classic custom, relaxed his fatigues, mental or bodily, in the
hospitable bath, the archbishop sought the closet of the earl.

"Brother," said he, throwing himself with some petulance into the only
chair the room, otherwise splendid, contained, "when you left me to
seek Edward in the camp of Anthony Woodville, what was the
understanding between us?"

"I know of none," answered the earl, who having doffed his armour, and
dismissed his squires, leaned thoughtfully against the wall, dressed
for the banquet, with the exception of the short surcoat, which lay
glittering on the tabouret.

"You know of none? Reflect! Have you brought hither Edward as a
guest or as a prisoner?"

The earl knit his brows--"A prisoner, archbishop?"

The prelate regarded him with a cold smile.

"Warwick, you, who would deceive no other man, now seek to deceive
yourself." The earl drew back, and his hardy countenance grew a shade
paler. The prelate resumed: "You have carried Edward from his camp,
and severed him from his troops; you have placed him in the midst of
your own followers; you have led him, chafing and resentful all the
way, to this impregnable keep; and you now pause, amazed by the
grandeur of your captive,--a man who leads to his home a tiger, a
spider who has entangled a hornet in its web!"

"Nay, reverend brother," said the earl, calmly, "ye churchmen never