ernatural self-exaltation, swelled from the dark fringe, and rolled
slowly down the colourless cheek, as she added, with proud voice, "I know
it: but that other is not Aldyth, it is England! In her, in Aldyth,
behold the dear cause of thy native land; with her enweave the love which
thy native land should command. So thinking, thou art reconciled, and I
consoled. It is not for woman that thou desertest Edith."

"Hear, and take from those lips the strength and the valour that belong
to the name of Hero!" said a deep and clear voice behind; and
Gurth,--who, whether distrusting the result of an interview so prolonged,
or tenderly desirous to terminate its pain, had entered
unobserved,--approached, and wound his arm caressingly round his brother.
"Oh, Harold!" he said, "dear to me as the drops in my heart is my young
bride, newly wed; but if for one tithe of the claims that now call thee
to the torture and trial--yea, if but for one hour of good service to
freedom and law--I would consent without a groan to behold her no more.
And if men asked me how I could so conquer man's affections, I would
point to thee, and say, 'So Harold taught my youth by his lessons, and my
manhood by his life.' Before thee, visible, stand Happiness and Love,
but with them, Shame; before thee, invisible, stands Woe, but with Woe
are England and eternal Glory! Choose between them."

"He hath chosen," said Edith, as Harold turned to the wall, and leaned
against it, hiding his face; then, approaching softly, she knelt, lifted
to her lips the hem of his robe, and kissed it with devout passion.

Harold turned suddenly, and opened his arms. Edith resisted not that
mute appeal; she rose, and fell on his breast, sobbing.

Wild and speechless was that last embrace. The moon, which had witnessed
their union by the heathen grave, now rose above the tower of the
Christian church, and looked wan and cold upon their parting.

Solemn and clear paused the orb--a cloud passed over the disk--and Edith
was gone. The cloud rolled away, and again the moon shone forth; and
where had knelt the fair form and looked the last look of Edith, stood
the motionless image, and gazed the solemn eye, of the dark son of Sweyn.
But Harold leant on the breast of Gurth, and saw not who had supplanted
the soft and loving Fylgia of his life--saw nought in the universe but
the blank of desolation!

BOOK XI.
THE NORMAN SCHEMER, AND THE NORWEGIAN SEA-KING.

CHAPT