At Avranches, but three days after their discourse, William convoked a grand assembly of his lords and barons--the mightiest and the noblest of his vavasours and vassals--the pride of Normandy. There, in the centre of the hall, he caused an immense chest to be deposited, filled to the very brim with the most holy relics--bones of the martyred saints--fragments of the true cross--all that was deemed most sacred and most awful by the true-hearted catholic--and covered with a superb cloth of gold, as though it were an ordinary slab or table. There, seated in high state, upon his chair of dignity--a drawn sword in his hand, wearing his cap of maintenance, circled by _fleurs-de-lis_, upon his head, and clad in ermined robes of state--he held _cour pleusêre_ of his nobles. The Saxon stood among them, honored among the first at all times, and now the more especially distinguished, that it was his farewell reception previous to his departure for England. After presenting him with the most splendid gifts, and making the most liberal professions of attachment, “Harold,” exclaimed the duke, “before we part, I call on you, before this noble company, here to confirm by oath your promise made to me three days since, ‘to aid me in obtaining, after the death of Edward, the throne and crown of England; to take my daughter Alice to wife; and to send me your sister hither, that I may find for her a princely spouse among my vavasours!’” Taken a second time at fault, and daring not thus openly to falsify his word--but with a blank and troubled aspect, unsatisfied with his internal reservation, and conscious of his perjury--Harold laid both his hands on two small reliquaries which lay, as if by chance, upon the cloth of gold; and swore, provided he should live, to make good all those promises--“so might God aid him.” And with one deep, solemn acclamation, the whole assembly echoed those last words: “So may God aid him! may God aid! God aid!” At the same instant, on a signal from the duke, the cloth of gold was drawn aside, and Harold saw the sacrilege he must commit, so deeply sworn on things so holy, should he repent, or falsify his oath! He saw, and shuddered visibly, as though he had been stricken by an ague; yet presently, by a powerful effort, rallying all his courage to his aid, he made his last farewells, departed, loaded with gifts and honors, but with a melancholy heart; and sailed immediately for England, leaving the brother, for whose liberty he came a suitor, ten times more deeply forfeit than he had been before. On his first interview with Edward, he related all that had occurred--even his own involuntary oath. And the old sovereign trembled, and grew pale, but manifested nothing of surprise or anger!