and motionless as he heard these words. He did not
dare to look at young Edward, who sat beside him as if turned to
stone. The second messenger, who had had a moment to draw breath
whilst his fellow had been speaking, now broke in with his share of
the terrible news. He had seen the prodigies of valour performed by
the mighty earl. He had witnessed the death of that warrior--such a
death as was fitting for one of his warlike race. The testimony of
eyewitnesses could not be doubted. The fatal day had again been
hostile to the cause of the Red Rose, and the mournful cry of those
who had seen and shared in the fight, as they fled pellmell from
the field, had been, "Lost--all lost! the House of Lancaster is
utterly overthrown!"

Mournfully the little procession turned itself and rode back to the
Abbey. Edward had not spoken one word all this time, and the
messengers, who had now learned who he was, fell to the rear, and
observed an awed silence. But their tale had been told. They had
said enough. The worst was made known, and not even Paul dared
venture a word of consolation, or seek to know what was passing in
the mind of the prince, whose fair inheritance seemed thus to be
slipping away.

Excitement, uncertainty, and suspense seemed in the very air, and
even before the silent little troop reached the courtyard of the
Abbey eager forms were seen hurrying out, and the tall and stately
figure of the royal Margaret stood outlined in the doorway. Perhaps
something in the very silence and confused looks of the little
group told a tale of disaster, for the queen came hurrying down the
steps with whitening face, and her son sprang from his saddle and
put his arm about her, as if to support her in the shock which
could not but fall upon her now.

"Tell me all," she whispered hoarsely. "Do not keep me in suspense.
Speak, I command you, my son."

"A battle has been fought--and lost," answered Edward, speaking
mechanically. "Our ally and friend the Earl of Warwick was killed
in desperate fight. My father is a prisoner in the enemy's hands.
Edward of York is even now making his triumphant entry into London,
which will receive him with open arms."

Edward said no more; he had indeed told all his tale, and it had
been enough for the unhappy woman, who had landed on English soil
so confident of victory. She gave one short, low cry, a convulsive
shudder passed through her limbs, and she fell senseless to the
ground. That cry found