But he did not, hearing me patiently to the end.  I think if he had shrunk from me, the telling had left me worse than when I kept it hid from him.

When I ended, he laid his hand on my shoulder—­even as the bishop had laid his, and said: 

“Vengeance is mine.  I will repay, saith the Lord.”

And I, who had never heard those words before, thought them a promise sent by the mouth of this prophet, as it were, to me, and wondered.  Then he went on: 

“Surely, my son, I believe you to be true, and that you suffer wrongfully, for never one who would lie told the evil of himself as you have told me.  Foolish you have been, indeed, as is the way of youth, but disloyal you were not.”

I was silent, and waited for him to speak such words again.  And he, too, was silent for a little, looking out over the marsh, and rocking himself to and fro as he sat on the tree trunk beside me.

“Watching and praying and fasting alone, there has been given me some little gift of prophecy, my son; now and then it comes, but never with light cause.  And now I will say what is given me to say.  Cast out you are from the Wessex land, but before long Wessex shall be beholden to you.  Not long shall Matelgar, the treacherous, hold your place—­but you shall be in honour again of all men.  Only must you forego your vengeance and leave that to the hand of the Lord, who repays.”

“What must I do now, Father?” I asked, in a low voice.

“Go your own way, my son, and, as you were bidden, depart from this kingdom as you will and whither; and what shall be, shall be.  Fighting there is for you, both within and without:  but the battle within will be the sorest:  for I know that the longing for revenge will abide with you, and that is hard to overcome.  Yet remember the message of forbearance.”

Then I cried out that I must surely be revenged and the good man strove with me with many and sweet words, till he had quieted the thought within me again.  Yet I longed for it.

So we talked till the sun sank, and he must go ere darkness fell.  But at last he bade me kneel, and I knelt, who had thought in my pride never to humble myself before mortal man again, till one dealt me my death blow and I needs must fall before him.

So he blessed me and departed, bidding me remember that at sunrise and midday and sunset, Leofwine, the priest, and Turkil, the child, should remember me in their prayers.  And, for he was very thoughtful, he told me that he would take such order with the collier that he would ask nought from me, nor must I offer him anything, save thanks.  And he spoke to him in going.

I watched him go till I could see him no more, and then, calling my host, supped with him, and slept peacefully till the first morning light.

CHAPTER IV.  THE SECRET MEETING.

I woke before the collier, who slept across the doorway on some skins, and lay in his sleeping place for half an hour, thinking of what should be before me, and whither I would go this day.