THE LAST OF THE BARONS

by Edward Bulwer Lytton

DEDICATORY EPISTLE. 

I dedicate to you, my indulgent Critic and long-tried Friend, the workwhich owes its origin to your suggestion. Long since, you urged me toattempt a fiction which might borrow its characters from our ownRecords, and serve to illustrate some of those truths which History istoo often compelled to leave to the Tale-teller, the Dramatist, andthe Poet. Unquestionably, Fiction, when aspiring to something higherthan mere romance, does not pervert, but elucidate Facts. He whoemploys it worthily must, like a biographer, study the time and thecharacters he selects, with a minute and earnest diligence which thegeneral historian, whose range extends over centuries, can scarcely beexpected to bestow upon the things and the men of a single epoch. Hisdescriptions should fill up with colour and detail the cold outlinesof the rapid chronicler; and in spite of all that has been argued bypseudo-critics, the very fancy which urged and animated his themeshould necessarily tend to increase the reader's practical andfamiliar acquaintance with the habits, the motives, and the modes ofthought which constitute the true idiosyncrasy of an age. More thanall, to Fiction is permitted that liberal use of Analogical Hypothesiswhich is denied to History, and which, if sobered by research, andenlightened by that knowledge of mankind (without which Fiction canneither harm nor profit, for it becomes unreadable), tends to clear upmuch that were otherwise obscure, and to solve the disputes anddifficulties of contradictory evidence by the philosophy of the humanheart. 

My own impression of the greatness of the labour to which you invitedme made me the more diffident of success, inasmuch as the field ofEnglish historical fiction had been so amply cultivated, not only bythe most brilliant of our many glorious Novelists, but by laterwriters of high and merited reputation. But however the annals of ourHistory have been exhausted by the industry of romance, the subjectyou finally pressed on my choice is unquestionably one which, whetherin the delineation of character, the expression of passion, or thesuggestion of historical truths, can hardly fail to direct theNovelist to paths wholly untrodden by his predecessors in the Land ofFiction. 

Encouraged by you, I commenced my task; encouraged by you, I venture, on concluding it, to believe that, despite the partial adoption ofthat established compromise between the modern and the elder diction, which Sir Walter Scott so artistically improved from the more ruggedphraseology employed by Strutt, and which later writers have perhapssomewhat overhackneyed, I may yet have avoided all material trespassupon ground which others have already redeemed from the waste. Whatever the produce of the soil I have selected, I claim, at least, to have cleared it with my own labour, and ploughed it with my ownheifer. 

The reign of Edward IV. Is in itself suggestive of new considerationsand unexhausted interest to those who accurately regard it. Thencommenced the policy consummated by Henry VII. ; then were broken upthe great elements of the old feudal order; a new Nobility was calledinto power, to aid the growing Middle Class in its struggles with theancient; and in the fate of the hero of the age, Richard Nevile, Earlof Warwick, popularly called the King-maker, "the greatest as well asthe last of those mighty Barons who formerly overawed the Crown, "[Hume adds, "and rendered the people incapable of civil government, "--a sentence which, perhaps, judges too hastily the whole question atissue in our earlier history, between the jealousy of the barons andthe authority of the king. ] was involved the very principle of ourexisting civilization. It adds to the wide scope of Fiction, whichever loves to explore the twilight, that, as Hume has truly observed, "No part of English history since the Conquest is so obscure, souncertain, so little authentic or consistent, as that of the Warsbetween the two Roses. " It adds also to the importance of thatconjectural research in which Fiction may be made so interesting andso useful, that "this profound darkness falls upon us just on the eveof the restoration of letters;" [Hume] while amidst the gloom, weperceive the movement of those great and heroic passions in whichFiction finds delineations everlastingly new, and are brought incontact with characters sufficiently familiar for interest, sufficiently remote for adaptation to romance, and above all, sofrequently obscured by contradictory evidence, that we lend ourselveswillingly to any one who seeks to help our judgment of the individualby tests taken from the general knowledge of mankind. 

Round the great image of the "Last of the Barons" group Edward theFourth, at once frank and false; the brilliant but ominous boyhood ofRichard the Third; the accomplished Hastings, "a good knight andgentle, but somewhat dissolute of living;" [Chronicle of Edward V. , inStowe] the vehement and fiery Margaret of Anjou; the meek image of her"holy Henry, " and the pale shadow of their son. There may we see, also, the gorgeous Prelate, refining in policy and wile, as theenthusiasm and energy which had formerly upheld the Ancient Churchpass into the stern and persecuted votaries of the New; we behold, inthat social transition, the sober Trader--outgrowing the prejudices ofthe rude retainer or rustic franklin, from whom he is sprung--recognizing sagaciously, and supporting sturdily, the sectarianinterests of his order, and preparing the way for the mighty MiddleClass, in which our Modern Civilization, with its faults and itsmerits, has established its stronghold; while, in contrast to themeasured and thoughtful notions of liberty which prudent Commerceentertains, we are reminded of the political fanaticism of the secretLollard, --of the jacquerie of the turbulent mob-leader; and perceive, amidst the various tyrannies of the time, and often partially alliedwith the warlike seignorie, [For it is noticeable that in nearly allthe popular risings--that of Cade, of Robin of Redesdale, andafterwards of that which Perkin Warbeck made subservient to hisextraordinary enterprise--the proclamations of the rebels alwaysannounced, among their popular grievances, the depression of theancient nobles and the elevation of new men. ]--ever jealous againstall kingly despotism, --the restless and ignorant movement of ademocratic principle, ultimately suppressed, though not destroyed, under the Tudors, by the strong union of a Middle Class, anxious forsecurity and order, with an Executive Authority determined uponabsolute sway. 

Nor should we obtain a complete and comprehensive view of that mostinteresting Period of Transition, unless we saw something of theinfluence which the sombre and sinister wisdom of Italian policy beganto exercise over the councils of the great, --a policy of refinedstratagem, of complicated intrigue, of systematic falsehood, ofruthless, but secret violence; a policy which actuated the fellstatecraft of Louis XI. ; which darkened, whenever he paused to thinkand to scheme, the gaudy and jovial character of Edward IV. ; whichappeared in its fullest combination of profound guile and resolutewill in Richard III. ; and, softened down into more plausible andspecious purpose by the unimpassioned sagacity of Henry VII. , finallyattained the object which justified all its villanies to the princesof its native land, --namely, the tranquillity of a settled State, andthe establishment of a civilized but imperious despotism. 

Again, in that twilight time, upon which was dawning the greatinvention that gave to Letters and to Science the precision anddurability of the printed page, it is interesting to conjecture whatwould have been the fate of any scientific achievement for which theworld was less prepared. The reception of printing into Englandchanced just at the happy period when Scholarship and Literature werefavoured by the great. The princes of York, with the exception ofEdward IV. Himself, who had, however, the grace to lament his own wantof learning, and the taste to appreciate it in others, were highlyeducated. The Lords Rivers and Hastings [The erudite Lord Worcesterhad been one of Caxton's warmest patrons, but that nobleman was nomore at the time in which printing is said to have been actuallyintroduced into England. ] were accomplished in all the "witte andlere" of their age. Princes and peers vied with each other in theirpatronage of Caxton, and Richard III. , during his brief reign, sparedno pains to circulate to the utmost the invention destined to transmithis own memory to the hatred and the horror of all succeeding time. But when we look around us, we see, in contrast to the gracious andfostering reception of the mere mechanism by which science is mademanifest, the utmost intolerance to science itself. The mathematicsin especial are deemed the very cabala of the black art. Accusationsof witchcraft were never more abundant; and yet, strange to say, thosewho openly professed to practise the unhallowed science, [Nigromancy, or Sorcery, even took its place amongst the regular callings. Thus, "Thomas Vandyke, late of Cambridge, " is styled (Rolls Parl. 6, p. 273)Nigromancer as his profession. --Sharon Turner, "History of England, "vol iv. P. 6. Burke, "History of Richard III. "] and contrived to maketheir deceptions profitable to some unworthy political purpose, appearto have enjoyed safety, and sometimes even honour, while those who, occupied with some practical, useful, and noble pursuitsuncomprehended by prince or people, denied their sorcery weredespatched without mercy. The mathematician and astronomerBolingbroke (the greatest clerk of his age) is hanged and quartered asa wizard, while not only impunity but reverence seems to have awaiteda certain Friar Bungey, for having raised mists and vapours, whichgreatly befriended Edward IV. At the battle of Barnet. 

Our knowledge of the intellectual spirit of the age, therefore, onlybecomes perfect when we contrast the success of the Impostor with thefate of the true Genius. And as the prejudices of the populace ranhigh against all mechanical contrivances for altering the settledconditions of labour, [Even in the article of bonnets and hats, itappears that certain wicked falling mills were deemed worthy of aspecial anathema in the reign of Edward IV. These engines are accusedof having sought, "by subtle imagination, " the destruction of theoriginal makers of hats and bonnets" by man's strength, --that is, withhands and feet; "and an act of parliament was passed (22d of EdwardIV. ) to put down the fabrication of the said hats and bonnets bymechanical contrivance. ] so probably, in the very instinct and destinyof Genius which ever drive it to a war with popular prejudice, itwould be towards such contrivances that a man of great ingenuity andintellect, if studying the physical sciences, would direct hisambition. 

Whether the author, in the invention he has assigned to hisphilosopher (Adam Warner), has too boldly assumed the possibility of aconception so much in advance of the time, they who have examined suchof the works of Roger Bacon as are yet given to the world can bestdecide; but the assumption in itself belongs strictly to the mostacknowledged prerogatives of Fiction; and the true and importantquestion will obviously be, not whether Adam Warner could haveconstructed his model, but whether, having so constructed it, the fatethat befell him was probable and natural. 

Such characters as I have here alluded to seemed, then, to me, inmeditating the treatment of the high and brilliant subject which youreloquence animated me to attempt, the proper Representatives of themultiform Truths which the time of Warwick the King-maker affords toour interests and suggests for our instruction; and I can only wishthat the powers of the author were worthier of the theme. 

It is necessary that I now state briefly the foundation of theHistorical portions of this narrative. The charming and popular"History of Hume, " which, however, in its treatment of the reign ofEdward IV. Is more than ordinarily incorrect, has probably left uponthe minds of many of my readers, who may not have directed theirattention to more recent and accurate researches into that obscureperiod, an erroneous impression of the causes which led to the breachbetween Edward IV. And his great kinsman and subject, the Earl ofWarwick. The general notion is probably still strong that it was themarriage of the young king to Elizabeth Gray, during Warwick'snegotiations in France for the alliance of Bona of Savoy (sister-in-law to Louis XI. ), which exasperated the fiery earl, and induced hisunion with the House of Lancaster. All our more recent historianshave justly rejected this groundless fable, which even Hume (hisextreme penetration supplying the defects of his superficial research)admits with reserve. ["There may even some doubt arise with regard tothe proposal of marriage made to Bona of Savoy, " etc. --HUME, note top. 222, vol. Iii. Edit. 1825. ] A short summary of the reasons forthis rejection is given by Dr. Lingard, and annexed below. ["Manywriters tell us that the enmity of Warwick arose from hisdisappointment caused by Edward's clandestine marriage with Elizabeth. If we may believe them, the earl was at the very time in Francenegotiating on the part of the king a marriage with Bona of Savoy, sister to the Queen of France; and having succeeded in his mission, brought back with him the Count of Dampmartin as ambassador fromLouis. To me the whole story appears a fiction. 1. It is not to befound in the more ancient historians. 2. Warwick was not at the timein France. On the 20th of April, ten days before the marriage, he wasemployed in negotiating a truce with the French envoys in London (Rym. Xi. 521), and on the 26th of May, about three weeks after it, wasappointed to treat of another truce with the King of Scots (Rym. Xi. 424). 3. Nor could he bring Dampmartin with him to England; for thatnobleman was committed a prisoner to the Bastile in September, 1463, and remained there till May, 1465 (Monstrel. Iii. 97, 109). Threecontemporary and well-informed writers, the two continuators of theHistory of Croyland and Wyrcester, attribute his discontent to themarriages and honours granted to the Wydeviles, and the marriage ofthe princess Margaret with the Duke of Burgundy. "--LINGARD, vol. Iii. C. 24, pp. 5, 19, 4to ed. ] And, indeed, it is a matter of wonder thatso many of our chroniclers could have gravely admitted a legendcontradicted by all the subsequent conduct of Warwick himself; for wefind the earl specially doing honour to the publication of Edward'smarriage, standing godfather to his first-born (the PrincessElizabeth), employed as ambassador or acting as minister, and fightingfor Edward, and against the Lancastrians, during the five years thatelapsed between the coronation of Elizabeth and Warwick's rebellion. 

The real causes of this memorable quarrel, in which Warwick acquiredhis title of King-maker, appear to have been these. 

It is probable enough, as Sharon Turner suggests, [Sharon Turner:History of England, vol. Iii. P. 269. ] that Warwick was disappointedthat, since Edward chose a subject for his wife, he neglected the moresuitable marriage he might have formed with the earl's eldestdaughter; and it is impossible but that the earl should have beengreatly chafed, in common with all his order, by the promotion of thequeen's relations, [W. Wyr. 506, 7. Croyl. 542. ] new men and apostateLancastrians. But it is clear that these causes for discontent neverweakened his zeal for Edward till the year 1467, when we chance uponthe true origin of the romance concerning Bona of Savoy, and the firstopen dissension between Edward and the earl. 

In that year Warwick went to France, to conclude an alliance withLouis XI. , and to secure the hand of one of the French princes [Whichof the princes this was does not appear, and can scarcely beconjectured. The "Pictorial History of England" (Book v. 102) in atone of easy decision says "it was one of the sons of Louis XI. " ButLouis had no living sons at all at the time. The Dauphin was not borntill three years afterwards. The most probable person was the Duke ofGuienne, Louis's brother. ] for Margaret, sister to Edward IV. ; duringthis period, Edward received the bastard brother of Charles, Count ofCharolois, afterwards Duke of Burgundy, and arranged a marriagebetween Margaret and the count. 

Warwick's embassy was thus dishonoured, and the dishonour wasaggravated by personal enmity to the bridegroom Edward had preferred. [The Croyland Historian, who, as far as his brief and meagre recordextends, is the best authority for the time of Edward IV. , verydecidedly states the Burgundian alliance to be the original cause ofWarwick's displeasure, rather than the king's marriage with Elizabeth:"Upon which (the marriage of Margaret with Charolois) Richard Nevile, Earl of Warwick, who had for so many years taken party with the Frenchagainst the Burgundians, conceived great indignation; and I hold thisto be the truer cause of his resentment than the king's marriage withElizabeth, for he had rather have procured a husband for the aforesaidprincess Margaret in the kingdom of France. " The Croyland Historianalso speaks emphatically of the strong animosity existing betweenCharolois and Warwick. --Cont. Croyl. 551. ] The earl retired indisgust to his castle. But Warwick's nature, which Hume has happilydescribed as one of "undesigning frankness and openness, " [Hume, "Henry VI. , " vol. Iii. P. 172, edit. 1825. ] does not seem to have longharboured this resentment. By the intercession of the Archbishop ofYork and others, a reconciliation was effected, and the next year, 1468, we find Warwick again in favour, and even so far forgetting hisown former cause of complaint as to accompany the procession in honourof Margaret's nuptials with his private foe. [Lingard. ] In thefollowing year, however, arose the second dissension between the kingand his minister, --namely, in the king's refusal to sanction themarriage of his brother Clarence with the earl's daughter Isabel, --arefusal which was attended with a resolute opposition that mustgreatly have galled the pride of the earl, since Edward even went sofar as to solicit the Pope to refuse his sanction, on the ground ofrelationship. [Carte. Wm. Wyr. ] The Pope, nevertheless, grants thedispensation, and the marriage takes place at Calais. A popularrebellion then breaks out in England. Some of Warwick's kinsmen--those, however, belonging to the branch of the Nevile family that hadalways been Lancastrians, and at variance with the earl's party--arefound at its head. The king, who is in imminent danger, writes asupplicating letter to Warwick to come to his aid. ["Paston Letters, "cxcviii. Vol. Ii. , Knight's ed. See Lingard, c. 24, for the true dateof Edward's letters to Warwick, Clarence, and the Archbishop of York. ]The earl again forgets former causes for resentment, hastens fromCalais, rescues the king, and quells the rebellion by the influence ofhis popular name. 

We next find Edward at Warwick's castle of Middleham, where, accordingto some historians, he is forcibly detained, --an assertion treated byothers as a contemptible invention. This question will be examined inthe course of this work; [See Note II. ] but whatever the trueconstruction of the story, we find that Warwick and the king are stillon such friendly terms, that the earl marches in person against arebellion on the borders, obtains a signal victory, and that the rebelleader (the earl's own kinsman) is beheaded by Edward at York. Wefind that, immediately after this supposed detention, Edward speaks ofWarwick and his brothers "as his best friends;" ["Paston Letters, "cciv. Vol. Ii. , Knight's ed. The date of this letter, which puzzledthe worthy annotator, is clearly to be referred to Edward's returnfrom York, after his visit to Middleham in 1469. No mention istherein made by the gossiping contemporary of any rumour that Edwardhad suffered imprisonment. He enters the city in state, as havingreturned safe and victorious from a formidable rebellion. The lettergoes on to say: "The king himself hath (that is, holds) good languageof the Lords Clarence, of Warwick, etc. , saying 'they be his bestfriends. '" Would he say this if just escaped from a prison? Sir JohnPaston, the writer of the letter, adds, it is true, "But his householdmen have (hold) other language. " very probably, for the household menwere the court creatures always at variance with Warwick, and held, nodoubt, the same language they had been in the habit of holdingbefore. ] that he betroths his eldest daughter to Warwick's nephew, themale heir of the family. And then suddenly, only three monthsafterwards (in February, 1470), and without any clear and apparentcause, we find Warwick in open rebellion, animated by a deadly hatredto the king, refusing, from first to last, all overtures ofconciliation; and so determined is his vengeance, that he bows apride, hitherto morbidly susceptible, to the vehement insolence ofMargaret of Anjou, and forms the closest alliance with the Lancastrianparty, in the destruction of which his whole life had previously beenemployed. 

Here, then, where History leaves us in the dark, where our curiosityis the most excited, Fiction gropes amidst the ancient chronicles, andseeks to detect and to guess the truth. And then Fiction, accustomedto deal with the human heart, seizes upon the paramount importance ofa Fact which the modern historian has been contented to place amongstdubious and collateral causes of dissension. We find it broadly andstrongly stated by Hall and others, that Edward had coarsely attemptedthe virtue of one of the earl's female relations. "And farther iterreth not from the truth, " says Hall, "that the king did attempt athing once in the earl's house, which was much against the earl'shonesty; but whether it was the daughter or the niece, " adds thechronicler, "was not, for both their honours, openly known; but surelysuch a thing WAS attempted by King Edward, " etc. 

Any one at all familiar with Hall (and, indeed, with all our principalchroniclers, except Fabyan), will not expect any accurate precision asto the date he assigns for the outrage. He awards to it, therefore, the same date he erroneously gives to Warwick's other grudges (namely, a period brought some years lower by all judicious historians) a dateat which Warwick was still Edward's fastest friend. 

Once grant the probability of this insult to the earl (the probabilityis conceded at once by the more recent historians, and receivedwithout scruple as a fact by Rapia, Habington, and Carte), and thewhole obscurity which involves this memorable quarrel vanishes atonce. Here was, indeed, a wrong never to be forgiven, and yet neverto be proclaimed. As Hall implies, the honour of the earl wasimplicated in hushing the scandal, and the honour of Edward inconcealing the offence. That if ever the insult were attempted, itmust have been just previous to the earl's declared hostility isclear. Offences of that kind hurry men to immediate action at thefirst, or else, if they stoop to dissimulation the more effectually toavenge afterwards, the outbreak bides its seasonable time. But thetime selected by the earl for his outbreak was the very worst he couldhave chosen, and attests the influence of a sudden passion, --a new anduncalculated cause of resentment. He had no forces collected; he hadnot even sounded his own brother-in-law, Lord Stanley (since he wasuncertain of his intentions); while, but a few months before, had hefelt any desire to dethrone the king, he could either have sufferedhim to be crushed by the popular rebellion the earl himself hadquelled, or have disposed of his person as he pleased when a guest athis own castle of Middleham. His evident want of all preparation andforethought--a want which drove into rapid and compulsory flight fromEngland the baron to whose banner, a few months afterwards, flockedsixty thousand men--proves that the cause of his alienation was freshand recent. 

If, then, the cause we have referred to, as mentioned by Hall andothers, seems the most probable we can find (no other cause for suchabrupt hostility being discernible), the date for it must be placedwhere it is in this work, --namely, just prior to the earl's revolt. The next question is, who could have been the lady thus offended, whether a niece or daughter. Scarcely a niece, for Warwick had onemarried brother, Lord Montagu, and several sisters; but the sisterswere married to lords who remained friendly to Edward, [Except thesisters married to Lord Fitzhugh and Lord Oxford. But thoughFitzhugh, or rather his son, broke into rebellion, it was for somecause in which Warwick did not sympathize, for by Warwick himself wasthat rebellion put down; nor could the aggrieved lady have been adaughter of Lord Oxford, for he was a stanch, though not avowed, Lancastrian, and seems to have carefully kept aloof from the court. ]and Montagu seems to have had no daughter out of childhood, [Montagu'swife could have been little more than thirty at the time of his death. She married again, and had a family by her second husband. ] while thatnobleman himself did not share Warwick's rebellion at the first, butcontinued to enjoy the confidence of Edward. We cannot reasonably, then, conceive the uncle to have been so much more revengeful than theparents, --the legitimate guardians of the honour of a daughter. Itis, therefore, more probable that the insulted maiden should have beenone of Lord Warwick's daughters; and this is the general belief. Carte plainly declares it was Isabel. But Isabel it could hardly havebeen. She was then married to Edward's brother, the Duke of Clarence, and within a month of her confinement. The earl had only one otherdaughter, Anne, then in the flower of her youth; and though Isabelappears to have possessed a more striking character of beauty, Annemust have had no inconsiderable charms to have won the love of theLancastrian Prince Edward, and to have inspired a tender and humanaffection in Richard Duke of Gloucester. [Not only does Majerus, theFlemish annalist, speak of Richard's early affection to Anne, butRichard's pertinacity in marrying her, at a time when her family wascrushed and fallen, seems to sanction the assertion. True, thatRichard received with her a considerable portion of the estates of herparents. But both Anne herself and her parents were attainted, andthe whole property at the disposal of the Crown. Richard at that timehad conferred the most important services on Edward. He had remainedfaithful to him during the rebellion of Clarence; he had been the heroof the day both at Barnet and Tewksbury. His reputation was thenexceedingly high, and if he had demanded, as a legitimate reward, thelands of Middleham, without the bride, Edward could not well haverefused them. He certainly had a much better claim than the onlyother competitor for the confiscated estates, --namely, the perjuredand despicable Clarence. For Anne's reluctance to marry Richard, andthe disguise she assumed, see Miss Strickland's "Life of Anne ofWarwick. " For the honour of Anne, rather than of Richard, to whosememory one crime more or less matters but little, it may here beobserved that so far from there being any ground to suppose thatGloucester was an accomplice in the assassination of the young princeEdward of Lancaster, there is some ground to believe that that princewas not assassinated at all, but died (as we would fain hope thegrandson of Henry V. Did die) fighting manfully in the field. --"Harleian Manuscripts;" Stowe, "Chronicle of Tewksbury;" SharonTurner, vol. Iii. P. 335. ] It is also noticeable, that when, not asShakspeare represents, but after long solicitation, and apparently bypositive coercion, Anne formed her second marriage, she seems to havebeen kept carefully by Richard from his gay brother's court, andrarely, if ever, to have appeared in London till Edward was no more. 

That considerable obscurity should always rest upon the factsconnected with Edward's meditated crime, --that they should never bepublished amongst the grievances of the haughty rebel is natural fromthe very dignity of the parties, and the character of the offence;that in such obscurity sober History should not venture too far on thehypothesis suggested by the chronicler, is right and laudable. Butprobably it will be conceded by all, that here Fiction finds itslawful province, and that it may reasonably help, by no improbable norgroundless conjecture, to render connected and clear the most brokenand the darkest fragments of our annals. 

