Then the outlaw wrenched himself from the embrace, and murmured, "And Haco--my son--motherless, fatherless--hostage in the land of the stranger! Thou wilt remember--thou wilt shield him; thou be to him mother, father in the days to come! So may the saints bless thee!" With these words he sprang down the hillock.
Harold bounded after him; but Sweyn, halting, said, mournfully, "Is this thy promise?
Am I so lost that faith should be broken even with thy father's son ?" At that touching rebuke, Harold paused, and the outlaw passed his way alone.

As the last glimpse of his figure vanished at the turn of the road, whence, on the second of May, the Norman Duke and the Saxon King had emerged side by side, the short twilight closed abruptly, and up from the far forestland rose the moon.
Harold stood rooted to the spot, and still gazing on the space, when the Vala laid her hand on his arm.
"Behold, as the moon rises on the troubled gloaming, so rises the fate of Harold, as yon brief, human shadow, halting between light and darkness, passes away to night.

Thou art now the first-born of a House that unites the hopes of the Saxon with the fortunes of the Dane." "Thinkest thou," said Harold, with a stern composure, "that I can have joy and triumph in a brother's exile and woe ?" "Not now, and not yet, will the voice of thy true nature be heard; but the warmth of the sun brings the thunder, and the glory of fortune wakes the storm of the soul." "Kinswoman," said Harold, with a slight curl of his lip, "by me at least have thy prophecies ever passed as the sough of the air; neither in horror nor with faith do I think of thy incantations and charms; and I smile alike at the exorcism of the shaveling and the spells of the Saga.
I have asked thee not to bless mine axe, nor weave my sail.

No runic rhyme is on the sword-blade of Harold.

I leave my fortunes to the chance of mine own cool brain and strong arm.