Red and White: A Tale of the Wars of the Roses

  *CHAPTER II.*

  *LILIES AMONG THE THORNS.*

  "Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart."--WORDSWORTH.

  "Aye, perchance that may serve. What cost it by the yard?"

  _That_ was a piece of superb purple satin, which the tailor was holdingup for inspection, in the best way to catch the light.

  "Five nobles, an' it please my Lady."

  Five nobles amounted to one pound thirteen and fourpence, and was theprice of the very best quality. It is not easy to reduce it into modernvalue, since authorities are disagreed on the multiple required. Somewould go as high as sixteen times the value, while others would reduceit to five. Mv own opinion inclines to the highest number.

  "And wherewith wouldst line it, good Whityngham?"

  "With velvet, Madam?" suggested the tailor interrogatively.

  "Aye. Let it be black."

  "At your Ladyship's pleasure."

  "And I will have the cloak well furred with Irish fox. Is my broched[#]cloth of gold gown made ready?"

  [#] Figured.

  "Madam, it shall be meet for your Ladyship's wearing to-morrow."

  "Well, see thou fail me not, for I would have it for our Lady Day inharvest.--Well, Avice Hilton, what wouldst?"

  Avice Hilton, who was a young lady of about eighteen years, had beenwaiting the pleasure of her mistress for some minutes.

  "An't like you, Madam, your new chamberer that shall be, is now come."

  "The Lord Marnell his daughter?"

  "She, Madam."

  "Hath she eaten aught?"

  "Aye, Madam, in the hall."

  "Good. Bring her hither."

  Frideswide Marston was not a timid or nervous girl by any means, but herheart beat somewhat faster as Avice Hilton introduced her to thepresence of the Countess of Warwick, the woman who had more of thereality of queenship than either of those ladies whom the partisans ofthe rival Roses termed the Queen.

  She saw a pleasant upper chamber, about twenty feet square, whosewindows looked over the beautiful vale of Wensleydale. It was hung withtapestry on which scenes from the Quest of the Sangraal were delineated.At the lower end three young ladies were busily at work of variouskinds: on the dais, or raised step at the further end, nearest thewindows, stood the tailor with his roll of satin over his arm, and twoladies were seated, the elder in a chair of carved wood, the younger ina more elaborate one inlaid with ivory. In those days people did nottake the seat they found most comfortable, but were carefully restrictedto a certain fashion of chair, according to delicate gradations of rank.Frideswide, being a well-educated young person, as education went in thefifteenth century, had no difficulty in perceiving that she was in thepresence of the Countess of Warwick and her daughter, the bride of theroyal Clarence.

  The Countess of Warwick was a rather slightly-made woman, but tall, witha long pale face, haggard features bearing traces of great formerbeauty, and a particularly prominent pair of blue eyes.[#] As is oftenthe case with persons who exhibit the last-named feature, she was at noloss for language. She was the daughter, and now the only survivingchild, of that Earl of Warwick who had held a conspicuous place in theburning of the Maid of Orleans, and of Isabel, heiress of Le Despenser.All the old prestige and associations of the House of Warwick centred inher, not her husband. How far her influence over him may have been forgood or evil, is not an easy question. What evidence there is, ismostly negative, and tends to show that the Countess Anne exercised butlittle influence of any kind, and was of a type likely to be moreconcerned about the burning of the marchpane in her own oven, than aboutthe burning of a city at some distance. If this be so, she is much tobe pitied: for of the seed of future misery which Warwick sowed, theheaviest portion of the harvest was reaped by her and by the best anddearest of her daughters.

  [#] All the members of the Warwick family, and also those of the royalfamily, are described so far as is practicable from contemporaryportraits.

  The young Duchess of Clarence, who was in her nineteenth year, was awoman cast in another mould. She resembled her father in character, andher mother in features: but she was more beautiful than the Countess hadever been, and was accounted "the finest young lady in England." Shewas fair, with blue eyes and shining light hair, over which she wore thenew head-dress, which consisted of a most elaborate erection ofwire-work, surmounted by a veil of transparent gauze, so that the hair,for many years concealed, was left fully visible.

  Head-dresses were now, and for a long time had been, the most importantportion of the female costume. The variety was nearly as astounding asthe size. Hearts, horns, crowns, and steeples, were all represented:and a full-dressed lady, in all her paraphernalia, was a formidableobject both as to cost and dimensions.

