It was the last night on which poor Wilfred was allowed by Norman
mercy to live. The archbishop was with him.
He was penitent and resigned; his last confession was made, and it
was arranged that on the morrow he should receive the Holy
Communion at St. George's Chapel, within the precincts, from the
hands of Lanfranc, ere led forth to die, as now ordered, upon that
mound the visitor to Oxford still beholds, hard by that same donjon
tower.
"I thank thee, father," he said to Lanfranc--"I thank thee for the
hope thou hast given me of meeting those I have lost, in a better
and brighter world."
"Thou diest penitent for thy sins, and forgiving thy foes?"
"I do, indeed; it has been a struggle, but thou hast conquered."
"Not I, but Divine grace;" and the mighty prelate turned aside to
hide a tear.
Another visitor was announced, and Geoffrey of Coutances drew near.
"Thou art resigned, my Wilfred?"
"I am, by God's grace."
"Yet thou lookest feeble and ill. Drink this tonic; it will give
thee strength to play the man tomorrow."
He emptied the contents of a phial into a small cup of water.
Wilfred drank it up.
"And now, my son, hast thou any message to leave behind thee?"
"When thou seest Etienne, tell him I forgive, as I trust he
forgives also--we have much to pardon each other--and beg him to be
a merciful lord to such poor English as yet dwell in Aescendune.
Pages:
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260