I have judged it better partially to forestall the interest of thereader in my narrative, by stating thus openly what he may expect, than to encounter the far less favourable impression (if he had beenhitherto a believer in the old romance of Bona of Savoy), [I say theold romance of Bona of Savoy, so far as Edward's rejection of her handfor that of Elizabeth Gray is stated to have made the cause of hisquarrel with Warwick. But I do not deny the possibility that such amarriage had been contemplated and advised by Warwick, though heneither sought to negotiate it, nor was wronged by Edward's preferenceof his fair subject. ] that the author was taking an unwarrantableliberty with the real facts, when, in truth, it is upon the realfacts, as far as they can be ascertained, that the author has builthis tale, and his boldest inventions are but deductions from theamplest evidence he could collect. Nay, he even ventures to believe, that whoever hereafter shall write the history of Edward IV. Will notdisdain to avail himself of some suggestions scattered throughoutthese volumes, and tending to throw new light upon the events of thatintricate but important period. 

It is probable that this work will prove more popular in its naturethan my last fiction of "Zanoni, " which could only be relished bythose interested in the examinations of the various problems in humanlife which it attempts to solve. But both fictions, however differentand distinct their treatment, are constructed on those principles ofart to which, in all my later works, however imperfect my success, Ihave sought at least steadily to adhere. 

To my mind, a writer should sit down to compose a fiction as a painterprepares to compose a picture. His first care should be theconception of a whole as lofty as his intellect can grasp, asharmonious and complete as his art can accomplish; his second care, the character of the interest which the details are intended tosustain. 

It is when we compare works of imagination in writing with works ofimagination on the canvas, that we can best form a critical idea ofthe different schools which exist in each; for common both to theauthor and the painter are those styles which we call the Familiar, the Picturesque, and the Intellectual. By recurring to thiscomparison we can, without much difficulty, classify works of Fictionin their proper order, and estimate the rank they should severallyhold. The Intellectual will probably never be the most widely popularfor the moment. He who prefers to study in this school must beprepared for much depreciation, for its greatest excellences, even ifhe achieve them, are not the most obvious to the many. In discussing, for instance, a modern work, we hear it praised, perhaps, for somestriking passage, some prominent character; but when do we ever hearany comment on its harmony of construction, on its fulness of design, on its ideal character, --on its essentials, in short, as a work ofart? What we hear most valued in the picture, we often find the mostneglected in the book, --namely, the composition; and this, simplybecause in England painting is recognized as an art, and estimatedaccording to definite theories; but in literature we judge from ataste never formed, from a thousand prejudices and ignorantpredilections. We do not yet comprehend that the author is an artist, and that the true rules of art by which he should be tested areprecise and immutable. Hence the singular and fantastic caprices ofthe popular opinion, --its exaggerations of praise or censure, itspassion and reaction. At one while, its solemn contempt forWordsworth; at another, its absurd idolatry. At one while we arestunned by the noisy celebrity of Byron, at another we are calmly toldthat he can scarcely be called a poet. Each of these variations inthe public is implicitly followed by the vulgar criticism; and as afew years back our journals vied with each other in ridiculingWordsworth for the faults which he did not possess, they vie now witheach other in eulogiums upon the merits which he has never displayed. 

These violent fluctuations betray both a public and a criticismutterly unschooled in the elementary principles of literary art, andentitle the humblest author to dispute the censure of the hour, whilethey ought to render the greatest suspicious of its praise. 

It is, then, in conformity, not with any presumptuous conviction ofhis own superiority, but with his common experience and common-sense, that every author who addresses an English audience in serious earnestis permitted to feel that his final sentence rests not with the jurybefore which he is first heard. The literary history of the dayconsists of a series of judgments set aside. 

But this uncertainty must more essentially betide every student, however lowly, in the school I have called the Intellectual, whichmust ever be more or less at variance with the popular canons. It isits hard necessity to vex and disturb the lazy quietude of vulgartaste; for unless it did so, it could neither elevate nor move. Hewho resigns the Dutch art for the Italian must continue through thedark to explore the principles upon which he founds his design, towhich he adapts his execution; in hope or in despondence stillfaithful to the theory which cares less for the amount of interestcreated than for the sources from which the interest is to be drawn;seeking in action the movement of the grander passions or the subtlersprings of conduct, seeking in repose the colouring of intellectualbeauty. 

The Low and the High of Art are not very readily comprehended. Theydepend not upon the worldly degree or the physical condition of thecharacters delineated; they depend entirely upon the quality of theemotion which the characters are intended to excite, --namely, whetherof sympathy for something low, or of admiration for something high. There is nothing high in a boor's head by Teniers, there is nothinglow in a boor's head by Guido. What makes the difference between thetwo? The absence or presence of the Ideal! But every one can judgeof the merit of the first, for it is of the Familiar school; itrequires a connoisseur to see the merit of the last, for it is of theIntellectual. 

I have the less scrupled to leave these remarks to cavil or tosarcasm, because this fiction is probably the last with which I shalltrespass upon the Public, and I am desirous that it shall contain, atleast, my avowal of the principles upon which it and its laterpredecessors have been composed. You know well, however others maydispute the fact, the earnestness with which those principles havebeen meditated and pursued, --with high desire, if but with poorresults. 

It is a pleasure to feel that the aim, which I value more than thesuccess, is comprehended by one whose exquisite taste as a critic isonly impaired by that far rarer quality, --the disposition to over-estimate the person you profess to esteem! Adieu, my sincere andvalued friend; and accept, as a mute token of gratitude and regard, these flowers gathered in the Garden where we have so often rovedtogether. E. L. B. 

 LONDON, January, 1843. 

PREFACE TO THE LAST OF THE BARONS

This was the first attempt of the author in Historical Romance uponEnglish ground. Nor would he have risked the disadvantage ofcomparison with the genius of Sir Walter Scott, had he not believedthat that great writer and his numerous imitators had left altogetherunoccupied the peculiar field in Historical Romance which the Authorhas here sought to bring into cultivation. In "The Last of theBarons, " as in "Harold, " the aim has been to illustrate the actualhistory of the period, and to bring into fuller display than generalHistory itself has done the characters of the principal personages ofthe time, the motives by which they were probably actuated, the stateof parties, the condition of the people, and the great socialinterests which were involved in what, regarded imperfectly, appearbut the feuds of rival factions. 

"The Last of the Barons" has been by many esteemed the best of theAuthor's romances; and perhaps in the portraiture of actual character, and the grouping of the various interests and agencies of the time, itmay have produced effects which render it more vigorous and lifelikethan any of the other attempts in romance by the same hand. 

It will be observed that the purely imaginary characters introducedare very few; and, however prominent they may appear, still, in ordernot to interfere with the genuine passions and events of history, theyare represented as the passive sufferers, not the active agents, ofthe real events. Of these imaginary characters, the most successfulis Adam Warner, the philosopher in advance of his age; indeed, as anideal portrait, I look upon it as the most original in conception, andthe most finished in execution, of any to be found in my numerousprose works, "Zanoni" alone excepted. 

For the rest, I venture to think that the general reader will obtainfrom these pages a better notion of the important age, characterizedby the decline of the feudal system, and immediately preceding thatgreat change in society which we usually date from the accession ofHenry VII. , than he could otherwise gather, without wading through avast mass of neglected chronicles and antiquarian dissertations. 

TABLE OF CONTENTS

 BOOK I

 THE ADVENTURES OF MASTER MARMADUKE NEVILE

 CHAPTER

 I The Pastime-ground of old Cockaigne II The Broken Gittern III The Trader and the Gentle; or, the Changing Generation IV Ill fares the Country Mouse in the Traps of Town V Weal to the Idler, Woe to the Workman VI Master Marmaduke Nevile fears for the Spiritual Weal of his Host and Hostess VII There is a Rod for the Back of every Fool who would be Wiser than his Generation

 BOOK II

 THE KING'S COURT

 CHAPTER

 I Earl Warwick the King-maker II King Edward the Fourth III The Antechamber

 BOOK III

 IN WHICH THE HISTORY PASSES FROM THE KING'S COURT TO THE STUDENT'S CELL, AND RELATES THE PERILS THAT BEFELL A PHILOSOPHER FOR MEDDLING WITH THE AFFAIRS OF THE WORLD

 CHAPTER

 I The Solitary Sage and the Solitary Maid II Master Adam Warner grows a Miser, and behaves Shamefully III A Strange Visitor--All Ages of the World breed World- Betters IV Lord Hastings V Master Adam Warner and King Henry the Sixth VI How, on leaving King Log, Foolish Wisdom runs a-muck on King Stork VII My Lady Duchess's Opinion of the Utility of Master Warner's Invention, and her esteem for its Explosion VIII The Old Woman talks of Sorrows, the Young Woman dreams of Love; the Courtier flies from Present Power to Remembrances of Past Hopes, and the World-Bettered opens Utopia, with a View of the Gibbet for the Silly Sage he has seduced into his Schemes, --so, ever and evermore, runs the World away IX How the Destructive Organ of Prince Richard promises Goodly Development

 BOOK IV

 INTRIGUES OF THE COURT OF EDWARD IV

 CHAPTER

 I Margaret of Anjou II In which are laid Open to the Reader the Character of Edward the Fourth and that of his Court, with the Machinations of the Woodvilles against the Earl of Warwick III Wherein Master Nicholas Alwyn visits the Court, and there learns Matter of which the Acute Reader will judge for himself IV Exhibiting the Benefits which Royal Patronage confers on Genius, --also the Early Loves of the Lord Hastings; with other Matters Edifying and Delectable V The Woodville Intrigue prospers--Montagu confers with Hastings, visits the Archbishop of York, and is met on the Road by a strange Personage VI The Arrival of the Count de la Roche, and the various Excitement produced on many Personages by that Event VII The Renowned Combat between Sir Anthony Woodville and the Bastard of Burgundy VIII How the Bastard of Burgundy prospered more in his Policy than With the Pole-axe--and how King Edward holds his Summer Chase in the Fair Groves of Shene IX The Great Actor returns to fill the Stage X How the Great Lords come to the King-maker, and with what Proffers

 BOOK V

 THE LAST OF THE BARONS IN HIS FATHERS HALLS

 CHAPTER

 I Rural England in the Middle Ages--Noble Visitors seek the Castle Of Middleham II Councils and Musings III The Sisters IV The Destrier

 BOOK VI

 WHEREIN ARE OPENED SOME GLIMPSES OF THE FATE BELOW THAT ATTENDS THOSE WHO ARE BETTER THAN OTHERS, AND THOSE WHO DESIRE TO MAKE OTHERS BETTER. LOVE, DEMAGOGY, AND SCIENCE ALL EQUALLY OFF-SPRING OF THE SAME PROLIFIC DELUSION, --NAMELY, THAT MEAN SOULS (THE EARTH'S MAJORITY) ARE WORTH THE HOPE AND THE AGONY OF NOBLE SOULS, THE EVERLASTING SUFFERING AND ASPIRING FEW. 

 CHAPTER I New Dissentions II The Would-be Improvers of Jove's Football, Earth--The Sad Father and the Sad Child--The Fair Rivals III Wherein the Demagogue seeks the Courtier IV Sibyll V Katherine VI Joy for Adam, and Hope for Sibyll--and Popular Friar Bungey! VII A Love Scene

 BOOK VII

 THE POPULAR REBELLION

 CHAPTER

 I The White Lion of March shakes his Mane II The Camp at Olney III The Camp of the Rebels IV The Norman Earl and the Saxon Demagogue confer V What Faith Edward IV purposeth to keep with Earl and People VI What befalls King Edward on his Escape from Olney VII How King Edward arrives at the Castle of Middleham VIII The Ancients rightly gave to the Goddess of Eloquence a Crown IX Wedded Confidence and Love--the Earl and the Prelate--the Prelate and the King--Schemes--Wiles--and the Birth of a Dark Thought destined to eclipse a Sun

 BOOK VIII

 IN WHICH THE LAST LINK BETWEEN KING-MAKER AND KING SNAPS ASUNDER

 CHAPTER

 I The Lady Anne visits the Court II The Sleeping Innocence--the Wakeful Crime III New Dangers to the House of York--and the King's Heart allies itself with Rebellion against the King's Throne IV The Foster-brothers V The Lover and the Gallant--Woman's Choice VI Warwick returns-appeases a Discontented Prince-and confers with a Revengeful Conspirator VII The Fear and the Flight VIII The Group round the Death-bed of the Lancastrian Widow

 BOOK IX. 

 THE WANDERERS AND THE EXILES

 CHAPTER

 I How the Great Baron becomes as Great a Rebel II Many Things briefly told III The Plot of the Hostelry--the Maid and the Scholar in their Home IV The World's Justice, and the Wisdom of our Ancestors V The Fugitives are captured--the Tymbesteres reappear-- Moonlight on the Revel of the Living--Moonlight on the Slumber of the Dead

 VI The Subtle Craft of Richard of Gloucester VII Warwick and his Family in Exile VIII How the Heir of Lancaster meets the King-maker IX The Interview of Earl Warwick and Queen Margaret X Love and Marriage--Doubts of Conscience--Domestic Jealousy-- and Household Treason

 BOOK X. 

 THE RETURN OF THE KING-MAKER

 CHAPTER

 I The Maid's Hope, the Courtier's Love, and the Sage's Comfort II The Man awakes in the Sage, and the She-wolf again hath tracked the Lamb III Virtuous Resolves submitted to the Test of Vanity and the World IV The Strife which Sibyll had courted, between Katherine and herself, commences in Serious Earnest V The Meeting of Hastings and Katherine VI Hastings learns what has befallen Sibyll, repairs to the King, and encounters an old Rival VII The Landing of Lord Warwick, and the Events that ensue thereon VIII What befell Adam Warner and Sibyll when made subject to the Great Friar Bungey IX The Deliberations of Mayor and Council, while Lord Warwick marches upon London X The Triumphal Entry of the Earl--the Royal Captive in the Tower--the Meeting between King-maker and King XI The Tower in Commotion

 BOOK XI

 THE NEW POSITION OF THE KING-MAKER

 CHAPTER

 I Wherein Master Adam Warner is notably commended and advanced--and Greatness says to Wisdom, "Thy Destiny be mine, Amen" II The Prosperity of the Outer Show--the Cares of the Inner Man III Further Views into the Heart of Man, and the Conditions of Power IV The Return of Edward of York V The Progress of the Plantagenet VI Lord Warwick, with the Foe in the field and the Traitor at The Hearth

 BOOK XII

 THE BATTLE OF BARNET

 CHAPTER

 I A King in his City hopes to recover his Realm--A Woman in her Chamber fears to forfeit her own II Sharp is the Kiss of the Falcon's Bear III A Pause IV-VI The Battle VII The last Pilgrims in the long Procession to the Common Bourne

BOOK I. 

THE ADVENTURES OF MASTER MARMADUKE NEVILE. 

CHAPTER I. 

THE PASTIME-GROUND OF OLD COCKAIGNE. 

Westward, beyond the still pleasant, but even then no longer solitary, hamlet of Charing, a broad space, broken here and there by scatteredhouses and venerable pollards, in the early spring of 1467, presentedthe rural scene for the sports and pastimes of the inhabitants ofWestminster and London. Scarcely need we say that open spaces for thepopular games and diversions were then numerous in the suburbs of themetropolis, --grateful to some the fresh pools of Islington; to others, the grass-bare fields of Finsbury; to all, the hedgeless plains ofvast Mile-end. But the site to which we are now summoned was a newand maiden holiday-ground, lately bestowed upon the townsfolk ofWestminster by the powerful Earl of Warwick. 

Raised by a verdant slope above the low, marsh-grown soil ofWestminster, the ground communicated to the left with the Brook-fields, through which stole the peaceful Ty-bourne, and commandedprospects, on all sides fair, and on each side varied. Behind, rosethe twin green hills of Hampstead and Highgate, with the upland parkand chase of Marybone, --its stately manor-house half hid in woods. Infront might be seen the Convent of the Lepers, dedicated to SaintJames, now a palace; then to the left, York House, [The residence ofthe Archbishops of York] now Whitehall; farther on, the spires ofWestminster Abbey and the gloomy tower of the Sanctuary; next, thePalace, with its bulwark and vawmure, soaring from the river; whileeastward, and nearer to the scene, stretched the long, bush-grownpassage of the Strand, picturesquely varied with bridges, and flankedto the right by the embattled halls of feudal nobles, or the inns ofthe no less powerful prelates; while sombre and huge amidst hall andinn, loomed the gigantic ruins of the Savoy, demolished in theinsurrection of Wat Tyler. Farther on, and farther yet, the eyewandered over tower and gate, and arch and spire, with frequentglimpses of the broad sunlit river, and the opposite shore crowned bythe palace of Lambeth, and the Church of St. Mary Overies, till theindistinct cluster of battlements around the Fortress-Palatine boundedthe curious gaze. As whatever is new is for a while popular, so tothis pastime-ground, on the day we treat of, flocked, not only theidlers of Westminster, but the lordly dwellers of Ludgate and theFlete, and the wealthy citizens of tumultuous Chepe. 

The ground was well suited to the purpose to which it was devoted. About the outskirts, indeed, there were swamps and fish-pools; but aconsiderable plot towards the centre presented a level sward, alreadyworn bare and brown by the feet of the multitude. From this, towardsthe left, extended alleys, some recently planted, intended to afford, in summer, cool and shady places for the favourite game of bowls;while scattered clumps, chiefly of old pollards, to the right brokethe space agreeably enough into detached portions, each of whichafforded its separate pastime or diversion. Around were ranged manycarts, or wagons; horses of all sorts and value were led to and fro, while their owners were at sport. Tents, awnings, hostelries, temporary buildings, stages for showmen and jugglers, abounded, andgave the scene the appearance of a fair; but what particularly nowdemands our attention was a broad plot in the ground, dedicated to thenoble diversion of archery. The reigning House of York owed much ofits military success to the superiority of the bowmen under itsbanners, and the Londoners themselves were jealous of their reputationin this martial accomplishment. For the last fifty years, notwithstanding the warlike nature of the times, the practice of thebow, in the intervals of peace, had been more neglected than seemedwise to the rulers. Both the king and his loyal city had of latetaken much pains to enforce the due exercise of "Goddes instrumente, "[So called emphatically by Bishop Latimer, in his celebrated SixthSermon. ] upon which an edict had declared that "the liberties andhonour of England principally rested!"

And numerous now was the attendance, not only of the citizens, theburghers, and the idle populace, but of the gallant nobles whosurrounded the court of Edward IV. , then in the prime of his youth, --the handsomest, the gayest, and the bravest prince in Christendom. 

The royal tournaments (which were, however, waning from their ancientlustre to kindle afresh, and to expire in the reigns of the succeedingTudors), restricted to the amusements of knight and noble, no doubtpresented more of pomp and splendour than the motley and mixedassembly of all ranks that now grouped around the competitors for thesilver arrow, or listened to the itinerant jongleur, dissour, orminstrel, or, seated under the stunted shade of the old trees, indulged, with eager looks and hands often wandering to their dagger-hilts, in the absorbing passion of the dice; but no later and earlierscenes of revelry ever, perhaps, exhibited that heartiness ofenjoyment, that universal holiday, which attended this mixture ofevery class, that established a rude equality for the hour between theknight and the retainer, the burgess and the courtier. 

The revolution that placed Edward IV. Upon the throne had, in fact, been a popular one. Not only had the valour and moderation of hisfather, Richard, Duke of York, bequeathed a heritage of affection tohis brave and accomplished son; not only were the most beloved of thegreat barons the leaders of his party; but the king himself, partlyfrom inclination, partly from policy, spared no pains to win the goodgraces of that slowly rising, but even then important part of thepopulation, --the Middle Class. He was the first king who descended, without loss of dignity and respect, from the society of his peers andprinces, to join familiarly in the feasts and diversions of themerchant and the trader. The lord mayor and council of London wereadmitted, on more than one solemn occasion, into the deliberations ofthe court; and Edward had not long since, on the coronation of hisqueen, much to the discontent of certain of his barons, conferred theKnighthood of the hath upon four of the citizens. On the other hand, though Edward's gallantries--the only vice which tended to diminishhis popularity with the sober burgesses--were little worthy of hisstation, his frank, joyous familiarity with his inferiors was notdebased by the buffooneries that had led to the reverses and the awfulfate of two of his royal predecessors. There must have been a popularprinciple, indeed, as well as a popular fancy, involved in the steadyand ardent adherence which the population of London in particular, andmost of the great cities, exhibited to the person and the cause ofEdward IV. There was a feeling that his reign was an advance incivilization upon the monastic virtues of Henry VI. , and the sternferocity which accompanied the great qualities of "The Foreign Woman, "as the people styled and regarded Henry's consort, Margaret of Anjou. While thus the gifts, the courtesy, and the policy of the youngsovereign made him popular with the middle classes, he owed theallegiance of the more powerful barons and the favour of the ruralpopulation to a man who stood colossal amidst the iron images of theAge, --the greatest and the last of the old Norman chivalry, kinglierin pride, in state, in possessions, and in renown than the kinghimself, Richard Nevile, Earl of Salisbury and Warwick. 

This princely personage, in the full vigour of his age, possessed allthe attributes that endear the noble to the commons. His valour inthe field was accompanied with a generosity rare in the captains ofthe time. He valued himself on sharing the perils and the hardshipsof his meanest soldier. His haughtiness to the great was notincompatible with frank affability to the lowly. His wealth wasenormous, but it was equalled by his magnificence, and renderedpopular by his lavish hospitality. No less than thirty thousandpersons are said to have feasted daily at the open tables with whichhe allured to his countless castles the strong hands and gratefulhearts of a martial and unsettled population. More haughty thanambitious, he was feared because he avenged all affront; and yet notenvied, because he seemed above all favour. 

The holiday on the archery-ground was more than usually gay, for therumour had spread from the court to the city that Edward was about toincrease his power abroad, and to repair what he had lost in the eyesof Europe through his marriage with Elizabeth Gray, by allying hissister Margaret with the brother of Louis XI. , and that no less aperson than the Earl of Warwick had been the day before selected asambassador on the important occasion. 

Various opinions were entertained upon the preference given to Francein this alliance over the rival candidate for the hand of theprincess, --namely, the Count de Charolois, afterwards Charles theBold, Duke of Burgundy. 

"By 'r Lady, " said a stout citizen about the age of fifty, "but I amnot over pleased with this French marriage-making! I would liefer thestout earl were going to France with bows and bills than sarcenets andsatins. What will become of our trade with Flanders, --answer me that, Master Stokton? The House of York is a good House, and the king is agood king, but trade is trade. Every man must draw water to his ownmill. "

"Hush, Master Heyford!" said a small lean man in a light-gray surcoat. "The king loves not talk about what the king does. 'T is ill jestingwith lions. Remember William Walker, hanged for saying his son shouldbe heir to the crown. "

"Troth, " answered Master Heyford, nothing daunted, for he belonged toone of the most powerful corporations of London, --it was but a scurvyPepperer [old name for Grocer] who made that joke; but a joke from aworshipful goldsmith, who has moneys and influence, and a fair wife ofhis own, whom the king himself has been pleased to commend, is anotherguess sort of matter. But here is my grave-visaged headman, whoalways contrives to pick up the last gossip astir, and has a deep eyeinto millstones. Why, ho, there! Alwyn--I say, Nicholas Alwyn!--whowould have thought to see thee with that bow, a good half-ell tallerthan thyself? Methought thou wert too sober and studious for suchman-at-arms sort of devilry. "

"An' it please you, Master Heyford, " answered the person thusaddressed, --a young man, pale and lean, though sinewy and large-boned, with a countenance of great intelligence, but a slow and somewhatformal manner of speech, and a strong provincial accent, --"an' itplease you, King Edward's edict ordains every Englishman to have a bowof his own height; and he who neglects the shaft on a holidayforfeiteth one halfpenny and some honour. For the rest, methinks thatthe citizens of London will become of more worth and potency everyyear; and it shall not be my fault if I do not, though but a humbleheadman to your worshipful mastership, help to make them so. "

"Why, that's well said, lad; but if the Londoners prosper, it isbecause they have nobles in their gipsires, [a kind of pouch worn atthe girdle] not bows in their hands. "

"Thinkest thou then, Master Heyford, that any king at a pinch wouldleave them the gipsire, if they could not protect it with the bow?That Age may have gold, let not Youth despise iron. "

"Body o' me!" cried Master Heyford, "but thou hadst better curb in thytongue. Though I have my jest, --as a rich man and a corpulent, --a ladwho has his way to make good should be silent and--But he's gone. "

"Where hooked you up that young jack fish?" said Master Stokton, thethin mercer, who had reminded the goldsmith of the fate of the grocer. 

