"
"The feud must be closed," Edith said firmly, though Wulf noticed that her
face paled. "I have told you so before, Harold, and there is but one way."
"It shall never be closed in that way, Edith; rather would I lie in my
grave."
"You have not to think of yourself, Harold, still less of me. It is of
England you have to think--this England that will assuredly choose you as
its king, and who will have a right to expect that you will make any or
every sacrifice for its sake"
"Any but that," Harold said.
She smiled faintly and shook her head. Wulf did not understand the
conversation, but there was a look of earnest resolve in her face that
deeply impressed him. He had moved a short distance away, and now turned
and looked out of the window, while they exchanged a few more words, having
been, as he saw, altogether oblivious of his presence in the earnestness
with which they both spoke.
For a week Harold remained at Hampton. Wulf saw that he was much troubled
in his mind, and concluded that the messengers who came and went every day
were the bearers of bad tidings. It was seldom that he was away from the
side of Edith. When they were together she was always bright, but once or
twice when Wulf found her alone her features bore an expression of deep
sadness.
"We must ride for London, Wulf," Harold said one morning after reading a
letter brought by a royal messenger. "The king has laid his orders on me to
proceed at once to town, and indeed the news is well-nigh as bad as can be.
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