not heeding him, and in great disturbance. Hastings interchanged
looks with the archbishop, and followed his royal master.

"My king," he said, in an earnest whisper, "whatever you decide, do
not again provoke unhappy feuds laid at rest. Already this morning I
sought your chamber, but you were abroad, to say that I have received
intelligence of a fresh rising of the Lancastrians in Lincolnshire,
under Sir Robert Welles, and the warlike knight of Scrivelsby, Sir
Thomas Dymoke. This is not yet an hour to anger the pride of the
Neviles!"

"O Hastings! Hastings!" said the king, in a tone of passionate
emotion, "there are moments when the human heart cannot dissemble!
Howbeit your advice is wise and honest! No, we must not anger the
Neviles!"

He turned abruptly; rejoined the archbishop, who stood on the spot on
which the king had left him, his arms folded on his breast, his face
calm, but haughty.

"My most worshipful cousin," said Edward, "forgive the well-known heat
of my hasty moods! I had hoped that Richard would, by a foreign
alliance, have repaired the occasion of confirming my dynasty abroad,
which Clarence lost. But no matter! Of these things we will speak
anon. Say naught to Richard till time ripens maturer resolutions: he
is a youth yet. What strange tidings are these from Lincolnshire?"

"The house of your purveyor, Sir Robert de Burgh, is burned, his lands
wasted. The rebels are headed by lords and knights. Robin of
Redesdale, who, methinks, bears a charmed life, has even ventured to