ilful in war--he hath done
much to command the respect, though he cannot win back the love, of his
fierce Northumbrians, for he hath holpen the Earl gallantly in this
invasion of Wales, both by sea and by land. But Tostig shines only from
his brother's light; and if Gurth were more ambitious, Gurth alone could
be Harold's rival."

The Norman, much satisfied with the information thus gleaned from the
abbot, who, despite his ignorance of the Saxon tongue, was, like all his
countrymen, acute and curious, now rose to depart. The abbot, detaining
him a few moments, and looking at him wistfully, said, in a low voice:

"What thinkest thou are Count William's chances of England?"

"Good, if he have recourse to stratagem; sure, if he can win Harold."

"Yet, take my word, the English love not the Normans, and will fight
stiffly."

"That I believe. But if fighting must be, I see that it will be the
fight of a single battle, for there is neither fortress nor mountain to
admit of long warfare. And look you, my friend, everything here is worn
out! The royal line is extinct with Edward, save in a child, whom I hear
no man name as a successor; the old nobility are gone, there is no
reverence for old names; the Church is as decrepit in the spirit as thy
lath monastery is decayed in its timbers; the martial spirit of the Saxon
is half rotted away in the subjugation to a clergy, not brave and
learned, but timid and ignorant; the desire for money eats up all
manhood; the people have been accustomed to foreign monarchs under the
Danes; and William, once victor, would have but to promise to retain the
old laws and liberties, to establish himself as firmly as Canute. The
Anglo-Danes might trouble him somewhat, but rebellion would become a
weapon in the hands of a schemer like William. He would bristle all the
land with castles and forts, and hold it as a camp. My poor friend, we
shall live yet to exchange gratulations,--thou prelate of some fair
English see, and I baron of broad English lands."

"I think thou art right," said the tall abbot, cheerily, "and marry, when
the day comes, I will at least fight for the Duke. Yea--thou art right,"
he continued, looking round the dilapidated walls of the cell; "all here
is worn out, and naught can restore the realm, save the Norman William,
or----"

"Or who?"

"Or the Saxon Harold. But thou goest to see him--judge for thyself."

"I will do so, and heedfully," said the Sire de Gravi