oor Adam was
molested and invaded by Henry's pious apprehensions that he was seeking,
by vain knowledge, to be superior to the will of Providence.

Yet, albeit perpetually irritating and chafing the impetuous spirit of
the earl, the earl, strange to say, loved the king more and more. This
perfect innocence, this absence from guile and self-seeking, in the
midst of an age never excelled for fraud, falsehood, and selfish
simulation, moved Warwick's admiration as well as pity. Whatever
contrasted Edward IV. had a charm for him. He schooled his hot temper,
and softened his deep voice, in that holy presence; and the intimate
persuasion of the hollowness of all worldly greatness, which worldly
greatness itself had forced upon the earl's mind, made something
congenial between the meek saint and the fiery warrior. For the
hundredth time groaned Warwick, as he quitted Henry's presence,--

"Would that my gallant son-in-law were come! His spirit will soon learn
how to govern; then Warwick may be needed no more! I am weary, sore
weary of the task of ruling men!"

"Holy Saint Thomas!" bluntly exclaimed Marmaduke, to whom these sad
words were said,--"whenever you visit the king you come back--pardon me,
my lord--half unmanned. He would make a monk of you!"

"Ah," said Warwick, thoughtfully, "there have been greater marvels than
that. Our boldest fathers often died the meekest shavelings. An' I had
ruled this realm as long as Henry,--nay, an' this same life I lead now
were to continue two years, with its broil and fever,--I could well
conceive the sweetness of the cloister and repose. How sets the wind?
Against them still! against them still! I cannot bear this suspense!"

The winds had ever seemed malignant to Margaret of Anjou, but never more
than now. So long a continuance of stormy and adverse weather was never
known in the memory of man; and we believe that it has scarcely its
parallel in history.

The earl's promise to restore King Henry was fulfilled in October. From
November to the following April, Margaret, with the young and royal
pair, and the Countess of Warwick, lay at the seaside, waiting for
a wind. [Fabyan, 502.] Thrice, in defiance of all warnings from the
mariners of Harfleur, did she put to sea, and thrice was she driven back
on the coast of Normandy, her ships much damaged. Her friends protested
that this malice of the elements was caused by sorcery, [Hall, Warkworth
Chronicle]--a belief which gained ground i