irst passionate glow. Lord of many a broad land and barony, victorious
captain in many a foughten field, wise statesman in many a thoughtful
stratagem, high in his king's favour, and linked with a nation's
history,--William de Hastings at that hour was as far below as earth is
to heaven the poor maiden whom he already repented to have so honoured,
and whose sublime answer woke no echo from his heart.

Fortunately, as he deemed it, at that very instant he heard many steps
rapidly approaching, and his own name called aloud by the voice of the
king's body-squire.

"Hark! Edward summons me," he said, with a feeling of reprieve.
"Farewell, dear Sibyll, farewell for a brief while,--we shall meet
anon."

At this time they were standing in that part of the rampart walk which
is now backed by the barracks of a modern soldiery, and before which,
on the other side of the moat, lay a space that had seemed solitary and
deserted; but as Hastings, in speaking his adieu, hurriedly pressed
his lips on Sibyll's forehead, from a tavern without the fortress, and
opposite the spot on which they stood, suddenly sallied a disorderly
troop of half-drunken soldiers, with a gang of the wretched women that
always continue the classic associations of a false Venus with a brutal
Mars; and the last words of Hastings were scarcely spoken, before a loud
laugh startled both himself and Sibyll, and a shudder came over her when
she beheld the tinsel robes of the tymbesteres glittering in the sun,
and heard their leader sing, as she darted from the arms of a reeling
soldier,--

"Ha! death to the dove
Is the falcon's love.
Oh, sharp is the kiss of the falcon's beak!"

BOOK VII. THE POPULAR REBELLION.

CHAPTER I. THE WHITE LION OF MARCH SHAKES HIS MANE.

"And what news?" asked Hastings, as he found himself amidst the king's
squires; while yet was heard the laugh of the tymbesteres, and yet
gliding through the trees might be seen the retreating form of Sibyll.

"My lord, the king needs you instantly. A courier has just arrived from
the North. The Lords St. John, Rivers, De Fulke, and Scales are already
with his highness."

"Where?"

"In the great council chamber."

To that memorable room [it was from this room that Hastings was hurried
to execution, June 13, 1483] in the White Tower, in which the visitor,
on entrance, is first reminded of the name and fate of Hastings, strode
the unprophetic lord.