"If the Norman say that he has been deceived in Harold, never so shall
say the men of England. Leave me. I know not why, Haco, but in thy
presence, at times, there is a glamour as strong as in the spells of
Hilda. Go, dear boy; the fault is not in thee, but in the
superstitious infirmities of a man who hath once lowered, or, it may
be, too highly strained, his reason to the things of a haggard fancy.
Go! and send to me my brother Gurth. I would have him alone of my
House present at this solemn crisis of its fate."

Haco bowed his head, and went.

In a few moments more, Gurth came in. To this pure and spotless
spirit Harold had already related the events of his unhappy visit to
the Norman; and he felt, as the young chief pressed his hand, and
looked on him with his clear and loving eyes, as if Honour made
palpable stood by his side.

Six of the ecclesiastics, most eminent for Church learning,--small as
was that which they could boast, compared with the scholars of
Normandy and the Papal States, but at least more intelligent and more
free from mere formal monasticism than most of their Saxon
contemporaries,--and six of the chiefs most renowned for experience in
war or council, selected under the sagacious promptings of Alred,
accompanied that prelate to the presence of the Earl.

"Close, thou! close! close! Gurth," whispered Harold "for this is a
confession against man's pride, and sorely doth it shame;--so that I
would have thy bold sinless heart beating near to mine."