"Mother will be wanting us," he said. "What is the matter, Wendot?
Methinks I see the tears in thine eyes."

"Nay, nay; tears are for women," answered Wendot with glowing cheeks, as
he dashed his hand across his eyes. "It is for us men to fight for our
rightful inheritance, that the women may not have to weep for their
desolated homes."

Griffeth gave him a quick look, and then his eyes travelled lovingly
over the wide, fair scene, to the purple shadows and curling mists of
the valley, the dark mysterious woods in front, the clear, vivid
sunlight on the mountain tops, and the serried battlements of the
castle, now rising into larger proportions as the boys dropped down the
hillside towards the postern door, which led out upon the wild fell.
There was something of mute wistfulness in his own gaze as he did so.

"Brother," he said thoughtfully, "I think I know what those feelings are
which bring tears to the eyes of men -- tears of which they need feel no
shame. Fear not to share with me all thy inmost thoughts. Have we not
ever been brothers in all things?"

"Ay, truly have we; and I would keep nothing back, only I scarce know
how to frame my lips to give utterance to the thoughts which come
crowding into my brain. But see, we have no time for communing now. Go
on up the path to the postern; it is too narrow for company."

Indeed, so narrow was the track, so steep the uncertain steps worn in
the face of the rock, so deep the fall if one false step were made, that
few save the brothers and wilder mountaineers ever sought admission by