Cedric went on with his story without noticing this interjectional

observation of his friend.

"The envoy of Tosti," he said, "moved up the hall, undismayed by the

frowning countenances of all around him, until he made his obeisance

before the throne of King Harold.

"'What terms,' he said, 'Lord King, hath thy brother Tosti to hope, if

he should lay down his arms, and crave peace at thy hands?' "'A brother's love,' cried the generous Harold, 'and the fair earldom of

Northumberland.' "'But should Tosti accept these terms,' continued the envoy, 'what lands

shall be assigned to his faithful ally, Hardrada, King of Norway?' "'Seven feet of English ground,' answered Harold, fiercely, 'or, as

Hardrada is said to be a giant, perhaps we may allow him twelve inches

more.' "The hall rung with acclamations, and cup and horn was filled to

the Norwegian, who should be speedily in possession of his English

territory."

"I could have pledged him with all my soul," said Athelstane, "for my

tongue cleaves to my palate."

"The baffled envoy," continued Cedric, pursuing with animation his tale,

though it interested not the listener, "retreated, to carry to Tosti and

his ally the ominous answer of his injured brother. It was then that

the distant towers of York, and the bloody streams of the Derwent,

[26] beheld that direful conflict, in which, after displaying the most

undaunted valour, the King of Norway, and Tosti, both fell, with ten

thousand of their bravest followers. Who would have thought that upon

the proud day when this battle was won, the very gale which waved the

Saxon banners in triumph, was filling the Norman sails, and impelling

them to the fatal shores of Sussex?--Who would have thought that Harold,

within a few brief days, would himself possess no more of his kingdom,

than the share which he allotted in his wrath to the Norwegian

invader?--Who would have thought that you, noble Athelstane--that you,

descended of Harold's blood, and that I, whose father was not the worst

defender of the Saxon crown, should be prisoners to a vile Norman, in

the very hall in which our ancestors held such high festival?"

"It is sad enough," replied Athelstane; "but I trust they will hold us

to a moderate ransom--At any rate it cannot be their purpose to starve

us outright; and yet, although it is high noon, I see no preparations

for serving dinner. Look up at the window, noble Cedric, and judge by

the sunbeams if it is not on the verge of noon."




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