t they were talking) the Queen had been consulting with her son,
the Marquis of Dorset, and was therefore resolved to hold firmly unto
her plans.

"Tell Lord Hastings that I will not countermand the order I have sent
unto my brother."

"But, madam, he threatens to return to Calais unless this be done."

"What! doth he threaten? Let him go to Calais, and there may he abide;
methinks that England can manage without him better than can he without
her;" and the Queen, as she said these words, arose and looked like a
defiant lioness defending her cub.

"It is my poor opinion that thou art making a mistake in thus opposing
a man of such influence; however, I will tell Lord Hastings that your
Majesty hath fully made up your mind to not withdraw the order."

Hazel, who was present during this interview, told me that Richard, as
he said this speech, looked so kind and gentle that it was well nigh
impossible for her to believe what I had told her of his cruelty.

This wrangling went on for a whole week.

Gloucester was always careful to not bring himself into any of these
disputes; but to place himself as the messenger from one side to the
other.

At length one day Gloucester brought word to the Queen that Hastings
had decided to himself take up arms and forcibly prevent Lord Rivers
from escorting the young King to London, with an army.

This was the final blow. The poor Queen could resist no longer; so she
consented to write to her brother and instruct him to bring only a
sufficient retinue to sustain the dignity of the King, who was to be
brought unto Westminster Palace, where the Queen would be ere her
little son did there arrive.

Harleston was chosen as her messenger; so that was how it came about
that he followed me to Ludlow.

* * * * *

Now I will tell of other matters which happened whilst I was absent
from court; and this part, although it does not bear on history, was of
the utmost importance to me; for it was but the prologue to the history
of my greatest troubles, as ye shall learn anon.

The second morning after I had left Windsor, Hazel, feeling quiet, as
she afterwards told me, strolled out into the park, that she might be
alone. She seated herself in a secluded place beneath a beech tree,
whose fresh new garments were fluttering in the soft and tender breeze
of Spring. Bright and young were they, as she; yet why did not she
feel as bright as did those green, flutterin