ou, I have business
elsewhere."

So saying, Nicholas rather hastily shook off the mercer's quivering
fingers, and hastened out of the hall.

"Verily," murmured the disconsolate Stokton, "run with the hare,
quotha!--that is, go with King Edward; but hunt with the hounds,--that
is, go with King Henry. Odds costards; it's not so easily done by a
plain man not bred in the North. I'd best go--home, and do nothing!"

With that, musing and bewildered, the poor man sneaked out, and was soon
lost amidst the murmuring, gathering, and swaying crowds, many amongst
which were as much perplexed as himself.

In the mean while, with his cloak muffled carefully round his face, and
with a long, stealthy, gliding stride, Alwyn made his way through
the streets, gained the river, entered a boat in waiting for him, and
arrived at last at the palace of the Tower.

CHAPTER X. THE TRIUMPHAL ENTRY OF THE EARL--THE ROYAL CAPTIVE IN THE
TOWER--THE MEETING BETWEEN KING-MAKER AND KING.

All in the chambers of the metropolitan fortress exhibited the greatest
confusion and dismay. The sentinels, it is true, were still at their
posts, men-at-arms at the outworks, the bombards were loaded, the flag
of Edward IV. still waved aloft from the battlements; but the officers
of the fortress and the captains of its soldiery were, some assembled
in the old hall, pale with fear, and wrangling with each other; some had
fled, none knew whither; some had gone avowedly and openly to join the
invading army.

Through this tumultuous and feeble force, Nicholas Alwyn was conducted
by a single faithful servitor of the queen's (by whom he was expected);
and one glance of his quick eye, as he passed along, convinced him of
the justice of his counsels. He arrived at last, by a long and winding
stair, at one of the loftiest chambers, in one of the loftiest towers,
usually appropriated to the subordinate officers of the household.

And there, standing by the open casement, commanding some extended view
of the noisy and crowded scene beyond, both on stream and land, he saw
the queen of the fugitive monarch. By her side was the Lady Scrope,
her most familiar friend and confidant, her three infant children,
Elizabeth, Mary, and Cicely, grouped round her knees, playing with each
other, and unconscious of the terrors of the times; and apart from the
rest stood the Duchess of Bedford, conferring eagerly with Friar Bungey,
whom she had summoned in haste, to know if his