[Footnote 6: His after advancement to the Earldom of Tankerville was won by deeds of arms, which shows that he must have been still hale and robust at this time.]

"Well, sir! well!" he said in English, as soon as Richard of Woodville entered; "What news?--Why has she not come herself?"

"You are, I fear, under a mistake," replied the young Englishman. "I came to you for information--not to give any."

The other cast himself back into his seat, and covered his eyes with his hands, as Woodville spoke. The next moment he withdrew his hands, and the whole expression of his countenance was altered. Nothing appeared but a look of dull and thoughtful reserve, with a slight touch of disappointment.

As he spoke not, Richard of Woodville went on to say, "Sir Philip de Morgan directed me, sir--"

"Ay!--he has his eye ever upon me," exclaimed the other, interrupting him. "What does he seek--what is there now to blame?"

"Nothing, that I am aware of," answered Woodville; "it is on my own business he directed me here; not on yours or his."

"Indeed!" said the other, with a softened look. "And what is there for your pleasure, sir?"

"He informed me," replied his visitor, "that if there be a man in Ghent, it is yourself, who can tell me where to find one Sir John Grey, an English knight, supposed to be resident here."

"And may I ask your business with him?" inquired Mortimer, coldly.

"Nay," answered Woodville; "that will be communicated to himself. I cannot see how it would stead you, to know aught concerning it."

"No!" replied Mortimer; "but it might stead him. A good friend, sir, to a man in danger, may stand like a barbican, as it were, before a fortress, encountering the first attack of the enemy. I say not that I know where Sir John Grey is to be found; but I do say, and at once, that I would not tell, if I did, till I had heard the motive of him who seeks him. He has been a wronged and persecuted man, sir; and it is fit that no indiscretion should lay him open to further injury."

Woodville fixed his eyes intently upon his companion's countenance; and, after a moment's pause, he said, in an a.s.sured tone, "I speak to Sir John Grey even now. Concealment is vain, sir, and needless; for I do but bring you a letter from the young King of England, which I promised to deliver with all speed; and if things be as I think, it will not prove so ungrateful to you as you may expect. Am I not right?--for I must have your own admission ere I give the letter."

"The letter!" repeated the other; and again a look of eagerness came over his countenance. "You bear a letter, then? You are keen, young man," he added; "but yet you look honest."

"I do a.s.sure you, sir," replied Woodville, "that I have no end or object on earth, but to give the letter with which I am charged to Sir John Grey himself. I am anxious, moreover, to do it speedily, for so I was directed; and I have therefore come to-night, without waiting for repose. If you be he, as I do believe, you may tell me so in safety, and rest upon the honour of an English gentleman."

"Honour!" said his companion, with a sad and bitter shake of the head.

"I have no cause to trust in honour: it has become but a mere name, the meaning of which has been lost long ago, and each man interprets it as he likes best. In former times, honour was a thing as immutable as the diamond, which nought could change to any other form. 'Twas truth,--'twas right,--'twas the pure gold of the high heart. Now, alas! men have devised alloy; and the metal, be it as base as copper, pa.s.ses current for the value that is stamped upon it by society.

Honour is no longer independent of man's will; 'tis that which people call it, and no more. The liar, who, with a smooth face, wrongs his friend in the most tender point, is still a man of honour with the world: the traitor, who betrays his country or his king, so that it be for pa.s.sion, and not gold, is still a man of honour, and will cut your throat if you deny it: the calumniator, who blasts another's reputation with a sneer, is still a man of honour if he's brave.

Honour's a name that changes colour, like the Indian beast, according to the light it is viewed in. Now it is courage; now it is rank; now it is riches; now it is fine raiment, or a swaggering air. Once it was Truth, young sir."

"And is ever so, in reality," replied Richard of Woodville; "the rest are all counterfeits, which only pa.s.s with men who know no better. It is of this honour that I speak, sir. However, as you know me not, I cannot expect you to attribute to me qualities that are indeed now rare; yet, holding myself bound by that very honour which we speak of, to deliver the letter that I bear to no one but him for whom it was destined, unless you tell me you are indeed that person, I must carry it back with me."

"Stay!--what is your name?" demanded the other--"that may give me light."

"My name is Richard of Woodville," answered his visitor.

"Ha! Richard of Woodville!" cried the stranger, with a look of joy, grasping his hand warmly. "Give it me--give it me--quick! I am Sir John Grey. How fares she?--where is she?--why did she not come?"

