Richard in his arms, and kissed him too, and stroking the glossy
curls of Henry's light brown hair, he said--

"I wish you were a few years older, my son, that you might go with me to
fight for your king and queen."

"I thank God that he is not old enough," returned Lady Margaret; "it is
grief enough for me to part with my husband. Oh! that these cruel wars
were over, for they bring nothing but sorrow to the land!"

"Thou hast but a faint heart, my Margaret. Our queen is a lioness
compared with thee!"

"I would not wish to resemble her then," said the lady.

"Nor would I desire that thou shouldst," replied her husband. "But keep
up a brave spirit, for thou mayest need it."

Again he embraced her lovingly, and mounting his gallant charger he rode
from the castle-gate, with about fifty knights and esquires in his
train, all well armed and mounted.

The first news that reached Brougham, was a cause of the deepest sorrow
to Lady Margaret, although it told of a great battle that had been won
by her husband's party at Wakefield, and also of the death of Richard,
Duke of York, who had fallen on the field. But it also told of a
barbarous deed done by Lord Clifford, which she was sure would turn all
hearts against him; and so it did, for it shocked both friends and foes,
and has left a blot on his name that will never be effaced.

It was after the battle was over, as he was riding towards the town to
rejoin the queen, that he overtook the young Earl of Rutland, second son
of the unfortunate Duke of York, a youth about fourteen years of age,
who had just heard of his father's fate, and, overwhelmed with grief,
was being hurried away by his tutor, Sir Robert Aspall, who had been
left in charge of him near the field of battle, to seek refuge in a
neighbouring convent. Clifford seized the affrighted boy, who fell on
his knees and begged for mercy.

"Who is he?" demanded the fierce nobleman in a thundering tone.

"He is the son of a prince who is now beyond thy power," answered the
venerable tutor. "But I pray you to spare him, for he is too young to
do hurt to thee or thy cause."

"He is a son of York, and he shall die!" exclaimed Lord Clifford,
plunging his dagger into the heart of the hapless boy, who fell dead at
his feet.

It was in consequence of this wanton act of cruelty, and of the numbers
he slew at the battle of Wakefield with his own hand, that he was
thenceforth called "the butcher," a terrible disti