  Frideswide found herself put through a lively fire of interrogatories bythe Countess, who might have been projecting the writing of memoirs ofthe whole Marnell family, to judge from the minute and numerous detailsinto which she descended. The Duchess sat generally a silent listener,but occasionally interjected a query. At last the Countess lookedacross the room, and summoned Avice.

  "There, take the new maid to you, and show her what shall be her duty,"said she. "See that she wants for nought, and say to Bonham 'tis mydesire she be set a-work."

  Frideswide followed Avice to the further end of the room, where she wasintroduced to her remaining fellow-chamberers as Theobalda Salvin andEleanor Farley. Beyond them, and hitherto concealed by a chair, shesuddenly perceived a fourth person, in the shape of a little old lady,so very little as to be almost a dwarf, with the cheeriest and brightestof faces.

  "Mother Bonham," said Avice, "'tis my Lady's good pleasure you setMistress Frideswide a-work."

  "Well, my lass, there's no pleasure in idlesse," was the answer. "Seeyou here, my maid: would you rather a white seam, or some matter ofbroidery?"

  Frideswide, whose tastes inclined her rather to the useful than theornamental, chose the plain work, and sitting down among the chamberers,was soon as busy as any of them.

  Mother Bonham was the most important person at Middleham Castle, in thesense that without her every thing would have gone furthest wrong. Shewas "mother," or official chaperone, to the chamberers, which accountedfor the title bestowed on her; she was general housekeeper to theCountess; she had been nurse and governess to the young ladies; and shewas adviser in general to all the younger inmates of the house. She wasas great a hand at proverbs as Sancho Panza himself: she mixedmarvellous puddings and concocted unimaginable cakes; she drew patternsfor embroidery, told stories of all kinds, nursed every body who was ill(which often included prescribing for them), praised every body who didwell, smiled on, at, and through every thing that happened to her. Onlyone thing there was, as Eleanor confided to Frideswide, which MotherBonham could not do. She was totally incapable of scolding! The mostsevere thing she ever said was a solemn proverb, prefaced by bothChristian and surname of the offender. The use of both names instantlyinformed a chamberer that she had fallen under Mother Bonham's gravedispleasure. But so dearly loved was the little old lady that except instrong emergencies, this was quite enough to recall the person addressedto a sense of her delinquencies.

  Frideswide was rather amused to find that she had again to run thegauntlet of inquiries concerning her antecedents from the chamberers.She certainly had never talked so much about herself and her relatives,as she did that first afternoon of her stay at Middleham Castle. Thefire of interrogations had slightly slackened, when a door opened in thewall behind the tapestry, and pushing aside the latter, a girl offifteen came forward and sat down by Mother Bonham, who moved someembroidery from a carved chair to make room for her. The chair taken,and the style of her dress, sufficiently pointed her out as one of theEarl's daughters.

  Though strongly resembling her mother and sister in colour and features,the expression of her face was entirely different from either. Thepiquancy of the elder sister was wholly abse
nt in the younger, and wasreplaced by a mixture of gentleness and dignity. Very queenly shewas--not in the false sense of pride, of which there was none about her:but in the true sense of that innate kingliness of soul which cantolerate nothing evil, and can stoop to nothing mean. A lily amongthorns was sweet Anne Neville. And the thorns sprang up, and choked it.She stood now just

  "Where the brook and river meet, Womanhood and childhood fleet"--

  but in the path to be pursued a turn as yet hid the river from view, andshe who was so soon to be borne down it could see nothing of the roaringcascade and the black pool beneath, where the young life was to becrushed out, and the fair soul to be set free. As Frideswide glanced ather, where she sat with her head slightly bent over the broidery, and asunbeam lighting up her shining hair, she thought no face so attractivehad ever yet crossed her path in life.

  "Tib, draw thou the curtain across," said Mother Bonham. "The suncometh too hot on my Lady Anne, I reckon."

  Theobalda obeyed in silence, while Lady Anne looked up and smiledthanks.

  "Tib is the best to do it," remarked Eleanor, laughing a little, "forshe is highest of all us. I do believe she should mete to twice of you,Mother."

  "'Good stuff's lapped up in little parcels,' Nell," was Mother Bonham'sgood-tempered answer.