"Why, he was meant for the cowl, but his mother, a widow, at his ownwish, let him make choice of the flat cap. He was the best 'prenticeever I had. By the blood of Saint Thomas, he will push his way ingood time; he has a head, Master Stokton, --a head, and an ear; and agreat big pair of eyes always looking out for something to his properadvantage. "

In the mean while, the goldsmith's headman had walked leisurely up tothe archery-ground; and even in his gait and walk, as he thus repairedto a pastime, there was something steady, staid, and business-like. 

The youths of his class and calling were at that day very differentfrom their equals in this. Many of them the sons of provincialretainers, some even of franklins and gentlemen, their childhood hadmade them familiar with the splendour and the sports of knighthood;they had learned to wrestle, to cudgel, to pitch the bar or the quoit, to draw the bow, and to practise the sword and buckler, beforetransplanted from the village green to the city stall. And even then, the constant broils and wars of the time, the example of theirbetters, the holiday spectacle of mimic strife, and, above all, thepowerful and corporate association they formed amongst themselves, tended to make them as wild, as jovial, and as dissolute a set ofyoung fellows as their posterity are now sober, careful, and discreet. And as Nicholas Alwyn, with a slight inclination of his head, passedby, two or three loud, swaggering, bold-looking groups of apprentices--their shaggy hair streaming over their shoulders, their caps on oneside, their short cloaks of blue torn or patched, though stillpassably new, their bludgeons under their arms, and their wholeappearance and manner not very dissimilar from the German collegiansin the last century--notably contrasted Alwyn's prim dress, hisprecise walk, and the feline care with which he stepped aside from anypatches of mire that might sully the soles of his square-toed shoes. 

The idle apprentices winked and whispered, and lolled out theirtongues at him as he passed. "Oh, but that must be as good as a May-Fair day, --sober Nick Alwyn's maiden flight of the shaft! Hollo, puissant archer, take care of the goslings yonder! Look this way whenthou pull'st, and then woe to the other side!" Venting these and manysimilar specimens of the humour of Cockaigne, the apprentices, however, followed their quondam colleague, and elbowed their way intothe crowd gathered around the competitors at the butt; and it was atthis spot, commanding a view of the whole space, that the spectatormight well have formed some notion of the vast following of the Houseof Nevile. For everywhere along the front lines, everywhere in thescattered groups, might be seen, glistening in the sunlight, thearmourial badges of that mighty family. The Pied Bull, which was theproper cognizance [Pied Bull the cognizance, the Dun Bull's head thecrest] of the Neviles, was principally borne by the numerous kinsmenof Earl Warwick, who rejoiced in the Nevile name. The Lord Montagu, Warwick's brother, to whom the king had granted the forfeit title andestates of the earls of Northumberland, distinguished his ownretainers, however, by the special request of the ancient Montagus. --aGryphon issuant from a ducal crown. But far more numerous than Bullor Gryphon (numerous as either seemed) were the badges worn by thosewho ranked themselves among the peculiar followers of the great Earlof Warwick. The cognizance of the Bear and Ragged Staff, which heassumed in right of the Beauchamps, whom he represented through hiswife, the heiress of the lords of Warwick, was worn in the hats of themore gentle and well-born clansmen and followers, while the RaggedStaff alone was worked front and back on the scarlet jackets of hismore humble and personal retainers. It was a matter of popular noticeand admiration that in those who wore these badges, as in the wearersof the hat and staff of the ancient Spartans, might be traced a graveloftiness of bearing, as if they belonged to another caste, anotherrace, than the herd of men. Near the place where the rivals for thesilver arrow were collected, a lordly party had reined in theirpalfreys, and conversed with each other, as the judges of the fieldwere marshalling the competitors. 

"Who, " said one of these gallants, "who is that comely young fellowjust below us, with the Nevile cognizance of the Bull on his hat? Hehas the air of one I should know. "

"I never saw him before, my Lord of Northumberland, " answered one ofthe gentlemen thus addressed; "but, pardieu, he who knows all theNeviles by eye must know half England. " The Lord Montagu--for thoughat that moment invested with the titles of the Percy, by that nameEarl Warwick's brother is known to history, and by that, his rightfulname, he shall therefore be designated in these pages--the LordMontagu smiled graciously at this remark, and a murmur through thecrowd announced that the competition for the silver arrow was about tocommence. The butts, formed of turf, with a small white mark fastenedto the centre by a very minute peg, were placed apart, one at eachend, at the distance of eleven score yards. At the extremity wherethe shooting commenced, the crowd assembled, taking care to keep clearfrom the opposite butt, as the warning word of "Fast" was thunderedforth; but eager was the general murmur, and many were the wagersgiven and accepted, as some well-known archer tried his chance. Nearthe butt that now formed the target, stood the marker with his whitewand; and the rapidity with which archer after archer discharged hisshaft, and then, if it missed, hurried across the ground to pick it up(for arrows were dear enough not to be lightly lost), amidst the jeersand laughter of the bystanders, was highly animated and diverting. Asyet, however, no marksman had hit the white, though many had goneclose to it, when Nicholas Alwyn stepped forward; and there wassomething so unwarlike in his whole air, so prim in his gait, socareful in his deliberate survey of the shaft and his preciseadjustment of the leathern gauntlet that protected the arm from thepainful twang of the string, that a general burst of laughter from thebystanders attested their anticipation of a signal failure. 

"'Fore Heaven!" said Montagu, "he handles his bow an' it were a yard-measure. One would think he were about to bargain for the bow-string, he eyes it so closely. "

"And now, " said Nicholas, slowly adjusting the arrow, "a shot for thehonour of old Westmoreland!" And as he spoke, the arrow spranggallantly forth, and quivered in the very heart of the white. Therewas a general movement of surprise among the spectators, as the markerthrice shook his wand over his head. But Alwyn, as indifferent totheir respect as he had been to their ridicule, turned round and said, with a significant glance at the silent nobles, "We springals ofLondon can take care of our own, if need be. "

"These fellows wax insolent. Our good king spoils them, " saidMontagu, with a curl of his lip. "I wish some young squire of gentleblood would not disdain a shot for the Nevile against the craftsman. How say you, fair sir?" And with a princely courtesy of mien andsmile, Lord Montagu turned to the young man he had noticed as wearingthe cognizance of the First House in England. The bow was not thecustomary weapon of the well-born; but still, in youth, its exerciseformed one of the accomplishments of the future knight; and evenprinces did not disdain, on a popular holiday, to match a shaftagainst the yeoman's cloth-yard. [At a later period, Henry VIII. Wasa match for the best bowman in his kingdom. His accomplishment washereditary, and distinguished alike his wise father and his piousson. ] The young man thus addressed, and whose honest, open, handsome, hardy face augured a frank and fearless nature, bowed his head insilence, and then slowly advancing to the umpires, craved permissionto essay his skill, and to borrow the loan of a shaft and bow. Leavegiven and the weapons lent, as the young gentleman took his stand, hiscomely person, his dress, of a better quality than that of thecompetitors hitherto, and, above all, the Nevile badge worked insilver on his hat, diverted the general attention from Nicholas Alwyn. A mob is usually inclined to aristocratic predilections, and a murmurof goodwill and expectation greeted him, when he put aside thegauntlet offered to him, and said, "In my youth I was taught so tobrace the bow that the string should not touch the arm; and thougheleven score yards be but a boy's distance, a good archer will lay hisbody into his bow ["My father taught me to lay my body in my bow, "etc. , said Latimer, in his well-known sermon before Edward VI. , --1549. The bishop also herein observes that "it is best to give the bow somuch bending that the string need never touch the arm. This, " headds, "is practised by many good archers with whom I am acquainted. "]as much as if he were to hit the blanc four hundred yards away. "

"A tall fellow this!" said Montagu; "and one I wot from the North, " asthe young gallant fitted the shaft to the bow. And graceful andartistic was the attitude he assumed, --the head slightly inclined, thefeet firmly planted, the left a little in advance, and the stretchedsinews of the bow-hand alone evincing that into that grasp was pressedthe whole strength of the easy and careless frame. The publicexpectation was not disappointed, --the youth performed the featconsidered of all the most dexterous; his arrow, disdaining the whitemark, struck the small peg which fastened it to the butts, and whichseemed literally invisible to the bystanders. 

"Holy Saint Dunstan! there's but one man who can beat me in that sortthat I know of, " muttered Nicholas, "and I little expected to see himtake a bite out of his own hip. " With that he approached hissuccessful rival. 

"Well, Master Marmaduke, " said he, "it is many a year since you showedme that trick at your father, Sir Guy's--God rest him! But I scarcetake it kind in you to beat your own countryman!"

"Beshrew me!" cried the youth, and his cheerful features brightenedinto hearty and cordial pleasure, "but if I see in thee, as it seemsto me, my old friend and foster-brother, Nick Alwyn, this is thehappiest hour I have known for many a day. But stand back and let melook at thee, man. Thou! thou a tame London trader! Ha! ha! is itpossible?"

"Hout, Master Marmaduke, " answered Nicholas, "every crow thinks hisown baird bonniest, as they say in the North. We will talk of thisanon an' thou wilt honour me. I suspect the archery is over now. Fewwill think to mend that shot. "

And here, indeed, the umpires advanced, and their chief--an oldmercer, who had once borne arms, and indeed been a volunteer at thebattle of Towton--declared that the contest was over, --"unless, " headded, in the spirit of a lingering fellow-feeling with the Londoner, "this young fellow, whom I hope to see an alderman one of these days, will demand another shot, for as yet there hath been but one prickeach at the butts. "

"Nay, master, " returned Alwyn, "I have met with my betters, --and, after all, " he added indifferently, "the silver arrow, though a prettybauble enough, is over light in its weight. "

"Worshipful sir, " said the young Nevile, with equal generosity, "Icannot accept the prize for a mere trick of the craft, --the blanc wasalready disposed of by Master Alwyn's arrow. Moreover; the contestwas intended for the Londoners, and I am but an interloper, beholdento their courtesy for a practice of skill, and even the loan of a bow;wherefore the silver arrow be given to Nicholas Alwyn. "

"That may not be, gentle sir, " said the umpire, extending the prize. "Sith Alwyn vails of himself, it is thine, by might and by right. "

The Lord Montagu had not been inattentive to this dialogue, and he nowsaid, in a loud tone that silenced the crowd, "Young Badgeman, thygallantry pleases me no less than thy skill. Take the arrow, for thouhast won it; but as thou seemest a new comer, it is right thoushouldst pay thy tax upon entry, --this be my task. Come hither, Ipray thee, good sir, " and the nobleman graciously beckoned to themercer; "be these five nobles the prize of whatever Londoner shallacquit himself best in the bold English combat of quarter-staff, andthe prize be given in this young archer's name. Thy name, youth?"

"Marmaduke Nevile, good my lord. "

Montagu smiled, and the umpire withdrew to make the announcement tothe bystanders. The proclamation was received with a shout thattraversed from group to group and line to line, more hearty from thelove and honour attached to the name of Nevile than even from a senseof the gracious generosity of Earl Warwick's brother. One man alone, a sturdy, well-knit fellow, in a franklin's Lincoln broadcloth, andwith a hood half-drawn over his features, did not join the popularapplause. "These Yorkists, " he muttered, "know well how to fool thepeople. "

Meanwhile the young Nevile still stood by the gilded stirrup of thegreat noble who had thus honoured him, and contemplated him with thatrespect and interest which a youth's ambition ever feels for those whohave won a name. 

The Lord Montagu bore a very different character from his puissantbrother. Though so skilful a captain that he had never been known tolose a battle, his fame as a warrior was, strange to say, below thatof the great earl, whose prodigious strength had accomplished thosepersonal feats that dazzled the populace, and revived the legendaryrenown of the earlier Norman knighthood. The caution and wariness, indeed, which Montagu displayed in battle probably caused his successas a general, and the injustice done to him (at least by the vulgar)as a soldier. Rarely had Lord Montagu, though his courage wasindisputable, been known to mix personally in the affray. Like thecaptains of modern times, he contented himself with directing themanoeuvres of his men, and hence preserved that inestimable advantageof coolness and calculation, which was not always characteristic ofthe eager hardihood of his brother. The character of Montagu differedyet more from that of the earl in peace than in war. He was supposedto excel in all those supple arts of the courtier which Warwickneglected or despised; and if the last was on great occasions theadviser, the other in ordinary life was the companion of hissovereign. Warwick owed his popularity to his own large, open, daring, and lavish nature. The subtler Montagu sought to win, by careand pains, what the other obtained without an effort. He attended thevarious holiday meetings of the citizens, where Warwick was rarelyseen. He was smooth-spoken and courteous to his equals, and generallyaffable, though with constraint, to his inferiors. He was a closeobserver, and not without that genius for intrigue, which in rude agespasses for the talent of a statesman. And yet in that thoroughknowledge of the habits and tastes of the great mass, which giveswisdom to a ruler, he was far inferior to the earl. In common withhis brother, he was gifted with the majesty of mien which imposes onthe eye; and his port and countenance were such as became the prodigalexpense of velvet, minever, gold, and jewels, by which the gorgeousmagnates of the day communicated to their appearance the arrogantsplendour of their power. 

"Young gentleman, " said the earl, after eying with some attention thecomely archer, "I am pleased that you bear the name of Nevile. Vouchsafe to inform me to what scion of our House we are this dayindebted for the credit with which you have upborne its cognizance?"

"I fear, " answered the youth, with a slight but not ungracefulhesitation, "that my lord of Montagu and Northumberland will hardlyforgive the presumption with which I have intruded upon this assemblya name borne by nobles so illustrious, especially if it belong tothose less fortunate branches of his family which have taken adifferent side from himself in the late unhappy commotions. My fatherwas Sir Guy Nevile, of Arsdale, in Westmoreland. "

Lord Montagu's lip lost its gracious smile; he glanced quickly at thecourtiers round him, and said gravely, "I grieve to hear it. Had Iknown this, certes my gipsire had still been five nobles the richer. It becomes not one fresh from the favour of King Edward IV. To showcountenance to the son of a man, kinsman though he was, who bore armsfor the usurpers of Lancaster. I pray thee, sir, to doff, henceforth, a badge dedicated only to the service of Royal York. No more, youngman; we may not listen to the son of Sir Guy Nevile. --Sirs, shall weride to see how the Londoners thrive at quarter-staff?"

With that, Montagu, deigning no further regard at Nevile, wheeled his, palfrey towards a distant part of the ground, to which the multitudewas already pressing its turbulent and noisy way. 

"Thou art hard on thy namesake, fair my lord, " said a young noble, inwhose dark-auburn hair, aquiline, haughty features, spare but powerfulframe, and inexpressible air of authority and command, were found allthe attributes of the purest and eldest Norman race, --the Patriciansof the World. 

"Dear Raoul de Fulke, " returned Montagu, coldly, "when thou hastreached my age of thirty and four, thou wilt learn that no man'sfortune casts so broad a shadow as to shelter from the storm thevictims of a fallen cause. "

"Not so would say thy bold brother, " answered Raoul de Fulke, with aslight curl of his proud lip. "And I hold, with him, that no king isso sacred that we should render to his resentments our own kith andkin. God's wot, whosoever wears the badge and springs from the stemof Raoul de Fulke shall never find me question over much whether hisfather fought for York or Lancaster. "

"Hush, rash babbler!" said Montagu, laughing gently; "what would KingEdward say if this speech reached his ears? Our friend, " added thecourtier, turning to the rest, "in vain would bar the tide of change;and in this our New England, begirt with new men and new fashions, affect the feudal baronage of the worn-out Norman. But thou art agallant knight, De Fulke, though a poor courtier. "

"The saints keep me so!" returned De Fulke. "From overgluttony, fromover wine-bibbing, from cringing to a king's leman, from quaking at aking's frown, from unbonneting to a greasy mob, from marrying an oldcrone for vile gold, may the saints ever keep Raoul de Fulke and hissons! Amen!" This speech, in which every sentence struck itsstinging satire into one or other of the listeners, was succeeded byan awkward silence, which Montagu was the first to break. 

"Pardieu!" he said, "when did Lord Hastings leave us, and what fairface can have lured the truant?"

"He left us suddenly on the archery-ground, " answered the youngLovell. "But as well might we track the breeze to the rose as LordWilliam's sigh to maid or matron. "

While thus conversed the cavaliers, and their plumes waved, and theirmantles glittered along the broken ground, Marmaduke Nevile's eyepursued the horsemen with all that bitter feeling of wounded pride andimpotent resentment with which Youth regards the first insult itreceives from Power. 

CHAPTER II. 

THE BROKEN GITTERN. 

Rousing himself from his indignant revery, Marmaduke Nevile followedone of the smaller streams into which the crowd divided itself ondispersing from the archery-ground, and soon found himself in a partof the holiday scene appropriated to diversions less manly, but noless characteristic of the period than those of the staff and arrow. Beneath an awning, under which an itinerant landlord dispensed cakesand ale, the humorous Bourdour (the most vulgar degree of minstrel, orrather tale-teller) collected his clownish audience; while seated bythemselves--apart, but within hearing--two harpers, in the king'slivery, consoled each other for the popularity of their ribald rival, by wise reflections on the base nature of common folk. Farther on, Marmaduke started to behold what seemed to him the heads of giants atleast six yards high; but on a nearer approach these formidableapparitions resolved themselves to a company of dancers upon stilts. There, one joculator exhibited the antics of his well-tutored ape;there, another eclipsed the attractions of the baboon by a marvelloushorse that beat a tabor with his forefeet; there, the more sombreTregetour, before a table raised upon a lofty stage, promised to cutoff and refix the head of a sad-faced little boy, who in the mean timewas preparing his mortal frame for the operation by apparently lardinghimself with sharp knives and bodkins. Each of these wonder-dealersfound his separate group of admirers, and great was the delight andloud the laughter in the pastime-ground of old Cockaigne. 

While Marmaduke, bewildered by this various bustle, stared around him, his eye was caught by a young maiden, in evident distress, strugglingin vain to extricate herself from a troop of timbrel-girls, ortymbesteres (as they were popularly called), who surrounded her withmocking gestures, striking their instruments to drown herremonstrances, and dancing about her in a ring at every effort towardsescape. The girl was modestly attired as one of the humbler ranks, and her wimple in much concealed her countenance; but there was, despite her strange and undignified situation and evident alarm, asort of quiet, earnest self-possession, --an effort to hide her terror, and to appeal to the better and more womanly feelings of herpersecutors. In the intervals of silence from the clamour, her voice, though low, clear, well-tuned, and impressive, forcibly arrested theattention of young Nevile; for at that day, even more than this(sufficiently apparent as it now is), there was a marked distinctionin the intonation, the accent, the modulation of voice, between thebetter bred and better educated and the inferior classes. But thisdifference, so ill according with her dress and position, only servedto heighten more the bold insolence of the musical Bacchantes, who, indeed, in the eyes of the sober, formed the most immoral nuisanceattendant on the sports of the time, and whose hardy license andpeculiar sisterhood might tempt the antiquary to search for theirorigin amongst the relics of ancient Paganism. And now, to increasethe girl's distress, some half-score of dissolute apprentices andjourneymen suddenly broke into the ring of the Maenads, and wereaccosting her with yet more alarming insults, when Marmaduke, pushingthem aside, strode to her assistance. "How now, ye lewd varlets! yemake me blush for my countrymen in the face of day! Are these thesports of merry England, --these your manly contests, --to strive whichcan best affront a poor maid? Out on ye, cullions and bezonians!Cling to me, gentle donzel, and fear not. Whither shall I lead thee?"The apprentices were not, however, so easily daunted. Two of themapproached to the rescue, flourishing their bludgeons about theirheads with formidable gestures. "Ho, ho!" cried one, "what right hastthou to step between the hunters and the doe? The young quean is toomuch honoured by a kiss from a bold 'prentice of London. "

Marmaduke stepped back, and drew the small dagger which then formedthe only habitual weapon of a gentleman. [Swords were not worn, inpeace, at that period. ] This movement, discomposing his mantle, brought the silver arrow he had won (which was placed in his girdle)in full view of the assailants. At the same time they caught sight ofthe badge on his hat. These intimidated their ardour more than thedrawn poniard. 

"A Nevile!" said one, retreating. "And the jolly marksman who beatNick Alwyn, " said the other, lowering his bludgeon, and doffing hiscap. "Gentle sir, forgive us, we knew not your quality. But as forthe girl--your gallantry misleads you. "

"The Wizard's daughter! ha, ha! the Imp of Darkness!" screeched thetimbrel-girls, tossing up their instruments, and catching them againon the points of their fingers. "She has enchanted him with herglamour. Foul is fair! Foul fair thee, young springal, if thou go tothe nets. Shadow and goblin to goblin and shadow! Flesh and blood toblood and flesh!"--and dancing round him, with wanton looks and barearms, and gossamer robes that brushed him as they circled, theychanted, --

 "Come, kiss me, my darling, Warm kisses I trade for; Wine, music, and kisses What else was life made for?"

With some difficulty, and with a disgust which was not altogetherwithout a superstitious fear of the strange words and the outlandishappearance of these loathsome Delilahs, Marmaduke broke from the ringwith his new charge; and in a few moments the Nevile and the maidenfound themselves, unmolested and unpursued, in a deserted quarter ofthe ground; but still the scream of the timbrel-girls, as theyhurried, wheeling and dancing, into the distance, was borne ominouslyto the young man's ear. "Ha, ha! the witch and her lover! Foul isfair! foul is fair! Shadow to goblin, goblin to shadow, --and thedevil will have his own!"

"And what mischance, my poor girl, " asked the Nevile, soothingly, "brought thee into such evil company?"

"I know not, fair sir, " said the girl, slowly recovering her self;"but my father is poor, and I had heard that on these holidayoccasions one who had some slight skill on the gittern might win a fewgroats from the courtesy of the bystanders. So I stole out with myserving-woman, and had already got more than I dared hope, when thosewicked timbrel-players came round me, and accused me of taking themoney from them. And then they called an officer of the ground, whoasked me my name and holding; so when I answered, they called myfather a wizard, and the man broke my poor gittern, --see!"--and sheheld it up, with innocent sorrow in her eyes, yet a half-smile on herlips, --"and they soon drove poor old Madge from my side, and I knew nomore till you, worshipful sir, took pity on me. "

"But why, " asked the Nevile, "did they give to your father so unholy aname?"

"Alas, sir! he is a great scholar, who has spent his means in studyingwhat he says will one day be of good to the people. "

"Humph!" said Marmaduke, who had all the superstitions of his time, who looked upon a scholar, unless in the Church, with mingled awe andabhorrence, and who, therefore, was but ill-satisfied with the girl'sartless answer, "Humph! your father--but--" checking what he was about, perhapsharshly, to say, as he caught the bright eyes and arch, intelligentface lifted to his own--"but it is hard to punish the child for thefather's errors. "

"Errors, sir!" repeated the damsel, proudly, and with a slight disdainin her face and voice. "But yes, wisdom is ever, perhaps, the saddesterror!"

This remark was of an order superior in intellect to those which hadpreceded it: it contrasted with the sternness of experience thesimplicity of the child; and of such contrasts, indeed, was thatcharacter made up. For with a sweet, an infantine change of tone andcountenance, she added, after a short pause, "They took the money!The gittern--see, they left that, when they had made it useless. "

"I cannot mend the gittern, but I can refill the gipsire, " saidMarmaduke. 

