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Whistler, Charles W. (Charles Watts), 1856-1913

"A Thane of Wessex"

"
Then I flushed red, thinking shame not to have done so, and went to
excuse myself for obedience.
"Yet had I the safety of a lady who must die, if the battle went wrongly
for us, laid on me in a way," I said.
"Matelgar's fair daughter?" he asked.
"Aye, Sheriff," And I told him of the flight from the hall, and where
she was now, wondering how he guessed this. But I had come from Stert,
and therefore the guess was no wonder. He looked at me gravely, and then
sat down, motioning me to be seated also. He treated me not as an
outlaw, I thought.
"Matelgar is dead," he said. "I saw him fall, and tried to bring him
off. He was not yet sped when we beat off the Danes. And he had time to
speak to me."
I bowed in silence, not knowing what to say. Strange that, now my enemy
was dead, I had no joy in it; but I thought of Alswythe only.
The sheriff went on, looking at me closely.
"He bade me find Heregar, the outlawed thane who spoke last night to me,
and bid him forgive. Then he died, and I must needs leave him, for the
Danes came on in force."
Still I was silent, for many thoughts came up in my heart and choked me.
How I had hated him, and yet how he had wronged me--even to seeking my
life. Yet was I beginning to think of him but as a bad father to my
Alswythe, but a man to be held in some regard, for the sake of her love
to him.


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