  Conversation flagged after this. Perhaps work went on the better forit. Supper was announced in an hour, which was served in the hall,Frideswide, as the newest arrival, being seated last of the chamberers,and next to the Earl's squires. She found her neighbour decidedlycommunicative. From him she learned that the Countess was not ill toplease, which was more than could be said for my Lady of Clarence; butmy Lady Anne was the sweetest maid in the world. As to my Lord,--with alittle shrug of the squire's shoulders--why, he was in his element inthe midst of a battle, and not anywhere else. Rather just a littlequeer-tempered--you had to find out in a morning whether he had got outof bed on the right side or the wrong. In the former case, he could bevery pleasant indeed: but in the latter--well, least said was soonestmended.

  Frideswide looked up at the potent nobleman thus described to her. Shesaw a man of moderate height and breadth, with strong features, a floridcomplexion, rather dark hair and eyes, and a very quick, lively,intelligent expression. His limbs were well-knit and in goodproportion, giving the idea of great muscular strength. It may beadded, though Frideswide of course could only learn this by degrees,that Warwick was an extremely clever man, with that sort of serpentinecleverness which regards any means as sanctified by the end proposed;full of physical courage, but looking upon tenderness and compassion ascontemptible weaknesses only fit for a woman, and indicative of theconsummate inferiority of her sex. He was one of those men in whoseeyes a good woman is simply a woman who has hitherto found noopportunity of being otherwise. When the opportunity comes in her way,she must be expected to take advantage of it, as a matter of course.Clear-sighted as Warwick was in some matters, he was strangely obtuse inothers.

  A good deal of further information Frideswide heard from her nextneighbour, who told her that his name was John Wright.[#] He informedher that the King (by whom he meant Henry VI.) was in the Tower ofLondon, a prisoner in the hands of "Edward that rebel," who was notpermitted by zealous Lancastrians to enjoy even his ancestral title ofDuke of York. The Queen was abroad, seeking fresh help, and intendingto take the first good opportunity afterwards to land in England. ThePrince of Wales was with her.

  [#] Name historical, character imaginary.

  As for "that rebel," he of course was enjoying himself to the utmost,residing in the palaces and squandering the finances which did notbelong to him: and as for "that witch his wife," Mr. Wright was ready tobelieve anything of her--by which of course he meant, anything thereverse of complimentary.

  That Edward was squandering money, whether it were his own or not, wasonly too true. Never lived man in whose hands money melted in a moreinstantaneous manner. During that very summer, he had spent on dressmaterials and "other necessaries" upwards of twelve hundred pounds, andon jewellery and goldsmiths' work L744, inclusive of a gold collar whichcost L34.[#] Nor as we shall presently see, had his extravagancereached its highest point. No King of England ever spent like him. Thedegree to which he surpassed all his predecessors in this point was anenormous one. By most contemporary chroniclers, Richard II. is accusedof having been a shocking waster of money:[#] but the Issue Rolls ofRichard II. reveal a state of things which is economy itself whencompared with those of Edward IV. Moreover, Richard's extravagance,such as it was, was mainly in presents to other persons: but what Edwardspent was on his beloved self. This was the more noticeable, as HenryVI. had not been at all given to spending money; and Queen Marguerite,while lavish enough in her charities, was singularly frugal in respectof her wardrobe. As for Edward's Queen, her lord and master, as hisIssue Rolls bear witness, took care she had not much to spend. May notthis exhaustion of the royal treasury under the brothers of York,account to some extent for the parsimony of which Henry VII. is accused?

  [#] Issue Roll, Michis. 9 Edw. IV.

  [#] A supposition not at all borne out by his Issue Rolls.

  After supper the hall was cleared for dancing. Then followed vespers inthe Castle chapel, rear-supper, a little general conversation, cups ofwine handed round, and the Countess retired to her oratory, and the Earlto his closet. Last came the Countess's _coucher_, at which three ofthe chamberers were expected to be present, one being told off to assistthe Lady Anne. The Duchess of Clarence had her separate household.Frideswide found herself summoned to the Countess's chamber, whereTheobalda instructed her in her duties, which were simply those of alady's maid. The chamberera were then free to seek their own beds.

  It was not until the next morning that Frideswide saw the Duke ofClarence, who had been absent from the supper-table. He was the leastgood-looking of the handsome royal brothers. "A great alms-giver and agreat builder" is the character given of him by the retainer of theHouse of Warwick: but a more skilful hand than his, a hundred yearslater, sketched a far truer portrait.

  "False, fleeting, faithless Clarence!"

