uade my lord and father
to meet, save in the field of battle, the arch-enemy of our House?"

"Ask the earl thyself, Isabel; Lord Warwick hath no concealment from his
children. Whatever he doth is ever wisest, best, and knightliest,--so,
at least, may his children always deem!"

Isabel's colour changed and her eye flashed. But ere she could answer,
the arras was raised, and Lord Warwick entered. But no longer did the
hero's mien and manner evince that cordial and tender cheerfulness
which, in all the storms of his changeful life, he had hitherto
displayed when coming from power and danger, from council or from camp,
to man's earthly paradise,--a virtuous home.

Gloomy and absorbed, his very dress--which, at that day, the
Anglo-Norman deemed it a sin against self-dignity to neglect--betraying,
by its disorder, that thorough change of the whole mind, that terrible
internal revolution, which is made but in strong natures by the tyranny
of a great care or a great passion, the earl scarcely seemed to heed his
countess, who rose hastily, but stopped in the timid fear and reverence
of love at the sight of his stern aspect; he threw himself abruptly on a
seat, passed his hand over his face, and sighed heavily.

That sigh dispelled the fear of the wife, and made her alive only to
her privilege of the soother. She drew near, and placing herself on
the green rushes at his feet, took his hand and kissed it, but did not
speak.

The earl's eyes fell on the lovely face looking up to him through tears,
his brow softened, he drew his hand gently from hers, placed it on her
head, and said in a low voice,--"God and Our Lady bless thee, sweet
wife!"

Then, looking round, he saw Isabel watching him intently; and, rising
at once, he threw his arm round her waist, pressed her to his bosom, and
said, "My daughter, for thee and thine day and night have I striven and
planned in vain. I cannot reward thy husband as I would; I cannot give
thee, as I had hoped, a throne!"

"What title so dear to Isabel," said the countess, "as that of Lord
Warwick's daughter?"

Isabel remained cold and silent, and returned not the earl's embrace.

Warwick was, happily, too absorbed in his own feelings to notice those
of his child. Moving away, he continued, as he paced the room (his habit
in emotion, which Isabel, who had many minute external traits in common
with her father, had unconsciously caught from him),--

"Till this morning I hoped still that my