"Your enemies are marching to seize you, brother. Hark! behind you
rings the cry, 'A Fitzhugh! a Robin! death to the tyrant!' Hark! in
front, 'A Montagu! a Warwick! Long live King Henry!' I come to
redeem my word,--to share your exile or your death. Choose either
while there is yet time. Thy choice is mine!"

And while he spoke, behind, before, came the various cries nearer and
nearer. The lion of March was in the toils.

"Now, my two-handed sword!" said Edward. "Gloucester, in this weapon
learn my choice!"

But now all the principal barons and captains, still true to the king
whose crown was already lost, flocked in a body to the chamber. They
fell on their knees, and with tears implored him to save himself for a
happier day.

"There is yet time to escape," said D'Eyncourt, "to pass the bridge,
to gain the seaport! Think not that a soldier's death will be left
thee. Numbers will suffice to encumber thine arm, to seize thy
person. Live not to be Warwick's prisoner,--shown as a wild beast in
its cage to the hooting crowd!"

"If not on thyself," exclaimed Rivers, "have pity on these loyal
gentlemen, and for the sake of their lives preserve thine own. What
is flight? Warwick fled!"

"True,--and returned!" added Gloucester. "You are right, my lords.
Come, sire, we must fly. Our rights fly not with us, but shall fight
for us in absence!"