And strong the control;
But conquer'd the tempter,
If firm be the soul"

The Vala paused; and though it was evident that in her frenzy she was
still unconscious of Harold's presence, and seemed but to be the
compelled and passive voice to some Power, real or imaginary, beyond her
own existence, the proud man approached, and said:

"Firm shall be my soul, nor of the dangers which beset it would I ask the
dead or the living. If plain answers to mortal sense can come from these
airy shadows or these mystic charms, reply, O interpreter of fate; reply
but to the questions I demand. If I go to the court of the Norman, shall
I return unscathed?"

The Vala stood rigid as a shape of stone while Harold thus spoke; and her
voice came so low and strange as if forced from her scarce-moving lips:

"Thou shalt return unscathed."

"Shall the hostages of Godwin, my father, be released"

"The hostages of Godwin shall be released," answered the same voice; "the
hostages of Harold be retained."

"Wherefore hostage from me?"

"In pledge of alliance with the Norman."

"Ha! then the Norman and Harold shall plight friendship and troth?"

"Yes!" answered the Vala; but this time a visible shudder passed over her
rigid form.

"Two questions more, and I have done. The Norman priests have the ear of
the Roman Pontiff. Shall my league with William the Norman avail to win
me my bride?"

"It will win thee the bride thou wouldst never have wedded but for thy
league with William the Norman. Peace with thy questions, peace!"
continued the voice, trembling as with some fearful struggle; "for it is
the demon that forces my words, and they wither my soul to speak them."

"But one question more remains; shall I live to wear the crown of
England; and if so, when shall I be a king?"

At these words the face of the Prophetess kindled, the fire suddenly
leapt up higher and brighter; again, vivid sparks lighted the runes on
the fragments of bark that were shot from the flame; over these last the
Morthwyrtha bowed her head, and then, lifting it, triumphantly burst once
more into song.

"When the Wolf Month [185], grim and still,
Heaps the snow-mass on the hill;
When, through white air, sharp and bitter,
Mocking sunbeams freeze and glitter;
When the ice-gems, bright and barbed,
Deck the boughs the leaves had garbed
Then the measure shall be meted,
And the circle be completed.
Ce