compose their minds to deplore a loss. That comes long after, when
the worm is at its work, and comparison between the dead and the
living often rights the one to wrong the other. But while the breath
is struggling, and the eye glazing, life, busy in the bystanders,
murmurs, "Who shall be the heir?" And, in this instance, never had
suspense been so keenly wrought up into hope and terror. For the news
of Duke William's designs had now spread far and near; and awful was
the doubt, whether the abhorred Norman should receive his sole
sanction to so arrogant a claim from the parting assent of Edward.
Although, as we have seen, the crown was not absolutely within the
bequests of a dying king, but at the will of the Witan, still, in
circumstances so unparalleled, the utter failure of all natural heirs,
save a boy feeble in mind as body, and half foreign by birth and
rearing; the love borne by Edward to the Church; and the sentiments,
half of pity half of reverence, with which he was regarded throughout
the land;--his dying word would go far to influence the council and
select the successor. Some whispering to each other, with pale lips,
all the dire predictions then current in men's mouths and breasts;
some in moody silence; all lifted eager eyes, as, from time to time, a
gloomy Benedictine passed in the direction to or fro the King's
chamber.

In that chamber, traversing the past of eight centuries, enter we with
hushed and noiseless feet--a room known to us in many a later scene
and legend of England's troubled history, as "THE PAINTED CHAMBER,"
long called "THE CONFESSOR'S." At the farthest end of that long and
lofty space, raised upon a regal platform, and roofed with regal
canopy, was the bed of death.

At the foot stood Harold; on one side knelt Edith, the King's lady; at