them in descending, joined to the surprising agility with which, in
the evolutions of the dance, one seemed now to chase, now to fly from,
the other, darting to and fro through the ranks of her companions,
winding and wheeling,--the chain now seemingly broken in disorder, now
united link to link, as the whole force of the instruments clashed in
chorus,--made an exhibition inexpressibly attractive to the vulgar.

The tymbesteres, however, as may well be supposed, failed to draw
Sibyll or Warner to the window; and they exchanged glances of spite
and disappointment.

"Marry," quoth the landlord, after a hearty laugh at the diversion, "I
do wrong to be so gay, when so many good friends perhaps are lying
stark and cold. But what then? Life is short,--laugh while we can!"

"Hist!" whispered his housekeeper; "art wode, Ned? Wouldst thou have
it discovered that thou hast such quality birds in the cage--noble
Yorkists--at the very time when Lord Hastings himself may be riding
this way after the victory?"

"Always right, Meg,--and I'm an ass!" answered the host, in the same
undertone. "But my good nature will be the death of me some day.
Poor gentlefolks, they must be unked dull, yonder!"

"If the Yorkists come hither,--which we shall soon know by the
scouts,--we must shift Sir John and the damsel to the back of the
house, over thy tap-room."

"Manage it as thou wilt, Meg; but thou seest they keep quiet and snug.
Ho, ho, ho! that tall tymbestere is supple enough to make an owl hold