Hilda and Harold passed in silence through the hall, and the Vala's
attendants, with spears and torches, rose from the settles, and went
before to the outer court, where snorted impatiently her black
palfrey.

Halting in the midst of the court, she said to Harold, in a low voice:

"At sunset we part--at sunset we shall meet again. And behold, the
star rises on the sunset; and the star, broader and brighter, shall
rise on the sunset then! When thy hand draws the robe from the chest,
think on Hilda, and know that at that hour she stands by the grave of
the Saxon warrior, and that from the grave dawns the future. Farewell
to thee!"

Harold longed to speak to her of Edith, but a strange awe at his heart
chained his lips; so he stood silent by the great wooden gates of the
rude house. The torches flamed round him, and Hilda's face seemed
lurid in the glare. There he stood musing long after torch and ceorl
had passed away, nor did he wake from his reverie till Gurth,
springing from his panting horse, passed his arm round the Earl's
shoulder, and cried:

"How did I miss thee, my brother? and why didst thou forsake thy
train?"

"I will tell thee anon. Gurth, has my father ailed? There is that in
his face which I like not."

"He hath not complained of misease," said Gurth, startled; "but now