aping his embrace, she
glanced with a blush towards the battlements crowded with retainers;
Clarence caught and interpreted the look.

"Well, belle mere," he said, turning to the countess, "and if yon
faithful followers do witness with what glee a fair bride inspires
a returning bridegroom, is there cause for shame in this cheek of
damascene?"

"Is the king still with my father?" asked Isabel, hastily, and
interrupting the countess's reply.

"Surely, yes; and hard at hand. And pardon me that I forgot, dear lady,
to say that my royal brother has announced his intention of addressing
the principal officers of the army in Middleham Hall. This news gave me
fair excuse for hastening to you and Isabel."

"All is prepared for his highness," said the countess, "save our own
homage. We must quicken our steps; come, Anne." The countess took the
arm of the younger sister, while the duchess made a sign to Clarence. He
lingered behind, and Isabel, drawing him aside, asked,

"Is my father reconciled to Edward?"

"No,--nor Edward to him."

"Good! The king has no soldiers of his own amidst yon armed train?"

"Save a few of Anthony Woodville's recruits, none. Raoul de Fulke and
St. John have retired to their towers in sullen dudgeon. But have you no
softer questions for my return, bella mia?"

"Pardon me, many--my king."

"King!"

"What other name should the successor of Edward IV. bear?"

"Isabel," said Clarence, in great emotion, "what is it you would tempt
me to? Edward IV. spares the life of Henry VI., and shall Edward IV.'s
brother conspire against his own?"

"Saints forefend!" exclaimed Isabel; "can you so wrong my honest
meaning? O George! can you conceive that your wife--Warwick's
daughter--harbours the thought of murder? No! surely the career before
you seems plain and spotless! Can Edward reign? Deserted by the barons,
and wearing away even my father's long-credulous love; odious! except
in luxurious and unwarlike London, to all the commons--how reign? What
other choice left? none,--save Henry of Lancaster or George of York."

"Were it so!" said the weak duke; and yet be added falteringly, "believe
me, Warwick meditates no such changes in my favour."

"Time is a rapid ripener," answered Isabel; "but hark! they are lowering
the drawbridge for our guests."

CHAPTER VIII. THE ANCIENTS RIGHTLY GAVE TO THE GODDESS OF ELOQUENCE A
CROWN.

The lady of Warwick stood at the threshold of the porch, which, in t