The girl coloured deeply. "Nay, sir, to earn is not to beg. "Marmaduke did not heed this answer; for as they were now passing bythe stunted trees, under which sat several revellers, who looked up athim from their cups and tankards, some with sneering, some with gravelooks, he began, more seriously than in his kindly impulse he hadhitherto done, to consider the appearance it must have to be thus seenwalking in public with a girl of inferior degree, and perhaps doubtfulrepute. Even in our own day such an exhibition would be, to say theleast, suspicious; and in that day, when ranks and classes weredivided with iron demarcations, a young gallant, whose dress bespokehim of gentle quality, with one of opposite sex, and belonging to thehumbler orders, in broad day too, was far more open to censure. Theblood mounted to his brow, and halting abruptly, he said, in a dry andaltered voice: "My good damsel, you are now, I think, out of danger;it would ill beseem you, so young and so comely, to go farther withone not old enough to be your protector; so, in God's name, departquickly, and remember me when you buy your new gittern, poor child!"So saying, he attempted to place a piece of money in her hand. Sheput it back, and the coin fell on the ground. "Nay, this is foolish, "said he. 

"Alas, sir!" said the girl, gravely, "I see well that you are ashamedof your goodness. But my father begs not. And once--but that mattersnot. "

"Once what?" persisted Marmaduke, interested in her manner, in spiteof himself. 

"Once, " said the girl, drawing herself up, and with an expression thataltered the whole character of her face--"the beggar ate at myfather's gate. He is a born gentleman and a knight's son. "

"And what reduced him thus?"

"I have said, " answered the girl, simply, yet with the same half-scornon her lip that it had before betrayed; "he is a scholar, and thoughtmore of others than himself. "

"I never saw any good come to a gentleman from those accursed books, "said the Nevile, --"fit only for monks and shavelings. But still, foryour father's sake, though I am ashamed of the poorness of the gift--"

"No; God be with you, sir, and reward you. " She stopped short, drewher wimple round her face, and was gone. Nevile felt an uncomfortablesensation of remorse and disapproval at having suffered her to quithim while there was yet any chance of molestation or annoyance, andhis eye followed her till a group of trees veiled her from his view. 

The young maiden slackened her pace as she found herself alone underthe leafless boughs of the dreary pollards, --a desolate spot, mademelancholy by dull swamps, half overgrown with rank verdure, throughwhich forced its clogged way the shallow brook that now gives its name(though its waves are seen no more) to one of the main streets in themost polished quarters of the metropolis. Upon a mound formed by thegnarled roots of the dwarfed and gnome-like oak, she sat down andwept. In our earlier years, most of us may remember that there wasone day which made an epoch in life, --that day that separatedChildhood from Youth; for that day seems not to come gradually, but tobe a sudden crisis, an abrupt revelation. The buds of the heart opento close no more. Such a day was this in that girl's fate. But theday was not yet gone! That morning, when she dressed for herenterprise of filial love, perhaps for the first time Sibyll Warnerfelt that she was fair--who shall say whether some innocent, naturalvanity had not blended with the deep, devoted earnestness, which sawno shame in the act by which the child could aid the father? Perhapsshe might have smiled to listen to old Madge's praises of her winsomeface, old Madge's predictions that the face and the gittern would notlack admirers on the gay ground; perhaps some indistinct, vagueforethoughts of the Future to which the sex will deem itself to beborn might have caused the cheek--no, not to blush, but to take arosier hue, and the pulse to beat quicker, she knew not why. At allevents, to that ground went the young Sibyll, cheerful, and almosthappy, in her inexperience of actual life, and sure, at least, thatyouth and innocence sufficed to protect from insult. And now she satdown under the leafless tree to weep; and in those bitter tears, childhood itself was laved from her soul forever. 

"What ailest thou, maiden?" asked a deep voice; and she felt a handlaid lightly on her shoulder. She looked up in terror and confusion, but it was no form or face to inspire alarm that met her eye. It wasa cavalier, holding by the rein a horse richly caparisoned; and thoughhis dress was plainer and less exaggerated than that usually worn bymen of rank, its materials were those which the sumptuary laws(constantly broken, indeed, as such laws ever must be) confined tonobles. Though his surcoat was but of cloth, and the colour dark andsober, it was woven in foreign looms, --an unpatriotic luxury, abovethe degree of knight, --and edged deep with the costliest sables. Thehilt of the dagger, suspended round his breast, was but of ivory, curiously wrought, but the scabbard was sown with large pearls. Forthe rest, the stranger was of ordinary stature, well knit and activerather than powerful, and of that age (about thirty-five) which may becalled the second prime of man. His face was far less handsome thanMarmaduke Nevile's, but infinitely more expressive, both ofintelligence and command, --the features straight and sharp, thecomplexion clear and pale, and under the bright gray eyes a dark shadespoke either of dissipation or of thought. 

"What ailest thou, maiden, --weepest thou some faithless lover? Tush!love renews itself in youth, as flower succeeds flower in spring. "

Sibyll made no reply; she rose and moved a few paces, then arrestedher steps, and looked around her. She had lost all clew to her wayhomeward, and she saw with horror, in the distance, the hatefultimbrel-girls, followed by the rabble, and weaving their strangedances towards the spot. 

"Dost thou fear me, child? There is no cause, " said the stranger, following her. "Again I say, What ailest thou?" This time his voicewas that of command, and the poor girl involuntarily obeyed it. Sherelated her misfortunes, her persecution by the tymbesteres, herescape, --thanks to the Nevile's courtesy, --her separation from herattendant, and her uncertainty as to the way she should pursue. 

The nobleman listened with interest: he was a man sated and wearied bypleasure and the world, and the evident innocence of Sibyll was anovelty to his experience, while the contrast between her language andher dress moved his curiosity. "And, " said he, "thy protector leftthee, his work half done; fie on his chivalry! But I, donzel, wearthe spurs of knighthood, and to succour the distressed is a duty myoath will not let me swerve from. I will guide thee home, for I knowwell all the purlieus of this evil den of London. Thou hast but toname the suburb in which thy father dwells. "

Sibyll involuntarily raised her wimple, lifted her beautiful eyes tothe stranger, in bewildered gratitude and surprise. Her childhood hadpassed in a court, her eye, accustomed to rank, at once perceived thehigh degree of the speaker. The contrast between this unexpected anddelicate gallantry and the condescending tone and abrupt desertion ofMarmaduke affected her again to tears. 

"Ah, worshipful sir!" she said falteringly, "what can reward thee forthis unlooked-for goodness?"

"One innocent smile, sweet virgin!--for such I'll be sworn thou art. "

He did not offer her his hand, but hanging the gold-enamelled reinover his arm, walked by her side; and a few words sufficing for hisguidance, led her across the ground, through the very midst of thethrong. He felt none of the young shame, the ingenious scruples ofMarmaduke, at the gaze he encountered, thus companioned. But Sibyllnoted that ever and anon bonnet and cap were raised as they passedalong, and the respectful murmur of the vulgar, who had so latelyjeered her anguish, taught her the immeasurable distance in men'sesteem between poverty shielded by virtue, and poverty protected bypower. 

But suddenly a gaudy tinsel group broke through the crowd, andwheeling round their path, the foremost of them daringly approachedthe nobleman, and looking full into his disdainful face, exclaimed, "Tradest thou, too, for kisses? Ha, ha! life is short, --the witch isoutwitched by thee! But witchcraft and death go together, asperadventure thou mayest learn at the last, sleek wooer. " Thendarting off, and heading her painted, tawdry throng, the timbrel-girlsprang into the crowd and vanished. 

This incident produced no effect upon the strong and cynical intellectof the stranger. Without allusion to it, he continued to conversewith his young companion, and artfully to draw out her own singularbut energetic and gifted mind. He grew more than interested, --he wasboth touched and surprised. His manner became yet more respectful, his voice more subdued and soft. 

On what hazards turns our fate! On that day, a little, and Sibyll'spure but sensitive heart had, perhaps, been given to the young Nevile. He had defended and saved her; he was fairer than the stranger, he wasmore of her own years and nearer to her in station; but in showinghimself ashamed to be seen with her, he had galled her heart, andmoved the bitter tears of her pride. What had the stranger done?Nothing but reconciled the wounded delicacy to itself; and suddenly hebecame to her one ever to be remembered, wondered at, --perhaps more. They reached an obscure suburb, and parted at the threshold of alarge, gloomy, ruinous house, which Sibyll indicated as her father'shome. 

The girl lingered before the porch; and the stranger gazed, with thepassionless admiration which some fair object of art produces on onewho has refined his taste, but who has survived enthusiasm, upon thedowncast cheek that blushed beneath his gaze. "Farewell!" he said;and the girl looked up wistfully. He might, without vanity, havesupposed that look to imply what the lip did not dare to say, --"Andshall we meet no more?"

But he turned away, with formal though courteous salutation; and as heremounted his steed, and rode slowly towards the interior of the city, he muttered to himself, with a melancholy smile upon his lips, "Nowmight the grown infant make to himself a new toy; but an innocentheart is a brittle thing, and one false vow can break it. Prettymaiden! I like thee well eno' not to love thee. So, as my youngScotch minstrel sings and plays, --

 'Christ keep these birdis bright in bowers, Sic peril lies in paramours!'"

[A Scotch poet, in Lord Hailes's Collection, has the following linesin the very pretty poem called "Peril in Paramours:"--

 "Wherefore I pray, in termys short, Christ keep these birdis bright in bowers, Fra false lovers and their disport, Sic peril lies in paramours. "]

We must now return to Marmaduke. On leaving Sibyll, and retracing hissteps towards the more crowded quarter of the space, he was agreeablysurprised by encountering Nicholas Alwyn, escorted in triumph by alegion of roaring apprentices from the victory he had just obtainedover six competitors at the quarter-staff. 

When the cortege came up to Marmaduke, Nicholas halted, and frontinghis attendants, said, with the same cold and formal stiffness that hadcharacterized him from the beginning, "I thank you, lads, for yourkindness. It is your own triumph. All I cared for was to show thatyou London boys are able to keep up your credit in these days, whenthere's little luck in a yard-measure, if the same hand cannot bend abow, or handle cold steel. But the less we think of the strife whenwe are in the stall, the better for our pouches. And so I hope weshall hear no more about it, until I get a ware of my own, when themore of ye that like to talk of such matters the better ye will bewelcome, --always provided ye be civil customers, who pay on the nail, for as the saw saith, 'Ell and tell makes the crypt swell. ' For therest, thanks are due to this brave gentleman, Marmaduke Nevile, who, though the son of a knight-banneret who never furnished less to thebattle-field than fifty men-at-arms, has condescended to take part andparcel in the sports of us peaceful London traders; and if ever youcan do him a kind turn--for turn and turn is fair play--why, you will, I answer for it. And so one cheer for old London, and another forMarmaduke Nevile. Here goes! Hurrah, my lads!" And with this pithyaddress Nicholas Alwyn took off his cap and gave the signal for theshouts, which, being duly performed, he bowed stiffly to hiscompanions, who departed with a hearty laugh, and coming to the sideof Nevile, the two walked on to a neighbouring booth, where, under arude awning, and over a flagon of clary, they were soon immersed inthe confidential communications each had to give and receive. 

CHAPTER III. 

THE TRADER AND THE GENTLE; OR, THE CHANGING GENERATION. 

"No, my dear foster-brother, " said the Nevile, "I do not yetcomprehend the choice you have made. You were reared and brought upwith such careful book-lere, not only to read and to write--the which, save the mark! I hold to be labour eno'--but chop Latin and logic andtheology with Saint Aristotle (is not that his hard name?) into thebargain, and all because you had an uncle of high note in Holy Church. I cannot say I would be a shaveling myself; but surely a monk with thehope of preferment is a nobler calling to a lad of spirit and ambitionthan to stand out at a door and cry, 'Buy, buy, ' 'What d'ye lack?' tospend youth as a Flat-cap, and drone out manhood in measuring cloth, hammering metals, or weighing out spices?"

"Fair and softly, Master Marmaduke, " said Alwyn, "you will understandme better anon. My uncle, the sub-prior, died, --some say ofausterities, others of ale, --that matters not; he was a learned manand a cunning. 'Nephew Nicholas, ' said he on his death-bed, 'thinktwice before you tie yourself up to the cloister; it's ill leapingnowadays in a sackcloth bag. If a pious man be moved to the cowl byholy devotion, there is nothing to be said on the subject; but if hetake to the Church as a calling, and wish to march ahead like hisfellows, these times show him a prettier path to distinction. Thenobles begin to get the best things for themselves; and a learnedmonk, if he is the son of a yeoman, cannot hope, without a specialtyof grace, to become abbot or bishop. The king, whoever he be, must beso drained by his wars, that he has little land or gold to bestow onhis favourites; but his gentry turn an eye to the temporalities of theChurch, and the Church and the king wish to strengthen themselves bythe gentry. This is not all; there are free opinions afloat. TheHouse of Lancaster has lost ground, by its persecutions and burnings. Men dare not openly resist, but they treasure up recollections of afried grandfather, or a roasted cousin, --recollections which have donemuch damage to the Henries, and will shake Holy Church itself one ofthese days. The Lollards lie hid, but Lollardism will never die. There is a new class rising amain, where a little learning goes agreat way, if mixed with spirit and sense. Thou likest broad piecesand a creditable name, --go to London and be a trader. London beginsto decide who shall wear the crown, and the traders to decide whatking London shall befriend. Wherefore, cut thy trace from thecloister, and take thy road to the shop. ' The next day my uncle gaveup the ghost. --They had better clary than this at the convent, I mustown; but every stone has its flaw. "

"Yet, " said Marmaduke, "if you took distaste to the cowl, from reasonsthat I pretend not to judge of, but which seem to my poor head verybad ones, seeing that the Church is as mighty as ever, and King Edwardis no friend to the Lollards, and that your uncle himself was at leasta sub-prior--"

"Had he been son to a baron, he had been a cardinal, " interruptedNicholas, "for his head was the longest that ever came out of thenorth country. But go on; you would say my father was a sturdyyeoman, and I might have followed his calling?"

"You hit the mark, Master Nicholas. "

"Hout, man. I crave pardon of your rank, Master Nevile. But a yeomanis born a yeoman, and he dies a yeoman--I think it better to die LordMayor of London; and so I craved my mother's blessing and leave, and apart of the old hyde has been sold to pay for the first step to thered gown, which I need not say must be that of the Flat-cap. I havealready taken my degrees, and no longer wear blue. I am headman to mymaster, and my master will be sheriff of London. "

"It is a pity, " said the Nevile, shaking his head; "you were ever atall, brave lad, and would have made a very pretty soldier. "

"Thank you, Master Marmaduke, but I leave cut and thrust to thegentles. I have seen eno' of the life of a retainer. He goes out onfoot with his shield and his sword, or his bow and his quiver, whileSir Knight sits on horseback, armed from the crown to the toe, and thearrow slants off from rider and horse, as a stone from a tree. If theretainer is not sliced and carved into mincemeat, he comes home to aheap of ashes, and a handful of acres, harried and rivelled into acommon; Sir Knight thanks him for his valour, but he does not build uphis house; Sir Knight gets a grant from the king, or an heiress forhis son, and Hob Yeoman turns gisarme and bill into ploughshares. Tut, tut, there's no liberty, no safety, no getting on, for a man whohas no right to the gold spurs, but in the guild of his fellows; andLondon is the place for a born Saxon like Nicholas Alwyn. "

As the young aspirant thus uttered the sentiments, which though othersmight not so plainly avow and shrewdly enforce them, tended towardsthat slow revolution, which, under all the stormy events that thesuperficial record we call HISTORY alone deigns to enumerate, wasworking that great change in the thoughts and habits of the people, --that impulsion of the provincial citywards, that gradual formationof a class between knight and vassal, --which became firstconstitutionally visible and distinct in the reign of Henry VII. , Marmaduke Nevile, inly half-regretting and half-despising thereasonings of his foster-brother, was playing with his dagger, andglancing at his silver arrow. 

"Yet you could still have eno' of the tall yeoman and the stoutretainer about you to try for this bauble, and to break half a dozenthick heads with your quarter-staff!"

"True, " said Nicholas; "you must recollect we are only, as yet, between the skin and the selle, --half-trader, half-retainer. The oldleaven will out, --'Eith to learn the cat to the kirn, ' as they say inthe North. But that's not all; a man, to get on, must win respectfrom those who are to jostle him hereafter, and it's good policy toshow those roystering youngsters that Nick Alwyn, stiff and steadythough he be, has the old English metal in him, if it comes to apinch; it's a lesson to yon lords too, save your quality, if they everwish to ride roughshod over our guilds and companies. But eno' ofme. --Drawer, another stoup of the clary--Now, gentle sir, may I makebold to ask news of yourself? I saw, though I spake not before of it, that my Lord Montagu showed a cold face to his kinsman. I knowsomething of these great men, though I be but a small one, --a dog isno bad guide in the city he trots through. "

"My dear foster-brother, " said the Nevile, "you had ever more brainsthan myself, as is meet that you should have, since you lay by thesteel casque, --which, I take it, is meant as a substitute for usgentlemen and soldiers who have not so many brains to spare; and Iwill willingly profit by your counsels. You must know, " he said, drawing nearer to the table, and his frank, hardy face assuming a moreearnest expression, "that though my father, Sir Guy, at theinstigation of his chief, the Earl of Westmoreland, and of the LordNevile, bore arms at the first for King Henry--"

"Hush! hush! for Henry of Windsor!"

"Henry of Windsor!--so be it! yet being connected, like the nobles Ihave spoken of, with the blood of Warwick and Salisbury, it was everwith doubt and misgiving, and rather in the hope of ultimatecompromise between both parties (which the Duke of York's moderationrendered probable) than of the extermination of either. But when, atthe battle of York, Margaret of Anjou and her generals stained theirvictory by cruelties which could not fail to close the door on allconciliation; when the infant son of the duke himself was murdered, though a prisoner, in cold blood; when my father's kinsman, the Earlof Salisbury, was beheaded without trial; when the head of the braveand good duke, who had fallen in the field, was, against all knightlyand king-like generosity, mockingly exposed, like a dishonouredrobber, on the gates of York, my father, shocked and revolted, withdrew at once from the army, and slacked not bit or spur till hefound himself in his hall at Arsdale. His death, caused partly by histravail and vexation of spirit, together with his timely withdrawalfrom the enemy, preserved his name from the attainder passed on theLords Westmoreland and Nevile; and my eldest brother, Sir John, accepted the king's proffer of pardon, took the oaths of allegiance toEdward, and lives safe, if obscure, in his father's halls. Thouknowest, my friend, that a younger brother has but small honour athome. Peradventure, in calmer times, I might have bowed my pride tomy calling, hunted my brother's dogs, flown his hawks, rented hiskeeper's lodge, and gone to my grave contented. But to a young man, who from his childhood had heard the stirring talk of knights andcaptains, who had seen valour and fortune make the way to distinction, and whose ears of late had been filled by the tales of wanderingminstrels and dissours, with all the gay wonders of Edward's court, such a life soon grew distasteful. My father, on his death-bed (likethy uncle, the sub-prior), encouraged me little to follow his ownfootsteps. 'I see, ' said he, 'that King Henry is too soft to rule hisbarons, and Margaret too fierce to conciliate the commons; the onlyhope of peace is in the settlement of the House of York. Wherefore, let not thy father's errors stand in the way of thy advancement;' andtherewith he made his confessor--for he was no penman himself, theworthy old knight!--indite a letter to his great kinsman, the Earl ofWarwick, commending me to his protection. He signed his mark, and sethis seal to this missive, which I now have at mine hostelrie, and diedthe same day. My brother judged me too young then to quit his roof;and condemned me to bear his humours till, at the age of twenty-three, I could bear no more! So having sold him my scant share in theheritage, and turned, like thee, bad land into good nobles, I joined aparty of horse in their journey to London, and arrived yesterday atMaster Sackbut's hostelrie in Eastchepe. I went this morning to myLord of Warwick; but he was gone to the king's, and hearing of themerry-makings here, I came hither for kill-time. A chance word of myLord of Montagu--whom Saint Dunstan confound!--made me conceit that afeat of skill with the cloth-yard might not ill preface my letter tothe great earl. But, pardie! it seems I reckoned without my host, andin seeking to make my fortunes too rashly, I have helped to mar them. "Wherewith he related the particulars of his interview with Montagu. 

Nicholas Alwyn listened to him with friendly and thoughtful interest, and, when he had done, spoke thus, --

"The Earl of Warwick is a generous man, and though hot, bears littlemalice, except against those whom he deems misthink or insult him; heis proud of being looked up to as a protector, especially by those ofhis own kith and name. Your father's letter will touch the rightstring, and you cannot do better than deliver it with a plain story. A young partisan like thee is not to be despised. Thou must trust toLord Warwick to set matters right with his brother; and now, before Isay further, let me ask thee, plainly, and without offence, Dost thouso love the House of York that no chance could ever make thee turnsword against it? Answer as I ask, --under thy breath; those drawersare parlous spies!"

And here, in justice to Marmaduke Nevile and to his betters, it isnecessary to preface his reply by some brief remarks, to which we mustcrave the earnest attention of the reader. What we call PATRIOTISM, in the high and catholic acceptation of the word, was little if at allunderstood in days when passion, pride, and interest were motiveslittle softened by reflection and education, and softened still lessby the fusion of classes that characterized the small States of old, and marks the civilization of a modern age. Though the right bydescent of the House of York, if genealogy alone were consulted, wasindisputably prior to that of Lancaster, yet the long exercise ofpower in the latter House, the genius of the Fourth Henry, and thevictories of the Fifth, would no doubt have completely superseded theobsolete claims of the Yorkists, had Henry VI. Possessed any of thequalities necessary for the time. As it was, men had got puzzled bygenealogies and cavils; the sanctity attached to the king's name wasweakened by his doubtful right to his throne, and the Wars of therival Roses were at last (with two exceptions, presently to be noted)the mere contests of exasperated factions, in which publicconsiderations were scarcely even made the blind to individualinterest, prejudice, or passion. 

Thus, instances of desertion, from the one to the other party, even bythe highest nobles, and on the very eve of battle, had grown so commonthat little if any disgrace was attached to them; and any knight orcaptain held an affront to himself an amply sufficient cause for thetransfer of his allegiance. It would be obviously absurd to expect inany of the actors of that age the more elevated doctrines of partyfaith and public honour, which clearer notions of national morality, and the salutary exercise of a large general opinion, free from thepassions of single individuals, have brought into practice in our moreenlightened days. The individual feelings of the individual MAN, strong in himself, became his guide, and he was free in much from theregular and thoughtful virtues, as well as from the mean and plausiblevices, of those who act only in bodies and corporations. The twoexceptions to this idiosyncrasy of motive and conduct were, first, inthe general disposition of the rising middle class, especially inLondon, to connect great political interests with the more popularHouse of York. The commons in parliament had acted in opposition toHenry the Sixth, as the laws they wrung from him tended to show, andit was a popular and trading party that came, as it were, into powerunder King Edward. It is true that Edward was sufficiently arbitraryin himself; but a popular party will stretch as much as itsantagonists in favour of despotism, --exercised, on its enemies. AndEdward did his best to consult the interests of commerce, though theprejudices of the merchants interpreted those interests in a wayopposite to that in which political economy now understands them. Thesecond exception to the mere hostilities of individual chiefs andfeudal factions has, not less than the former, been too muchoverlooked by historians. But this was a still more powerful elementin the success of the House of York. The hostility against the RomanChurch and the tenets of the Lollards were shared by an immense partof the population. In the previous century an ancient writer computesthat one half the population were Lollards; and though the sect werediminished and silenced by fear, they still ceased not to exist, andtheir doctrines not only shook the Church under Henry VIII. , butdestroyed the throne by the strong arm of their children, thePuritans, under Charles I. It was impossible that these men shouldnot have felt the deepest resentment at the fierce and steadfastpersecution they endured under the House of Lancaster; and withoutpausing to consider how far they would benefit under the dynasty ofYork, they had all those motives of revenge which are mistaken sooften for the counsels of policy, to rally round any standard raisedagainst their oppressors. These two great exceptions to merelyselfish policy, which it remains for the historian clearly and atlength to enforce, these: and these alone will always, to a sagaciousobserver, elevate the Wars of the Roses above those bloody contestsfor badges which we are at first sight tempted to regard them. Butthese deeper motives animated very little the nobles and the knightlygentry; [Amongst many instances of the self-seeking of the time, notthe least striking is the subservience of John Mowbray, the great Dukeof Norfolk, to his old political enemy, the Earl of Oxford, the momentthe last comes into power, during the brief restoration of Henry VI. John Paston, whose family had been sufficiently harassed by this greatduke, says, with some glee, "The Duke and Duchess (of Norfolk) sue tohim (Lord Oxford) as humbly as ever I did to them. "--Paston Letters, cccii. ] and with them the governing principles were, as we have justsaid, interest, ambition, and the zeal for the honour and advancementof Houses and chiefs. 

