“Farewell, Constantine,” said he, stretching out his hand. “I know not how all this may end; but one thing I feel strongly: that there can be no alliance between you and me. However, as the shadows are falling, and the ways are somewhat perilous, I must mount and ride homeward, so as to reach our humble dwelling ere the night sets in; and so, Constantine, again I say farewell, and in whatever projects your ambition involves you, may God and the saints have you in their keeping!” And thus closing an interview which neither of them regarded without a feeling of disappointment, the squire and the citizen parted, and soon after Oliver Icingla was riding on a black horse of high mettle through Ludgate, while Constantine Fitzarnulph, surrounded by his household, sat gloomily at his board, revolving schemes both dark and dangerous. Their next interview was to take place under circumstances infinitely more tragic. CHAPTER II THE ICINGLAS For a century after the Norman Conquest, continental visitors, in journeying through England as it then was, were surprised, ever and anon, after passing the strong fortresses--heavy, massive, and frowning--with which the Norman conquerors had crowned every height, to come upon lonely two-storied houses, quite unfortified, standing in parks of ancient oaks, amidst which swine fed and kine grazed. These were the dwellings of such of the Anglo-Saxons of rank as had escaped the Norman sword or the exile which to many of them was worse than death; not mighty chiefs like Edwin, and Morcar, and Cospatrick, but thanes who had been too proud to march under the banner of the son of Godwin, and who, pluming themselves on the purity of their lineage and adherence to the customs of their forefathers, refrained from moving for years out of the shadow of their ancestral oaks, or taking any part in the new England which the Conquest had brought into existence. Rendered irritable by jealousy, irascible by oppression, and eccentric by isolation, these men were still grumbling against Norman tyranny, and indulging their souls with vague projects for the emancipation of their race, when the second Henry, son of the Empress Maude, and the first Plantagenet who reigned in England, took possession of the throne. The accession of Henry was hailed with delight by the English nation. The people, long trodden down and oppressed, remembering that he was descended, through his grandmother “the good Queen Maude,” from the old Saxon kings, regarded him as one of themselves in blood, called him “the English king,” and, deeming him the natural enemy of the Norman barons, looked upon him as the man to redress all their grievances and avenge all their wrongs. Naturally enough, the Saxon chiefs sympathised with the sentiments of their countrymen on the occasion; and among those who emerged from obscurity to do homage to the young Plantagenet was the heir of the once rich and grand house of Icingla.