to fight for us? Thinkest thou that the saint would ever suffer his
holy thumb to fall into the hands of the Gentiles?--never! Go to,
thou art not fit to have conduct of the King's wars. Go to, and
repent, my son, or the King shall hear of it."

"Ah, wolf in sheep's clothing!" muttered the Dane, turning on his
heel; "if thy monastery were but built on the other side the Humber!"

The cheapman heard him, and smiled. While such the scene in the ante-
room, we follow Harold into the King's presence.

On entering, he found there a man in the prime of life, and though
richly clad in embroidered gonna, and with gilt ateghar at his side,
still with the loose robe, the long moustache, and the skin of the
throat and right hand punctured with characters and devices, which
proved his adherence to the fashions of the Saxon [120]. And Harold's
eye sparkled, for in this guest he recognized the father of Aldyth,
Earl Algar, son of Leofric. The two nobles exchanged grave
salutations, and each eyed the other wistfully.

The contrast between the two was striking. The Danish race were men
generally of larger frame and grander mould than the Saxon [121]; and
though in all else, as to exterior, Harold was eminently Saxon, yet,
in common with his brothers, he took from the mother's side the lofty
air and iron frame of the old kings of the sea. But Algar, below the
middle height, though well set, was slight in comparison with Harold.
His strength was that which men often take rather from the nerve than
the muscle; a strength that belongs to quick tempers and restless
energies. His light blue eye, singularly vivid and glittering; his
quivering lip, the veins swelling at each emotion on the fair white