'I tell thee truly I am sick of thy eternal Harold Godwinsson!' cried Emma, springing up and pacing the room. 'His name is dragged forth in season or out of season. It must be hard for the poor man to rest in his grave! Here are eight years the Normans and the Saxons--if Saxon thou wilt own thyself, sometimes thou wilt correct me that thou art an Anglo-Dane!--have been living in peace, and marrying and giving in marriage, and thou wouldst wake up old quarrels, and part them in sunder again. As well might I refuse to marry Ralph de Guader because of his English blood.' 'But the earl fought with thy people. How know I but that my kinsfolk fell by Sir Aimand's hand? He was at Senlac, though but a young squire. The gulf that yawns between us is impassable!' and Eadgyth's shoulders shook with an irrepressible shudder. 'Even so,' said Emma, 'it was in fair fight on a hardly-contested field, and Sir Aimand would be in no way blood-guilty therefor. When a quarrel is ended, generous foes shake hands.' 'So said Sir Aimand. For he asked me if any reason were behind my answer that he might know, and I told him frankly that my heart still bled for my country's wounds, and that I could not forget that the lance he offered to ply in mine honour had tilted against my countrymen, had perhaps been dyed with the blood of those dear to me. He answered and said, that it had been a fair fight, with no ill blood between the combatants; that God had made the Norman arms prevail, and that I ought to accede to His holy will. But I cannot feel it so,' Eadgyth ended, with a sigh. 'Then I must try to comfort thee some other way,' said Emma, resuming her seat, and taking the face of her friend in both her hands, and turning it up and kissing it, for Eadgyth was sitting on a low stool at her feet, as was her wont. 'Remember thou art on thy way to thy dear Norwich, where some of thy kin may still be found; nay, some may be amongst the invited guests to the banquet, and encamped near thee even now. We know, at least, that more than one noble thegn will be present. Who can say what fate may have in store for thee?' Eadgyth shook her head. 'Alas, Emma! I shall not find comfort so. There was that in the face of the poor knight as he turned away that I fear me will haunt my memory to my dying day.' 'Nay then, if that be thy mood, I will waste no pity on thee,' said Emma. 'Shame on thee, that thou shouldst send my countryman away with a sad face, and doubtless an aching heart, for such a fantastic whim!' But the soft tones of her voice somewhat belied her declaration that she would bestow no pity on her wayward friend. CHAPTER VI. THE BRIDE-ALE.