The boat shot over the royal Thames. Borne along the waters, the shouts
and the hymns of swarming thousands from the land shook, like a blast,
the gelid air of the Wolf month. All space seemed filled and noisy with
the name of Harold the King. Fast rowed the rowers,--on shot the boat;
and Hilda’s face, stern and ominous, turned to the still towers of the
palace, gleaming wide and white in the wintry sun. Suddenly Edith lifted
her hand from her bosom, and said passionately:
“O mother of my mother, I cannot live again in the house where the very
walls speak to me of him; all things chain my soul to the earth; and my
soul should be in heaven, that its prayers may be heard by the heedful
angels. The day that the holy Lady of England predicted hath come to
pass, and the silver cord is loosed at last. Ah why, why did I not
believe her then? why did I then reject the cloister? Yet no, I will not
repent; at least I have been loved! But now I will go to the nunnery of
Waltham, and kneel at the altars he hath hallowed to the mone and the
monechyn.”
“Edith,” said the Vala, “thou wilt not bury thy life yet young in the
living grave! And, despite all that now severs you--yea, despite
Harold’s new and loveless ties--still clearer than ever it is written in
the heavens, that a day shall come, in which you are to be evermore
united. Many of the shapes I have seen, many of the sounds I have heard,
in the trance and the dream, fade in the troubled memory of waking life.
But never yet hath grown doubtful or dim the prophecy, that the truth
pledged by the grave shall be fulfilled.”
“Oh, tempt not! Oh, delude not!” cried Edith, while the blood rushed
over her brow. “Thou knowest this can not be. Another’s! he is
another’s! and in the words thou hast uttered there is deadly sin.”
“There is no sin in the resolves of a fate that rules us in spite of
ourselves. Tarry only till the year bring round the birth-day of Harold;
for my sayings shall be ripe with the grape, and when the feet of the
vineherd are red in the Month of the Vine [221], the Nornas shall knit ye
together again!”
Edith clasped her hands mutely, and looked hard into the face of
Hilda,--looked and shuddered she knew not why.
The boat landed on the eastern shore of the river, beyond the walls of
the city, and then Edith bent her way to the holy walls of Waltham. The
frost was sharp in the glitter of the unwarming sun; upon leafless boughs
hung the barbed ice-gems; and the crown was on the brows of Harold! and
at night, within the walls of the convent, Edith heard the hymns of the
kneeling monks; and the blasts howled, and the storm arose, and the
voices of destroying hurricanes were blent with the swell of the choral
hymns.