one
Nevile? Have I not sufficiently narrowed the basis of my throne? Instead
of mating my daughter to a foreign power,--to Spain or to Bretagne,--she
is betrothed to young Montagu! Clarence weds Isabel, and now
Gloucester--no, prelate, I will not consent!"

The archbishop was so little prepared for this burst, that he remained
speechless. Hastings pressed the king's arm, as if to caution him
against so imprudent a display of resentment; but the king walked on,
not heeding him, and in great disturbance. Hastings interchanged looks
with the archbishop, and followed his royal master.

"My king," he said, in an earnest whisper, "whatever you decide, do not
again provoke unhappy feuds laid at rest. Already this morning I
sought your chamber, but you were abroad, to say that I have received
intelligence of a fresh rising of the Lancastrians in Lincolnshire,
under Sir Robert Welles, and the warlike knight of Scrivelsby, Sir
Thomas Dymoke. This is not yet an hour to anger the pride of the
Neviles!"

"O Hastings! Hastings!" said the king, in a tone of passionate emotion,
"there are moments when the human heart cannot dissemble! Howbeit your
advice is wise and honest! No, we must not anger the Neviles!"

He turned abruptly; rejoined the archbishop, who stood on the spot on
which the king had left him, his arms folded on his breast, his face
calm, but haughty.

"My most worshipful cousin," said Edward, "forgive the well-known
heat of my hasty moods! I had hoped that Richard would, by a foreign
alliance, have repaired the occasion of confirming my dynasty abroad,
which Clarence lost. But no matter! Of these things we will speak anon.
Say naught to Richard till time ripens maturer resolutions: he is a
youth yet. What strange tidings are these from Lincolnshire?"

"The house of your purveyor, Sir Robert de Burgh, is burned, his lands
wasted. The rebels are headed by lords and knights. Robin of Redesdale,
who, methinks, bears a charmed life, has even ventured to rouse the
disaffected in my brother's very shire of Warwick."

"O Henry," exclaimed the king, casting his eyes towards the turret
that held his captive, "well mightest then call a crown 'a wreath of
thorns!'"

"I have already," said the archbishop, "despatched couriers to my
brother, to recall him from Warwick, whither he went on quitting your
Highness. I have done more; prompted by a zeal that draws me from the
care of the Church to that of the State, I have summone