"
"Is it in English hands now?" said Wilfred, anxiously.
"It is desolate--waste--ruined. The Normans butchered the inmates
long since, God knows why, save that they gave shelter to some
proscribed fugitives, who were being hunted like wild beasts. They
were not my own kinsfolk; by God's blessing my grandparents died
while Edward was yet alive. I often feel grateful that they did not
live to see these evil days."
They hobbled the horses, and took their own repast by the side of
the stream. Each man had brought rations for two days with him, and
there was no lack.
Then, after carefully setting sentinels in each direction, they
slept under the shade of the trees. The moss was a delicious couch,
the day was warm, and the murmur of the little stream, united to
the hum of the insects, lulled them to sleep.
It was not till after midday that Wilfred awoke. He found Leofric
already on foot, stretching himself after his nap.
"I am going to look at the old place," said he; "it stimulates my
feeling of hatred to the Normans. Will you come with me and see
their work?"
They crossed two or three fields lying fallow--indeed, no hand of
man had been busy there for more than a year; soon they came upon
the blackened ruins of a house, of which, however, some portions
had escaped the general conflagration; upon which Leofric observed:
"This was the work of Ivo Taille-Bois {xxi}, a Norman
woodcutter, whom the duke has manufactured into a noble, and set to
tyrannise over free-born Englishmen.
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