will--oh, it surely will!" He pressed the hand to his heart, dropped it,
and was gone.

In the courtyard he was accosted by Alwyn--

"Thou hast been frank, my lord?"

"I have."

"And she bears it, and--"

"See how she forgives, and how I suffer!" said Hastings, turning his
face towards his rival; and Alwyn saw that the tears were rolling
down his cheeks--"Question me no more." There was a long silence.
They quitted the precincts of the Tower, and were at the river-side.
Hastings, waving his hand to Alwyn, was about to enter the boat which
was to bear him to the war council assembled at Baynard's Castle, when
the trader stopped him, and said anxiously,--

"Think you not, for the present, the Tower is the safest asylum
for Sibyll and her father? If we fail and Warwick returns, they are
protected by the earl; if we triumph, thou wilt insure their safety from
all foes?"

"Surely; in either case, their present home is the most secure."

The two men then parted. And not long afterwards, Hastings, who led the
on-guard, was on his way towards Barnet; with him also went the foot
volunteers under Alwyn. The army of York was on its march. Gloucester,
to whose vigilance and energy were left the final preparations, was
necessarily the last of the generals to quit the city. And suddenly,
while his steed was at the gate of Baynard's Castle, he entered, armed
cap-a-pie, into the chamber where the Duchess of Bedford sat with her
grandchildren.

"Madame," said he, "I have a grace to demand from you, which will,
methinks, not be displeasing. My lieutenants report to me that an alarm
has spread amongst my men,--a religious horror of some fearful bombards
and guns which have been devised by a sorcerer in Lord Warwick's pay.
Your famous Friar Bungey has been piously amongst them, promising,
however, that the mists which now creep over the earth shall last
through the night and the early morrow; and if he deceive us not, we may
post our men so as to elude the hostile artillery. But, sith the friar
is so noted and influential, and sith there is a strong fancy that the
winds which have driven back Margaret obeyed his charm, the soldiers
clamour out for him to attend us, and, on the very field itself,
counteract the spells of the Lancastrian nigromancer. The good friar,
more accustomed to fight with fiends than men, is daunted, and resists.
As much may depend on his showing us good will, and making our fellows
suppose we have the bes