its echo upon the pale lips of another--one
who had closely followed the queen to learn the tidings of the
travellers; and Edward turned to catch his bride in his arms,
whilst her tears rained down fast as she heard how her noble father
lay dead upon the fatal field that had lost her lord his crown, and
had dashed to the ground the warmest hopes of the Red Rose.

"Let us to ship again," said Margaret, as she recovered from her
long swoon. "The cause is lost without hope. Warwick is slain. Whom
have we now to trust to? Let us back to France, and hide our
dishonoured heads there. My father's court will receive us yet, and
perchance we may in time learn to forget that we were ever princes
and sovereigns."

Strange words, indeed, from the haughty and warlike Margaret; but
at that moment her proud spirit seemed crushed and broken, and it
was young Edward who answered her with words of hope and courage.

"Nay, mother," he said, "let it not be said of the House of
Plantagenet that they turned their backs upon the foe, and fled
disgracefully, leaving their followers to butchery and ruin. It
might have been well for us never to have disturbed again the peace
of this realm; but having summoned to our banner the loyal
adherents of the Red Rose, it is not for us to fly to safety, and
leave them to the wrath and cruelty of Edward. No; one battle--one
defeat--does not lose us our cause. My father lives; shall we leave
him to linger out his days in hopeless captivity? I live; have I
not the right to strike a blow for the crown to which I was born?

"Courage, sweet mother. You are a king's daughter. You have led men
to victory before. Say not--think not--that all is lost. Let us win
the crown of England by the power of the name and of the righteous
cause we own, and henceforth shall no man say that a subject crowns
and dethrones England's monarch at his will."

These words, seconded and echoed by those of many a gallant knight
and noble, raised Margaret's broken spirit, and she began once more
to hope. That day they journeyed by rapid stages to Beaulieu Abbey,
a very famous sanctuary in those days, the ruins of which may still
be seen in the New Forest; and there the party found the widowed
Countess of Warwick, who had landed at Portsmouth before the royal
party had reached Weymouth, and had just heard of her terrible
loss. To have her daughter with her once again, and to mingle their
tears together, was some consolation, both f