all at least stay free from innocent blood!"

With that he bade the messenger return to his master and deliver his
reply.

When Richard, away in Gloucestershire, heard of the refusal of the
Governor of the Tower to execute his commands, he was very wroth, and
vowed he would yet carry out his cruel purpose with regard to his two
helpless nephews.

These two boys, the sons of Edward the Fourth, were the principal
obstacles to Richard's undisturbed possession of the throne he had
usurped. The elder of them, a boy of thirteen, had already been crowned
as Edward the Fifth, but he was a king in name only. Scarcely had the
coronation taken place when his bad uncle, under the pretence of
offering his protection, got him into his power, and shut him up, with
his young brother Richard, in the Tower, while he himself plotted for
the crown to which he had neither right nor title.

How he succeeded in his evil schemes history has recorded.

By dint of falsehood and cunning he contrived to make himself
acknowledged king by an unwilling people; and then, when the height of
his ambition had been attained, he could not rest till those whom he had
so shamefully robbed of their inheritance were out of his path.

Therefore it was he sent his messenger to Sir Robert Brackenbury.

Foiled in his design of making this officer the instrument of his base
scheme, he summoned to his presence Sir James Tyrrel, a man of reckless
character, ready for whatever might bring him profit or preferment; and
to him he confided his wishes.

That same day Tyrrel started for London, armed with a warrant entrusting
him with the Governorship of the Tower for one day, during which Sir
Robert Brackenbury was to hand over the fortress and all it contained to
his keeping.

The brave knight had nothing for it but to obey this order, though he
well knew its meaning, and could foretell only too readily its result.

In a lofty room of that gloomy fortress, that same summer evening, the
two hapless brothers were sitting, little dreaming of the fate so nearly
approaching.

The young king had indeed for some time past seemed to entertain a vague
foreboding that he would never again breathe the free air outside his
prison. He had grown melancholy, and the buoyant spirits of youth had
given place to a listlessness and heaviness strangely out of keeping
with his tender years. He cared neither for talk nor exercise, and
neglected both food and dress. His broth