"Truly, " said Marmaduke, after a short and rather embarrassed pause, "I am little beholden as yet to the House of York. There where I seea noble benefactor, or a brave and wise leader, shall I think my swordand heart may best proffer allegiance. "

"Wisely said, " returned Alwyn, with a slight but half sarcastic smile;"I asked thee the question because--draw closer--there are wise men inour city who think the ties between Warwick and the king less strongthan a ship's cable; and if thou attachest thyself to Warwick, he willbe better pleased, it may be, with talk of devotion to himself thanprofessions of exclusive loyalty to King Edward. He who has littlesilver in his pouch must have the more silk on his tongue. A word toa Westmoreland or a Yorkshire man is as good as a sermon to men notborn so far north. One word more, and I have done. Thou art kind andaffable and gentle, my dear foster-brother, but it will not do forthee to be seen again with the goldsmith's headman. If thou wantestme, send for me at nightfall; I shall be found at Master Heyford's, inthe Chepe. And if, " added Nicholas, with a prudent reminiscence, "thou succeedest at court, and canst recommend my master, --there is nobetter goldsmith, --it may serve me when I set up for myself, which Ilook to do shortly. "

"But to send for thee, my own foster-brother, at nightfall, as if Iwere ashamed!"

"Hout, Master Marmaduke, if thou wert not ashamed of me, I should beashamed to be seen with a gay springal like thee. Why, they would sayin the Chepe that Nick Alwyn was going to ruin. No, no. Birds of afeather must keep shy of those that moult other colours; and so, mydear young master, this is my last shake of the hand. But hold: dostthou know thy way back?"

"Oh, yes, --never fear!" answered Marmaduke; "though I see not why sofar, at least, we may not be companions. "

"No, better as it is; after this day's work they will gossip aboutboth of us, and we shall meet many who know my long visage on the wayback. God keep thee; avise me how thou prosperest. "

So saying, Nicholas Alwyn walked off, too delicate to propose to payhis share of the reckoning with a superior; but when he had gone a fewpaces he turned back, and accosting the Nevile, as the latter wasrebuckling his mantle, said, --

"I have been thinking, Master Nevile, that these gold nobles, which ithas been my luck to bear off, would be more useful in thy gipsire thanmine. I have sure gains and small expenses; but a gentleman gainsnothing, and his hand must be ever in his pouch, so--"

"Foster-brother, " said Marmaduke, haughtily, "a gentleman neverborrows, --except of the Jews, and with due interest. Moreover, I toohave my calling; and as thy stall to thee, so to me my good sword. Saints keep thee! Be sure I will serve thee when I can. "

"The devil's in these young strips of the herald's tree, " mutteredAlwyn, as he strode off; "as if it were dishonest to borrow a broadpiece without cutting a throat for it! Howbeit, money is a prolificmother: and here is eno' to buy me a gold chain against I am aldermanof London. Hout, thus goes the world, --the knight's baubles becomethe alderman's badges--so much the better!"

CHAPTER IV. 

ILL FARES THE COUNTRY MOUSE IN THE TRAPS OF TOWN. 

We trust we shall not be deemed discourteous, either, on the one hand, to those who value themselves on their powers of reflection, or, onthe other, to those who lay claim to what, in modern phrenologicaljargon, is called the Organ of Locality, when we venture to surmisethat the two are rarely found in combination; nay, that it seems to usa very evident truism, that in proportion to the general activity ofthe intellect upon subjects of pith and weight, the mind will beindifferent to those minute external objects by which a lesscontemplative understanding will note, and map out, and impress uponthe memory, the chart of the road its owner has once taken. MasterMarmaduke Nevile, a hardy and acute forester from childhood, possessedto perfection the useful faculty of looking well and closely beforehim as he walked the earth; and ordinarily, therefore, the path he hadonce taken, however intricate and obscure, he was tolerably sure toretrace with accuracy, even at no inconsiderable distance of time, --the outward senses of men are usually thus alert and attentive in thesavage or the semi-civilized state. He had not, therefore, over-valued his general acuteness in the note and memory of localities, when he boasted of his power to refind his way to his hostelriewithout the guidance of Alwyn. But it so happened that the events ofthis day, so memorable to him, withdrew his attention from externalobjects, to concentrate it within. And in marvelling and musing overthe new course upon which his destiny had entered, he forgot to takeheed of that which his feet should pursue; so that, after wanderingunconsciously onward for some time, he suddenly halted in perplexityand amaze to find himself entangled in a labyrinth of scatteredsuburbs, presenting features wholly different from the road that hadconducted him to the archery-ground in the forenoon. The darkness ofthe night had set in; but it was relieved by a somewhat faint andmist-clad moon, and some few and scattered stars, over which rolled, fleetly, thick clouds, portending rain. No lamps at that time cheeredthe steps of the belated wanderer; the houses were shut up, and theirinmates, for the most part, already retired to rest, and the suburbsdid not rejoice, as the city, in the round of the watchman with hisdrowsy call to the inhabitants, "Hang out your lights!" Thepassengers, who at first, in various small groups and parties, hadenlivened the stranger's way, seemed to him, unconscious as he was ofthe lapse of time, to have suddenly vanished from the thoroughfares;and he found himself alone in places thoroughly unknown to him, wakingto the displeasing recollection that the approaches to the city weresaid to be beset by brawlers and ruffians of desperate characters, whom the cessation of the civil wars had flung loose upon the skirtsof society, to maintain themselves by deeds of rapine and plunder. Asmight naturally be expected, most of these had belonged to thedefeated party, who had no claim to the good offices or charity ofthose in power. And although some of the Neviles had sided with theLancastrians, yet the badge worn by Marmaduke was considered a pledgeof devotion to the reigning House, and added a new danger to thosewhich beset his path. Conscious of this--for he now called to mindthe admonitions of his host in parting from the hostelrie--he deemedit but discreet to draw the hood of his mantle over the silverornament; and while thus occupied, he heard not a step emerging from alane at his rear, when suddenly a heavy hand was placed on hisshoulder. He started, turned, and before him stood a man, whoseaspect and dress betokened little to lessen the alarm of theuncourteous salutation. Marmaduke's dagger was bare on the instant. 

"And what wouldst thou with me?" he asked. 

"Thy purse and thy dagger!" answered the stranger. 

"Come and take them, " said the Nevile, unconscious that he uttered areply famous in classic history, as he sprang backward a step or so, and threw himself into an attitude of defence. The stranger slowlyraised a rude kind of mace, or rather club, with a ball of iron at theend, garnished with long spikes, as he replied, "Art thou mad eno' tofight for such trifles?"

"Art thou in the habit of meeting one Englishman who yields his goodswithout a blow to another?" retorted Marmaduke. "Go to! thy club doesnot daunt me. " The stranger warily drew back a step, and applied awhistle to his mouth. The Nevile sprang at him, but the strangerwarded off the thrust of the poniard with a light flourish of hisheavy weapon; and had not the youth drawn back on the instant, it hadbeen good-night and a long day to Marmaduke Nevile. Even as it was, his heart beat quick, as the whirl of the huge weapon sent the airlike a strong wind against his face. Ere he had time to renew hisattack, he was suddenly seized from behind, and found himselfstruggling in the arms of two men. From these he broke, and hisdagger glanced harmless against the tough jerkin of his firstassailant. The next moment his right arm fell to his side, uselessand deeply gashed. A heavy blow on the head--the moon, the starsreeled in his eyes--and then darkness, --he knew no more. Hisassailants very deliberately proceeded to rifle the inanimate body, when one of them, perceiving the silver badge, exclaimed, with anoath, "One of the rampant Neviles! This cock at least shall crow nomore. " And laying the young man's head across his lap, while hestretched back the throat with one hand, with the other he drew fortha long sharp knife, like those used by huntsmen in despatching thehart. Suddenly, and in the very moment when the blade was about toinflict the fatal gash, his hand was forcibly arrested, and a man, whohad silently and unnoticed joined the ruffians, said in a sternwhisper, "Rise and depart from thy brotherhood forever. We admit nomurderer. "

The ruffian looked up in bewilderment. "Robin--captain--thou here!"he said falteringly. 

"I must needs be everywhere, I see, if I would keep such fellows asthou and these from the gallows. What is this?--a silver arrow--theyoung archer--Um. "

"A Nevile!" growled the would-be murderer. 

"And for that very reason his life should be safe. Knowest thou notthat Richard of Warwick, the great Nevile, ever spares the commons?Begone! I say. " The captain's low voice grew terrible as he utteredthe last words. The savage rose, and without a word stalked away. 

"Look you, my masters, " said Robin, turning to the rest, "soldiersmust plunder a hostile country. While York is on the throne, Englandis a hostile country to us Lancastrians. Rob, then, rifle, if yewill; but he who takes life shall lose it. Ye know me!" The robberslooked down, silent and abashed. Robin bent a moment over the youth. "He will live, " he muttered. "So! he already begins to awaken. Oneof these houses will give him shelter. Off, fellows, and take care ofyour necks!"

When Marmaduke, a few minutes after this colloquy, began to revive, itwas with a sensation of dizziness, pain, and extreme cold. He stroveto lift himself from the ground, and at length succeeded. He wasalone; the place where he had lain was damp and red with stiffeningblood. He tottered on for several paces, and perceived from alattice, at a little distance, a light still burning. Now reeling, now falling, he still dragged on his limbs as the instinct attractedhim to that sign of refuge. He gained the doorway of a detached andgloomy house, and sank on the stone before it to cry aloud; but hisvoice soon sank into deep groans, and once more, as his effortsincreased the rapid gush of the blood, became insensible. The manstyled Robin, who had so opportunely saved his life, now approachedfrom the shadow of a wall, beneath which he had watched Marmaduke'smovements. He neared the door of the house, and cried, in a sharp, clear voice, "Open, for the love of Christ!"

A head was now thrust from the lattice, the light vanished; a minutemore, the door opened; and Robin, as if satisfied, drew hastily back, and vanished, saying to himself, as he strode along, "A young man'slife must needs be dear to him; yet had the lad been a lord, methinksI should have cared little to have saved for the people one tyrantmore. "

After a long interval, Marmaduke again recovered, and his eyes turnedwith pain from the glare of a light held to his face. 

"He wakes, Father, --he will live!" cried a sweet voice. "Ay, he willlive, child!" answered a deeper tone; and the young man muttered tohimself, half audibly, as in a dream, "Holy Mother be blessed! it issweet to live. " The room in which the sufferer lay rather exhibitedthe remains of better fortunes than testified to the solid means ofthe present possessor. The ceiling was high and groined, and sometints of faded but once gaudy painting blazoned its compartments andhanging pendants. The walls had been rudely painted (for arras [Mr. Hallam ("History of the Middle Ages, " chap. Ix. Part 2) implies adoubt whether great houses were furnished with hangings so soon as thereign of Edward IV. ; but there is abundant evidence to satisfy ourlearned historian upon that head. The Narrative of the "Lord ofGrauthuse, " edited by Sir F. Madden, specifies the hangings of clothof gold in the apartments in which that lord was received by EdwardIV. ; also the hangings of white silk and linen in the chamberappropriated to himself at Windsor. But long before this period (tosay nothing of the Bayeux Tapestry), --namely, in the reign of EdwardIII. (in 1344), --a writ was issued to inquire into the mystery ofworking tapestry; and in 1398 Mr. Britton observes that the celebratedarras hangings at Warwick Castle are mentioned. (See Britton's"Dictionary of Architecture and Archaelogy, " art. "Tapestry. ")] thenwas rare, even among the wealthiest); but the colours were halfobliterated by time and damp. The bedstead on which the wounded manreclined was curiously carved, with a figure of the Virgin at thehead, and adorned with draperies, in which were wrought huge figuresfrom scriptural subjects, but in the dress of the date of RichardII. , --Solomon in pointed upturned shoes, and Goliath, in the armour ofa crusader, frowning grimly upon the sufferer. By the bedside stood apersonage, who, in reality, was but little past the middle age, butwhose pale visage, intersected with deep furrows, whose long beard andhair, partially gray, gave him the appearance of advanced age:nevertheless there was something peculiarly striking in the aspect ofthe man. His forehead was singularly high and massive; but the backof the head was disproportionately small, as if the intellect too muchpreponderated over all the animal qualities for strength in characterand success in life. The eyes were soft, dark, and brilliant, butdreamlike and vague; the features in youth must have been regular andbeautiful, but their contour was now sharpened by the hollowness ofthe cheeks and temples. The form, in the upper part, was noblyshaped, sufficiently muscular, if not powerful, and with the longthroat and falling shoulders which always gives something of grace anddignity to the carriage; but it was prematurely bent, and the lowerlimbs were thin and weak, as is common with men who have sparely usedthem; they seemed disproportioned to that broad chest, and still moreto that magnificent and spacious brow. The dress of this personagecorresponded with the aspect of his abode. The materials were thoseworn by the gentry, but they were old, threadbare, and discolouredwith innumerable spots and stains. His hands were small and delicate, with large blue veins, that spoke of relaxed fibres; but their naturalwhiteness was smudged with smoke-stains, and his beard--a masculineornament utterly out of fashion among the younger race in KingEdward's reign, but when worn by the elder gentry carefully trimmedand perfumed--was dishevelled into all the spiral and tangled curlsdisplayed in the sculptured head of some old Grecian sage or poet. 

On the other side of the bed knelt a young girl of about sixteen, witha face exquisitely lovely in its delicacy and expression. She seemedabout the middle stature, and her arms and neck, as displayed by theclose-fitting vest, had already the smooth and rounded contour ofdawning womanhood, while the face had still the softness, innocence, and inexpressible bloom of a child. There was a strong likenessbetween her and her father (for such the relationship, despite thedifference of sex and years), --the same beautiful form of lip andbrow, the same rare colour of the eyes, dark-blue, with black fringinglashes; and perhaps the common expression, at that moment, of gentlepity and benevolent anxiety contributed to render the resemblancestronger. 

"Father, he sinks again!" said the girl. 

"Sibyll, " answered the man, putting his finger upon a line in amanuscript book that he held, "the authority saith, that a patient socontused should lose blood, and then the arm must be tightly bandaged. Verily we lack the wherewithal. "

"Not so, Father!" said the girl, and blushing, she turned aside, andtook off the partelet of lawn, upon which holiday finery her youngeyes perhaps that morning had turned with pleasure, and white as snowwas the neck which was thus displayed; "this will suffice to bind hisarm. "

"But the book, " said the father, in great perplexity--"the booktelleth us not how the lancet should be applied. It is easy to say, 'Do this and do that;' but to do it once, it should have been donebefore. This is not among my experiments. "

Luckily, perhaps, for Marmaduke, at this moment there entered an oldwoman, the solitary servant of the house, whose life, in those warliketimes, had made her pretty well acquainted with the simpler modes ofdealing with a wounded arm and a broken head. She treated with greatdisdain the learned authority referred to by her master; she bound thearm, plastered the head, and taking upon herself the responsibility topromise a rapid cure, insisted upon the retirement of father andchild, and took her solitary watch beside the bed. 

"If it had been any other mechanism than that of the vile human body!"muttered the philosopher, as if apologizing to himself; and with thathe recovered his self-complacency and looked round him proudly. 

CHAPTER V. 

WEAL TO THE IDLER, WOE TO THE WORKMAN. 

As Providence tempers the wind to the shorn lamb, so it possibly mightconform the heads of that day to a thickness suitable for the blowsand knocks to which they were variously subjected; yet it was notwithout considerable effort and much struggling that Marmaduke'ssenses recovered the shock received, less by his flesh-wound and theloss of blood, than a blow on the seat of reason that might havedespatched a passable ox of these degenerate days. Nature, to saynothing of Madge's leechcraft, ultimately triumphed, and Marmadukewoke one morning in full possession of such understanding as Naturehad endowed him with. He was then alone, and it was with much simplesurprise that he turned his large hazel eyes from corner to corner ofthe unfamiliar room. He began to retrace and weave together sundrydisordered and vague reminiscences: he commenced with thecommencement, and clearly satisfied himself that he had beengrievously wounded and sorely bruised; he then recalled the solitarylight at the high lattice, and his memory found itself at the porch ofthe large, lonely, ruinous old house; then all became a bewildered andfeverish dream. He caught at the vision of an old man with a longbeard, whom he associated, displeasingly, with recollections of pain;he glanced off to a fair face, with eyes that looked tender pitywhenever he writhed or groaned under the tortures that, no doubt, thatold accursed carle had inflicted upon him. But even this face did notdwell with pleasure in his memory, --it woke up confused and labouringassociations of something weird and witchlike, of sorceresses andtymbesteres, of wild warnings screeched in his ear, of incantationsand devilries and doom. Impatient of these musings, he sought to leapfrom his bed, and was amazed that the leap subsided into a totteringcrawl. He found an ewer and basin, and his ablutions refreshed andinvigorated him. He searched for his raiment, and discovered it allexcept the mantle, dagger, hat, and girdle; and while looking forthese, his eye fell on an old tarnished steel mirror. He started asif he had seen his ghost; was it possible that his hardy face couldhave waned into that pale and almost femininely delicate visage? Withthe pride (call it not coxcombry) that then made the care of personthe distinction of gentle birth, he strove to reduce into order thetangled locks of the long hair, of which a considerable portion abovea part that seemed peculiarly sensitive to the touch had beenmercilessly clipped; and as he had just completed this task, withlittle satisfaction and much inward chafing at the lack of allbefitting essences and perfumes, the door gently opened, and the fairface he had dreamed of appeared at the aperture. 

The girl uttered a cry of astonishment and alarm at seeing the patientthus arrayed and convalescent, and would suddenly have retreated; butthe Nevile advanced, and courteously taking her hand--

"Fair maiden, " said he, "if, as I trow, I owe to thy cares my tendingand cure--nay, it may be a life hitherto of little worth, save tomyself--do not fly from my thanks. May Our Lady of Walsingham blessand reward thee!"

"Sir, " answered Sibyll, gently withdrawing her hands from his clasp, "our poor cares have been a slight return for thy generous protectionto myself. "

"To thee! ah, forgive me--how could I be so dull? I remember thy facenow; and, perchance, I deserve the disaster I met with in leaving theeso discourteously. My heart smote me for it as my light footfallpassed from thy side. "

A slight blush, succeeded by a thoughtful smile--the smile of one whorecalls and caresses some not displeasing remembrance--passed overSibyll's charming countenance, as the sufferer said this withsomething of the grace of a well-born man, whose boyhood had beentaught to serve God and the Ladies. 

There was a short pause before she answered, looking down, "Nay, sir, I was sufficiently beholden to you; and for the rest, all molestationwas over. But I will now call your nurse--for it is to our servant, not us, that your thanks are due--to see to your state, and administerthe proper medicaments. "

"Truly, fair damsel, it is not precisely medicaments that I hunger andthirst for; and if your hospitality could spare me from the larder amanchet, or a corner of a pasty, and from the cellar a stoup of wineor a cup of ale, methinks it would tend more to restore me than thosepotions which are so strange to my taste that they rather offend thantempt it; and, pardie, it seemeth to my poor senses as if I had notbroken bread for a week!"

"I am glad to hear you of such good cheer, " answered Sibyll; "wait buta moment or so, till I consult your physician. "

And, so saying, she closed the door, slowly descended the steps, andpursued her way into what seemed more like a vault than a habitableroom, where she found the single servant of the household. Time, which makes changes so fantastic in the dress of the better classes, has a greater respect for the costume of the humbler; and though thegarments were of a very coarse sort of serge, there was not so great adifference, in point of comfort and sufficiency, as might be supposed, between the dress of old Madge and that of some primitive servant inthe North during the last century. The old woman's face was thin andpinched; but its sharp expression brightened into a smile as shecaught sight, through the damps and darkness, of the gracious form ofher young mistress. "Ah, Madge, " said Sibyll, with a sigh, "it is asad thing to be poor!"

"For such as thou, Mistress Sibyll, it is indeed. It does not matterfor the like of us. But it goes to my old heart when I see you shutup here, or worse, going out in that old courtpie and wimple, --you, aknight's grandchild; you, who have played round a queen's knees, andwho might have been so well-to-do, an' my master had thought a littlemore of the gear of this world. But patience is a good palfrey, andwill carry us a long day. And when the master has done what he looksfor, why, the king--sith we must so call the new man on the throne--will be sure to reward him; but, sweetheart, tarry not here; it's anill air for your young lips to drink in. What brings you to oldMadge?"

"The stranger is recovered, and--"

"Ay, I warrant me, I have cured worse than he. He must have aspoonful of broth, --I have not forgot it. You see I wanted no dinnermyself--what is dinner to old folks!--so I e'en put it all in the potfor him. The broth will be brave and strong. "

"My poor Madge, God requite you for what you suffer for us! But hehas asked"--here was another sigh, and a downcast look that did notdare to face the consternation of Madge, as she repeated, with a half-smile--"he has asked--for meat, and a stoup of wine, Madge!"

"Eh, sirs! And where is he to get them? Not that it will be bad forthe lad, either. Wine! There's Master Sancroft of the Oak will nottrust us a penny, the seely hilding, and--"

"Oh, Madge, I forgot!--we can still sell the gittern for something. Get on your wimple, Madge--quick, --while I go for it. "

"Why, Mistress Sibyll, that's your only pleasure when you sit allalone, the long summer days. "

"It will be more pleasure to remember that it supplied the wants of myfather's guest, " said Sibyll; and retracing the way up the stairs, shereturned with the broken instrument, and despatched Madge with it, laden with instructions that the wine should be of the best. She thenonce more mounted the rugged steps, and halting a moment atMarmaduke's door, as she heard his feeble step walking impatiently toand fro, she ascended higher, where the flight, winding up a square, dilapidated turret, became rougher, narrower, and darker, and openedthe door of her father's retreat. 

It was a room so bare of ornament and furniture that it seemed merelywrought out of the mingled rubble and rough stones which composed thewalls of the mansion, and was lighted towards the street by a narrowslit, glazed, it is true, --which all the windows of the house werenot, --but the sun scarcely pierced the dull panes and the deep wallsin which they were sunk. The room contained a strong furnace and arude laboratory. There were several strange-looking mechanicalcontrivances scattered about, several manuscripts upon some oakenshelves, and a large pannier of wood and charcoal in the corner. Inthat poverty-stricken house, the money spent on fuel alone, in theheight of summer, would have comfortably maintained the inmates; butneither Sibyll nor Madge ever thought to murmur at this waste, dedicated to what had become the vital want of a man who drew air in aworld of his own. This was the first thing to be provided for; andScience was of more imperative necessity than even Hunger. 

Adam Warner was indeed a creature of remarkable genius, --and genius, in an age where it is not appreciated, is the greatest curse the ironFates can inflict on man. If not wholly without the fond fancieswhich led the wisdom of the darker ages to the philosopher's stone andthe elixir, he had been deterred from the chase of a chimera by wantof means to pursue it! for it required the resources or the patronageof a prince or noble to obtain the costly ingredients consumed in thealchemist's crucible. In early life, therefore, and while yet inpossession of a competence derived from a line of distinguished andknightly ancestors, Adam Warner had devoted himself to the surer andless costly study of the mathematics, which then had begun to attractthe attention of the learned, but which was still looked upon by thevulgar as a branch of the black art. This pursuit had opened to himthe insight into discoveries equally useful and sublime. Theynecessitated a still more various knowledge; and in an age when therewas no division of labour and rare and precarious communication amongstudents, it became necessary for each discoverer to acquiresufficient science for his own collateral experiments. 

