for thy steps shall attain. Night hallows the ruin,--and peace to the
shattered wrecks of the brave!"

The outlaw heard as if unmoved. But when he turned to Harold, who
covered his face with his hand; but could not restrain the tears that
flowed through the clasped fingers, a moisture came into his own wild,
bright eyes, and he said, "Now, my brother, farewell, for no farther
step shalt thou wend with me."

Harold started, opened his arms, and the outlaw fell upon his breast.

No sound was heard save a single sob, and so close was breast to
breast, that you could not say from whose heart it came. Then the
outlaw wrenched himself from the embrace, and murmured, "And Haco--my
son--motherless, fatherless--hostage in the land of the stranger!
Thou wilt remember--thou wilt shield him; thou be to him mother,
father in the days to come! So may the saints bless thee!" With
these words he sprang down the hillock.

Harold bounded after him; but Sweyn, halting, said, mournfully, "Is
this thy promise? Am I so lost that faith should be broken even with
thy father's son?"

At that touching rebuke, Harold paused, and the outlaw passed his way
alone. As the last glimpse of his figure vanished at the turn of the
road, whence, on the second of May, the Norman Duke and the Saxon King
had emerged side by side, the short twilight closed abruptly, and up
from the far forestland rose the moon.

Harold stood rooted to the spot, and still gazing on the space, when