“True, my queen! They say Heaven tempers the wind to the shorn lamb; but it tempers it too, sometimes, to the hobbled ass; and so it has done by me. And so the rogues have fallen out, and honest men may come by their own. For, as the Northern men have done by one brother, so will the Eastern men do by the other. Let Harold see how many of those fat Lincolnshire manors, which he has seized into his own hands, he holds by this day twelve months. But what is all this to me, my queen, while you and I can kiss, and laugh the world to scorn?” “This to you, beloved, that, great as you are, Torfrida must have you greater still; and out of all this coil and confusion you may win something, if you be wise.” “Sweet lips, be still, and let us love instead of plotting.” “And this, too--you shall not stop my mouth--that Harold Godwinsson has sent a letter to you.” “Harold Godwinsson is my very good lord,” sneered Hereward. “And this it said, with such praises and courtesies concerning you, as made thy wife’s heart beat high with pride: ‘If Hereward Leofricsson will come home to England, he shall have his rights in law again, and his manors in Lincolnshire, and a thanes-ship in East Anglia, and manors for his men-at-arms; and if that be not enough, he shall have an earldom, as soon as there is one to give.’” “And what says to that, Torfrida, Hereward’s queen?” “You will not be angry if I answered the letter for you?” “If you answered it one way,--no. If another,--yes.” Torfrida trembled. Then she looked Hereward full in the face with her keen clear eyes. “Now shall I see whether I have given myself to Hereward in vain, body and soul, or whether I have trained him to be my true and perfect knight.” “You answered, then,” said Hereward, “thus--” “Say on,” said she, turning her face away again. “Hereward Leofricsson tells Harold Godwinsson that he is his equal, and not his man; and that he will never put his hands between the hands of a son of Godwin. An Etheling born, a king of the house of Cerdic, outlawed him from his right, and none but an Etheling born shall give him his right again.” “I said it, I said it. Those were my very words!” and Torfrida burst into tears, while Hereward kissed her, almost fawned upon her, calling her his queen, his saga-wife, his guardian angel. “I was sorely tempted,” sobbed she. “Sorely. To see you, rich and proud, upon your own lands, an earl may be,--may be, I thought at whiles, a king. But it could not be. It did not stand with honor, my hero,--not with honor.” “Not with honor. Get me gay garments out of the chest, and let us go in royally, and royally feast my jolly riders.” “Stay awhile,” said she, kissing his head as she combed and curled his long golden locks; and her own raven ones, hardly more beautiful, fell over them and mingled with them. “Stay awhile, my pride. There is another spell in the wind, stirred up by devil or witch-wife, and it comes from Tosti Godwinsson.”