hands. Of these hereafter. Now may I ask but a vessel from thy nearest
port."

"We will talk of this, dear guest and brother knight, on some later
occasion. Lo, yon castle--ye have no such in England. See its vawmures
and fosses!"

"A noble pile," answered Harold. "But pardon me that I press for--"

"Ye have no such strongholds, I say, in England?" interrupted the Duke
petulantly.

"Nay," replied the Englishman, "we have two strongholds far larger than
that--Salisbury Plain and Newmarket Heath! [199]--strongholds that will
contain fifty thousand men who need no walls but their shields. Count
William, England's ramparts are her men, and her strongest castles are
her widest plains."

"Ah!" said the Duke, biting his lip, "ah, so be it--but to return:--in
that castle, mark it well, the Dukes of Normandy hold their prisoners of
state;" and then he added with a laugh; "but we hold you, noble captive,
in a prison more strong--our love and our heart."

As he spoke, he turned his eye full upon Harold, and the gaze of the two
encountered: that of the Duke was brilliant, but stern and sinister; that
of Harold, steadfast and reproachful. As if by a spell, the eye of each
rested long on that of the other--as the eyes of two lords of the forest,
ere the rush and the spring.

William was the first to withdraw his gaze, and as he did so, his lip
quivered and his brow knit. Then waving his hand for some of the lords
behind to join him and the Earl, he spurred his steed, and all further
private conversation was suspended. The train pulled not bridle before
they reached a monastery, at which they rested for the night.

CHAPTER V.

On entering the chamber set apart for him in the convent, Harold found
Haco and Wolnoth already awaiting him; and a wound he had received in the
last skirmish against the Bretons, having broken out afresh on the road,
allowed him an excuse to spend the rest of the evening alone with his
kinsmen.

On conversing with them--now at length, and unrestrainedly--Harold saw
everything to increase his alarm; for even Wolnoth, when closely pressed,
could not but give evidence of the unscrupulous astuteness with which,
despite all the boasted honour of chivalry, the Duke's character was
stained. For, indeed in his excuse, it must be said, that from the age
of eight, exposed to the snares of his own kinsmen, and more often saved
by craft than by strength, William had been taught betimes to justif