"It is not my father I fear; it is thee and thy monks. Forgettest
thou that Edith and I are within the six banned degrees of the
Church?"

"True, most true," said the Queen, with a look of great terror; "I had
forgotten. Avaunt, the very thought! Pray--fast--banish it--my poor,
poor brother!" and she kissed his brow.

"So, there fades the woman, and the mummy speaks again!" said Harold,
bitterly. "Be it so: I bow to my doom. Well, there may be a time
when Nature on the throne of England shall prevail over Priestcraft;
and, in guerdon for all my services, I will then ask a King who hath
blood in his veins to win me the Pope's pardon and benison. Leave me
that hope, my sister, and leave thy godchild on the shores of the
living world."

The Queen made no answer, and Harold, auguring ill from her silence,
moved on and opened the door of the oratory. But the image that there
met him, that figure still kneeling, those eyes, so earnest in the
tears that streamed from them fast and unheeded, fixed on the holy
rood--awed his step and checked his voice. Nor till the girl had
risen, did he break silence; then he said, gently, "My sister will
press thee no more, Edith----"

"I say not that!" exclaimed the Queen.

"Or if she doth, remember thy plighted promise under the wide cope of
blue heaven, the old nor least holy temple of our common Father."

With these words he left the room.