the peace and weal
of the realm so limit all thy schemes, my lord and cousin!"

With these words the prince pressed the hand of the marquis, and walked
slowly towards the king's pavilion.

"Shame on my ripe manhood and lore of life," muttered Montagu, enraged
against himself, and deeply mortified. "How sentence by sentence and
step by step yon crafty pigmy led me on, till all our projects, all our
fears and hopes, are revealed to him who but views them as a foe. Anne
betrothed to one who even in fiery youth can thus beguile and dupe!
Warwick decoyed hither upon fair words, at the will of one whom Italy
(boy, there thou didst forget thy fence of cunning!) has taught how the
great are slain not, but disappear! no, even this defeat instructs me
now. But right, right! the reign of Clarence is impossible, and that
of Lancaster is ill-omened and portentous; and after all, my son stands
nearer to the throne than any subject, in his alliance with the Lady
Elizabeth. Would to Heaven the king could yet--But out on me! this is
no hour for musing on mine own aggrandizement; rather let me fly at
once and warn Oxford--imperilled by my imprudence--against that dark eye
which hath set watch upon his life."

At that thought, which showed that Montagu, with all his worldliness,
was not forgetful of one of the first duties of knight and gentleman,
the marquis hastened up the alley, in the opposite direction to that
taken by Gloucester, and soon found himself in the courtyard, where a
goodly company were mounting their haquenees and palfreys, to enjoy a
summer ride through the neighbouring chase. The cold and half-slighting
salutations of these minions of the hour, which now mortified the
Nevile, despoiled of the possessions that had rewarded his long and
brilliant services, contrasting forcibly the reverential homage he had
formerly enjoyed, stung Montagu to the quick.

"Whither ride you, brother Marquis?" said young Lord Dorset (Elizabeth's
son by her first marriage), as Montagu called to his single squire, who
was in waiting with his horse. "Some secret expedition, methinks, for
I have known the day when the Lord Montagu never rode from his king's
palace with less than thirty squires."

"Since my Lord Dorset prides himself on his memory," answered the
scornful lord, "he may remember also the day when, if a Nevile mounted
in haste, he bade the first Woodville he saw hold the stirrup."

And regarding "the brother marquis" with a sta