d
between the St. Thomas Gate and the White Tower. A moment later, Sir
Ralph de Wilton came swinging along the walk and De Lacy hailed him.

"Tarry with me till the Council has gathered," he said. "Here come
their reverences of York and Ely."

Scarcely had the churchmen entered the White Tower, when along the same
path came two others, bound also for the council chamber.

The one on the right, the Garter about his knee, with the keen, grey
eyes, sharp, clear, Norman features, and well-knit, active frame, was
William, Lord Hastings; gallant knight, brave warrior, wise counsellor
and chosen friend of the mighty Edward. His long gown and doublet were
of brilliant green velvet, with silk trunks and hose to match; his
bushy brown hair was perfumed and dressed with exquisite care; from his
bonnet of black velvet trailed a long white ostrich plume pinned by
three huge rubies; at the richly chased gold belt dangled a dagger, the
scabbard and hilt glistening with jewels, and his fingers flashed with
many rings. It was the typical costume of a courtier of the
Plantagenets--fops in dress and devils in battle.

His companion was utterly dissimilar. His garments were of sober
black, without ornament or decoration, and no ring shone on his
fingers. His sandy hair was cut rather shorter than was wont, and
there was no mark of helmet wear along the brow or temples. His frame
was neither active nor powerful, and his walk was sedate, almost to
preciseness. His countenance was peculiar, for in it there was both
cunning and frankness: cunning in the eyes, frankness in the mouth and
chin; a face, withal, that would bear constant watching, and that
contained scarce a trace of virility--only a keen selfishness and a
crafty faithlessness. And of a verity, if ever a human visage revealed
truly the soul within, this one did; for a more scheming sycophant,
vacillating knave and despicable traitor than Thomas, Lord Stanley,
England had not seen since the villain John died at Newark.

"A powerful pair," said De Wilton, "yet a strange companionship--one
rather of accident than design, I fancy. There is little in either to
attract the other, nor is it any secret that the Lord Chamberlain does
not love the fickle Stanley."

"No more does Stanley love him, nor any living creature, for the matter
of that," said Sir Aymer. "It passes me why the Lord Protector trusts
him."

"Pardieu!" exclaimed De Wilton, "the Duke may use him; he will