halls of Westminster he found a monk who awaited him with the messages
of William the Norman.

Bare-footed, and serge-garbed, the Norman envoy strode to the Saxon's
chair of state. His form was worn with mortification and fast, and
his face was hueless and livid, with the perpetual struggle between
zeal and flesh.

"Thus saith William, Count of the Normans," began Hugues Maigrot, the
monk.

"With grief and amaze hath he heard that you, O Harold, his sworn
liege-man, have, contrary to oath and to fealty, assumed the crown
that belongs to himself. But, confiding in thy conscience, and
forgiving a moment's weakness, he summons thee, mildly and brother-
like, to fulfil thy vow. Send thy sister, that he may gave her in
marriage to one of his Quens. Give him up the stronghold of Dover;
march to thy coast with thine armies to aid him,--thy liege lord,--and
secure him the heritage of Edward his cousin. And thou shalt reign at
his right-hand, his daughter thy bride, Northumbria thy fief, and the
saints thy protectors."

The King's lip was firm, though pale, as he answered:

"My young sister, alas! is no more: seven nights after I ascended the
throne, she died: her dust in the grave is all I could send to the
arms of the bridegroom. I cannot wed the child of thy Count: the wife
of Harold sits beside him." And he pointed to the proud beauty of
Aldyth, enthroned under the drapery of gold. "For the vow that I
took, I deny it not. But from a vow of compulsion, menaced with