d,
and, it may be, his own better nature, which, ere polluted by plotting
craft, and hardened by despotic ire, was magnanimous and heroic, moved
and won him. "Lady," said he, gently, "thou appealest not in vain to
Norman knighthood: thy rebuke was just; and I repent me of a hasty
impulse. Mallet de Graville, thy prayer is granted; to thy choice be
consigned the place of burial, to thy care the funeral rites of him whose
soul hath passed out of human judgment."

The feast was over; William the Conqueror slept on his couch, and round
him slumbered his Norman knights, dreaming of baronies to come; and still
the torches moved dismally to and fro the waste of death, and through the
hush of night was heard near and far the wail of women.

Accompanied by the brothers of Waltham, and attended by link-bearers,
Mallet de Graville was yet engaged in the search for the royal dead--and
the search was vain. Deeper and stiller, the autumnal moon rose to its
melancholy noon, and lent its ghastly aid to the glare of the redder
lights. But, on leaving the pavilion, they had missed Edith; she had
gone from them alone, and was lost in that dreadful wilderness. And
Ailred said despondingly:

"Perchance we may already have seen the corpse we search for, and not
recognised it; for the face may be mutilated with wounds. And therefore
it is that Saxon wives and mothers haunt our battle-fields, discovering
those they search by signs not known without the household." [276]

"Ay," said the Norman, "I comprehend thee, by the letter or device, in
which, according to your customs, your warriors impress on their own
forms some token of affection, or some fancied charm against ill."

"It is so," answered the monk; "wherefore I grieve that we have lost the
guidance of the maid."

While thus conversing, they had retraced their steps, almost in despair,
towards the Duke's pavilion.

"See," said De Graville, "how near yon lonely woman hath come to the tent
of the Duke--yea, to the foot of the holy gonfanon, which supplanted 'the
Fighting Man!' pardex, my heart bleeds to see her striving to lift up the
heavy dead!"

The monks neared the spot, and Osgood exclaimed in a voice almost joyful:

"It is Edith the Fair! This way, the torches! hither, quick!"

The corpses had been flung in irreverent haste from either side of the
gonfanon, to make room for the banner of the conquest, and the pavilion
of the feast. Huddled together, they lay in th