Peter," said Herluin. The French monk
wanted not for moral courage,--no French monk did in those days. And he
proved it by those words.
"Do not anger the lad, Prior; now, too, above all times, when his heart is
softened toward the Lord."
"He has not angered me. The man is right. Here, Lord Abbot and Sir Prior,
is a chain of gold, won in the wars. It is worth fifty times the sixteen
pence which I stole, and which I repaid double. Let St. Peter take it, for
the sins of me and my two comrades, and forgive. And now, Sir Prior, I do
to thee what I never did for mortal man. I kneel, and ask thy forgiveness.
Kneel, Winter! Kneel, Gwenoch!" And Hereward knelt.
Herluin was of double mind. He longed to keep Hereward out of St. Peter's
grace. He longed to see Hereward dead at his feet; not because of any
personal hatred, but because he foresaw in him a terrible foe to the
Norman cause. But he wished, too, to involve Abbot Brand as much as
possible in Hereward's "rebellions" and "misdeeds," and above all, in the
master-offence of knighting him; for for that end, he saw, Hereward was
come. Moreover, he was touched with the sudden frankness and humility of
the famous champion. So he answered mildly,--
"Verily, thou hast a knightly soul. May God and St. Peter so forgive thee
and thy companions as I forgive thee, freely and from my heart.
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