o visit his Danish kinswoman. The prophetess was absent, but he
was told that Edith was within; and Gurth, about to be united to a maiden
who had long won his noble affections, cherished a brother's love for his
brother's fair betrothed. He entered the gynoecium, and there still, as
when we were first made present in that chamber, sate the maids, employed
on a work more brilliant to the eye, and more pleasing to the labour,
than that which had then tasked their active hands. They were broidering
into a tissue of the purest gold the effigy of a fighting warrior,
designed by Hilda for the banner of Earl Harold: and, removed from the
awe of their mistress, as they worked their tongues sang gaily, and it
was in the midst of song and laughter that the fair young Saxon lord
entered the chamber. The babble and the mirth ceased at his entrance;
each voice was stilled, each eye cast down demurely. Edith was not
amongst them, and in answer to his inquiry the eldest of the maidens
pointed towards the peristyle without the house.

The winning and kindly thegn paused a few moments, to admire the tissue
and commend the work, and then sought the peristyle.

Near the water-spring that gushed free and bright through the Roman
fountain, he found Edith, seated in an attitude of deep thought and
gloomy dejection. She started as he approached, and, springing forward
to meet him, exclaimed:

"O Gurth, Heaven hath sent thee to me, I know well, though I cannot
explain to thee why, for I cannot explain it to myself; but know I do, by
the mysterious bodements of my own soul, that some great danger is at
this moment encircling thy brother Harold. Go to him, I pray, I implore
thee, forthwith; and let thy clear sense and warm heart be by his side."

"I will go instantly," said Gurth, startled. "But do not suffer, I
adjure thee, sweet kinswoman, the superstition that wraps this place, as
a mist wraps a marsh, to infect thy pure spirit. In my early youth I
submitted to the influence of Hilda; I became man, and outgrew it. Much,
secretly, has it grieved me of late, to see that our kinswoman's Danish
lore has brought even the strong heart of Harold under his spell; and
where once he only spoke of duty, I now hear him speak of fate."

"Alas! alas!" answered Edith, wringing her hands; "when the bird hides
its head in the brake, doth it shut out the track of the hound? Can we
baffle fate by refusing to heed its approaches? But we waste preci