  With the Duke came two other persons--the brothers of Warwick, John LordMontague and George Archbishop of York. They were about as much givento tergiversation as their better-known brother, with the proviso thatin their innermost hearts they were a shade more determinately Yorkistthan he. Montague in particular was remarkable for his power ofversatility. His personal convictions were in favour of Edward, but theleast offence given to him by his chosen master was enough to make himveer round like a weathercock to the opposite quarter. At the presentmoment some such annoyance was rankling in his narrow mind, and he wastherefore just in a fit state to lend an ear to the persuasiverepresentations of his brother of Warwick. The marvel of the matter ishow these three crafty, changeable, unprincipled men contrived to trusteach other.

  During two previous years, Warwick had been dexterously drawing his netaround his brothers. But now matters were almost ripe for action. Forthe whole of the autumn he had kept quiet and matured his plans. Hisreverend brother was quite as ready to his hand as the secular one. Anything which involved a plot or a tumult seems to have been to the tasteof this gentleman, who in seeking holy orders had certainly not takenthe course for which nature intended him.

  The four chamberers of the Countess of Warwick slept in one room, intowhich opened the smaller one of Mother Bonham. The furniture of thechamber consisted of two beds, large square ones with a tester, or head,the one having curtains of verder, or tapestry, and the other of darkcrimson say, which was a coarse silk chiefly used in upholstery. In thefirst bed slept Eleanor and Theobalda, in the second Frideswide andAvice. The remaining articles were a large chest at the bottom of eachbed, with a division across it, each young lady having a half toherself; a chair, two stools, and a fire-fork. Wardrobes were then keptin a separate chamber; while dressing-tables and washstands wereluxuries of the future. There was a mirror
fixed to the wall, almosttoo high to see--a position adopted for the discouragement of personalvanity: while every morning a bowl of water and a towel (to serve allfour) was brought up by a slip-shod girl, one of half-a-dozen who didthe dirtiest work of the house.

  One evening in November, after the lights were out, and Mother Bonhamand Theobalda were peacefully asleep, while Eleanor was perpetrating asound so nearly akin to snoring that her fastidious taste would havebeen shocked had she known it, Frideswide, whose eyes were disinclinedto close, heard a soft whisper from Avice beside her.

  "Are you waking?"

  "Oh aye," she said in a similar tone, and turning round towards Avice tohear the better what she wished to say.

  "Your father, if I err not, is the Lord Marnell, that dwelleth at LovellTower, on the wolds?"

  "Aye so," said Frideswide.

  "Were you loth I should know of what kin you be to the Lady Margery,that died, an old man's life past, on Tower Hill?"

  It was no wonder if Frideswide held her breath for a moment, andlistened whether all the rest were safely asleep. The reference to aLollard and a martyr, in the past of any family, had been safe enoughduring the latter half of Henry VI.'s reign, but it had already beenpretty plainly shown not to be equally wise in that of Edward IV.

  "Look you," she said, after that momentary pause, "it is my step-dame,not my father, that is verily a Marnell. The lady whom you wot of washer grandame--to wit, her father's mother."

  "Of no kin to you, then?" asked Avice, in a tone in which Frideswidefancied she heard a shade of disappointment.

  "Nay, that can I not rightly say," was the reply: "for Dame AgnesLovell, the Lady's mother, which was by birth a Greenhalgh, was sisterunto Mistress Ladreyne Clitheroe, whose daughter Maud was mygrandmother. So you shall see we are near of kin."

  A cousin thrice removed would not now be thought a very near relation;but in past times much more was made of "kindly blood" than at present.

  Avice did not answer, and Frideswide, having recovered her courage,spoke up boldly. For a hundred years her ancestors had been of theLollard faith, and she was far more disposed to glory in the fact thanto be ashamed of it.

  "Wherefore? Are you of that learning?"

  "Hush, gramercy!" cried Avice under her breath.

  "Wherefore?" asked Frideswide again.

  "Dear heart, if any should o'erhear us!" explained Avice. "Know you notthat 'tis a dangerous matter to speak thereof?"

  "It may be worse to let be," answered Frideswide thoughtfully. She wasthinking of a story of twenty years ago, which she had heard mostsorrowfully told by the lips of the Lady Idonia, how she had at one timefallen away for fear, and had never forgotten her defection nor forgivenherself.

