e entered, Havelok, who
was even then a bold lad, greeted him courteously, and knelt before
him, with clasped hands, begging a boon.

"Why do you weep and wail so sore?" asked Godard.

"Because we are so hungry," answered Havelok. "We have so little food,
and we have no servants to wait on us; they do not give us half as
much as we could eat; we are shivering with cold, and our clothes are
all in rags. Woe to us that we were ever born! Is there in the land no
more corn with which men can make bread for us? We are nearly dead
from hunger."

These pathetic words had no effect on Godard, who had resolved to
yield to no pity and show no mercy. He seized the two little girls as
they lay cowering together, clasping one another for warmth, and cut
their throats, letting the bodies of the hapless babies fall to the
floor in a pool of blood; and then, turning to Havelok, aimed his
knife at the boy's heart. The poor child, terrified by the awful fate
of the two girls, knelt again before him and begged for mercy:

"Fair lord, have mercy on me now, I pray!
Look on my helpless youth, and pity me!
Oh, let me live, and I will yield you all--
My realm of Denmark will I leave to you,
And swear that I will ne'er assail your sway.
Oh, pity me, lord! be compassionate!
And I will flee far from this land of mine,
And vow that Birkabeyn was ne'er my sire!"

Jarl Godard was touched by Havelok's piteous speech, and felt some
faint compassion, so that he could not slay the lad himself; yet he
knew that his only safety was in Havelok's death.

"If I let him go," thought he, "Havelok will at last work me woe! I
shall have no peace in my life, and my children after me will not hold
the lordship of Denmark in safety, if Havelok escapes! Yet I cannot
slay him with my own hands. I will have him cast into the sea with an
anchor about his neck: thus at least his body will not float."

Godard left Havelok kneeling in terror, and, striding from the tower,
leaving the door locked behind him, he sent for an ignorant fisherman,
Grim, who, he thought, could be frightened into doing his will. When
Grim came he was led into an ante-room, where Godard, with terrible
look and voice, addressed him thus:

"Grim, thou knowest thou art my thrall." "Yea, fair lord," quoth Grim,
trembling at Godard's stern voice. "And I can slay thee if thou dost
disobey me." "Yea, lord; but how have I offended you?" "Thou hast not
yet; but I