CHAPTER III.
Trusting, for the time, to the success of Edward's urgent demand for
the release of his kinsmen, as well as his own, Harold was now
detained at the court by all those arrears of business which had
accumulated fast under the inert hands of the monk-king during the
prolonged campaigns against the Welch; but he had leisure at least for
frequent visits to the old Roman house; and those visits were not more
grateful to his love than to the harder and more engrossing passion
which divided his heart.
The nearer he grew to the dazzling object, to the possession of which
Fate seemed to have shaped all circumstances, the more he felt the
charm of those mystic influences which his colder reason had
disdained. He who is ambitious of things afar, and uncertain, passes
at once into the Poet-Land of Imagination; to aspire and to imagine
are yearnings twin-born.
When in his fresh youth and his calm lofty manhood, Harold saw action,
how adventurous soever, limited to the barriers of noble duty; when he
lived but for his country, all spread clear before his vision in the
sunlight of day; but as the barriers receded, while the horizon
extended, his eye left the Certain to rest on the Vague. As self,
though still half concealed from his conscience, gradually assumed the
wide space love of country had filled, the maze of delusion commenced:
he was to shape fate out of circumstance,--no longer defy fate through
virtue; and thus Hilda became to him as a voice that answered the
questions of his own restless heart. He needed encouragement from the
Unknown to sanction his desires and confirm his ends. But Edith,
rejoicing in the fair fame of her betrothed, and content in the pure
rapture of beholding him again, reposed in the divine credulity of the
happy hour; she marked not, in Harold's visits, that, on entrance, the
Earl's eye sought first the stern face of the Vala--she wondered not
why those two conversed in whispers together, or stood so often at
moonlight by the Runic grave. Alone, of all womankind, she felt that
Harold loved her, that that love had braved time, absence, change, and
hope deferred; and she knew not that what love has most to dread in
the wild heart of aspiring man, is not persons, but things,--is not
things, but their symbols.
So weeks and months rolled on, and Duke William returned no answer to
the demands for his hostages. And Harold's heart smote him, that he
neglected his brother's prayer and his mother's accusing tears.
Now Githa, since the death of her husband, had lived in seclusion and
apart from town; and one day Harold was surprised by her unexpected
arrival at the large timbered house in London, which had passed to his
possession. As she abruptly entered the room in which he sate, he
sprang forward to welcome and embrace her; but she waved him back with
a grave and mournful gesture, and sinking on one knee, she said thus:
"See, the mother is a suppliant to the son for the son. No, Harold,
no--I will not rise till thou hast heard me. For years, long and
lonely, have I lingered and pined,--long years! Will my boy know his
mother again? Thou hast said to me, 'Wait till the messenger
returns.' I have waited. Thou hast said, 'This time the Count cannot
resist the demand of the King.' I bowed my head and submitted to thee
as I had done to Godwin my lord. And I have not till now claimed thy
promise; for I allowed thy country, thy King, and thy fame to have
claims more strong than a mother. Now I tarry no more; now no more
will I be amused and deceived. Thine hours are thine own--free thy
coming and thy going. Harold, I claim thine oath. Harold, I touch
thy right hand. Harold, I remind thee of thy troth and thy plight, to
cross the seas thyself, and restore the child to the mother."
"Oh, rise, rise!" exclaimed Harold, deeply moved. "Patient hast thou
been, O my mother, and now I will linger no more, nor hearken to other
voice than your own. I will see the King this day, and ask his leave
to cross the sea to Duke William."
Then Githa rose, and fell on the Earl's breast weeping.
