th, the Man escaped from the lures of the Fiend. Not as Hecate in
hell, but as Dian in heaven, did he confront the pale Goddess of Night.
Before that hour in which he had deserted the human judgment for the
ghostly delusion; before that day in which the brave heart, in its sudden
desertion, had humbled his pride--the man, in his nature, was more strong
than the god. Now, purified by the flame that had scorched, and more
nerved from the fall that had stunned,--that great soul rose sublime
through the wrecks of the Past, serene through the clouds of the Future,
concentering in its solitude the destinies of Mankind, and strong with
instinctive Eternity amidst all the terrors of Time.

King Harold came from York, whither he had gone to cement the new power
of Morcar, in Northumbria, and personally to confirm the allegiance of
the Anglo-Danes:--King Harold came from York, and in the halls of
Westminster he found a monk who awaited him with the messages of William
the Norman.

Bare-footed, and serge-garbed, the Norman envoy strode to the Saxon's
chair of state. His form was worn with mortification and fast, and his
face was hueless and livid, with the perpetual struggle between zeal and
flesh.

"Thus saith William, Count of the Normans," began Hugues Maigrot, the
monk.

"With grief and amaze hath he heard that you, O Harold, his sworn
liege-man, have, contrary to oath and to fealty, assumed the crown that
belongs to himself. But, confiding in thy conscience, and forgiving a
moment's weakness, he summons thee, mildly and brother-like, to fulfil
thy vow. Send thy sister, that he may gave her in marriage to one of his
Quens. Give him up the stronghold of Dover; march to thy coast with
thine armies to aid him,--thy liege lord,--and secure him the heritage of
Edward his cousin. And thou shalt reign at his right-hand, his daughter
thy bride, Northumbria thy fief, and the saints thy protectors."

The King's lip was firm, though pale, as he answered:

"My young sister, alas! is no more: seven nights after I ascended the
throne, she died: her dust in the grave is all I could send to the arms
of the bridegroom. I cannot wed the child of thy Count: the wife of
Harold sits beside him." And he pointed to the proud beauty of Aldyth,
enthroned under the drapery of gold. "For the vow that I took, I deny it
not. But from a vow of compulsion, menaced with unworthy captivity,
extorted from my lips by the very need of the land w