that our right hands built," said
Montagu, sullenly.

"Ah, think you so?--you rejoice me! I had feared that the barons might,
that the commons would, that the Church must, pronounce the unhappy
truth, that--but you look amazed, my lord! Alas, my boyish years are too
garrulous!"

"I catch not your Highness's meaning."

"Pooh, pooh! By Saint Paul, your seeming dulness proves your loyalty;
but with me, the king's brother, frankness were safe. Thou knowest well
that the king was betrothed before to the Lady Eleanor Talbot; that
such betrothal, not set aside by the Pope, renders his marriage with
Elizabeth against law; that his children may (would to Heaven it were
not so!) be set aside as bastards, when Edward's life no longer shields
them from the sharp eyes of men."

"Ah," said Montagu, thoughtfully; "and in that case, George of Clarence
would wear the crown, and his children reign in England."

"Our Lord forefend," said Richard, "that I should say that Warwick
thought of this when he deemed George worthy of the hand of Isabel. Nay,
it could not be so; for, however clear the claim, strong and powerful
would be those who would resist it, and Clarence is not, as you will
see, the man who can wrestle boldly,--even for a throne. Moreover, he is
too addicted to wine and pleasure to bid fair to outlive the king."

Montagu fixed his penetrating eyes on Richard, but dropped them,
abashed, before that steady, deep, unrevealing gaze, which seemed to
pierce into other hearts, and show nothing of the heart within.

"Happy Clarence!" resumed the prince, with a heavy sigh, and after a
brief pause,--"a Nevile's husband and a Warwick's son--what can the
saints do more for men? You must excuse his errors--all our errors--to
your brother. You may not know, peradventure, sweet Montagu, how deep
an interest I have in maintaining all amity between Lord Warwick and the
king. For methinks there is one face fairer than fair Isabel's, and one
man more to be envied than even Clarence. Fairest face to me in the wide
world is the Lady Anne's! happiest man between the cradle and the grave
is he whom the Lady Anne shall call her lord! and if I--oh, look you,
Montagu, let there be no breach between Warwick and the king! Fare you
well, dear lord and cousin,--I go to Baynard's Castle till these feasts
are over."

"Does not your Grace," said Montagu, recovering from the surprise into
which one part of Gloucester's address had thrown him--"does no