In applying mathematics to the practical purposes of life, inrecognizing its mighty utilities to commerce and civilization, AdamWarner was driven to conjoin with it, not only an extensive knowledgeof languages, but many of the rudest tasks of the mechanist's art; andchemistry was, in some of his researches, summoned to his aid. Bydegrees, the tyranny that a man's genius exercises over his life, abstracted him from all external objects. He had loved his wifetenderly, but his rapid waste of his fortune in the purchase ofinstruments and books, then enormously dear, and the neglect of allthings not centred in the hope to be the benefactor of the world, hadruined her health and broken her heart. Happily Warner perceived nother decay till just before her death; happily he never conceived itscause, for her soul was wrapped in his. She revered, and loved, andnever upbraided him. Her heart was the martyr to his mind. Had sheforeseen the future destinies of her daughter, it might have beenotherwise. She could have remonstrated with the father, though notwith the husband. But, fortunately, as it seemed to her, she (aFrenchwoman by birth) had passed her youth in the service of Margaretof Anjou, and that haughty queen, who was equally warm to friends andinexorable to enemies, had, on her attendant's marriage, promised toensure the fortunes of her offspring. Sibyll at the age of nine--between seven and eight years before the date the story enters on, andtwo years prior to the fatal field of Towton, which gave to Edward thethrone of England--had been admitted among the young girls whom thecustom of the day ranked amidst the attendants of the queen; and inthe interval that elapsed before Margaret was obliged to dismiss herto her home, her mother died. She died without foreseeing thereverses that were to ensue, in the hope that her child, at least, wasnobly provided for, and not without the belief (for there is so muchfaith in love!) that her husband's researches, which in his youth hadwon favour of the Protector Duke of Gloucester, the most enlightenedprince of his time, would be crowned at last with the rewards andfavours of his king. That precise period was, indeed, the fairestthat had yet dawned upon the philosopher. Henry VI. , slowlyrecovering from one of those attacks which passed for imbecility, hadcondescended to amuse himself with various conversations with Warner, urged to it first by representations of the unholy nature of thestudent's pursuits; and, having satisfied his mind of his learnedsubject's orthodoxy, the poor monarch had taken a sort of interest, not so much, perhaps, in the objects of Warner's occupations, as inthat complete absorption from actual life which characterized thesubject, and gave him in this a melancholy resemblance to the king. While the House of Lancaster was on the throne, the wife felt that herhusband's pursuits would be respected, and his harmless life safe fromthe fierce prejudices of the people; and the good queen would notsuffer him to starve, when the last mark was expended in devices howto benefit his country:--and in these hopes the woman died!

A year afterwards, all at court was in disorder, --armed men suppliedthe service of young girls, and Sibyll, with a purse of broad pieces, soon converted into manuscripts, was sent back to her father'sdesolate home. There had she grown a flower amidst ruins, with nocompanion of her own age, and left to bear, as her sweet andaffectionate nature well did, the contrast between the luxuries of acourt and the penury of a hearth which, year after year, hunger andwant came more and more sensibly to invade. 

Sibyll had been taught, even as a child, some accomplishments littlevouchsafed then to either sex, --she could read and write; and Margarethad not so wholly lost, in the sterner North, all reminiscence of theaccomplishments that graced her father's court as to neglect theeducation of those brought up in her household. Much attention wasgiven to music, for it soothed the dark hours of King Henry; theblazoning of missals or the lives of saints, with the labours of theloom, were also among the resources of Sibyll's girlhood, and by theselast she had, from time to time, served to assist the maintenance ofthe little family of which, child though she was, she became theactual head. But latterly--that is, for the last few weeks--eventhese sources failed her; for as more peaceful times allowed herneighbours to interest themselves in the affairs of others, the darkreports against Warner had revived. His name became a by-word ofhorror; the lonely light at the lattice burning till midnight, againstall the early usages and habits of the day; the dark smoke of thefurnace, constant in summer as in winter, scandalized the religion ofthe place far and near. And finding, to their great dissatisfaction, that the king's government and the Church interfered not for theirprotection, and unable themselves to volunteer any charges against therecluse (for the cows in the neighbourhood remained provokinglyhealthy), they came suddenly, and, as it were by one of those commonsympathies which in all times the huge persecutor we call the PUBLICmanifests when a victim is to be crushed, to the pious resolution ofstarving where they could not burn. Why buy the quaint devilries ofthe wizard's daughter?--no luck could come of it. A missal blazonedby such hands, an embroidery worked at such a loom, was like theLord's Prayer read backwards. And one morning, when poor Sibyll stoleout as usual to vend a month's labour, she was driven from door todoor with oaths and curses. 

Though Sibyll's heart was gentle, she was not without a certainstrength of mind. She had much of the patient devotion of her mother, much of the quiet fortitude of her father's nature. If notcomprehending to the full the loftiness of Warner's pursuits, shestill anticipated from them an ultimate success which reconciled herto all temporary sacrifices. The violent prejudices, the ignorantcruelty, thus brought to bear against existence itself, filled herwith sadness, it is true, but not unmixed with that contempt for herpersecutors, which, even in the meekest tempers, takes the sting fromdespair. But hunger pressed. Her father was nearing the goal of hisdiscoveries, and in a moment of that pride which in its very contemptfor appearances braves them all, Sibyll had stolen out to the pastime-ground, --with what result has been seen already. Having thusaccounted for the penury of the mansion, we return to its owner. 

Warner was contemplating with evident complacency and delight themodel of a machine which had occupied him for many years, and which heimagined he was now rapidly bringing to perfection. His hands andface were grimed with the smoke of his forge, and his hair and beard, neglected as usual, looked parched and dried up, as if with theconstant fever that burned within. 

"Yes, yes!" he muttered, "how they will bless me for this! What RogerBacon only suggested I shall accomplish! How it will change the faceof the globe! What wealth it will bestow on ages yet unborn!"

"My father, " said the gentle voice of Sibyll, "my poor father, thouhast not tasted bread to-day. "

Warner turned, and his face relaxed into a tender expression as he sawhis daughter. 

"My child, " he said, pointing to his model, "the time comes when itwill live! Patience! patience!"

"And who would not have patience with thee, and for thee, Father?"said Sibyll, with enthusiasm speaking on every feature. "What is thevalour of knight and soldier--dull statues of steel--to thine? Thou, with thy naked breast, confronting all dangers, --sharper than thelance and glaive, and all--"

"All to make England great!"

"Alas! what hath England merited from men like thee? The people, moresavage than their rulers, clamour for the stake, the gibbet, and thedungeon, for all who strive to make them wiser. Remember the death ofBolingbroke, [A mathematician accused as an accomplice, in sorcery, ofEleanor Cobham, wife of Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, and hanged uponthat charge. His contemporary (William Wyrcestre) highly extols hislearning. ]--a wizard, because, O Father!--because his pursuits werethine!"

Adam, startled by this burst, looked at his daughter with moreattention than he usually evinced to any living thing. "Child, " hesaid at length, shaking his head in grave reproof, "let me not say tothee, 'O thou of little faith!' There were no heroes were there nomartyrs!"

"Do not frown on me, Father, " said Sibyll, sadly; "let the worldfrown, --not thou! Yes, thou art right. Thou must triumph at last. "And suddenly, her whole countenance changing into a soft and caressingendearment, she added, "But now come, Father. Thou hast laboured wellfor this morning. We shall have a little feast for thee in a fewminutes. And the stranger is recovered, thanks to our leechcraft. Heis impatient to see and thank thee. "

"Well, well, I come, Sibyll, " said the student, with a regretful, lingering look at his model, and a sigh to be disturbed from itscontemplation; and he slowly quitted the room with Sibyll. 

"But not, dear sir and father, not thus--not quite thus--vill you goto the stranger, well-born like yourself? Oh, no! your Sibyll isproud, you know, --proud of her father. " So saying, she clung to himfondly, and drew him mechanically, for he had sunk into a revery, andheeded her not, into an adjoining chamber, in which he slept. Thecomforts even of the gentry, of men with the acres that Adam had sold, were then few and scanty. The nobles and the wealthy merchants, indeed, boasted many luxuries that excelled in gaud and pomp those oftheir equals now. But the class of the gentry who had very littlemoney at command were contented with hardships from which a menial ofthis day would revolt. What they could spend in luxury was usuallyconsumed in dress and the table they were obliged to keep. These werethe essentials of dignity. Of furniture there was a woful stint. Inmany houses, even of knights, an edifice large enough to occupy aquadrangle was composed more of offices than chambers inhabited by theowners; rarely boasting more than three beds, which were bequeathed inwills as articles of great value. The reader must, therefore, not besurprised that Warner's abode contained but one bed, properly socalled, and that was now devoted to Nevile. The couch which servedthe philosopher for bed was a wretched pallet, stretched on the floor, stuffed with straw, --with rough say, or serge, and an old cloak forthe coverings. His daughter's, in a room below, was little better. The walls were bare; the whole house boasted but one chair, which wasin Marmaduke's chamber; stools or settles of rude oak elsewheresupplied their place. There was no chimney except in Nevile's room, and in that appropriated to the forge. 

To this chamber, then, resembling a dungeon in appearance, Sibyll drewthe student, and here, from an old worm-eaten chest, she carefullyextracted a gown of brown velvet, which his father, Sir Armine, hadbequeathed to him by will, --faded, it is true, but still such as thelow-born wore not, [By the sumptuary laws only a knight was entitledto wear velvet. ] trimmed with fur, and clasped with a brooch of gold. And then she held the ewer and basin to him, while, with the docilityof a child, he washed the smoke-soil from his hands and face. It wastouching to see in this, as in all else, the reverse of their naturalposition, --the child tending and heeding and protecting, as it were, the father; and that not from his deficiency, but his greatness; notbecause he was below the vulgar intelligences of life, but above them. And certainly, when, his patriarchal hair and beard smoothed intoorder, and his velvet gown flowing in majestic folds around a figuretall and commanding, Sibyll followed her father into Marmaduke'schamber, she might well have been proud of his appearance; and shefelt the innocent vanity of her sex and age in noticing the half-startof surprise with which Marmaduke regarded his host, and the tone ofrespect in which he proffered him his salutations and thanks. Evenhis manner altered to Sibyll; it grew less frank and affable, morecourtly and reserved: and when Madge came to announce that therefection was served, it was with a blush of shame, perhaps, at histreatment of the poor gittern-player on the pastime-ground, that theNevile extended his left hand, for his right was still not at hiscommand, to lead the damsel to the hall. 

This room, which was divided from the entrance by a screen, and, except a small closet that adjoined it, was the only sitting-room in aday when, as now on the Continent, no shame was attached to receivingvisitors in sleeping apartments, was long and low; an old and verynarrow table, that might have feasted thirty persons, stretched acrossa dais raised upon a stone floor; there was no rere-dosse, orfireplace, which does not seem at that day to have been an absolutenecessity in the houses of the metropolis and its suburbs, its placebeing supplied by a movable brazier. Three oak stools were placed instate at the board, and to one of these Marmaduke, in a silenceunusual to him, conducted the fair Sibyll. 

"You will forgive our lack of provisions, " said Warner, relapsing intothe courteous fashions of his elder days, which the unwonted spectacleof a cold capon, a pasty, and a flask of wine brought to his mind by atrain of ideas that actively glided by the intervening circumstances, which ought to have filled him with astonishment at the sight, "for mySibyll is but a young housewife, and I am a simple scholar, of fewwants. "

"Verily, " answered Marmaduke, finding his tongue as he attacked thepasty, "I see nothing that the most dainty need complain of; fairMistress Sibyll, your dainty lips will not, I trow, refuse me thewaisall. [I. E. Waissail or wassal; the spelling of the time isadopted in the text. ] To you also, worshipful sir! Gramercy! itseems that there is nothing which better stirs a man's appetite than asick bed. And, speaking thereof, deign to inform me, kind sir, howlong I have been indebted to your hospitality. Of a surety, thispasty hath an excellent flavour, and if not venison, is somethingbetter. But to return, it mazes me much to think what time hathpassed since my encounter with the robbers. "

"They were robbers, then, who so cruelly assailed thee?" observedSibyll. 

"Have I not said so--surely, who else? And, as I was remarking toyour worshipful father, whether this mischance happened hours, days, months, or years ago, beshrew me if I can venture the smallest guess. "

Master Warner smiled, and observing that some reply was expected fromhim, said, "Why, indeed, young sir, I fear I am almost as oblivious asyourself. It was not yesterday that you arrived, nor the day before, nor--Sibyll, my child, how long is it since this gentleman hath beenour guest?"

"This is the fifth day, " answered Sibyll. 

"So long! and I like a senseless log by the wayside, when others arepushing on, bit and spur, to the great road. I pray you, sir, tell methe news of the morning. The Lord Warwick is still in London, thecourt still at the Tower?"

Poor Adam, whose heart was with his model, and who had now satisfiedhis temperate wants, looked somewhat bewildered and perplexed by thisquestion. "The king, save his honoured head, " said he, inclining hisown, "is, I fear me, always at the Tower, since his unhappy detention, but he minds it not, sir, --he heeds it not; his soul is not on thisside Paradise. "

Sibyll uttered a faint exclamation of fear at this dangerousindiscretion of her father's absence of mind; and drawing closer toNevile, she put her hand with touching confidence on his arm, andwhispered, "You will not repeat this, Sir! my father lives only in hisstudies, and he has never known but one king!"

Marmaduke turned his bold face to the maid, and pointed to the salt-cellar, as he answered in the same tone, "Does the brave man betrayhis host?"

There was a moment's silence. Marmaduke rose. "I fear, " said he, "that I must now leave you; and while it is yet broad noon, I mustindeed be blind if I again miss my way. "

This speech suddenly recalled Adam from his meditations; for wheneverhis kindly and simple benevolence was touched, even his mathematicsand his model were forgotten. "No, young sir, " said he, "you must notquit us yet; your danger is not over. Exercise may bring fever. Celsus recommends quiet. You must consent to tarry with us a day ortwo more. "

"Can you tell me, " said the Nevile, hesitatingly, "what distance it isto the Temple-gate, or the nearest wharf on the river?"

"Two miles, at the least, " answered Sibyll. 

"Two miles!--and now I mind me, I have not the accoutrements thatbeseem me. Those hildings have stolen my mantle (which, I perceive, by the way, is but a rustic garment, now laid aside for the super-tunic), and my hat and dague, nor have they left even a half groat tosupply their place. Verily, therefore, since ye permit me to burdenyour hospitality longer, I will not say ye nay, provided you, worshipful sir, will suffer one of your people to step to the house ofone Master Heyford, goldsmith, in the Chepe, and crave one NicholasAlwyn, his freedman, to visit me. I can commission him touching mygoods left at mine hostelrie, and learn some other things which itbehooves me to know. "

"Assuredly. Sibyll, tell Simon or Jonas to put himself under ourguest's order. "

Simon or Jonas! The poor Adam absolutely forgot that Simon and Jonashad quitted the house these six years! How could he look on thecapon, the wine, and the velvet gown trimmed with fur, and not fancyhimself back in the heyday of his wealth?

Sibyll half smiled and half sighed, as she withdrew to consult withher sole counsellor, Madge, how the guest's orders were to be obeyed, and how, alas! the board was to be replenished for the evening meal. But in both these troubles she was more fortunate than sheanticipated. Madge had sold the broken gittern, for musicalinstruments were then, comparatively speaking, dear (and this had beena queen's gift), for sufficient to provide decently for some days;and, elated herself with the prospect of so much good cheer, shereadily consented to be the messenger to Nicholas Alwyn. When with alight step and a lighter heart Sibyll tripped back to the hall, shewas scarcely surprised to find the guest alone. Her father, after herdeparture, had begun to evince much restless perturbation. Heanswered Marmaduke's queries but by abstracted and desultorymonosyllables; and seeing his guest at length engaged in contemplatingsome old pieces of armour hung upon the walls, he stole stealthily andfurtively away, and halted not till once more before his belovedmodel. 

Unaware of his departure, Marmaduke, whose back was turned to him, was, as he fondly imagined, enlightening his host with much soldier-like learning as to the old helmets and weapons that graced the hall. "Certes, my host, " said he, musingly, "that sort of casque, which hasnot, I opine, been worn this century, had its merits; the vizor isless open to the arrows. But as for these chain suits, they suitedonly--I venture, with due deference, to declare--the Wars of theCrusades, where the enemy fought chiefly with dart and scymetar. Theywould be but a sorry defence against the mace and battle-axe;nevertheless, they were light for man and horse, and in some service, especially against foot, might be revived with advantage. Think younot so?"

He turned, and saw the arch face of Sibyll. 

"I crave pardon for my blindness, gentle damsel, " said he, in someconfusion, "but your father was here anon. "

"His mornings are so devoted to labour, " answered Sibyll, "that heentreats you to pardon his discourtesy. Meanwhile if you would wishto breathe the air, we have a small garden in the rear;" and sosaying, she led the way into the small withdrawing-room, or rathercloset, which was her own favourite chamber, and which communicated, by another door, with a broad, neglected grassplot, surrounded by highwalls, having a raised terrace in front, divided by a low stone Gothicpalisade from the green sward. 

On the palisade sat droopingly, and half asleep, a solitary peacock;but when Sibyll and the stranger appeared at the door, he woke upsuddenly, descended from his height, and with a vanity not whollyunlike his young mistress's wish to make the best possible display inthe eyes of a guest, spread his plumes broadly in the sun. Sibyllthrew him some bread, which she had taken from the table for thatpurpose; but the proud bird, however hungry, disdained to eat, till hehad thoroughly satisfied himself that his glories had beensufficiently observed. 

"Poor proud one, " said Sibyll, half to herself, "thy plumage lastswith thee through all changes. "

"Like the name of a brave knight, " said Marmaduke, who overheard her. 

"Thou thinkest of the career of arms. "

"Surely, --I am a Nevile!"

"Is there no fame to be won but that of a warrior?"

"Not that I weet of, or heed for, Mistress Sibyll. "

"Thinkest thou it were nothing to be a minstrel, who gave delight; ascholar, who dispelled darkness?"

"For the scholar? Certes, I respect holy Mother Church, which theytell me alone produces that kind of wonder with full safety to thesoul, and that only in the higher prelates and dignitaries. For theminstrel, I love him, I would fight for him, I would give him at needthe last penny in my gipsire; but it is better to do deeds than tosing them. "

Sibyll smiled, and the smile perplexed and half displeased the youngadventurer. But the fire of the young man had its charm. 

By degrees, as they walked to and fro the neglected terrace, theirtalk flowed free and familiar; for Marmaduke, like most young men fullof himself, was joyous with the happy egotism of a frank and carelessnature. He told his young confidante of a day his birth, his history, his hopes, and fears; and in return he learned, in answer to thequestions he addressed to her, so much, at least, of her past andpresent life, as the reverses of her father, occasioned by costlystudies, her own brief sojourn at the court of Margaret, and thesolitude, if not the struggles, in which her youth was consumed. Itwould have been a sweet and grateful sight to some kindly bystander tohear these pleasant communications between two young persons sounfriended, and to imagine that hearts thus opened to each other mightunite in one. But Sibyll, though she listened to him with interest, and found a certain sympathy in his aspirations, was ever and anonsecretly comparing him to one, the charm of whose voice still lingeredin her ears; and her intellect, cultivated and acute, detected inMarmaduke deficient education, and that limited experience which isthe folly and the happiness of the young. 

On the other hand, whatever admiration Nevile might conceive wasstrangely mixed with surprise, and, it might almost be said, withfear. This girl, with her wise converse and her child's face, was acharacter so thoroughly new to him. Her language was superior to whathe had ever heard, the words more choice, the current more flowing:was that to be attributed to her court-training or her learnedparentage?

"Your father, fair mistress, " said he, rousing himself in one of thepauses of their conversation--"your father, then, is a mighty scholar, and I suppose knows Latin like English?"

"Why, a hedge-priest pretends to know Latin, " said Sibyll, smiling;"my father is one of the six men living who have learned the Greek andthe Hebrew. "

"Gramercy!" cried Marmaduke, crossing himself. "That is awsomeindeed! He has taught you his lere in the tongues?"

"Nay, I know but my own and the French; my mother was a native ofFrance. "

"The Holy Mother be praised!" said Marmaduke, breathing more freely;"for French I have heard my father and uncle say is a language fit forgentles and knights, specially those who come, like the Neviles, fromNorman stock. This Margaret of Anjou--didst thou love her well, Mistress Sibyll?"

"Nay, " answered Sibyll, "Margaret commanded awe, but she scarcelypermitted love from an inferior: and though gracious and well-governedwhen she so pleased, it was but to those whom she wished to win. Shecared not for the heart, if the hand or the brain could not assisther. But, poor queen, who could blame her for this?--her nature wasturned from its milk; and, when, more lately, I have heard how manyshe trusted most have turned against her, I rebuked myself that--"

"Thou wert not by her side?" added the Nevile, observing her pause, and with the generous thought of a gentleman and a soldier. 

"Nay, I meant not that so expressly, Master Nevile, but rather that Ihad ever murmured at her haste and shrewdness of mood. By her side, said you?--alas! I have a nearer duty at home; my father is all inthis world to me! Thou knowest not, Master Nevile, how it flattersthe weak to think there is some one they can protect. But eno' ofmyself. Thou wilt go to the stout earl, thou wilt pass to the court, thou wilt win the gold spurs, and thou wilt fight with the stronghand, and leave others to cozen with the keen head. "

"She is telling my fortune!" muttered Marmaduke, crossing himselfagain. "The gold spurs--I thank thee, Mistress Sibyll!--will it be onthe battle-field that I shall be knighted, and by whose hand?"

Sibyll glanced her bright eye at the questioner, and seeing hiswistful face, laughed outright. 

"What, thinkest thou, Master Nevile, I can read thee all riddleswithout my sieve and my shears?"

"They are essentials, then, Mistress Sibyll?" said the Nevile, withblunt simplicity. "I thought ye more learned damozels might tell bythe palm, or the--why dost thou laugh at me?"

"Nay, " answered Sibyll, composing herself. "It is my right to beangered. Sith thou wouldst take me to be a witch, all that I can tellthee of thy future" (she added touchingly) "is from that which I haveseen of thy past. Thou hast a brave heart, and a gentle; thou hast afrank tongue, and a courteous; and these qualities make men honouredand loved, --except they have the gifts which turn all into gall, andbring oppression for honour, and hate for love. "

"And those gifts, gentle Sibyll?"

"Are my father's, " answered the girl, with another and a sadder changein her expressive countenance. And the conversation flagged tillMarmaduke, feeling more weakened by his loss of blood than he hadconceived it possible, retired to his chamber to repose himself. 

CHAPTER VI. 

MASTER MARMADUKE NEVILE FEARS FOR THE SPIRITUAL WEAL OF HIS HOST ANDHOSTESS. 

Before the hour of supper, which was served at six o'clock, NicholasAlwyn arrived at the house indicated to him by Madge. Marmaduke, after a sound sleep, which was little flattering to Sibyll'sattractions, had descended to the hall in search of the maiden and hishost, and finding no one, had sauntered in extreme weariness andimpatience into the little withdrawing-closet, where as it was nowdusk, burned a single candle in a melancholy and rustic sconce;standing by the door that opened on the garden, he amused himself withwatching the peacock, when his friend, following Madge into thechamber, tapped him on the shoulder. 

"Well, Master Nevile. Ha! by Saint Thomas, what has chanced to thee?Thine arm swathed up, thy locks shorn, thy face blanched! My honouredfoster-brother, thy Westmoreland blood seems over-hot for Cockaigne!"

"If so, there are plenty in this city of cut-throats to let out thesurplusage, " returned Marmaduke; and he briefly related his adventureto Nicholas. 

When he had done, the kind trader reproached himself for havingsuffered Marmaduke to find his way alone. "The suburbs abound withthese miscreants, " said he; "and there is more danger in a night walknear London than in the loneliest glens of green Sherwood--more shameto the city! An' I be Lord Mayor one of these days, I will look to itbetter. But our civil wars make men hold human life very cheap, andthere's parlous little care from the great of the blood and limbs ofthe wayfarers. But war makes thieves--and peace hangs them! Onlywait till I manage affairs!"

"Many thanks to thee, Nicholas, " returned the Nevile; "but foul befallme if ever I seek protection from sheriff or mayor! A man who cannotkeep his own life with his own right hand merits well to hap-lose it;and I, for one, shall think ill of the day when an Englishman looksmore to the laws than his good arm for his safety; but, letting thispass, I beseech thee to avise me if my Lord Warwick be still in thecity?"

