iton, the cheer of the board and the shelter
of the roof were afforded with a hand equally unselfish and
indiscriminate; and the doors of the more wealthy and munificent might be
almost literally said to stand open from morn to eve.

As Harold followed the Vala across the vast atrium, his face was
recognised, and a shout of enthusiastic welcome greeted the popular Earl.
The only voices that did not swell that cry, were those of three monks
from a neighbouring convent, who choose to wink at the supposed practices
of the Morthwyrtha [97], from the affection they bore to her ale and
mead, and the gratitude they felt for her ample gifts to their convent.

"One of the wicked House, brother," whispered the monk.

"Yea; mockers and scorners are Godwin and his lewd sons," answered the
monk.

And all three sighed and scowled, as the door closed on the hostess and
her stately guest.

Two tall and not ungraceful lamps lighted the same chamber in which Hilda
was first presented to the reader. The handmaids were still at their
spindles, and the white web nimbly shot as the mistress entered. She
paused, and her brow knit, as she eyed the work.

"But three parts done?" she said, "weave fast, and weave strong."

Harold, not heeding the maids or their task, gazed inquiringly round, and
from a nook near the window, Edith sprang forward with a joyous cry, and
a face all glowing with delight--sprang forward, as if to the arms of a
brother; but, within a step or so of that noble guest, she stopped short,
and her eyes fell to the ground.

Harold held his breath in admiring silence. The child he had loved from
her cradle stood before him as a woman. Even since we last saw her, in
the interval between the spring and the autumn, the year had ripened the
youth of the maiden, as it had mellowed the fruits of the earth; and her
cheek was rosy with the celestial blush, and her form rounded to the
nameless grace, which say that infancy is no more.

He advanced and took her hand, but for the first time in his life in
their greetings, he neither gave nor received the kiss.

"You are no child now, Edith," said he, involuntarily; "but still set
apart, I pray you, some remains of the old childish love for Harold."

Edith's charming lips smiled softly; she raised her eyes to his, and
their innocent fondness spoke through happy tears.

But few words passed in the short interval between Harold's entrance and
his retirement to the chamber pre