  "Ah, Frideswide," said Avice earnestly, "you speak like to her that haddwelt in a sure place, and knew nought of the world on the outside.Look you, matters be no more as they were these twenty-five years back.So long as the King were in power and of good wit, never man wereill-used for speaking Lollardy, for he never would have creature harmedin his realm an' he wist it, by his good-will. Have you ne'er heard howhe bade remove down from the Micklegate at York the one quarter of atraitor there set, saying he would ne'er see Christian thus cruelly usedfor his sake? But the rebel is made of other metal. Heard you not ofone Will Balowe, that was burned on Tower Hill scarce three years gone,for that he would not make confession to no priest, but only unto God,and had (said they) no conscience in eating of flesh during Lent? Bothhe and his wife had been afore abjured, so that he was a lapsed man.There were no burnings whenso as King Henry were in power. Nor know younot, about the same time, some pixes were stole for the silver, and oneof them that stale them was heard for to say that he had a dainty morselto his supper, for he had eaten nine gods--to wit, the hosts that werein the boxes? There is more Lollardy about the realm than ever afore,trust me: but 'tis not so safe to speak thereof as when you and I werechildre."

  "Methinks," said Frideswide thoughtfully, "they were little credit untoLollardy that should steal a pix for the silver."

  "There be men enough will make cloaks of new virtue to cover up oldsins," was the answer of Avice.

  "You wot more hereof than I, as I may well see," said Frideswide.

  "Aye, I have seen and heard, and I can reckon so much as twice two,"replied Avice drily. "Look you, I have been with my Lady but half ayear, and I came to her from London town, where I served my Lady ofExeter. So I saw and heard much, and I have not an ill memory."

  "Pray you, tell me somewhat touching that my Lady of Exeter," saidFrideswide. "My sister is but now entered of her chamber, and I wouldfain wit what manner of mistress she shall have."

  "Pray for her!" was the reply.

  "Against what?" demanded Frideswide with considerable uneasiness.

  "'Shield us fro the foule thing,'" quoted Avice, under her breath.

  "But, dear heart, what mean you?" returned Frideswide, rising on herelbow in her eager desire to comprehend these mysterious hints. "Is itmy Lady of Exeter, or her Lord, or his squires, or where and what shallit be that is thus foul and fearful?"

  "Her Lord?--_No_," was the earnest answer.

  "Herself?" repeated Frideswide.

  "She and her Lord," said Avice, in a low, sad tone, "have not dwelt ofone house these seven years. He, as you must wot, is of the King'sside, and she (which is sister to the rebel) brake with him shortlyafter the war began. There were sore discontents betwixt them, for twoyears or more ere they parted for good: but now they never meet. Hislands be all confiscate and granted to her, and he is the man that shallnever win one penny of them at her hands. I think she alway hatedhim--they were wed being childre--but certes she hates him now. In allmy life never saw I in one house so much of God, and so much of theDevil. But the Lord campeth round about them that fear Him. There is anangel in the house, as your sister will early find to her comfort.There are devils too."

  "And her Lady is of them?" asked Frideswide.

  "She is not the angel," drily responded Avice.

  "And her Lord?"--said Frideswide.

  "Ah, he is sore to be pitied," answered Avice in a compassionate tone."May-be he is not wholly an angel neither: yet methinks there is much inhim that is good; and he might have been a better man--had she been abetter woman. The first sin is an easy matter, but it is hard mosttimes to see whither it will lead."

  "Be any here well-affectioned toward Lollardy?" suddenly askedFrideswide.

  "Only one, to my knowing."

  "And that is?"--

  "Mother Bonham.

  "Avice Hilton!" came at this moment in clear tones from the closet.

  "I cry you mercy, Mother!" was the natural reply.

  "Days for talk, nights for sleep," said the old lady sententiously.

  With simply a "Good night, Frideswide," Avice turned on her pillow, andno more was said.

  This revelation by no means conduced to Frideswide's happiness. She wasuneasy about Agnes, whom she knew to be a girl who would say little, butsuffer keenly. Yet what could she do?--beyond taking Avice's counsel,and praying for her.

  The idea of writing, either to her father or sister, did not occur toFrideswide. Letters were serious affairs in those days, more especiallyto women: and though Frideswide had learned to write, which was not toocommon an accomplishment in ladies, yet it was to her a very laboriousand tedious business, requiring some decided reason to induce so greatan effort. While there were at that time a sufficient number of womenwho could write, yet not to have acquired the art was considered nodisgrace to a woman of any rank. In that interesting contemporaneouspoem, "The Song of the Lady Bessy," we find the daughter of Edward IV.assuring Lord Stanley that there is no need to send for a scribe towrite his important private letters, for she could write as well as anyscrivener.