"Yes, marry, I know that by the hostelries, which swarm with hisbadges, and the oxen, that go in scores to the shambles! It is ashame to the Estate to see one subject so great, and it bodes no goodto our peace. The earl is preparing the most magnificent embassagethat ever crossed the salt seas--I would it were not to the French, for our interests lie contrary; but thou hast some days yet to resthere and grow stout, for I would not have thee present thyself with avisage of chalk to a man who values his kind mainly by their thews andtheir sinews. Moreover, thou shouldst send for the tailor, and getthee trimmed to the mark. It would be a long step in thy path topromotion, an' the earl would take thee in his train; and the gaudierthy plumes, why, the better chance for thy flight. Wherefore, sincethou sayest they are thus friendly to thee under this roof, bide yet awhile peacefully; I will send thee the mercer, and the clothier, andthe tailor, to divert thy impatience. And as these fellows aregreedy, my gentle and dear Master Nevile, may I ask, without offence, how thou art provided?"

"Nay, nay, I have moneys at the hostelrie, an' thou wilt send me mymails. For the rest, I like thy advice, and will take it. "

"Good!" answered Nicholas. "Hem! thou seemest to have got into a poorhouse, --a decayed gentleman, I wot, by the slovenly ruin!"

"I would that were the worst, " replied Marmaduke, solemnly, and underhis breath; and therewith he repeated to Nicholas the adventure on thepastime-ground, the warnings of the timbrel-girls, and the "awsome"learning and strange pursuits of his host. As for Sibyll, he wasevidently inclined to attribute to glamour the reluctant admirationwith which she had inspired him. "For, " said he, "though I deny notthat the maid is passing fair, there be many with rosier cheeks, andtaller by this hand!"

Nicholas listened, at first, with the peculiar expression of shrewdsarcasm which mainly characterized his intelligent face, but hisattention grew more earnest before Marmaduke had concluded. 

"In regard to the maiden, " said he, smiling and shaking his head, "itis not always the handsomest that win us the most, --while fair Megwent a maying, black Meg got to church; and I give thee morereasonable warning than thy timbrel-girls, when, in spite of thy coldlanguage, I bid thee take care of thyself against her attractions;for, verily, my dear foster-brother, thou must mend and not mar thyfortune, by thy love matters; and keep thy heart whole for some fairone with marks in her gipsire, whom the earl may find out for thee. Love and raw pease are two ill things in the porridge-pot. But thefather!--I mind me now that I have heard of his name, through myfriend Master Caxton, the mercer, as one of prodigious skill in themathematics. I should like much to see him, and, with thy leave (an'he ask me), will tarry to supper. But what are these?"--and Nicholastook up one of the illuminated manuscripts which Sibyll had preparedfor sale. "By the blood! this is couthly and marvellously blazoned. "

The book was still in his hands when Sibyll entered. Nicholas staredat her, as he bowed with a stiff and ungraceful embarrassment, whichoften at first did injustice to his bold, clear intellect, and hisperfect self-possession in matters of trade or importance. 

"The first woman face, " muttered Nicholas to himself, "I ever saw thathad the sense of a man's. And, by the rood, what a smile!"

"Is this thy friend, Master Nevile?" said Sibyll, with a glance at thegoldsmith. "He is welcome. But is it fair and courteous, MasterNelwyn--"

"Alwyn, an' it please you, fair mistress. A humble name, but goodSaxon, --which, I take it, Nelwyn is not, " interrupted Nicholas. 

"Master Alwyn, forgive me; but can I forgive thee so readily for thyespial of my handiwork, without license or leave?"

"Yours, comely mistress!" exclaimed Nicholas, opening his eyes, andunheeding the gay rebuke--"why, this is a master-hand. My LordScales--nay, the Earl of Worcester himself--hath scarce a finer in allhis amassment. "

"Well, I forgive thy fault for thy flattery; and I pray thee, in myfather's name, to stay and sup with thy friend. " Nicholas bowed low, and still riveted his eyes on the book with such open admiration, thatMarmaduke thought it right to excuse his abstraction; but there wassomething in that admiration which raised the spirits of Sibyll, whichgave her hope when hope was well-nigh gone; and she became sovivacious, so debonair, so charming, in the flow of a gayety naturalto her, and very uncommon with English maidens, but which she tookpartly, perhaps, from her French blood, and partly from the example ofgirls and maidens of French extraction in Margaret's court, thatNicholas Alwyn thought he had never seen any one so irresistible. Madge had now served the evening meal, put in her head to announce it, and Sibyll withdrew to summon her father. 

"I trust he will not tarry too long, for I am sharp set!" mutteredMarmaduke. "What thinkest thou of the damozel?" "Marry, " answeredAlwyn, thoughtfully, "I pity and marvel at her. There is eno' in herto furnish forth twenty court beauties. But what good can so much witand cunning do to an honest maiden?"

"That is exactly my own thought, " said Marmaduke; and both the youngmen sunk into silence, till Sibyll re-entered with her father. 

To the surprise of Marmaduke, Nicholas Alwyn, whose less gallantmanner he was inclined to ridicule, soon contrived to rouse their hostfrom his lethargy, and to absorb all the notice of Sibyll; and thesurprise was increased, when he saw that his friend appeared notunfamiliar with those abstruse and mystical sciences in which Adam wasengaged. 

"What!" said Adam, "you know, then, my deft and worthy friend MasterCaxton! He hath seen notable things abroad--"

"Which, he more than hints, " said Nicholas, "will lower the value ofthose manuscripts this fair damozel has so couthly enriched; and thathe hopes, ere long, to show the Englishers how to make fifty, ahundred, --nay even five hundred exemplars of the choicest book, in amuch shorter time than a scribe would take in writing out two or threescore pages in a single copy. "

"Verily, " said Marmaduke, with a smile of compassion, "the poor manmust be somewhat demented; for I opine that the value of suchcuriosities must be in their rarity; and who would care for a book, iffive hundred others had precisely the same?--allowing always, goodNicholas, for thy friend's vaunting and over-crowing. Five hundred!By'r Lady, there would be scarcely five hundred fools in merry Englandto waste good nobles on spoilt rags, specially while bows and mail areso dear. "

"Young gentleman, " said Adam, rebukingly, "meseemeth that thouwrongest our age and country, to the which, if we have but peace andfreedom, I trust the birth of great discoveries is ordained. Certes, Master Alwyn, " he added, turning to the goldsmith, "this achievementmaybe readily performed, and hath existed, I heard an ingeniousFleming say years ago, for many ages amongst a strange people [Query, the Chinese?] known to the Venetians! But dost thou think there ismuch appetite among those who govern the State to lend encouragementto such matters?"

"My master serves my Lord Hastings, the king's chamberlain, and mylord has often been pleased to converse with me, so that I venture tosay, from my knowledge of his affection to all excellent craft andlere, that whatever will tend to make men wiser will have hiscountenance and favour with the king. "

"That is it, that is it!" exclaimed Adam, rubbing his hands. "Myinvention shall not die!"

"And that invention--"

"Is one that will multiply exemplars of books without hands; works ofcraft without 'prentice or journeyman; will move wagons and litterswithout horses; will direct ships without sails; will--But, alack! itis not yet complete, and, for want of means, it never may be. "

Sibyll still kept her animated countenance fixed on Alwyn, whoseintelligence she had already detected, and was charmed with theprofound attention with which he listened. But her eye glancing fromhis sharp features to the handsome, honest face of the Nevile, thecontrast was so forcible, that she could not restrain her laughter, though, the moment after, a keen pang shot through her heart. Theworthy Marmaduke had been in the act of conveying his cup to his lips;the cup stood arrested midway, his jaws dropped, his eyes opened totheir widest extent, an expression of the most evident consternationand dismay spoke in every feature; and when he heard the merry laughof Sibyll, he pushed his stool from her as far as he well could, andsurveyed her with a look of mingled fear and pity. 

"Alas! thou art sure my poor father is a wizard now?"

"Pardie!" answered the Nevile. "Hath he not said so? Hath he notspoken of wagons without horses, ships without sails? And is not allthis what every dissour and jongleur tells us of in his stories ofMerlin? Gentle maiden, " he added earnestly, drawing nearer to her, and whispering in a voice of much simple pathos, "thou art young, andI owe thee much. Take care of thyself. Such wonders and derring-doare too solemn for laughter. "

"Ah, " answered Sibyll, rising, "I fear they are. How can I expect thepeople to be wiser than thou, or their hard natures kinder in theirjudgment than thy kind heart?" Her low and melancholy voice went tothe heart thus appealed to. Marmaduke also rose, and followed herinto the parlour, or withdrawing-closet, while Adam and the goldsmithcontinued to converse (though Alwyn's eye followed the young hostess), the former appearing perfectly unconscious of the secession of hisother listeners. But Alwyn's attention occasionally wandered, and hesoon contrived to draw his host into the parlour. 

When Nicholas rose, at last, to depart, he beckoned Sibyll aside. "Fair mistress, " said he, with some awkward hesitation, "forgive aplain, blunt tongue; but ye of the better birth are not always aboveaid, even from such as I am. If you would sell these blazonedmanuscripts, I can not only obtain you a noble purchaser in my LordScales, or in my Lord Hastings, an equally ripe scholar, but it may bethe means of my procuring a suitable patron for your father; and, inthese times, the scholar must creep under the knight's manteline. "

"Master Alwyn, " said Sibyll, suppressing her tears, "it was for myfather's sake that these labours were wrought. We are poor andfriendless. Take the manuscripts, and sell them as thou wilt, and Godand Saint Mary requite thee!"

"Your father is a great man, " said Alwyn, after a pause. 

"But were he to walk the streets, they would stone him, " repliedSibyll, with a quiet bitterness. 

Here the Nevile, carefully shunning the magician, who, in the nervousexcitement produced by the conversation of a mind less uncongenialthan he had encountered for many years, seemed about to address him--here, I say, the Nevile chimed in, "Hast thou no weapon but thybludgeon? Dear foster-brother, I fear for thy safety. "

"Nay, robbers rarely attack us mechanical folk; and I know my waybetter than thou. I shall find a boat near York House; so pleasantnight and quick cure to thee, honoured foster-brother. I will sendthe tailor and other craftsmen to-morrow. "

"And at the same time, " whispered Marmaduke, accompanying his friendto the door, "send me a breviary, just to patter an ave or so. Thisgray-haired carle puts my heart in a tremble. Moreover, buy me agittern--a brave one--for the damozel. She is too proud to takemoney, and, 'fore Heaven, I have small doubts the old wizard couldturn my hose into nobles an' he had a mind for such gear. Wagonswithout horses, ships without sails, quotha!"

As soon as Alwyn had departed, Madge appeared with the finalrefreshment, called "the Wines, " consisting of spiced hippocras andconfections, of the former of which the Nevile partook in solemnsilence. 

CHAPTER VII. 

THERE IS A ROD FOR THE BACK OF EVERY FOOL WHO WOULD BE WISER THAN HISGENERATION. 

The next morning, when Marmaduke descended to the hall, Madge, accosting him on the threshold, informed him that Mistress Sibyll wasunwell, and kept her chamber, and that Master Warner was never visiblemuch before noon. He was, therefore, prayed to take his meal alone. "Alone" was a word peculiarly unwelcome to Marmaduke Nevile, who wasan animal thoroughly social and gregarious. He managed, therefore, todetain the old servant, who, besides the liking a skilful leechnaturally takes to a thriving patient, had enough of her sex about herto be pleased with a comely face and a frank, good-humoured voice. Moreover, Marmaduke, wishing to satisfy his curiosity, turned theconversation upon Warner and Sibyll, a theme upon which the old womanwas well disposed to be garrulous. He soon learned the poverty of themansion and the sacrifice of the gittern; and his generosity andcompassion were busily engaged in devising some means to requite thehospitality he had received, without wounding the pride of his host, when the arrival of his mails, together with the visits of the tailorand mercer, sent to him by Alwyn, diverted his thoughts into a newchannel. 

Between the comparative merits of gowns and surcoats, broad-toed shoesand pointed, some time was disposed of with much cheerfulness andedification; but when his visitors had retired, the benevolent mind ofthe young guest again recurred to the penury of his host. Placing hismarks before him on the table in the little withdrawing parlour, hebegan counting them over, and putting aside the sum he meditateddevoting to Warner's relief. "But how, " he muttered, "how to get himto take the gold. I know, by myself, what a gentleman and a knight'sson must feel at the proffer of alms--pardie! I would as lief Alwynhad struck me as offered me his gipsire, --the ill-mannered, affectionate fellow! I must think--I must think--"

And while still thinking, the door softly opened, and Warner himself, in a high state of abstraction and revery, stalked noiselessly intothe room, on his way to the garden, in which, when musing over somenew spring for his invention, he was wont to peripatize. The sight ofthe gold on the table struck full on the philosopher's eyes, and wakedhim at once from his revery. That gold--oh, what preciousinstruments, what learned manuscripts it could purchase! That gold, it was the breath of life to his model! He walked deliberately up tothe table, and laid his hand upon one of the little heaps. Marmadukedrew back his stool, and stared at him with open mouth. 

"Young man, what wantest thou with all this gold?" said Adam, in apetulant, reproachful tone. "Put it up! put it up! Never let thepoor see gold; it tempts them, sir, --it tempts them. " And so saying, the student abruptly turned away his eyes, and moved towards thegarden. Marmaduke rose and put himself in Adam's way. "Honouredsir, " said the young man, "you say justly what want I with all thisgold? The only gold a young man should covet is eno' to suffice forthe knight's spurs to his heels. If, without offence, you would--thatis--ahem!--I mean, --Gramercy! I shall never say it, but I believe myfather owed your father four marks, and he bade me repay them. Here, sir!" He held out the glittering coins; the philosopher's hand closedon them as the fish's maw closes on the bait. Adam burst into alaugh, that sounded strangely weird and unearthly upon Marmaduke'sstartled ear. 

"All this for me!" he exclaimed. "For me! No, no, no! for me, forIT--I take it--I take it, sir! I will pay it back with large usury. Come to me this day year, when this world will be a new world, andAdam Warner will be--ha! ha! Kind Heaven, I thank thee!" Suddenlyturning away, the philosopher strode through the hall, opened thefront door, and escaped into the street. 

"By'r Lady, " said Marmaduke, slowly recovering his surprise, "I neednot have been so much at a loss; the old gentleman takes to my gold askindly as if it were mother's milk. 'Fore Heaven, mine host's laughis a ghastly thing!" So soliloquizing, he prudently put up the restof his money, and locked his mails. 

As time went on, the young man became exceedingly weary of his owncompany. Sibyll still withheld her appearance; the gloom of the oldhall, the uncultivated sadness of the lonely garden, preyed upon hisspirits. At length, impatient to get a view of the world without, hemounted a high stool in the hall, and so contrived to enjoy theprospect which the unglazed wicker lattice, deep set in the wall, afforded. But the scene without was little more animated than thatwithin, --all was so deserted in the neighbourhood, --the shops mean andscattered, the thoroughfare almost desolate. At last he heard ashout, or rather hoot, at a distance; and, turning his attentionwhence it proceeded, he beheld a figure emerge from an alley oppositethe casement, with a sack under one arm, and several books heapedunder the other. At his heels followed a train of ragged boys, shouting and hallooing, "The wizard! the wizard!--Ah! Bah! The olddevil's kin!" At this cry the dull neighbourhood seemed suddenly toburst forth into life. From the casements and thresholds of everyhouse curious faces emerged, and many voices of men and women joined, in deeper bass, with the shrill tenor of the choral urchins, "Thewizard! the wizard! out at daylight!" The person thus stigmatized, ashe approached the house, turned his face with an expression of wistfulperplexity from side to side. His lips moved convulsively, and hisface was very pale, but he spoke not. And now, the children, seeinghim near his refuge, became more outrageous. They placed themselvesmenacingly before him, they pulled his robe, they even struck at him;and one, bolder than the rest, jumped up, and plucked his beard. Atthis last insult, Adam Warner, for it was he, broke silence; but suchwas the sweetness of his disposition, that it was rather with pitythan reproof in his voice, that he said, --

"Fie, little one! I fear me thine own age will have small honour ifthou thus mockest mature years in me. "

This gentleness only served to increase the audacity of hispersecutors, who now, momently augmenting, presented a formidableobstacle to further progress. Perceiving that he could not advancewithout offensive measures on his own part, the poor scholar halted;and looking at the crowd with mild dignity, he asked, "What meansthis, my children? How have I injured you?"

"The wizard! the wizard!" was the only answer he received. Adamshrugged his shoulders, and strode on with so sudden a step, that oneof the smaller children, a curly-headed laughing rogue, of about eightyears old, was thrown down at his feet, and the rest gave way. Butthe poor man, seeing one of his foes thus fallen, instead of pursuinghis victory, again paused, and forgetful of the precious burdens hecarried, let drop the sack and books, and took up the child in hisarms. On seeing their companion in the embrace of the wizard, asimultaneous cry of horror broke from the assemblage, "He is going tocurse poor Tim!"

"My child! my boy!" shrieked a woman, from one of the casements; "letgo my child!"

On his part, the boy kicked and shrieked lustily, as Adam, bending hisnoble face tenderly over him, said, "Thou art not hurt, child. Poorboy! thinkest thou I would harm thee?" While he spoke a storm ofmissiles--mud, dirt, sticks, bricks, stones--from the enemy, thathad now fallen back in the rear, burst upon him. A stone struck himon the shoulder. Then his face changed; an angry gleam shot from hisdeep, calm eyes; he put down the child, and, turning steadily to thegrown people at the windows, said, "Ye train your children ill;"picked up his sack and books, sighed, as he saw the latter stained bythe mire, which he wiped with his long sleeve, and too proud to showfear, slowly made for his door. Fortunately Sibyll had heard theclamour, and was ready to admit her father, and close the door uponthe rush which instantaneously followed his escape. The baffled routset up a yell of wrath, and the boys were now joined by several foesmore formidable from the adjacent houses; assured in their own mindsthat some terrible execration had been pronounced upon the limbs andbody of Master Tim, who still continued bellowing and howling, probably from the excitement of finding himself raised to the dignityof a martyr, the pious neighbours poured forth, with oaths and curses, and such weapons as they could seize in haste, to storm the wizard'sfortress. 

From his casement Marmaduke Nevile had espied all that had hithertopassed, and though indignant at the brutality of the persecutors, hehad thought it by no means unnatural. "If men, gentlemen born, willread uncanny books, and resolve to be wizards, why, they must reapwhat they sow, " was the logical reflection that passed through themind of that ingenuous youth; but when he now perceived the arrival ofmore important allies, when stones began to fly through the wickerlattice, when threats of setting fire to the house and burning thesorcerer who muttered spells over innocent little boys were heard, seriously increasing in depth and loudness, Marmaduke felt hischivalry called forth, and with some difficulty opening the rustywicket in the casement, he exclaimed: "Shame on you, my countrymen, for thus disturbing in broad day a peaceful habitation! Ye call minehost a wizard. Thus much say I on his behalf: I was robbed andwounded a few nights since in your neighbourhood, and in this housealone I found shelter and healing. "

The unexpected sight of the fair young face of Marmaduke Nevile, andthe healthful sound of his clear ringing voice, produced a momentaryeffect on the besiegers, when one of them, a sturdy baker, cried out, "Heed him not, --he is a goblin. Those devil-mongers can bake ye adozen such every moment, as deftly as I can draw loaves from theoven!"

This speech turned the tide, and at that instant a savage-looking man, the father of the aggrieved boy, followed by his wife, gesticulatingand weeping, ran from his house, waving a torch in his right hand, hisarm bare to the shoulder; and the cry of "Fire the door!" wasuniversal. 

In fact, the danger now grew imminent: several of the party werealready piling straw and fagots against the threshold, and Marmadukebegan to think the only chance of life to his host and Sibyll was inflight by some back way, when he beheld a man, clad somewhat in thefashion of a country yeoman, a formidable knotted club in his hand, pushing his way, with Herculean shoulders, through the crowd; andstationing himself before the threshold and brandishing aloft hisformidable weapon, he exclaimed, "What! In the devil's name, do youmean to get yourselves all hanged for riot? Do you think that KingEdward is as soft a man as King Henry was, and that he will suffer anyone but himself to set fire to people's houses in this way? I daresay you are all right enough in the main, but by the blood of SaintThomas, I will brain the first man who advances a step, --by way ofpreserving the necks of the rest!"

"A Robin! a Robin!" cried several of the mob. "It is our good friendRobin. Harken to Robin. He is always right. "

"Ay, that I am!" quoth the defender; "you know that well enough. If Ihad my way, the world should be turned upside down, but what the poorfolk should get nearer to the sun! But what I say is this, never goagainst law, while the law is too strong. And it were a sad thing tosee fifty fine fellows trussed up for burning an old wizard. So, beoff with you, and let us, at least all that can afford it, make forMaster Sancroft's hostelrie and talk soberly over our ale. Forlittle, I trow, will ye work now your blood's up. "

This address was received with a shout of approbation. The father ofthe injured child set his broad foot on his torch, the baker chuckedup his white cap, the ragged boys yelled out, "A Robin! a Robin!" andin less than two minutes the place was as empty as it had been beforethe appearance of the scholar. Marmaduke, who, though so ignorant ofbooks, was acute and penetrating in all matters of action, could nothelp admiring the address and dexterity of the club-bearer; and thedanger being now over, withdrew from the casement, in search of theinmates of the house. Ascending the stairs, he found on the landing-place, near his room, and by the embrasure of a huge casement whichjutted from the wall, Adam and his daughter. Adam was leaning againstthe wall, with his arms folded, and Sibyll, hanging upon him, wasuttering the softest and most soothing words of comfort her tendernesscould suggest. 

"My child, " said the old man, shaking his head sadly, "I shall neveragain have heart for these studies, --never! A king's anger I couldbrave, a priest's malice I could pity; but to find the very children, the young race for whose sake I have made thee and myself paupers, tofind them thus--thus--" He stopped, for his voice failed him, and thetears rolled down his cheeks. 

"Come and speak comfort to my father, Master Nevile, " exclaimedSibyll; "come and tell him that whoever is above the herd, whetherknight or scholar, must learn to despise the hootings that followMerit. Father, Father, they threw mud and stones at thy king as hepassed through the streets of London. Thou art not the only one whomthis base world misjudges. "

"Worthy mine host!" said Marmaduke, thus appealed to, "Algates, itwere not speaking truth to tell thee that I think a gentleman of birthand quality should walk the thoroughfares with a bundle of books underhis arm; yet as for the raptril vulgar, the hildings and cullions whohiss one day what they applaud the next, I hold it the duty of everyChristian and well-born man to regard them as the dirt on thecrossings. Brave soldiers term it no disgrace to receive a blow froma base hind. An' it had been knights and gentles who had insultedthee, thou mightest have cause for shame. But a mob of lewdrascallions and squalling infants--bah! verily, it is mere matter forscorn and laughter. "

These philosophical propositions and distinctions did not seem to havetheir due effect upon Adam. He smiled, however, gently upon hisguest, and with a blush over his pale face, said, "I am rightlychastised, good young man; mean was I, methinks, and sordid to takefrom thee thy good gold. But thou knowest not what fever burns in thebrain of a man who feels that, had he wealth, his knowledge could dogreat things, --such things!--I thought to repay thee well. Now thefrenzy is gone, and I, who an hour ago esteemed myself a puissantsage, sink in mine own conceit to a miserable blinded fool. Child, Iam very weak; I will lay me down and rest. "

So saying, the poor philosopher went his way to his chamber, leaningon his daughter's arm. 

In a few minutes Sibyll rejoined Marmaduke, who had returned to thehall, and informed him that her father had lain down a while tocompose himself. 

"It is a hard fate, sir, " said the girl, with a faint smile, --"a hardfate, to be banned and accursed by the world, only because one hassought to be wiser than the world is. "

"Douce maiden, " returned the Nevile, "it is happy for thee that thysex forbids thee to follow thy father's footsteps, or I should say hishard fate were thy fair warning. "

Sibyll smiled faintly, and after a pause, said, with a deep blush, --

"You have been generous to my father; do not misjudge him. He wouldgive his last groat to a starving beggar. But when his passion ofscholar and inventor masters him, thou mightest think him worse thanmiser. It is an overnoble yearning that ofttimes makes him mean. "

"Nay, " answered Marmaduke, touched by the heavy sigh and swimming eyeswith which the last words were spoken; "I have heard Nick Alwyn'suncle, who was a learned monk, declare that he could not constrainhimself to pray to be delivered from temptation, seeing that he mightthereby lose an occasion for filching some notable book! For therest, " he added, "you forget how much I owe to Master Warner'shospitality. "

He took her hand with a frank and brotherly gallantry as he spoke; butthe touch of that small, soft hand, freely and innocently resigned tohim, sent a thrill to his heart--and again the face of Sibyll seemedto him wondrous fair. 

