wayward and abstract moods; he
might forget that Henry of Windsor is no longer king, and might give him
that title in speaking to Lord Hastings,--a slip of the tongue which the
law styles treason."

"Certes," said Sibyll, quickly, "if my father would seek the poor
captive, I will be his messenger to my Lord Hastings. But oh, sir, as
thou hast known my father's boyhood, and as thou hopest for mercy in the
last day, tempt to no danger one so guileless!"

Hilyard winced as he interrupted her hastily,

"There is no danger if thou wilt obtain the license. I will say more,--a
reward awaits him, that will not only banish his poverty but save his
life."

"His life!"

"Ay! seest thou not, fair mistress, that Adam Warner is dying, not of
the body's hunger, but of the soul's? He craveth gold, that his toils
may reap their guerdon. If that gold be denied, his toils will fret him
to the grave!"

"Alas! alas! it is true."

"That gold he shall honourably win! Nor is this all. Thou wilt see the
Lord Hastings: he is less learned, perhaps, than Worcester, less dainty
in accomplishments and gifts than Anthony Woodville, but his mind is
profound and vast; all men praise him save the queen's kin. He loves
scholars; he is mild to distress; he laughs at the superstitions of the
vulgar. Thou wilt see the Lord Hastings, and thou mayst interest him in
thy father's genius and his fate!"

"There is frankness in thy voice, and I will trust thee," answered
Sibyll. "When shall I seek this lord?"

"This day, if thou wilt. He lodges at the Tower, and gives access, it is
said, to all who need his offices, or seek succour from his power."

"This day, then, be it!" answered Sibyll, calmly.

Hilyard gazed at her countenance, rendered so noble in its youthful
resignation, in its soft firmness of expression, and muttering, "Heaven
prosper thee, maiden; we shall meet tomorrow," descended the stairs, and
quitted the house.

His heart smote him when he was in the street. "If evil should come to
this meek scholar, to that poor child's father, it would be a sore sin
to my soul. But no; I will not think it. The saints will not suffer this
bloody Edward to triumph long; and in this vast chessboard of vengeance
and great ends, we must move men to and fro, and harden our natures to
the hazard of the game."

Sibyll sought her father; his mind had flown back to the model. He was
already living in the life that the promised gold would give to the dumb