"I know not of whom you speak," replied Woodville; "this letter is from the King;" and, drawing it forth, he put it into his companion's hand.

"From the King!" exclaimed Sir John Grey--"from the King!--a letter to me!"--and he held the packet to the lamp, and gazed on the superscription attentively. "True, indeed?" he said at length, cutting the silk. "'Our trusty and well-beloved!'--a style I have not heard for years;" and bending his head over it, he perused the contents, which were somewhat long.

Woodville gazed at his face while he read, and marked the light and shade of many varied emotions come across it. Now, the eye strained eagerly at the first lines, and the brow knit; now, a proud smile curled the lip; and now, the eyelids showed a tear. But presently, as he proceeded, all haughtiness pa.s.sed away from his look--he raised his eyes to heaven, as if in thankfulness; and at the end let fall the paper on the table, and clasped his hands together, exclaiming, "Praise to thy name, Most Merciful! The dark hour has come to an end!"

Then stretching forth his open arms to Richard of Woodville, he said, "Let me take you to my heart, messenger of joy!--you have brought me life!"

"I am overjoyed to be that messenger, Sir John," replied Woodville; "but, in truth, I was ignorant of what I carried. I did but guess, indeed, from my knowledge of the King's great soul, that he would not be so eager that this should reach you soon, if the tidings it contained were evil."

"They are home to the exile," replied the knight; "wealth to the beggar; grace and station to the disgraced and fallen; the reversal of all his father's bitter acts; the generous outpouring of a true royal heart! n.o.ble, n.o.ble prince! G.o.d requite me with misery eternal, if I do not devote every moment that remains of this short life to do you signal service. And you, too, my friend," he continued, taking his visitor's hand--"so you are the man who, choosing by the heart alone, setting rank, and wealth, and name aside, looking but to loveliness and worth, sought the hand of a poor and portionless girl--the daughter of a proscribed and banished fugitive?"

"Good faith, Sir John!" replied the young gentleman, gazing upon him with a look of no small surprise and pleasure, "I begin to see light; but I have been so long in darkness that my eyes are dazzled. Can it be that I see my fair Mary's father--the father of Mary Markham--in Sir John Grey?"

But the knight's attention had been turned back to the letter, with that abrupt transition which the mind is subject to, when suddenly moved by joy so unexpected as almost to be rendered doubtful by its very intensity. "I cannot believe it," he said; "yet, who should deceive me? It is royal, too, in every word."

"It is the King's own hand that wrote it," replied Richard of Woodville; "and if there be aught that is high and generous therein--aught that speaks a soul above the ordinary crowd--aught that is marked as fitting for a King, who values royalty but for extended power to do good and redress wrong--set it down with full a.s.surance as a proof that it is Henry's own! But you have not answered me as to that dear lady."

"She is my child, Richard," said Sir John Grey; "and if you are worthy, as I believe you, she shall be your wife. You chose her in lowliness and poverty; she shall be yours in wealth and honour. But tell me more about her. When did you see her? Why has she not come?"

"The last question I cannot answer," replied Richard of Woodville; "for, though I heard her father had sent for her, I knew not who that father was, or where; but----"

"So, then, she never told you?" asked the knight.

"Never," answered Woodville, "nor my good uncle either; but I saw her some eight or nine days since in Westminster, well and happy. I have heard since, however, by a servant whom I sent up, that she and Sir Philip had returned in haste to Dunbury, upon some sudden news."

"Ay!--so then they have missed the men I sent," replied Sir John Grey.

"I despatched a servant--the only one I had--three weeks since, together with some merchants, who were going to trade in London, and who promised on their return, which was to be without delay, to bring her with them."

"Stay!" exclaimed Woodville. "Had they not a freight of velvets and stuffs of gold?"

"The same," answered the knight. "What of them?"

"They were taken by pirates in the mouth of the Thames," replied Richard of Woodville. "I heard the news in Winchester, when I was purchasing housings for my horses. But be not alarmed for your dear child. She is safe. I saw her afterwards; and good Sir Philip seemed to marvel much, why some persons whom he expected had not yet arrived.

Had he told me more, I could have given him tidings of them; put your mind at ease on her account, for she is still with Sir Philip."

"But that poor fellow, the servant!" answered the knight, sadly; "my heart is ill at rest for him. Misfortune teaches us to value things more justly than prosperity. A true and faithful friend, whatever be his station, is a treasure indeed, not to be lost without a bitter pang. I must thank G.o.d that my dear child is safe; yet I cannot forget him."

