ions, and marriage were granted to
trustees, of whom the chief persons were Archbishop Arundel and Edward
Duke of York. This meant that the trustees were to sell his hand to the
father of some eligible damsel, and pocket the proceeds; and also to
convert to their own use the rents of young Richard's estates until he
was of age. The Duke of York was just now a most devout and orthodox
person. It was time, for any one who cared to save his life, as Edward
did; for a solemn decree against Wycliffe's writings had just been
fulminated at Rome; and while Henry of Bolingbroke sat on the throne,
England lay at the feet of the Pope. The trustees took advantage at
once of the favour done them, and sold young Richard (without consulting
Constance) to the Earl of Westmoreland, for the benefit of one of his
numerous daughters, the Lady Alianora Neville. She was a little girl of
about ten years old, and remained in the charge of her mother, the
King's sister. In the April following it pleased the Duke of York to
pay a visit to his sister, and to bring her son in his train. Edward
was particularly silent at first. He appeared to have heard no news, to
be actuated by no motive in coming, and generally to have nothing to
say. Richard, on the contrary, was evidently labouring under suppressed
excitement of some kind. But when they sat down to supper, York called
for Malvoisie, and threw a bomb into the midst of the company by the
wish which he uttered as he carried the goblet to his lips.

"God pardon King Henry's soul!"

He was answered by varying exclamations in different tones.

"Ay, Madam, 'tis too true!" broke forth young Richard, addressing his
mother; "but mine uncle's Grace willed me not to speak thereof until he
so should."

"Harry of Bolingbroke is dead?--Surely no!"

"Dead as a door-nail," said York unfeelingly.

"Was he sick of long-time?"

"Long enough!" responded York in the same manner. "Long enough to weary
every soul that ministered to his fantasies, and to cause them ring the
church bells for joy that their toil was over. Leprosy, by my troth!--a
sweet disorder to die withal!"

"Ned, I pray thee keep some measure in speech."

"By the Holy Coat of Treves! but if thou wouldst love to deal withal,
Custance, thy tarrying at Kenilworth hath wrought mighty change in thee.
Marry, it pleased the Lady Queen to proffer unto me an even's watch in
the chamber. `Good lack! I thank your Grace,' quoth I, `but '