or a day, when
thou hadst put out thine ankle bone in jumping off the rampire; and all
maimed as thou went, thou hadst still malice enow in thee to worry the
poor beast into a fever."

"Give or lent, it is the same thing, father; what I have once, that will
I hold, as thou didst before me, in thy cradle."

Then the great Duke, who in his own house was the fondest and weakest of
men, was so doltish and doting as to take the boy in his arms and kiss
him, nor, with all his far-sighted sagacity, deemed he that in that kiss
lay the seed of the awful curse that grew up from a father's agony; to
end in a son's misery and perdition.

Even Mallet de Graville frowned at the sight of the sire's
infirmity,--even Turold the dwarf shook his head. At that moment an
officer entered, and announced that an English nobleman, apparently in
great haste (for his horse had dropped down dead as he dismounted), had
arrived at the palace, and craved instant audience of the Duke. William
put down the boy, gave the brief order for the stranger's admission, and,
punctilious in ceremonial, beckoning De Graville to follow him, passed at
once into the next chamber, and seated himself on his chair of state.

In a few moments one of the seneschals of the palace ushered in a
visitor, whose long moustache at once proclaimed him Saxon, and in whom
De Graville with surprise recognised his old friend, Godrith. The young
thegn, with a reverence more hasty than that to which William was
accustomed, advanced to the foot of the days, and, using the Norman
language, said, in a voice thick with emotion:

"From Harold the Earl, greeting to thee, Monseigneur. Most foul and
unchristian wrong hath been done the Earl by thy liegeman, Guy, Count of
Ponthieu. Sailing hither in two barks from England, with intent to visit
thy court, storm and wind drove the Earl's vessels towards the mouth of
the Somme [187]; there landing, and without fear, as in no hostile
country, he and his train were seized by the Count himself, and cast into
prison in the castle of Belrem [188]. A dungeon fit but for malefactors
holds, while I speak, the first lord of England, and brother-in-law to
its king. Nay, hints of famine, torture, and death itself, have been
darkly thrown out by this most disloyal count, whether in earnest, or
with the base view of heightening ransom. At length, wearied perhaps by
the Earl's firmness and disdain, this traitor of Ponthieu hath permitted
me in the