wise man, only when we muse on Heaven do our souls ascend from the
fowler's snare!"

"My saint-like liege," said Allerton, bowing low, and with tears in
his eyes, "thinkest thou not that thy very disdain of thy rights makes
thee more worthy of them? If not for thine, for thy son's sake,
remember that the usurper sits on the throne of the conqueror of
Agincourt!--Sir Clerk, the letters."

Adam, already anxious to retrieve the error of his first
forgetfulness, here, after a moment's struggle for the necessary
remembrance, drew the papers from the labyrinthine receptacle which
concealed them; and Henry uttered an exclamation of joy as, after
cutting the silk, his eye glanced over the writing--

"My Margaret! my wife!" Presently he grew pale, and his hands
trembled. "Saints defend her! Saints defend her! She is here,
disguised, in London!"

"Margaret! our hero-queen! the manlike woman!" exclaimed Allerton,
clasping his hands. "Then be sure that--" He stopped, and abruptly
taking Adam's arm, drew him aside, while Henry continued to read--
"Master Warner, we may trust thee,--thou art one of us; thou art sent
here, I know; by Robin of Redesdale,--we may trust thee?"

"Young sir," replied the philosopher, gravely, "the fears and hopes of
power are not amidst the uneasier passions of the student's mind. I
pledged myself but to bear these papers hither, and to return with
what may be sent back."