Alred comes on the fourth day

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All their light and all the warm light of the fire were not enough to lift the gloom of that morning.

All the candles were lit in the hall, and yet all their light and all the warm light of the fire were not enough to lift the gloom of that morning.

Alred had not come on that first, merely overcast day, nor on the second with its fits of clouds and sun, nor on the third when the sun had shone in a bright sky. He had come only when the weather and the news had turned truly dismal. Now his black hair sparkled with a fine veil of misty raindrops, and his dark eyes sparkled with tears.

An hour is a long time to ride when one is alone, and the horse knows the way by heart, and all the scenery is obscured by fog beyond a hundred yards’ distance, and one is burdened by a sodden wool cloak and a heavy blanket of remorse.

In the course of that hour Alred had concluded that he had never loved Lili. Certainly the idea had never occurred to him before she had married Egelric. It was true he had found her fascinating at first, but so she was – and he had to admit he found Lady Sophie equally fascinating, or even quiet little Lady Hetty, or any other new and pretty young lady who had not yet heard any of his jokes.

Perhaps it had been mere pique.

Perhaps it had been mere pique at the idea that he and all his charm had not been enough to win her affection, while Egelric had only to make himself tolerably agreeable and teach her a few Gaelic phrases to win her to his bed. Perhaps it had been a trial sent to him by God, since he had not yet found the grace to forgive Leofric for a similar crime.

Perhaps it had been a sort of love, after all, but a sort of sinister, ingrown, unhealthy love that had not been worthy of the name. Perhaps he had fallen into the poet’s own trap of putting the words before the reality, of forcing oneself to feel so that the words would sound true. Perhaps he had simply so longed to love again that he had built up this sham love out of love’s trappings.

But it had all collapsed when Ethelwyn had come that morning with the news. His love for Egelric was real. In the course of the hour that followed he had thought of Egelric. He had thought of little Ethelburga, and so he had thought of Matilda and how she had suffered when the baby had died, and so he had thought of Lili and how she must be suffering. And so he had come back around to Egelric again.

He had never seen a man who looked so defeated and yet held his head so high.

When Egelric came in, Alred’s first thought was that he had never seen a man who looked so defeated and yet held his head so high. Egelric knew how to be strong for the sake of others, and this was something that Alred had always envied him. He had not held his head high for Matilda when Ethelburga had died. He had not held his head high for his children when Matilda had died.

“I thank you for coming,” Egelric said softly.

Alred did not know who was embracing whom.

Alred did not know who was embracing whom. He himself was the only one of the two who was crying.

“I came at once,” Alred said automatically, and was ashamed at once as he remembered that he had not come before.

“Thank you. Would you like to see him?”

“If I may. I’m so sorry I did not come before.”

'I'm so sorry I did not come before.'

“It doesn’t matter,” Egelric said with a weary smile. “You couldn’t have known. No one could have. He was perfectly well last night at supper time, and by midnight he was already gone.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Egelric said again. “These three days have been like a happy dream, that is all. In time I think even this past year will come to seem like a happy dream.” Only then did his voice sound close to tears.

'In time I think even this past year will come to seem like a happy dream.'