trembled. Steps approached her door--and the abbess, entering,
summoned her below, to hear the farewell greeting of her cousin the
King.

Harold stood in the simple hall of the cloister: a single taper, tall
and wan, burned on the oak board. The abbess led Edith by the hand,
and at a sign from the King, withdrew. So, once more upon earth, the
betrothed and divided were alone.

"Edith," said the King, in a voice in which no ear but hers could have
detected the struggle, "do not think I have come to disturb thy holy
calm, or sinfully revive the memories of the irrevocable past: where
once on my breast, in the old fashion of our fathers, I wrote thy
name, is written now the name of the mistress that supplants thee.
Into Eternity melts the Past; but I could not depart to a field from
which there is no retreat--in which, against odds that men say are
fearful, I have resolved to set my crown and my life--without once
more beholding thee, pure guardian of my happier days! Thy
forgiveness for all the sorrow that, in the darkness which surrounds
man's hopes and dreams, I have brought on thee (dread return for love
so enduring, so generous and divine!)--thy forgiveness I will not ask.
Thou alone perhaps on earth knowest the soul of Harold; and if he hath
wronged thee, thou seest alike in the wronger and the wronged, but the
children of iron Duty, the servants of imperial Heaven. Not thy
forgivenness I ask--but--but--Edith, holy maid! angel soul!--thy--thy
blessing!" His voice faltered, and he inclined his lofty head as to a
saint.

"Oh that I had the power to bless!" exclaimed Edith, mastering her
rush of tears with a heroic effort; "and methinks I have the power--