too, gradually, that empire which Hilda had gained over his brother
Sweyn began to sway this man, heretofore so strong in his sturdy
sense. The future became to him a dazzling mystery, into which his
conjectures plunged themselves more and more. He had not yet stood in
the Runic circle and invoked the dead; but the spells were around his
heart, and in his own soul had grown up the familiar demon.

Still Edith reigned alone, if not in his thoughts at least in his
affections; and perhaps it was the hope of conquering all obstacles to
his marriage that mainly induced him to propitiate the Church, through
whose agency the object he sought must be attained; and still that
hope gave the brightest lustre to the distant crown. But he who
admits Ambition to the companionship of Love, admits a giant that
outstrides the gentler footsteps of its comrade.

Harold's brow lost its benign calm. He became thoughtful and
abstracted. He consulted Edith less, Hilda more. Edith seemed to him
now not wise enough to counsel. The smile of his Fylgia, like the
light of the star upon a stream, lit the surface, but could not pierce
to the deep.

Meanwhile, however, the policy of Harold throve and prospered. He had
already arrived at that height, that the least effort to make power
popular redoubled its extent. Gradually all voices swelled the chorus
in his praise; gradually men became familiar to the question, "If
Edward dies before Edgar, the grandson of Ironsides, is of age to
succeed, where can we find a king like Harold?"

In the midst of this quiet but deepening sunshine of his fate, there
burst a storm, which seemed destined either to darken his day or to