ear knight and
baron envy the bride of Hastings!"

"My own lord!" said Sibyll, with grateful tears in confiding eyes; but,
after a pause, she added timidly, "Does the king still bear so stern a
memory against so humble a subject?"

"The king is more wroth than before, since tidings of Lord Warwick's
restless machinations in France have soured his temper. He cannot hear
thy name without threats against thy father as a secret adherent of
Lancaster, and accuseth thee of witching his chamberlain,--as, in truth,
thou hast. The Duchess of Bedford is more than ever under the influence
of Friar Bungey, to whose spells and charms, and not to our good swords,
she ascribes the marvellous flight of Warwick and the dispersion of
our foes; and the friar, methinks, has fostered and yet feeds Edward's
suspicions of thy harmless father. The king chides himself for
having suffered poor Warner to depart unscathed, and even recalls the
disastrous adventure of the mechanical, and swears that from the first
thy father was in treasonable conspiracy with Margaret. Nay, sure I am,
that if I dared to wed thee while his anger lasts, he would condemn thee
as a sorceress, and give me up to the secret hate of my old foes the
Woodvilles. But fie! be not so appalled, my Sibyll; Edward's passions,
though fierce, are changeful, and patience will reward us both."

"Meanwhile, thou lovest me, Hastings!" said Sibyll, with great emotion.
"Oh, if thou knewest how I torment myself in thine absence! I see thee
surrounded by the fairest and the loftiest, and say to myself, 'Is
it possible that he can remember me?' But thou lovest me
still--still--still, and ever! Dost thou not?"

And Hastings said and swore.

"And the Lady Bonville?" asked Sibyll, trying to smile archly, but with
the faltering tone of jealous fear.

"I have not seen her for months," replied the noble, with a slight
change of countenance. "She is at one of their western manors. They say
her lord is sorely ill; and the Lady Bonville is a devout hypocrite, and
plays the tender wife. But enough of such ancient and worn-out memories.
Thy father--sorrows he still for his Eureka? I can learn no trace of
it."

"See," said Sibyll, recalled to her filial love, and pointing to Warner
as they now drew near the house, "see, he shapes another Eureka from his
thoughts!"

"How fares it, dear Warner?" asked the noble, taking the scholar's hand.

"Ah," cried the student, roused at the sight of his pow