for a leaf of the red rose--is the Lady Anne."

The two girls had started from their father's arms at the first address
to Marmaduke, and their countenances had relapsed from their caressing
and childlike expression into all the stately demureness with which
they had been brought up to regard a stranger. Howbeit, this reserve, to
which he was accustomed, awed Marmaduke less than the alternate gayety
and sadness of the wilder Sibyll, and he addressed them with all the
gallantry to the exercise of which he had been reared, concluding his
compliments with a declaration that he would rather forego the advantage
proffered him by the earl's favour with the king, than foster one
obnoxious and ungracious memory in damozels so fair and honoured.

A haughty smile flitted for a moment over the proud young face of Isabel
Nevile; but the softer Anne blushed, and drew bashfully behind her
sister.

As yet these girls, born for the highest and fated to the most wretched
fortunes, were in all the bloom of earliest youth; but the difference
between their characters might be already observable in their mien
and countenance. Isabel; of tall and commanding stature, had some
resemblance to her father, in her aquiline features, rich, dark hair,
and the lustrous brilliancy of her eyes; while Anne, less striking, yet
not less lovely, of smaller size and slighter proportions, bore in her
pale, clear face, her dove-like eyes, and her gentle brow an expression
of yielding meekness not unmixed with melancholy, which, conjoined with
an exquisite symmetry of features, could not fail of exciting interest
where her sister commanded admiration. Not a word, however, from either
did Marmaduke abstract in return for his courtesies, nor did either
he or the earl seem to expect it; for the latter, seating himself and
drawing Anne on his knee, while Isabella walked with stately grace
towards the table that bore her father's warlike accoutrements, and
played, as it were, unconsciously with the black plume on his black
burgonet, said to Nevile,

"Well, thou hast seen enough of the Lancastrian raptrils to make thee
true to the Yorkists. I would I could say as much for the king himself,
who is already crowding the court with that venomous faction, in honour
of Dame Elizabeth Gray, born Mistress Woodville, and now Queen of
England. Ha, my proud Isabel, thou wouldst have better filled the throne
that thy father built!"

And at these words a proud flash broke