And of no one else?
Not so. For all the while he felt that he loved Torfrida's little finger
better than Alftruda's whole body, and soul into the bargain.
What a long way it was to Crowland. How wearying were the hours through
mere and sea. How wearying the monotonous pulse of the oars. If tobacco
had been known then, Hereward would have smoked all the way, and been none
the wiser, though the happier, for it; for the herb that drives away the
evil spirits of anxiety, drives away also the good, though stern, spirits
of remorse.
But in those days a man could only escape facts by drinking; and Hereward
was too much afraid of what he should meet in Crowland, to go thither
drunk.
Sometimes he hoped that Torfrida might hold her purpose, and set him free
to follow his wicked will. All the lower nature in him, so long crushed
under, leapt up chuckling and grinning and tumbling head over heels, and
cried,--Now I shall have a holiday!
Sometimes he hoped that Torfrida might come out to the shore, and settle
the matter in one moment, by a glance of her great hawk's eyes. If she
would but quell him by one look; leap on board, seize the helm, and assume
without a word the command of his men and him; steer them back to Bourne,
and sit down beside him with a kiss, as if nothing had happened.
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