“Is His Grace of Gloucester within?”

At the tones, Rivers started and dropped his knife upon his plate; his brows contracted slightly and a troubled look dawned in his eyes.

“Ha, De Lacy, well met!” came the voice again.

“By St. Denis! my lord, I am glad to see you,” was the response.  “It is a pleasure I had not counted on this side of London.  Have you seen the Duke?”

“I arrived but this moment.  Will you take me to him?”

“Assuredly—­he is now at supper, but I shall venture to admit you.”

They crossed the outer room, the door opened, and De Lacy stepped within and announced: 

“The Duke of Buckingham!”

The man who entered was full six feet in height and slender, and bore himself with the easy assurance of one accustomed to respect and deference.  His face was handsome in general outline and effect, though the features were not accordant with one another.  Beneath a mass of ruddy hair, a broad, high forehead arched a pair of shifty grey eyes and a large, full nose overhung a mouth of indifferent strength, while the whole was gripped by a chin that was a fit complement to the forehead.  He paused for an instant, as his glance fell on Gloucester’s companions, and his surprise was very evident—­then he doffed bonnet and came forward.

“By St. Paul!” exclaimed Richard, rising and extending his hand, “it is so long since I have seen the Duke of Buckingham that it was well to announce him formally.”

“It is only those with the fame of a Gloucester that require no introduction,” replied Stafford, with a graceful bow that included also Rivers and Grey.

“Come, come, Sir Duke!” said Richard, “this is too much of a family gathering for the turning of compliments.”

“In truth, yes,” returned Buckingham—­“a half-brother and three uncles of our King—­but, pardieu! where is His Majesty?  Methought you traveled with him, fair brother-in-law.”

“Edward lies to-night at Stoney Stratford,” replied Rivers.

“Aye, it is unexpected all around, this meeting, it seems,” said Richard suavely.  “And, by St. Paul! a happy chance indeed.  Come, Buckingham, the gross chare grow cold; take place and fall to. . .  Catesby, tell the cook to sauce another capon and unbrace a mallard.”

In all history there scarce had been a supper party such as this.  There, about that table in this humble hostelry, were gathered four noblemen—­three of them the most powerful in all England—­who were arrayed against each other as leaders of the two factions that were playing for the highest stakes a mortal knows.  Every one knew the relative positions of the others (for Rivers naturally judged Gloucester to be against the Woodvilles); that, within a few short days, the final move must be made; and that all their gayety and jocosity were hollow, and assumed but as a mask.  At that very moment, while they smiled and played at friendship, Rivers