“That the man who touches them, even though the men on them may fight on Harold’s side, had better have put his head into a hornet’s nest. Unjustly were they seized from their true owners by Harold and his fathers; and the holders of them will owe no service to him a day longer than they can help; but will, if he fall, demand an earl of their own race, or fight to the death.” “Best make young Waltheof earl, then.” “Best keep thy foot out of them, and the foot of any man for whom thou carest. Now, good by. Friends we are, and friends let us be.” “Ah, that thou wert coming to England!” “I bide my time. Come I may, when I see fit. But whether I come as friend or foe depends on that of which I have given thee fair warning.” So they parted for the time. It will be seen hereafter how Gilbert took his own advice about young Waltheof, but did not take Hereward’s advice about the Lincoln manors. In Baldwin’s hall that day Hereward met Dolfin; and when the magnificent young Scot sprang to him, embraced him, talked over old passages, complimented him on his fame, lamented that he himself had won no such honors in the field, Hereward felt much more inclined to fight for him than against him. Presently the ladies entered from the bower inside the hall. A buzz of expectation rose from all the knights, and Alftruda’s name was whispered round. She came in, and Hereward saw at the first glance that Gilbert had for once in his life spoken truth. So beautiful a girl he had never beheld; and as she swept down toward him he for one moment forgot Torfrida, and stood spell-bound like the rest. Her eye caught his. If his face showed recognition, hers showed none. The remembrance of their early friendship, of her deliverance from the monster, had plainly passed away. “Fickle, ungrateful things, these women,” thought Hereward, She passed him close. And as she did so, she turned her head and looked him full in the face one moment, haughty and cold. “So you could not wait for me?” said she, in a quiet whisper, and went on straight to Dolfin, who stood trembling with expectation and delight. She put her hand into his. “Here stands my champion,” said she. “Say, here kneels your slave,” cried the Scot, dropping to the pavement a true Highland knee. Whereon forth shrieked a bagpipe, and Dolfin’s minstrel sang, in most melodious Gaelic,-- “Strong as a horse’s hock, shaggy as a stag’s brisket, Is the knee of the young torrent-leaper, the pride of the house of Crinan. It bent not to Macbeth the accursed, it bends not even to Malcolm the Anointed, But it bends like a harebell--who shall blame it?-- before the breath of beauty.” Which magnificent effusion being interpreted by Hereward for the instruction of the ladies, procured for the red-headed bard more than one handsome gift. A sturdy voice arose out of the crowd.