lated with holy pleasure its matronly decorum; the
jewelled gorget ascended to the rounded and dimpled chin; the arms were
bare only at the wrists, where the blue veins were seen through a
skin of snow; the dark glossy locks, which her tirewoman boasted, when
released, swept the ground, were gathered into a modest and simple
braid, surmounted by the beseeming coronet that proclaimed her rank. The
Lady Bonville might have stood by the side of Cornelia, the model of
a young and high-born matron, in whose virtue the honour of man might
securely dwell.

"I understand you, my lord," she said, with her bright, thankful smile;
"and as Lord Warwick's sister, I am grateful."

"Your love for the great earl proves you are noble enough to forgive,"
said Richard, meaningly. "Nay, chide me not with that lofty look; you
know that there are no secrets between Hastings and Gloucester."

"My lord duke, the head of a noble House hath the right to dispose of
the hands of the daughters; I know nothing in Lord Warwick to forgive."

But she turned her head as she spoke, and a tear for a moment trembled
in that haughty eye.

"Lady," said Richard, moved to admiration, "to you let me confide my
secret. I would be your nephew. Boy though I be in years, my heart beats
as loudly as a man's; and that heart beats for Anne."

"The love of Richard Plantagenet honours even Warwick's daughter!"

"Think you so? Then stand my friend; and, being thus my friend,
intercede with Warwick, if he angers at the silly holiday of this
Woodville pageant."

"Alas, sir! you know that Warwick listens to no interceders between
himself and his passions. But what then? Grant him wronged, aggrieved,
trifled with,--what then? Can he injure the House of York?"

Richard looked in some surprise at the fair speaker.

"Can he injure the House of York?--Marry, yes," he replied bluntly.

"But for what end? Whom else should he put upon the throne?"

"What if he forgive the Lancastrians? What if--"

"Utter not the thought, prince, breathe it not," exclaimed the Lady
Bonville, almost fiercely. "I love and honour my brave brother,
despite--despite--" She paused a moment, blushed, and proceeded rapidly,
without concluding the sentence. "I love him as a woman of his House
must love the hero who forms its proudest boast. But if, for any
personal grudge, any low ambition, any rash humour, the son of my father
Salisbury could forget that Margaret of Anjou placed the gory head