"At least," said Warwick, his face lighting up, "that signal announces
the coming of king's blood. We must honour it,--for it is our own.
We will go forth and meet our guests--your hand, countess."

And gravely and silently, and in deep but no longer gloomy thought,
Warwick descended from the terrace, followed by the fair sisters; and
who that could have looked upon that princely pair and those lovely
and radiant children, could have foreseen that in that hour, Fate, in
tempting the earl once more to action, was busy on their doom!




CHAPTER II.

COUNCILS AND MUSINGS.

The lamp shone through the lattice of Warwick's chamber at the
unwonted hour of midnight, and the earl was still in deep commune with
his guests. The archbishop, whom Edward, alarmed by the state of the
country and the disaffection of his barons, had reluctantly
commissioned to mediate with Warwick, was, as we have before said, one
of those men peculiar to the early Church. There was nothing more in
the title of Archbishop of York than in that of the Bishop of Osnaburg
(borne by the royal son of George III.) [The late Duke of York.] to
prevent him who enjoyed it from leading armies, guiding States, or
indulging pleasure. But beneath the coxcombry of George Nevile, which
was what he shared most in common with the courtiers of the laity,
there lurked a true ecclesiastic's mind. He would have made in later