Brand believed, in common with all monks then, that Hereward had robbed, not merely the Abbey of Peterborough, but, what was more, St. Peter himself; thereby converting into an implacable and internecine foe the chief of the Apostles, the rock on which was founded the whole Church. “Now, uncle,” said Hereward, “do me one good deed in return. Promise me that, if you can help it, none of my poor housecarles shall suffer for my sins. I led them into trouble. I am punished. I have made restitution,--at least to St. Peter. See that my father and mother, if they be the Christians they call themselves, forgive and forget all offences except mine.” “I will; so help me all saints and our Lord. O my boy, my boy, thou shouldst have been a king’s thane, and not an outlaw!” And he hurried off with the news to the Abbot. When Hereward returned to his room, Martin was gone. “Farewell, good men of Peterborough,” said Hereward, as he leapt into the saddle next morning. “I had made a vow against you, and came to try you; to see whether you would force me to fulfil it or not. But you have been so kind that I have half repented of it; and the evil shall not come in the days of Abbot Leofric, nor of Brand the Prior, though it may come in the days of Herluin the Steward, if he live long enough.” “What do you mean, you incarnate fiend, only fit to worship Thor and Odin?” asked Brand. “That I would burn Goldenborough, and Herluin the Steward within it, ere I die. I fear I shall do it; I fear I must do it. Ten years ago come Lammas, Herluin bade light the peat-stack under me. Do you recollect?” “And so he did, the hound!” quoth Brand. “I had forgotten that.” “Little Hereward never forgets foe or friend. Ever since, on Lammas night,--hold still, horse!--I dream of fire and flame, and of Goldenborough in the glare of it. If it is written in the big book, happen it must; if not, so much the better for Goldenborough, for it is a pretty place, and honest Englishmen in it. Only see that there be not too many Frenchmen crept in when I come back, beside our French friend Herluin; and see, too, that there be not a peat-stack handy: a word is enough to wise men like you. Good by!” “God help thee, thou sinful boy!” said the Abbot. “Hereward, Hereward! Come back!” cried Brand. But the boy had spurred his horse through the gateway, and was far down the road. “Leofric, my friend,” said Brand, sadly, “this is my sin, and no man’s else. And heavy penance will I do for it, till that lad returns in peace.” “Your sin?” “Mine, Abbot. I persuaded his mother to send him hither to be a monk. Alas! alas! How long will men try to be wiser than Him who maketh men?” “I do not understand thee,” quoth the Abbot. And no more he did.