a boat, and, with Haco, was rowed over towards the
fortified palace which then rose towards the west of London, jutting into
the Thames, and which seems to have formed the outwork of the old Roman
city. The palace, of remotest antiquity, and blending all work and
architecture, Roman, Saxon, and Danish, had been repaired by Canute; and
from a high window in the upper story, where were the royal apartments,
the body of the traitor Edric Streone (the founder of the house of
Godwin) had been thrown into the river.

"Whither go we, Harold?" asked the son of Sweyn.

"We go to visit the young Atheling, the natural heir to the Saxon
throne," replied Harold in a firm voice. "He lodges in the old palace of
our kings."

"They say in Normandy that the boy is imbecile."

"That is not true," returned Harold. "I will present thee to
him,--judge."

Haco mused a moment and said:

"Methinks I divine thy purpose; is it not formed on the sudden, Harold?"

"It was the counsel of Edith," answered Harold, with evident emotion.
"And yet, if that counsel prevail, I may lose the power to soften the
Church and to call her mine."

"So thou wouldest sacrifice even Edith for thy country."

"Since I have sinned, methinks I could," said the proud man humbly.

The boat shot into a little creek, or rather canal, which then ran
inland, beside the black and rotting walls of the fort. The two
Earl-born leapt ashore, passed under a Roman arch, entered a court the
interior of which was rudely filled up by early Saxon habitations of
rough timber work, already, since the time of Canute, falling into decay,
(as all things did which came under the care of Edward,) and mounting a
stair that ran along the outside of the house, gained a low narrow door,
which stood open. In the passage within were one or two of the King's
house-carles who had been assigned to the young Atheling, with liveries
of blue and Danish axes, and some four or five German servitors, who had
attended his father from the Emperor's court. One of these last ushered
the noble Saxons into a low, forlorn ante-hall; and there, to Harold's
surprise they found Alred the Archbishop of York, and three thegns of
high rank, and of lineage ancient and purely Saxon.

Alred approached Harold with a faint smile on his benign face:

"Methinks, and may I think aright!--thou comest hither with the same
purpose as myself, and you noble thegns."

"And that purpose?"

"Is to see and to judge