and with the tenth lance (his favourite weapon, because the one
in which skill best supplied strength) he had borne that day, launched
himself upon the vast bulk of his tremendous foe. With that dogged
energy, that rapid calculation, which made the basis of his character,
and which ever clove through all obstacles at the one that, if
destroyed, destroyed the rest,--in that, his first great battle, as in
his last at Bosworth, he singled out the leader, and rushed upon the
giant as the mastiff on the horns and dewlap of the bull. Warwick, in
the broad space which his arm had made around him in the carnage, reined
in as he saw the foe and recognized the grisly cognizance and scarlet
mantle of his godson. And even in that moment, with all his heated blood
and his remembered wrong and his imminent peril, his generous and lion
heart felt a glow of admiration at the valour of the boy he had trained
to arms,--of the son of the beloved York. "His father little thought,"
muttered the earl, "that that arm should win glory against his old
friend's life!" And as the half-uttered word died on his lips, the
well-poised lance of Gloucester struck full upon his bassinet, and,
despite the earl's horsemanship and his strength, made him reel in his
saddle, while the prince shot by, and suddenly wheeling round, cast away
the shivered lance, and assailed him sword in hand.

"Back, Richard! boy, back!" said the earl, in a voice that sounded
hollow through his helmet; "it is not against thee that my wrongs call
for blood,--pass on!"

"Not so, Lord Warwick," answered Richard, in a sobered and almost solemn
voice, dropping for the moment the point of his sword, and raising his
visor, that he might be the better heard,--"on the field of battle all
memories sweet in peace must die! Saint Paul be my judge, that even in
this hour I love you well; but I love renown and glory more. On the
edge of my sword sit power and royalty, and what high souls prize
most,--ambition; these would nerve me against my own brother's breast,
were that breast my barrier to an illustrious future. Thou hast given
thy daughter to another! I smite the father to regain my bride. Lay on,
and spare not!--for he who hates thee most would prove not so fell a foe
as the man who sees his fortunes made or marred, his love crushed or yet
crowned, as this day's battle closes in triumph or defeat. REBEL, DEFEND
THYSELF!"

No time was left for further speech; for as Richard's sword de