And Father Ingulph cleared his throat loudly. “Well-fitting is your charity both toward my teachings and your heart, my son; and yet—Discretion is the mother of other virtues. To bring one of those roving children of Satan into a Christian household will lay upon me a responsibility which—which—” He paused to take a mouthful of wine and eye the stranger over the goblet rim with much disfavor. While the maids whispered excitedly in one another’s ears, Hildelitha began to sniff behind her apron. “I do not see why you wanted to bring him home, Lord Sebert. You know that Danes are odious to me since my husband, of holy memory, fell under their axes—most detestable—Yet I would not anger you, my honey-sweet lord,” she broke off abruptly. For the Lord of Ivarsdale had suddenly grown very stiff and grave; there was something curiously haughty in the quiet distinctness of his words. “I have brought the boy home by reason of the King’s command that he be held in safety—and because it was my pleasure to succor him. And I have fetched him up here in order that you should supply his needs, being distressed for want of food and drink and healing salves. I am not pleased that you should meet my wishes in so light and cold a manner. I desire your love will, as is becoming, receive him kindly and charitably.” He raised his hand as the pertest of the maids would have answered him, and there followed an uncomfortable pause. Then seven gowns swept the reed-strewn floor as seven courtesies fell, and Hildelitha thrust out her palm to give the pert maid a resounding box on the ear. “You have heard your master, hussy! Why do you not exert yourself to bring food? Elswitha, if you do not want the mate to that, fetch the salve out of my chest.” In an instant all was confusion; under cover of it the fat monk returned to his cup and the young master walked quietly to the door. Homesick and heartsick, the waif in the page’s dress was left facing the unfriendly glances. Even in her bravest days, she had never known what it was to be disliked, and now—! Suddenly she limped after her friend and caught at his cloak. “Let me go with you,” she cried. “I beseech it of you! I want not their service.” After a moment, the Etheling threw his arm protectingly around the boyish figure. “I do not blame you, poor youngling,” he said. “I was wrong to treat you as a child when you were bred up as a man. You shall have a bed in the closet off my chamber, and they shall not enter except as you will it. And you shall eat off my plate and drink from my cup. Come!” CHAPTER XII. The Foreign Page Early should rise He who has few workers, And go his work to see to; Greatly is he retarded Who sleeps the morn away; Wealth half depends on energy. Hávamál.