Let the priest tell her daughter that she commanded her to go
with him to Winchester. She did not wish to see her. She was stained with
many crimes, and unworthy to approach a pure maiden. Besides, it would
only cause misery and tears. She was trying to die to the world and to the
flesh; and she did not wish to reawaken their power within her. Yes. It
was very well. Let the lass go with him."
"Thou art indeed a true penitent," said the priest, his human heart
softening him.
"Thou art very much mistaken," said she, and turned away.
The girl, when she heard her mother's command, wept, shrieked, and went.
At least she was going to her father. And from wholesome fear of that same
saying-knife, the priest left her in peace all the way to Winchester.
After which, Abbot Ulfketyl went into his lodgings, and burst, like a
noble old nobleman as he was, into bitter tears of rage and shame.
But Torfrida's eyes were as dry as her own sackcloth.
The priest took the letter back to Winchester, and showed it--it may be to
Archbishop Lanfranc. But what he said, this chronicler would not dare to
say. For he was a very wise man, and a very stanch and strong pillar of
the Holy Roman Church. Meanwhile, he was man enough not to require that
anything should be added to Torfrida's penance; and that was enough to
prove him a man in those days,--at least for a churchman,--as it proved
Archbishop or St.
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