“O my lord, if you had but come sooner—­had come before the proud son of York had landed, and drawn to his standard a host of powerful followers!  I know not how it is, but his name is a magnet that strangely stirs the hearts of men.  Ere I left London I heard that the rival armies were closely approaching each other, and that the battle might not be much longer delayed.  I knew not whether to fly to welcome you, or to stay and draw the sword on your behalf, and strive to be the one to bring to you the glorious news of victory.  I cannot think but what the great earl will again be victorious; but the despatches he intrusted to me, with commands to hasten westwards to try and meet you on your landing, will tell you more of the chances of war than I can do.  Men’s mouths are full of rumours.  One knows not how to sift the false from the true.  But the men of London—­ay, there is the peril—­they all stand sullen when we of the Red Rose pass by, and scarce a voice calls ’God save the king.’  If Edward of York were to succeed in reaching the city—­”

“But he must not—­he shall not—­he cannot!” cried young Edward, with flashing eyes.  “What! shall the proud crest of my great father-in-law stoop before the traitorous host of York?  Fie on thee, Paul! talk not to me of defeat.  Nay, after we have heard the holy mass of this glad Easter day, let us rather to horse and away—­you and I together, Paul, as we have done times before—­and let us not draw rein till we ride into the victorious camp of the king my father, and hear the glad welcome we shall receive from his brave host.

“O Paul, I have had my moments of doubt and desponding, but they are all past now.  I come to claim my kingdom, and to place a crown upon the brow of my lovely bride.  Ah, I must present you to her—­my gentle Lady Anne.  I wot she will not be far off She will be seeking for me, as is her fashion if we are long apart.  She must thank you herself for all that you have done and suffered for me.  You will feel yourself a thousandfold repaid when you have heard her sweet words of recognition.”

And in effect, as they turned once more toward the Abbey, Paul saw approaching them the slight and graceful figure of a young girl, in the first blush of maiden bloom and beauty, her face ethereally lovely, yet tinged, as it seemed, with some haunting melancholy, which gave a strange pathos to its rare beauty, and seemed almost to speak of the doom of sorrow and loss already hanging over her, little as she knew it then.

The solemn troth plight which had passed between her and young Edward was almost equivalent to the marriage vow that would shortly bind them indissolubly together, and their love for each other was already that of man and wife.  As the gentle lady listened to the eager tale poured out by Paul, she stretched out her hand to him, and when he would have bent the knee she raised him up with sweet smiles, and told him how her dear lord had always praised him as a very brother, and the type of all that was faithful and true in comrade.  Such words from such lips brought the boyish blush to Paul’s cheeks, and he stumbled bashfully over his undying protestations of loyalty.