things, but their symbols.

So weeks and months rolled on, and Duke William returned no answer to
the demands for his hostages. And Harold's heart smote him, that he
neglected his brother's prayer and his mother's accusing tears.

Now Githa, since the death of her husband, had lived in seclusion and
apart from town; and one day Harold was surprised by her unexpected
arrival at the large timbered house in London, which had passed to his
possession. As she abruptly entered the room in which he sate, he
sprang forward to welcome and embrace her; but she waved him back with
a grave and mournful gesture, and sinking on one knee, she said thus:

"See, the mother is a suppliant to the son for the son. No, Harold,
no--I will not rise till thou hast heard me. For years, long and
lonely, have I lingered and pined,--long years! Will my boy know his
mother again? Thou hast said to me, 'Wait till the messenger
returns.' I have waited. Thou hast said, 'This time the Count cannot
resist the demand of the King.' I bowed my head and submitted to thee
as I had done to Godwin my lord. And I have not till now claimed thy
promise; for I allowed thy country, thy King, and thy fame to have
claims more strong than a mother. Now I tarry no more; now no more
will I be amused and deceived. Thine hours are thine own--free thy
coming and thy going. Harold, I claim thine oath. Harold, I touch
thy right hand. Harold, I remind thee of thy troth and thy plight, to
cross the seas thyself, and restore the child to the mother."

"Oh, rise, rise!" exclaimed Harold, deeply moved. "Patient hast thou
been, O my mother, and now I will linger no more, nor hearken to other
voice than your own. I will see the King this day, and ask his leave