"Nay," said the other two lads with one voice, "it were a sin and shame to fight thus, and we should have our knighthood deferred for years did we permit it. Pages may not fight to the death without the permission of their liege lord. The baron must give permission." "Wilfred, dost thou accept my challenge? I honour thy base blood in making it." "My ancestors were as noble as thine; nay, they ruled here while thine were but pirates and cutthroats. I do accept it." "Let us separate, then; we meet here at daybreak tomorrow." "But the permission of our lord?" "I will answer for that," replied his hopeful son. The party separated: Wilfred took his foster brother, who had not made the least attempt to escape from the scene, trusting to the love of his young lord for protection, and no sooner were they alone than the poor lad overwhelmed his deliverer with thanks, in which tears were not unmixed, because he knew that a price had yet to be paid, and that his beloved master was in danger. "Nay, nay, Eadwin, I shall do very well--if not, there is not much left to live for now--only you must take care of yourself, or they may avenge themselves on you; indeed, when the baron hears the tale, I doubt not that he will send for you, and then I may not be able to save you--you must fly." "Not till I know--" "Yes, this very night--thou knowest the Deadman's Swamp?" "Well." "The Normans could never find thee there, and thou and I have threaded its recesses a hundred times; go to the hollow tree where we have slept before now in our hunting days. I will seek thee tomorrow, if I live. If I do not appear before midday, you had better seek our people, whom these tyrants have driven to the greenwoods." "I know where to find them, but you will come; why not fly to the woods with me now?" "Honour prevents. And after all, you had better say goodbye at once to those at home, and be off: perhaps I had better say goodbye for thee--it will be safest." A few more parting instructions, and they separated; the young thrall actually kneeling and kissing his young lord's hand with that devoted love nought save such obligations could give. Wilfred was returning to the castle, when he met Pierre, who was evidently seeking him. "Wilfred," he said, "I have come to offer you my services for tomorrow; you will want the offices of a friend." "Art thou my friend?" "Yes, since I see thou art not a coward. While I saw thee suffering insult after insult without ever resenting them, I thought thee craven, and could not speak thee fair; now thou art as one of us." "Thou art not like other Normans, then." "I am not Norman, but Breton, and perhaps we do not love the Normans over much in Brittany; at least, I can feel for one in thy position." "Thanks," was all that Wilfred could stammer out.