these lances;
and you, sir, bethink ye, in the meanwhile, what pleasure, honour, or
profit it shall be mine to give you."

Just then the Yorkist skirmishers carried one of the shoreside taverns,
swarming in upon it on three sides, and driving out or taking its
defenders. Crookback Dick was pleased to cheer the exploit, and, pushing
his horse a little nearer, called to see the prisoners.

There were four or five of them--two men of my Lord Shoreby's and one of
Lord Risingham's among the number, and last, but in Dick's eyes not
least, a tall, shambling, grizzled old shipman, between drunk and sober,
and with a dog whimpering and jumping at his heels.

The young duke passed them for a moment under a severe review.

"Good," he said. "Hang them."

And he turned the other way to watch the progress of the fight.

"My lord," said Dick, "so please you, I have found my reward. Grant me
the life and liberty of yon old shipman."

Gloucester turned and looked the speaker in the face.

"Sir Richard," he said, "I make not war with peacock's feathers, but
steel shafts. Those that are mine enemies I slay, and that without
excuse or favour. For, bethink ye, in this realm of England, that is so
torn in pieces, there is not a man of mine but hath a brother or a
friend upon the other party. If, then, I did begin to grant these
pardons, I might sheathe my sword."

"It may be so, my lord; and yet I will be overbold, and, at the risk of
your disfavour, recall your lordship's promise," replied Dick.

Richard of Gloucester flushed.

"Mark it right well," he said harshly. "I love not mercy, nor yet
mercymongers. Ye have this day laid the foundations of high fortune. If
ye oppose to me my word, which I have plighted, I will yield. But, by
the glory of heaven, there your favour dies!"

"Mine is the loss," said Dick.

"Give him his sailor," said the duke; and wheeling his horse, he turned
his back upon young Shelton.

Dick was nor glad nor sorry. He had seen too much of the young duke to
set great store on his affection; and the origin and growth of his own
favour had been too flimsy and too rapid to inspire much confidence. One
thing alone he feared--that the vindictive leader might revoke the offer
of the lances. But here he did justice neither to Gloucester's honour
(such as it was) nor, above all, to his decision. If he had once judged
Dick to be the right man to pursue Sir Daniel, he was not one to change;
and he soon proved i