"They will put him to ransom with the rest," replied Richard of Woodville. "I heard they had carried the merchants and their vessel to some port in the north, and doubtless you will soon hear of him. I did not learn that there was any violence committed; for, though they are usually hard and cruel men, they are even more avaricious than bloodthirsty."

"G.o.d send it!" exclaimed Sir John Grey. "I wonder that your n.o.ble kinsman, when he heard that you were about to cross the sea, did not charge you with Mary's guidance hither. It would have been more safe."

"But you forget," replied Woodville, "that I was ignorant of all concerning her. I thought she was an orphan till within the last ten days--or, perhaps, not so well placed as that. Besides, my uncle would not countenance our love; and, indeed, that was his reason; for I remember he said, that he wished we had not been such fools as to be caught by one another's eyes; that it would have saved him much embarra.s.sment."

Sir John Grey smiled, saying--"That is so much the man I left. He had even then outlived the memory of his own young days, when lady's love was all his thought but arms, and looked upon everything, but that lofty and more shadowy devotion to the fair, which was the soul of olden chivalry, as little better than youthful idleness. He kept you, then, even to the last, without knowledge of her fate and history? He did well, too, for so I wished it; but I will now tell you all; and there is not, indeed, much to say. I raised my lance, with the rest, for my sovereign, King Richard; was taken and pardoned; but swore no allegiance to one whom I could not but hold as an usurper. When occasion served again, I was not slack to do the same once more, and, with my friends, fought the lost battle of Shrewsbury. My life was saved by a poor faithful fellow of our army, who gave his own, I fear, for mine; and flying, more fortunately than others, I escaped to this land. Here I soon heard that I was proclaimed a traitor, my estate seized, my name attainted, and my child sought for to make her a ward of the crown, and to give her and the fortune which her mother inherited, to some minion of the court. She was then a mere child, and, by your uncle's kindly care, was taken first to Wales, and thence brought to his own house, where he has ever treated her as a daughter.

I lingered on in this and other lands from year to year; and many an effort was made to entrap or drive me back into the net. The King of France was instigated to expel me from his dominions; the Duke of Burgundy was moved to follow his example, but would not so debase himself to any king on earth. But why should I tell all that I have suffered? Every art was used, and every means of persecution tried, till at length, taking refuge in this town of Ghent, under a false name, I have known a short period of tranquillity. Then came the thought of my child upon me: it grew like a thirst, till I could bear no more, and I sent for her. I knew not then that the late King was dead, or I might have waited to see the result; for often, when this Prince was but a child, I have had him on my knee; and I too taught him to handle the bow when he was seven years old; for, till his father stretched a hand towards the crown, he was my friend; and Harry of Hereford and John Grey were sworn brothers."

"The more the friendship once, the more the hate," replied Richard of Woodville; "so says an old song, n.o.ble knight; but now, that enmity is over, I trust, for ever. The Earl of March, the only well-founded obstacle in the way of Henry's rights, acknowledges them fully."

"And if he did not," answered Sir John Grey, with a stern brow, "I would never draw my sword for him. The Earl of March--I mean the old Earl--by tame acquiescence in the deeds of Henry of Bolinbroke, set aside his t.i.tle. He held out no hand to help his falling kinsman Richard; and if the crown was to be given away, it was the Peers and Commons of England had the right to give it; and they rightly gave it to the brave and wise, rather than to the feeble and the timid. It was Richard Plantagenet was my King, and not the Earl of March. To the one I swore allegiance, and owed much; to the other I had no duty, and owed nothing. I did not wrangle which son of a king should succeed, but I upheld the monarch who was upon the throne. Neither did I ever, my young friend, regard the Duke of Lancaster with private enmity, as you seem to think. He was ambitious; he usurped his cousin's throne; and I drew the sword against him because he did so; but I will acknowledge that, if there was one man in England fitted to fill that throne with dignity, he was the man. He, on the contrary, hated me, because his own conduct had changed a friend into an enemy; and so it is ever in this world. But who is it rings the bell so fiercely? Hark!

perhaps it is my child!"--and, opening the door, he turned his head eagerly to listen to the sounds that rose from below.

Richard of Woodville also gave ear, for a word is sufficient to make hopes, however improbable, rise up like young plants in a spring shower--at least, in our early days. But the next moment, the steps of two persons sounded in the pa.s.sage, and one of the servants, whom Woodville had seen in the ante-chamber of Sir Philip de Morgan, appeared, guided by the Flemish maid.