mons--this Saxon People, that can
alone secure to thee the holding of the realm which the right arm wins.
And, beshrew me, much as I love thy cause, much as thou hast with thy
sorrows and thy princely beauty glamoured and spelled my heart and
my hand,--ay, so that I, the son of a Lollard, forget the wrongs the
Lollards sustained from the House of Lancaster; so that I, who have seen
the glorious fruitage of a Republic, yet labour for thee, to overshadow
the land with the throne of ONE--yet--yet, lady--yet, if I thought thou
wert to be the same Margaret as of old, looking back to thy dead kings,
and contemptuous of thy living people, I would not bid one mother's son
lift lance or bill on thy behalf."

So resolutely did Robin of Redesdale utter these words, that the queen's
haughty eye fell abashed as he spoke; and her craft, or her intellect,
which was keen and prompt where her passions did not deafen and blind
her judgment, instantly returned to her. Few women equalled this once
idol of knight and minstrel, in the subduing fascination that she could
exert in her happier moments. Her affability was as gracious as her
wrath was savage; and with a dignified and winning frankness, she
extended her hand to her ally, as she answered, in a sweet, humble,
womanly, and almost penitent voice,--

"O bravest and lealest of friends, forgive thy wretched queen. Her
troubles distract her brain,--chide her not if they sour her speech.
Saints above! will ye not pardon Margaret if at times her nature be
turned from the mother's milk into streams of gall and bloody purpose,
when ye see, from your homes serene, in what a world of strife and
falsehood her very womanhood hath grown unsexed?" She paused a moment,
and her uplifted eyes shed tears fast and large. Then, with a sigh,
she turned to Hilyard, and resumed more calmly, "Yes, thou art
right,--adversity hath taught me much. And though adversity will too
often but feed and not starve our pride, yet thou--thou hast made me
know that there is more of true nobility in the blunt Children of the
People than in many a breast over which flows the kingly robe. Forgive
me, and the daughter of Charlemagne shall yet be a mother to the
Commons, who claim thee as their brother!"

Thoroughly melted, Robin of Redesdale bowed over the hand held to his
lips, and his rough voice trembled as he answered, though that answer
took but the shape of prayer.

"And now," said the princess, smiling, "to make pe