There was a long silence, which Sibyll was the first to break. Sheturned the conversation once more upon Marmaduke's views in life. Ithad been easy for a deeper observer than he was to see that, under allthat young girl's simplicity and sweetness, there lurked something ofdangerous ambition. She loved to recall the court-life her childhoodhad known, though her youth had resigned it with apparentcheerfulness. Like many who are poor and fallen, Sibyll built herselfa sad consolation out of her pride; she never forgot that she waswell-born. But Marmaduke, in what was ambition, saw but interest inhimself, and his heart beat more quickly as he bent his eyes upon thatdowncast, thoughtful, earnest countenance. 

After an hour thus passed, Sibyll left the guest, and remounted to herfather's chamber. She found Adam pacing the narrow floor, andmuttering to himself. He turned abruptly as she entered, and said, "Come hither, child; I took four marks from that young man, for Iwanted books and instruments, and there are two left; see, take themback to him. "

"My father, he will not receive them. Fear not, thou shalt repay himsome day. "

"Take them, I say, and if the young man says thee nay, why, buythyself gauds and gear, or let us eat, and drink, and laugh. Whatelse is life made for? Ha, ha! Laugh, child, laugh!"

There was something strangely pathetic in this outburst, this terriblemirth, born of profound dejection. Alas for this guileless, simplecreature, who had clutched at gold with a huckster's eagerness! who, forgetting the wants of his own child, had employed it upon theservice of an Abstract Thought, and whom the scorn of his kind nowpierced through all the folds of his close-webbed philosophy and selfforgetful genius. Awful is the duel between MAN and THE AGE in whichhe lives! For the gain of posterity, Adam Warner had martyrizedexistence, --and the children pelted him as he passed the streets!Sibyll burst into tears. 

"No, my father, no, " she sobbed, pushing back the money into hishands. "Let us both starve rather than you should despond. God andman will bring you justice yet. "

"Ah, " said the baffled enthusiast, "my whole mind is one sore now! Ifeel as if I could love man no more. Go, and leave me. Go, I say!"and the poor student, usually so mild and gall-less, stamped his footin impotent rage. Sibyll, weeping as if her heart would break, lefthim. 

Then Adam Warner again paced to and fro restlessly, and again mutteredto himself for several minutes. At last he approached his Model, --themodel of a mighty and stupendous invention, the fruit of no chimericaland visionary science; a great Promethean THING, that, once matured, would divide the Old World from the New, enter into all operations ofLabour, animate all the future affairs, colour all the practicaldoctrines of active men. He paused before it, and addressed it as ifit heard and understood him: "My hair was dark, and my tread was firm, when, one night, a THOUGHT passed into my soul, --a thought to makeMatter the gigantic slave of Mind. Out of this thought, thou, not yetborn after five-and-twenty years of travail, wert conceived. Mycoffers were then full, and my name was honoured; and the richrespected and the poor loved me. Art thou a devil, that has temptedme to ruin, or a god, that has lifted me above the earth? I am oldbefore my time, my hair is blanched, my frame is bowed, my wealth isgone, my name is sullied. And all, dumb idol of Iron and the Element, all for thee! I had a wife whom I adored; she died, --I forgot herloss in the hope of thy life. I have a child still--God and our Ladyforgive me! she is less dear to me than thou hast been. And now"--theold man ceased abruptly, and folding his arms, looked at the deaf ironsternly, as on a human foe. By his side was a huge hammer, employedin the toils of his forge; suddenly he seized and swung it aloft. Oneblow, and the labour of years was shattered into pieces! One blow!--But the heart failed him, and the hammer fell heavily to the ground. 

"Ay!" he muttered, "true, true! if thou, who hast destroyed all else, wert destroyed too, what were left me? Is it a crime to murder Alan?--a greater crime to murder Thought, which is the life of all men!Come, I forgive thee!"

And all that day and all that night the Enthusiast laboured in hischamber, and the next day the remembrance of the hooting, the pelting, the mob, was gone, --clean gone from his breast. The Model began tomove, life hovered over its wheels; and the Martyr of Science hadforgotten the very world for which he, groaning and rejoicing, toiled!

CHAPTER VIII. 

MASTER MARMADUKE NEVILE MAKES LOVE, AND IS FRIGHTENED. 

For two or three days Marmaduke and Sibyll were necessarily broughtmuch together. Such familiarity of intercourse was peculiarly rare inthat time, when, except perhaps in the dissolute court of Edward IV. , the virgins of gentle birth mixed sparingly, and with great reserve, amongst those of opposite sex. Marmaduke, rapidly recovering from theeffect of his wounds, and without other resource than Sibyll's societyin the solitude of his confinement, was not proof against thetemptation which one so young and so sweetly winning brought to hisfancy or his senses. The poor Sibyll--she was no faultless paragon, --she was a rare and singular mixture of many opposite qualities inheart and in intellect! She was one moment infantine in simplicityand gay playfulness; the next a shade passed over her bright face, andshe uttered some sentence of that bitter and chilling wisdom, whichthe sense of persecution, the cruelty of the world, had already taughther. She was, indeed, at that age when the Child and the Woman arestruggling against each other. Her character was not yet formed, --alittle happiness would have ripened it at once into the richest bloomof goodness. But sorrow, that ever sharpens the intellect, might onlyserve to sour the heart. Her mind was so innately chaste and pure, that she knew not the nature of the admiration she excited; but theadmiration pleased her as it pleases some young child; she was vainthen, but it was an infant's vanity, not a woman's. And thus, frominnocence itself, there was a fearlessness, a freedom, a somethingendearing and familiar in her manner, which might have turned a wiserhead than Marmaduke Nevile's. And this the more, because, whileliking her young guest, confiding in him, raised in her own esteem byhis gallantry, enjoying that intercourse of youth with youth sounfamiliar to her, and surrendering herself the more to its charm fromthe joy that animated her spirits, in seeing that her father hadforgotten his humiliation, and returned to his wonted labours, --sheyet knew not for the handsome Nevile one sentiment that approached tolove. Her mind was so superior to his own, that she felt almost as ifolder in years, and in their talk her rosy lips preached to him ingrave advice. 

On the landing, by Marmaduke's chamber, there was a large orielcasement jutting from the wall. It was only glazed at the upper part, and that most imperfectly, the lower part being closed at night or ininclement weather with rude shutters. The recess formed by thiscomfortless casement answered, therefore, the purpose of a balcony; itcommanded a full view of the vicinity without, and gave to those whomight be passing by the power also of indulging their own curiosity bya view of the interior. 

Whenever he lost sight of Sibyll, and had grown weary of the peacock, this spot was Marmaduke's favourite haunt. It diverted him, pooryouth, to look out of the window upon the livelier world beyond. Theplace, it is true, was ordinarily deserted, but still the spires andturrets of London were always discernible, --and they were something. 

Accordingly, in this embrasure stood Marmaduke, when one morning, Sibyll, coming from her father's room, joined him. 

"And what, Master Nevile, " said Sibyll, with a malicious yet charmingsmile, "what claimed thy meditations? Some misgiving as to thetrimming of thy tunic, or the length of thy shoon?"

"Nay, " returned Marmaduke, gravely, "such thoughts, though not withouttheir importance in the mind of a gentleman, who would not that hisignorance of court delicacies should commit him to the japes of hisequals, were not at that moment uppermost. I was thinking--"

"Of those mastiffs, quarrelling for a bone. Avow it. "

"By our Lady, I saw them not, but now I look, they are brave dogs. Ha! seest thou how gallantly each fronts the other, the hairbristling, the eyes fixed, the tail on end, the fangs glistening? Nowthe lesser one moves slowly round and round the bigger, who, mind you, Mistress Sibyll, is no dullard, but moves, too, quick as thought, notto be taken unawares. Ha! that is a brave spring! Heigh, dogs, Neigh! a good sight!--it makes the blood warm! The little one hathhim by the throat!"

"Alack, " said Sibyll, turning away her eyes, "can you find pleasure inseeing two poor brutes mangle each other for a bone?"

"By Saint Dunstan! doth it matter what may be the cause of quarrel, solong as dog or man bears himself bravely, with a due sense of honourand derring-do? See! the big one is up again. Ah, foul fall thebutcher, who drives them away! Those seely mechanics know not thejoyaunce of fair fighting to gentle and to hound. For a hound, markyou, hath nothing mechanical in his nature. He is a gentleman allover, --brave against equal and stranger, forbearing to the small anddefenceless, true in poverty and need where he loveth, stern andruthless where he hateth, and despising thieves, hildings, and thevulgar as much as e'er a gold spur in King Edward's court! Oh, certes, your best gentleman is the best hound!"

"You moralize to-day; and I know not how to gainsay you, " returnedSibyll, as the dogs, reluctantly beaten off, retired each from each, snarling and reluctant, while a small black cur, that had hitherto satunobserved at the door of a small hostelrie, now coolly approached anddragged off the bone of contention. "But what sayst thou now? See!see! the patient mongrel carries off the bone from the gentleman-hounds. Is that the way of the world?"

"Pardie! it is a naught world, if so, and much changed from the timeof our fathers, the Normans. But these Saxons are getting uppermostagain, and the yard measure, I fear me, is more potent in theseholiday times than the mace or the battle-axe. " The Nevile paused, sighed, and changed the subject: "This house of thine must have been astately pile in its day. I see but one side of the quadrangle isleft, though it be easy to trace where the other three have stood. "

"And you may see their stones and their fittings in the butcher's andbaker's stalls over the way, " replied Sibyll. 

"Ay!" said the Nevile, "the parings of the gentry begin to be thewealth of the varlets. "

"Little ought we to pine at that, " returned Sibyll, "if the varletswere but gentle with our poverty; but they loathe the humbled fortuneson which they rise, and while slaves to the rich, are tyrants to thepoor. "

This was said so sadly, that the Nevile felt his eyes overflow; andthe humble dress of the girl, the melancholy ridges which evinced thesite of a noble house, now shrunk into a dismal ruin, the remembranceof the pastime-ground, the insults of the crowd, and the brokengittern, all conspired to move his compassion, and to give force toyet more tender emotions. 

"Ah, " he said suddenly, and with a quick faint blush over his handsomeand manly countenance, --"ah, fair maid--fair Sibyll--God grant that Imay win something of gold and fortune amidst yonder towers, on whichthe sun shines so cheerly. God grant it, not for my sake, --not formine; but that I may have something besides a true heart and astainless name to lay at thy feet. Oh, Sibyll! By this hand, by myfather's soul, I love thee, Sibyll! Have I not said it before? Well, hear me now, --I love thee!"

As he spoke, he clasped her hand in his own, and she suffered it forone instant to rest in his. Then withdrawing it, and meeting hisenamoured eyes with a strange sadness in her own darker, deeper, andmore intelligent orbs, she said, --

"I thank thee, --thank thee for the honour of such kind thoughts; andfrankly I answer, as thou hast frankly spoken. It was sweet to me, who have known little in life not hard and bitter, --sweet to wish Ihad a brother like thee, and, as a brother, I can love and pray forthee. But ask not more, Marmaduke. I have aims in life which forbidall other love. "

"Art thou too aspiring for one who has his spurs to win?"

"Not so; but listen. My mother's lessons and my own heart have mademy poor father the first end and object of all things on earth to me. I live to protect him, work for him, honour him; and for the rest, Ihave thoughts thou canst not know, an ambition thou canst not feel. Nay, " she added, with that delightful smile which chased away thegraver thought which had before saddened her aspect, "what would thysober friend Master Alwyn say to thee, if he heard thou hadst courtedthe wizard's daughter?"

"By my faith, " exclaimed Marmaduke, "thou art a very April, --smilesand clouds in a breath! If what thou despisest in me be my want ofbookcraft, and such like, by my halidame I will turn scholar for thysake; and--"

Here, as he had again taken Sibyll's hand, with the passionate ardourof his bold nature, not to be lightly daunted by a maiden's first"No, " a sudden shrill, wild burst of laughter, accompanied with agusty fit of unmelodious music from the street below, made both maidenand youth start, and turn their eyes; there, weaving their immodestdance, tawdry in their tinsel attire, their naked arms glancing abovetheir heads, as they waved on high their instruments, went thetimbrel-girls. 

"Ha, ha!" cried their leader, "see the gallant and the witch-leman!The glamour has done its work! Foul is fair! foul is fair! and thedevil will have his own!"

But these creatures, whose bold license the ancient chroniclerrecords, were rarely seen alone. They haunted parties of pomp andpleasure; they linked together the extremes of life, --the grotesqueChorus that introduced the terrible truth of foul vice and abandonedwretchedness in the midst of the world's holiday and pageant. So now, as they wheeled into the silent, squalid street, they heralded agoodly company of dames and cavaliers on horseback, who were passingthrough the neighbouring plains into the park of Marybone to enjoy thesport of falconry. The splendid dresses of this procession, and thegrave and measured dignity with which it swept along, contrastedforcibly with the wild movements and disorderly mirth of the timbrel-players. These last darted round and round the riders, holding outtheir instruments for largess, and retorting, with laugh and gibe, thedisdainful look or sharp rebuke with which their salutations weremostly received. 

Suddenly, as the company, two by two, paced up the street, Sibylluttered a faint exclamation, and strove to snatch her hand from theNevile's grasp. Her eye rested upon one of the horsemen, who rodelast, and who seemed in earnest conversation with a dame, who, thoughscarcely in her first youth, excelled all her fair companions inbeauty of face and grace of horsemanship, as well as in the costlyequipments of the white barb that caracoled beneath her easy hand. Atthe same moment the horseman looked up and gazed steadily at Sibyll, whose countenance grew pale, and flushed, in a breath. His eye thenglanced rapidly at Marmaduke; a half-smile passed his pale, firm lips;he slightly raised the plumed cap from his brow, inclined gravely toSibyll, and, turning once more to his companion, appeared to answersome question she addressed to him as to the object of his salutation, for her look, which was proud, keen, and lofty, was raised to Sibyll, and then dropped somewhat disdainfully, as she listened to the wordsaddressed her by the cavalier. 

The lynx eyes of the tymbesteres had seen the recognition; and theirleader, laying her bold hand on the embossed bridle of the horseman, exclaimed, in a voice shrill and loud enough to be heard in thebalcony above, "Largess! noble lord, largess! for the sake of the ladythou lovest best!"

The fair equestrian turned away her head at these words; the noblemanwatched her a moment, and dropped some coins into the timbrel. 

"Ha, ha!" cried the tymbestere, pointing her long arm to Sibyll, andspringing towards the balcony, --

 "The cushat would mate Above her state, And she flutters her wings round the falcon's beak; But death to the dove Is the falcon's love! Oh, sharp is the kiss of the falcon's beak!"

Before this rude song was ended, Sibyll had vanished from the place;the cavalcade had disappeared. The timbrel-players, without deigningto notice Marmaduke, darted elsewhere to ply their discordant trade, and the Nevile, crossing himself devoutly, muttered, "Jesu defend us!Those she Will-o'-the-wisps are eno' to scare all the blood out ofone's body. What--a murrain on them!--do they portend, flitting roundand round, and skirting off, as if the devil's broomstick was behindthem! By the Mass! they have frighted away the damozel, and I am notsorry for it. They have left me small heart for the part of SirLaunval. "

His meditations were broken off by the sudden sight of Nicholas Alwyn, mounted on a small palfrey, and followed by a sturdy groom onhorseback, leading a steed handsomely caparisoned. In another moment, Marmaduke had descended, opened the door, and drawn Alwyn into thehall. 

CHAPTER IX. 

MASTER MARMADUKE NEVILE LEAVES THE WIZARD'S HOUSE FOR THE GREAT WORLD. 

"Right glad am I, " said Nicholas, "to see you so stout and hearty, forI am the bearer of good news. Though I have been away, I have notforgotten you; and it so chanced that I went yesterday to attend myLord of Warwick with some nowches [buckles and other ornaments] andknackeries, that he takes out as gifts and exemplars of English work. They were indifferently well wrought, specially a chevesail, of whichthe--"

"Spare me the fashion of thy mechanicals, and come to the point, "interrupted Marmaduke, impatiently. 

"Pardon me, Master Nevile. I interrupt thee not when thou talkest ofbassinets and hauberks, --every cobbler to his last. But, as thousayest, to the point: the stout earl, while scanning my workmanship, for in much the chevesail was mine, was pleased to speak graciously ofmy skill with the bow, of which he had heard; and he then turned tothyself, of whom my Lord Montagu had already made disparaging mention. When I told the earl somewhat more about thy qualities and disposings, and when I spoke of thy desire to serve him, and the letter of whichthou art the bearer, his black brows smoothed mighty graciously, andhe bade me tell thee to come to him this afternoon, and he would judgeof thee with his own eyes and ears. Wherefore I have ordered thecraftsman to have all thy gauds and gear ready at thine hostelrie, andI have engaged thee henchmen and horses for thy fitting appearance. Be quick: time and the great wait for no man. So take whatever thouneedest for present want from thy mails, and I will send a porter forthe rest ere sunset. "

"But the gittern for the damozel?"

"I have provided that for thee, as is meet. " And Nicholas, steppingback, eased the groom of a case which contained a gittern, whoseworkmanship and ornaments delighted the Nevile. 

"It is of my lord the young Duke of Gloucester's own musical-vendor;and the duke, though a lad yet, is a notable judge of all appertainingto the gentle craft. [For Richard III. 's love of music, and patronageof musicians and minstrels, see the discriminating character of thatprince in Sharon Turner's "History of England, " vol. IV. P. 66. ] Sodespatch, and away!"

Marmaduke retired to his chamber, and Nicholas, after a moment spentin silent thought, searched the room for the hand-bell, which thenmade the mode of communication between the master and domestics. Notfinding this necessary luxury, he contrived at last to make Madge hearhis voice from her subterranean retreat; and on her arrival, sent herin quest of Sibyll. 

The answer he received was, that Mistress Sibyll was ill, and unableto see him. Alwyn looked disconcerted at this intelligence, but, drawing from his girdle a small gipsire, richly broidered, he prayedMadge to deliver it to her young mistress, and inform her that it wasthe fruit of the commission with which she had honoured him. 

"It is passing strange, " said he, pacing the hall alone, --"passingstrange, that the poor child should have taken such hold on me. Afterall, she would be a bad wife for a plain man like me. Tush! that isthe trader's thought all over. Have I brought no fresher feeling outof my fair village-green? Would it not be sweet to work for her, andrise in life, with her by my side? And these girls of the city, soprim and so brainless!--as well marry a painted puppet. Sibyll! Am Idement? Stark wode? What have I to do with girls and marriage?Humph! I marvel what Marmaduke still thinks of her, --and she of him. "

While Alwyn thus soliloquized, the Nevile having hastily arranged hisdress, and laden himself with the moneys his mails contained, summonedold Madge to receive his largess, and to conduct him to Warner'schamber, in order to proffer his farewell. 

With somewhat of a timid step he followed the old woman (who keptmuttering thanks and benedicites as she eyed the coin in her palm) upthe ragged stairs, and for the first time knocked at the door of thestudent's sanctuary. No answer came. "Eh, sir! you must enter, " saidMadge; "an' you fired a bombard under his ear he would not heed you. "So, suiting the action to the word, she threw open the door, andclosed it behind him, as Marmaduke entered. 

The room was filled with smoke, through which mirky atmosphere theclear red light of the burning charcoal peered out steadily like aCyclop's eye. A small, but heaving, regular, labouring, continuoussound, as of a fairy hammer, smote the young man's ear. But as hisgaze, accustoming itself to the atmosphere, searched around, he couldnot perceive what was its cause. Adam Warner was standing in themiddle of the room, his arms folded, and contemplating something at alittle distance, which Marmaduke could not accurately distinguish. The youth took courage, and approached. "Honoured mine host, " saidhe, "I thank thee for hospitality and kindness, I crave pardon fordisturbing thee in thy incanta--ehem!--thy--thy studies, and I come tobid thee farewell. "

Adam turned round with a puzzled, absent air, as if scarcelyrecognizing his guest; at length, as his recollection slowly came backto him, he smiled graciously, and said: "Good youth, thou art richlywelcome to what little it was in my power to do for thee. Peradventure a time may come when they who seek the roof of AdamWarner may find less homely cheer, a less rugged habitation, --for lookyou!" he exclaimed suddenly, with a burst of irrepressible enthusiasm--and laying his hand on Nevile's arm, as, through all the smoke andgrime that obscured his face, flashed the ardent soul of thetriumphant Inventor, --"look you! since you have been in this house, one of my great objects is well-nigh matured, --achieved. Comehither, " and he dragged the wondering Marmaduke to his model, orEureka, as Adam had fondly named his contrivance. The Nevile thenperceived that it was from the interior of this machine that the soundwhich had startled him arose; to his eye the THING was uncouth andhideous; from the jaws of an iron serpent, that, wreathing round it, rose on high with erect crest, gushed a rapid volume of black smoke, and a damp spray fell around. A column of iron in the centre kept inperpetual and regular motion, rising and sinking successively, as thewhole mechanism within seemed alive with noise and action. 

"The Syracusan asked an inch of earth, beyond the earth, to move theearth, " said Adam; "I stand in the world, and lo! with this engine theworld shall one day be moved. "

"Holy Mother!" faltered Marmaduke; "I pray thee, dread sir, to ponderwell ere thou attemptest any such sports with the habitation in whichevery woman's son is so concerned. Bethink thee, that if in movingthe world thou shouldst make any mistake, it would--"

"Now stand there and attend, " interrupted Adam, who had not heard oneword of this judicious exhortation. 

"Pardon me, terrible sir!" exclaimed Marmaduke, in great trepidation, and retreating rapidly to the door; "but I have heard that the fiendsare mighty malignant to all lookers-on not initiated. "

While he spoke, fast gushed the smoke, heavily heaved the fairyhammers, up and down, down and up, sank or rose the column, with itssullen sound. The young man's heart sank to the soles of his feet. 

"Indeed and in truth, " he stammered out, "I am but a dolt in thesematters; I wish thee all success compatible with the weal of aChristian, and bid thee, in sad humility, good day:" and he added, ina whisper--"the Lord's forgiveness! Amen!"

Marmaduke then fairly rushed through the open door, and hurried out ofthe chamber as fast as possible. 

He breathed more freely as he descended the stairs. "Before I wouldcall that gray carle my father, or his child my wife, may I feel allthe hammers of the elves and sprites he keeps tortured within thatugly little prison-house playing a death's march on my body! HolySaint Dunstan, the timbrel-girls came in time! They say these wizardsalways have fair daughters, and their love can be no blessing!"

As he thus muttered, the door of Sibyll's chamber opened, and shestood before him at the threshold. Her countenance was very pale, andbore evidence of weeping. There was a silence on both sides, whichthe girl was the first to break. 

"So, Madge tells me thou art about to leave us?"

"Yes, gentle maiden! I--I--that is, my Lord of Warwick has summonedme. I wish and pray for all blessings on thee! and--and--if ever itbe mine to serve or aid thee, it will be--that is--verily, my tonguefalters, but my heart--that is--fare thee well, maiden! Would thouhadst a less wise father; and so may the saints (Saint Anthonyespecially, whom the Evil One was parlous afraid of) guard and keepthee!"

With this strange and incoherent address, Marmaduke left the maidenstanding by the threshold of her miserable chamber. Hurrying into thehall, he summoned Alwyn from his meditations, and, giving the gitternto Madge, with an injunction to render it to her mistress, with hisgreeting and service, he vaulted lightly on his steed; the steady andmore sober Alwyn mounted his palfrey with slow care and due caution. As the air of spring waved the fair locks of the young cavalier, asthe good horse caracoled under his lithesome weight, his naturaltemper of mind, hardy, healthful, joyous, and world-awake, returned tohim. The image of Sibyll and her strange father fled from histhoughts like sickly dreams.