That last night--how brief it seemed! How frequent the repetition
of the same loving words! How fervent the aspiration for the day of
their happy reunion, the danger over!--how chilling the
unexpressed, unspoken doubt, whether it would ever take place! Yet
it seemed folly to doubt, after Stamford Bridge.

The supper, ordinarily, in those times, the social meal of the day,
was comparatively a silent one. The very tones of the harp seemed
modulated in a minor key, contrasting strongly with the jubilant
notes of the previous night; and at an early hour, the husband and
wife retired to their bower, to sit long in the narrow embrasure of
the window, looking out on the familiar moonlit scene, her head on
his breast, ere they retired to rest.

"Dear heart, thou seemest dull tonight, and yet thou wert not so
when we parted for the last fight. Thou didst thy best then to
cheer thy lord."

"I know not why it is, but a chill foreboding seems to distress my
spirits now, my Edmund; it must be mere weakness, but I feel as if
I should never sit by thy dear side again."

"We are in God's hands, my dear one, and must trust all to Him. I
go forth at the call of duty, and thou couldst not bid me to stay
at home that men may call me 'niddering.'"

"Nay, nay, my lord, forgive thy wife's weakness; but why take
Wilfred too?"