But King Richard’s days of quiet pleasure with his child-wife were at last disturbed, and he was obliged to leave her and go to the war in Ireland.  The parting was very sad and affecting, and they never met again.

While King Richard was in Ireland, his cousin, Henry of Lancaster, afterward Henry IV., took possession of the royal treasury, and upon the return of Richard from his unfortunate campaign, marched at the head of an army and made a prisoner of him, lodging him in that grim Tower of London from which so few prisoners ever issued alive.

Meantime, the poor little queen was hurried from one town to another, her French attendants were taken from her, and the members of her new household were forbidden ever to speak to her of the husband she loved so dearly.  Finally, it was rumored that Richard had escaped.  Instantly, this extraordinary little girl of eleven issued a proclamation saying that she did not recognize Henry IV. (for he was now crowned King of England) as sovereign; and she set out with an army to meet her husband.  The poor child was bitterly disappointed upon learning that the rumor was false, and her husband was still a prisoner, and before long she also was again a prisoner of Henry IV., this time closely guarded.

In a few months Richard was murdered in prison by order of King Henry, and his queen’s childish figure was shrouded in the heavy crape of her widow’s dress.  Her superb jewelry was taken from her and divided among the children of Henry IV., and she was placed in still closer captivity.  Her father, the King of France, sent to demand that she should return to him, but for a long time King Henry refused his consent.  Meantime, she received a second offer of marriage from—­strange to say—­the son of the man who had killed her husband and made her a prisoner, but a handsome, dashing young prince, Harry of Monmouth, often called “Madcap Hal.”  Perhaps you have read, or your parents have read to you, extracts from Shakspeare’s “Henry IV.,” so that you know of the wild exploits of the Prince of Wales with his friends, in turning highwayman and stealing purses from travelers, often saying,

  “Where shall we take a purse to-morrow, Jack?”

and finding himself in prison sometimes as a result of such amusements?  Isabella was a child of decided character, and truly devoted to the memory of her husband, and much as she had enjoyed her rank she refused to continue it by marrying handsome Madcap Hal, although he offered himself to her several times, and even as she was embarking for France.

Poor little Isabella, who had left France so brilliantly, returned a sad child-widow, and all that remained to her of her former splendor was a silver drink-cup and a few saucers.  As Shakspeare says: 

  “My queen to France, from whence set forth in pomp,
  She came adorned hither like sweet May,
  Sent back like Hallowmas or shortest day.”

She was received throughout France with joy, and tears of sympathy.