Dark was the scowl on the brow of every thegn, and a muttered "No, no:
never the Norman!" was heard distinctly. Harold's face flushed, and
his hand was on the hilt of his ateghar. But no other sign gave he of
his interest in the question.

The King lay for some moments silent, but evidently striving to re-
collect his thoughts. Meanwhile the two archprelates bent over him--
Stigand eagerly, Alred fondly.

Then raising himself on one arm, while with the other he pointed to
Harold at the foot of the bed, the King said:

"Your hearts, I see, are with Harold the Earl: so be it." At those
words he fell back on his pillow; a loud shriek burst from his wife's
lips; all crowded around; he lay as the dead.

At the cry, and the indescribable movement of the throng, the
physician came quick from the lower part of the hall. He made his way
abruptly to the bedside, and said chidingly, "Air, give him air." The
throng parted, the leach moistened the King's pale lips with the
cordial, but no breath seemed to come forth, no pulse seemed to beat;
and while the two prelates knelt before the human body and by the
blessed rood, the rest descended the dais, and hastened to depart.
Harold only remained; but he had passed from the foot to the head of
the bed.

The crowd had gained the centre of the hall, when a sound that
startled them as if it had come from the grave, chained every
footstep--the sound of the King's voice, loud, terribly distinct, and