and who, as yet, had made no
move, Richard of Gloucester.

The day was far spent, and before a fireplace in his private apartments
Richard sat alone, in heavy meditation. The pale, clean-shaven,
youthful face, with its beautiful mouth and straight Norman nose, and
the short, slender figure in its mantle and doublet of black velvet
furred with ermine, rich under tunic of white satin, tight-fitting hose
of silk, and dark brown hair hanging bushy to the shoulders, would have
been almost effeminate but for the massively majestic forehead and the
fierce black eyes--brilliant, compelling, stern, proud--that flashed
forth the mighty soul within.

Although he had just passed his thirtieth year, yet his fame was as
wide as the domain of chivalry, and his name a thing to conjure with in
England. Born in an age when almost as children men of rank and
station were called upon to take their sires' place, Richard had been
famed for his wisdom and statecraft before the years when the period of
youth is now presumed to begin. At the age of eighteen he had led the
flower of the Yorkist army at the great battles of Barnet and
Tewkesbury, and not the dauntless Edward himself, then in the heyday of
his prowess, was more to be feared than the slight boy who swept with
inconceivable fury through the Lancastrian line, carrying death on his
lance-point and making the Boar of Gloucester forever famous in English
heraldry. And since then his hauberk had scarce been off his back, and
while his royal brother was dallying in a life of indulgence amid the
dissipations of his Court, the brave and resolute Richard was leading
his armies, administering his governments, and preserving order on the
Marches of the Border.

Presently there was a sharp knock on the door and a page entered.

"Well?" demanded the Duke abruptly.

"May it please you, my lord," said the boy; "a messenger of importance
who desires immediate audience."

Richard frowned slightly.

"Whose badge does he wear?" he asked.

"No one's, my lord, but the fashion of his armor savors of the Court.
He bade me announce him as Sir Aymer de Lacy."

"The name, boy, is better recommendation than any fashion. Admit him."

De Lacy crossed to the center of the apartment with easy grace, and
after a deep obeisance stood erect and silent facing the Duke, who eyed
him critically. A trifle over the average height and rather slender,
and clad in complete mail except for the bascinet whic