  "You shall not need none such to call, Good Father Stanley--hearken to me, What my father, King Edward, that King royal, Did for my sister, my Lady Welles,[#] and me: H
e sent for a scrivener to lusty London, He was the best in that citie; He taught us both to write and read full soon-- If it please you, full soon you shall see-- Lauded be God, I had such speed That I can write as well as he, Both English and also French, And also Spanish, if you had need."[#]

  [#] The Princess Cicely.

  [#] Humphrey Brereton, Lord Stanley's squire, and the writer of thepoem, was present at the conference, and we may therefore take him torecord the exact statements made by the Princess Elizabeth.

  Certainly, the black-letter hand was one requiring far more effort andpains than the modern running or Italian hand. The caligraphy of theLady Bessy (afterwards Queen Elizabeth of York) which has descended toposterity, would lead to the melancholy conclusion that if she wrote aswell as the best scriveners in London, the productions of inferiorpenmen must have been illegible indeed. It really is the case; for ofall periods in English history (alas, excepting the present century!)the worst writing is found in that which runs from the close of the Warsof the Roses to the latter part of the reign of Elizabeth. A documentdating from the reign of King John is like copper-plate in comparisonwith the atrocious scrawls of some writers of the Reformation period.

  Before that year was ended, Pope Paul thought proper to confer uponLouis XI. of France the title of "Most Christian King." It was nosooner heard of than it was gleefully seized by Edward IV., under hischaracter of _soi-disant_ King of France. We may also conclude thatProud Cis snatched at it with considerable self-gratulation, since acharter of hers, dated in this very year, adds it to her titles. Shestyles herself "the excellent Princess, mother of the Most ChristianPrince, our Lord and son, Edward, and lately wife of the most excellentPrince Richard, by right King of England and of France, and Lord ofIreland."[#] Further than this, even Cicely's ambition dared not toventure; yet it seems almost surprising that she did not step across thevery little gulf which lay between all these high-sounding epithets andthe one which would have involved them all--the coveted name of Queen.

  [#] Close Roll, 9 Edw. IV.

  During this year, another daughter was born to Edward and Elizabeth.They had three now--Elizabeth, Mary, and Cicely--but no son. The eldestdaughter, however, was treated as Princess of Wales in her own right.She is always styled "the Lady Princess"--a title which, until theaccession of the Stuarts, appertained alone to the Princess of Wales,whether she were daughter or daughter-in-law of the monarch. The King'sdaughters, apart from this, were simply addressed as "Lady." ThePrincess had her own separate household, and judging from the amount ofmoney spent upon her, was rather better provided for than the Queen.

  Another occurrence was taking place this year, of no moment to any butthe parties immediately concerned, yet which might have had veryconsiderable influence on the future history of England. WilliamHerbert, Earl of Pembroke, had a boy of thirteen as his ward, the nephewof Henry VI., whom at that time it was desirable for his own sake tokeep as much in obscurity as possible. This was Henry Tudor, the youngEarl of Richmond, whose mother was next heir to the Crown after thedescendants of Henry IV. The Earl, who liked his young ward, lent akindly ear to his pleading when a love-story came before him. He wasnot altogether sorry to find that he could provide for the eldest of hisvery numerous family by betrothing her to the young Earl. Very youngthey both were; but boys and girls came early to the front, andblossomed rapidly into men and women in the time of the rival Roses. Sothe Earl of Richmond was formally affianced to the Lady Maud Herbert, inanticipation of a marriage which was never to be. Would it have beenbetter if it had been? Humanly speaking, the course of English historywould assuredly have been different. For Maud Herbert was a woman ofstrong character, and did not faint in the weary march, as ElizabethLucy had done. But one thing is certain: that the change for the worsewhich came over the character of Henry of Richmond dates from the timeof his parting from Maud Herbert. He went into exile; and she weddedthe Earl of Northumberland, years before his triumphant return to wearthe crown of England. Which of the two was to blame must be left anopen question. Perhaps it was not either: for Maud's marriage was notimprobably forced upon her, and Henry could not have returned to claimher without the most reckless risk of life. His marriage with "the LadyPrincess" gave peace to England, but he died a lonely, unloved man,grown miserly and callous,--no longer the graceful and gallant Richmondof those early years when he and Maud had lived and loved at PembrokeCastle.