eatures of
Algar.

"Well, friend of Gryffyth," said he, with a bitter accent, "thou hearest
that Earl Harold counts so little on the oaths of thy King, that he
intends to fortify the Marches against him; and thou hearest also, that
nought save a life, as fragile as the reed which thy feet are trampling,
stands between the throne of England and the only Englishman who could
ever have humbled my son-in-law to swear oath of service to Edward."

"Shame upon that hour," said the other, whose speech, as well as the gold
collar round his neck, and the peculiar fashion of his hair, betokened
him to be Welch. "Little did I think that the great son of Llewellyn,
whom our bards had set above Roderic Mawr, would ever have acknowledged
the sovereignty of the Saxon over the hills of Cymry."

"Tut, Meredydd," answered Algar, "thou knowest well that no Cymrian ever
deems himself dishonoured by breaking faith with the Saxon; and we shall
yet see the lions of Gryffyth scaring the sheepfolds of Hereford."

"So be it," said Meredydd, fiercely. "And Harold shall give to his
Atheling the Saxon land, shorn at least of the Cymrian kingdom."

"Meredydd," said Algar, with a seriousness that seemed almost solemn,
"no Atheling will live to rule these realms! Thou knowest that I was
one of the first to hail the news of his coming--I hastened to Dover to
meet him. Methought I saw death writ on his countenance, and I bribed
the German leach who attends him to answer my questions; the Atheling
knows it not, but he bears within him the seeds of a mortal complaint.
Thou wottest well what cause I have to hate Earl Harold; and were I the
only man to oppose his way to the throne, he should not ascend it but
over my corpse. But when Godrith, his creature, spoke, I felt that he
spoke the truth; and, the Atheling dead, on no head but Harold's can
fall the crown of Edward."

"Ha!" said the Cymrian chief, gloomily; "thinkest thou so indeed?"

"I think it not; I know it. And for that reason, Meredydd, we must wait
not till he wields against us all the royalty of England. As yet, while
Edward lives, there is hope. For the King loves to spend wealth on
relics and priests, and is slow when the mancuses are wanted for fighting
men. The King too, poor man! is not so ill-pleased at my outbursts as he
would fain have it thought; he thinks, by pitting earl against earl, that
he himself is the stronger [148]. While Edward lives, therefore, Harold's
arm is