"But," observed an old veteran, "what are we amongst so many? Here a
handful--there an army!"

"Fear not, reverend sir," answered Warwick, with an assured smile; "is
not this army in part gathered from my own province of Yorkshire? Is
it not formed of men who have eaten of my bread and drunk of my cup?
Let me see the man who will discharge one arrow at the walls which
contain Richard Nevile of Warwick. Now each to your posts,--I to the
king."

Like the pouring of new blood into a decrepit body seemed the arrival,
at that feeble garrison, of the Earl of Warwick. From despair into
the certainty of triumph leaped every heart. Already at the sight of
his banner floating by the side of Edward's, the gunner had repaired
to his bombard, the archer had taken up his bow; the village itself,
before disaffected, poured all its scanty population--women, and age,
and children--to the walls. And when the earl joined the king upon
the ramparts, he found that able general sanguine and elated, and
pointing out to Clarence the natural defences of the place.
Meanwhile, the rebels, no doubt apprised by their scouts of the new
aid, had already halted in their march, and the dark swarm might be
seen indistinctly undulating, as bees ere they settle, amidst the
verdure of the plain.

"Well, cousin," said the king, "have ye brought these Hotspurs to
their allegiance?"

"Sire, yes," said Warwick, gravely; "but we have here no force to
resist yon army."