"Sire," he said gravely, "the familiar confidence with which both your
Highness and the Duke of Gloucester distinguish the chamberlain,
permits me to communicate the purport of the letter in his presence.
The young duke informs me that he hath long conceived an affection
which he would improve into marriage, but before he address either the
demoiselle or her father, he prays me to confer with your Grace, whose
pleasure in this, as in all things, will be his sovereign law."

"Ah, Richard loves me with a truer love than George of Clarence! But
who can he have seen on the Borders worthy to be a prince's bride?"

"It is no sudden passion, sire, as I before hinted; nay, it has been
for some time sufficiently notorious to his friends and many of the
court; it is an affection for a maiden known to him in childhood,
connected to him by blood,--my niece, Anne Nevile."

As if stung by a scorpion, Edward threw off the prelate's arm, on
which he had been leaning with his usual caressing courtesy.

"This is too much!" said he, quickly, and his face, before somewhat
pale, grew highly flushed. "Is the whole royalty of England to be one
Nevile? Have I not sufficiently narrowed the basis of my throne?
Instead of mating my daughter to a foreign power,--to Spain or to
Bretagne,--she is betrothed to young Montagu! Clarence weds Isabel,
and now Gloucester--no, prelate, I will not consent!"

The archbishop was so little prepared for this burst, that he remained
speechless. Hastings pressed the king's arm, as if to caution him
against so imprudent a display of resentment; but the king walked on,