"He must!" answered Tostig, "and, despite all our breaches, with soft
message he will. For Harold has the heart of the Saxon, to which the
sons of one father are dear; and Githa, my mother, when we first fled,
controlled the voice of my revenge, and bade me wait patient and hope
yet."

Scarce had these words fallen from Tostig's lips, when the chief of
his Danish house-carles came in, and announced the arrival of a bode
from England.

"His news? his news?" cried the Earl, "with his own lips let him speak
his news."

The house-carle withdrew but to usher in the messenger, an Anglo-Dane.

"The weight on thy brow shows the load on thy heart," cried Tostig.
"Speak, and be brief."

"Edward is dead."

"Ha? and who reigns?"

"Thy brother is chosen and crowned."

The face of the Earl grew red and pale in a breath, and successive
emotions of envy and old rivalship, humbled pride and fierce
discontent, passed across his turbulent heart. But these died away as
the predominant thought of self-interest, and somewhat of that
admiration for success which often seems like magnanimity in grasping