probable, that the prevailing wind would not change so abruptly, but that he might, by using some extraordinary diligence and speed, attack and overpower the besieging force at York, and yet return to Dover in time to oppose, with the united force of his whole nation, the disembarkation of the duke--had left his post and travelled with all speed toward York, leading the bravest and best-disciplined of his army against the fierce Norwegians, while the shores of Sussex remained comparatively naked and defenceless. A bloody and decisive battle fought at the bridge of Staneford, over the river Derwent, rewarded his activity and valor--a battle in which he displayed no less his generalship and valor, than the kind generosity and mercy of his nature. Riding, himself, in person, up to the hostile lines, before the first encounter, sheathed in the complete armor of the Norman chivalry--which, since his visit to the continent, he had adopted--“Where,” he cried, in his loudest tones, “is Tosti, son of Godwin?” “Here stands he,” answered the rebel, from the centre of the Norwegian phalanx, which, with lowered spears, awaited the attack. “Thy brother,” replied Harold, concealed by the frontlet of his barred helmet from all recognition, “sends thee his greeting--offers thee peace, and friendship, and all thine ancient honors.” “Good words!” cried Tosti, “mighty good, and widely different from the insults he bestowed on me last year! But if I should accept the offer, what will he grant to Harold, son of Sigurd?” “Seven feet of English earth,” replied the king; “or, since he be gigantic in his stature, he shall have somewhat more!” “Let Harold, then address himself to battle,” answered Tosti. “None but a liar ever shall declare that Tosti, son of Godwin, has played a traitor’s part to Harold, son of Sigurd!”