"That I can, indeed." said the half-witted man, still standing in the doorway; "I can tell you more about it than any one else, for I saw him buried last night with my own eyes under the beech trees." "Who? who?" demanded several voices at once; while the Earl, with the feelings of a father breaking forth, and overpowering all others, strode forward and gazed in the man's face. "Why, the boy," replied the other; "the boy Harold; and I came to tell you where he lies." The Earl covered his eyes with his hands, and for a few minutes an awful silence spread through the room. Sir Walter Herbert could not have found in his heart to break in upon the first moment of parental grief for any consideration; and he suffered the bitter agony to have its way without attempting by one word of consolation to soothe that deep wound which he himself believed to be incurable, and only likely to be aggravated by any earthly appliance. The lawyer, though feeling very differently, was yet afraid to speak; and Silly John, as he was called, stood gazing upon them, infected by the feelings expressed in the countenance of the Earl and Sir Walter, when he announced the sad confirmation of their worst fears. It was the Earl himself who first broke silence. "Sir," he said, turning abruptly to Sir Walter, "I desire to be alone. This is no time for any other business than that either of mourning for my son, or punishing his murderers; with regard to other matters, you shall hear from me hereafter. Your fair scornful daughter, I understand, accompanied you hither, and now waits for you. Pray tell her that, though bound by courtesy to receive the visits of a lady at all seasons, yet at present the heart of the father is not very well attuned to hear consolatory speeches on the death of his only son, from the lips of one who first encouraged and then rejected that son's addresses, and who, it would appear, by such conduct brought about his death." "My lord," replied Sir Walter, mildly, "so deeply am I sorry for you, that I will concede to your sorrow even the privilege of being unjust, and will not defend my child, though she be altogether innocent of that with which you charge her. She is now in Mistress Bertha's room, waiting my coming; and, taking leave of you with deep sympathy for your loss, I will seek her there and return with her to my own dwelling." "Seek where you may find, Sir Walter," said Silly John, turning with a lacklustre smile upon the Knight; "seek where you may find: for you will not find Mistress Alice nor Mistress Bertha either where you think they are; for I saw them stepping quietly up stairs towards the old north tower; and the lady and her lover are by this time looking into each other's eyes."