Under the woods of Newenham, past the old Anglo-Saxon churches of
Sandford and Iffley, up the right-hand channel of the stream just
below the city, and so to the landing place beneath the old tower
{xxv}.
William had given orders to treat our Wilfred with all possible
consideration, and to allow him every indulgence, which did not
militate against his safe keeping, for he admired, even while he
felt it necessary to slay. So he was not thrust into a dungeon, but
confined in an upper chamber, where a grated window, at a great
height, afforded him a fair view of that world he was about to
leave for ever.
"Ah! if I were but in those woods," sighed the prisoner to himself,
"I would give these Normans some trouble to catch me again; but the
poor bird can only beat himself against the cruel bars of his
cage."
He counted the hours. It was the evening of his condemnation; two
whole days, followed by a feverish night, and then when that next
sun arose--
Strange thoughts began to arise--what sort of axe would they
use?--who would be there?--would they bind his eyes?--would he have
to kneel on the stones?--what kind of block would they use?
Little trifling details like these forced themselves upon him, even
as an artist represents each humble detail in a finished picture.
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