for evil. Let us take up our crosses. Let us humble ourselves under God’s hand, and flee into some convent, and there die praying for our country and our kin.” “Men must work, while women pray. I will take you to a minster,--to Peterborough.” “No, not to Peterborough!” “But my Uncle Brand is abbot there, they tell me, now this four years; and that rogue Herluin, prior in his place.” “He is dying,--dying of a broken heart, like me. And the Frenchman has given his abbey to one Thorold, the tyrant of Malmesbury,--a Frenchman like himself. No, take me where I shall never see a French face. Take me to Crowland--and him with me--where I shall see naught but English faces, and hear English chants, and die a free Englishwoman under St. Guthlac’s wings.” “Ah!” said Hereward, bitterly, “St. Guthlac is a right Englishman, and will have some sort of fellow-feeling for us; while St. Peter, of course, is somewhat too fond of Rome and those Italian monks. Well,--blood is thicker than water; so I hardly blame the blessed Apostle.” “Do not talk so, Hereward.” “Much the saints have done for us, mother, that we are to be so very respectful to their high mightinesses. I fear, if this Frenchman goes on with his plan of thrusting his monks into our abbeys, I shall have to do more even for St. Guthlac than ever he did for me. Do not say more, mother. This night has made Hereward a new man. Now, prepare”--and she knew what he meant--“and gather all your treasures; and we will start for Crowland to-morrow afternoon.” CHAPTER XX. HOW HEREWARD WAS MADE A KNIGHT AFTER THE FASHION OF THE ENGLISH. A wild night was that in Bourne. All the folk, free and unfree, man and woman, out on the streets, asking the meaning of those terrible shrieks, followed by a more terrible silence. At last Hereward strode down from the hall, his drawn sword in his hand. “Silence, good folks, and hearken to me, once for all. There is not a Frenchman left alive in Bourne. If you be the men I take you for, there shall not be one left alive between Wash and Humber. Silence, again!” as a fierce cry of rage and joy arose, and men rushed forward to take him by the hand, women to embrace him. “This is no time for compliments, good folks, but for quick wit and quick blows. For the law we fight, if we do fight; and by the law we must work, fight or not. Where is the lawman of the town?” “I was lawman last night, to see such law done as there is left,” said Perry. “But you are lawman now. Do as you will. We will obey you.” “You shall be our lawman,” shouted many voices.