Crossing through the great Hall of the palace of Westminster, where so many a varied scene has been enacted in the course of English history, where joy and sorrow, mirth, merriment, pageantry, fear, despair, and the words of death, have passed for well nigh a thousand years, and do pass still, Richard of Woodville followed the page amidst tables and benches, serving-men, servers, guards, and ushers, till they reached a small door at the left angle, which, when opened, displayed the first steps of a small stone staircase. Up these they took their way, and then, through a corridor thronged with attendants, past the open door of a large room on the right, in which mitres and robes, crosses and swords of state, met the young gentleman's eye, to a door at the end, which the page opened. Within was a small antechamber containing several squires and pages in their tabards, waiting either in silence, or at most talking to each other in whispers. They made way for their comrade, and the gentleman he brought with him, to pass, and, approaching an opposite door, the boy knocked. No one answered; but the door was immediately opened; and Richard of Woodville was ushered into a bedchamber, where, seated in a large chair, he found the King, attended by two men dressed in their habits of state. One of these had just given the visitor admission; but the other was engaged in pulling off the boots in which the monarch had walked to and from the Abbey, and in placing a pair of embroidered shoes upon his feet instead.

"Welcome, Richard of Woodville," said Henry, as soon as he beheld him; "so you have come to see Hal of Hadnock before you depart?"

"I have come to see my gracious Sovereign, Sire," replied Woodville, advancing, and bending the knee to kiss his hand, "and to wish him health and long life to wear his crown, for his own honour and the happiness of his people."

"Nay, rise, Richard, rise," said Henry, smiling kindly; "no court ceremonies here. And I will tell you, my good friend, that I do really believe, there is not one of all those who have shouted on my path to-day, or sworn to support my throne, who more sincerely wishes my prosperity than yourself. But say, did you guess, that Hal of Hadnock was the Prince of Wales?"

"I knew it, Sire," replied Woodville, "from the first moment you entered my uncle's hall. I had served under your Grace's command in Wales."

"I suspected as much," replied the monarch, "from some words you let fall."

"I do beseech you, Sire, to pardon me," continued Richard, "if I judged my duty wrongly; but I thought that so long as it was not your pleasure to give yourself your own state, it was my part, to know you only as you seemed."

"And you did right, my friend," replied the King; "but were you not tempted to breathe the secret to any one--not even to Mary Markham?"

"To no one, Sire," answered Woodville, boldly; "not for my right hand, would I have said one word to the best friend I had."

"You are wise and faithful, Richard of Woodville," said Henry, gravely; "God send me many such."

"Here is the other mantle, Sire," said the attendant who was dressing him, "will you permit me to unclasp that?"

Henry rose, and the man disengaged the royal mantle from his shoulders, replacing it with one less heavy, while the King continued his conversation with Woodville, after a momentary interruption, repeating, "God send me many such; for if I judge rightly, I shall have need of strong arms, and wise heads, and noble hearts about me. Nor shall I fail to call for yours when I have need, my friend."

"Ah, Sire," answered Woodville, with a smile, "as far as a true heart and a strong arm may go, I can, perhaps, serve you; but for wise heads, I fear you must look elsewhere. I am but a singer of songs, you know, and a lover of old ballads."

"Like myself, Richard," replied Henry; "but none the worse for that. I know not why, but I always doubt the man that is not fond of music 'Tis, perhaps, that I love it so well myself, that I cannot but think he who does not has some discordant principle in his heart that jars with sweet sounds. 'Tis to me a great refreshment also; and when I have been sad or tired with all this world's business, when my thoughts have grown misty, or my brain turned giddy, I have sat me down to the organ and played for a few moments till all has become clear again; and I have risen as a man does from a calm sleep. As for poesy, indeed, I love it well enough, but I am no poet:--and yet I think that a truly great poet is more powerful, and has a wider empire, than a king. We monarchs rule men's bodies while we live; but their minds are beyond that sceptre, and death ends all our power. The poet rules their hearts, moulds their minds to his will, and stretches his arm over the wide future. He arrays the thoughts of countless multitudes for battle on the grand field of the world, and extends his empire to the end of time. Look at Homer,--has not the song of the blind Greek its influence yet? and so shall the verse of Chaucer be heard in years to come, long after the brow they have this day crowned shall have mouldered in the grave."

The thoughts which he had himself called up, seemed to take entire possession of the King, and he remained gazing in deep meditation for a few minutes upon the glittering emblems of royalty which lay upon the table before him, while Richard of Woodville stood silent by his side, not venturing to interrupt his reverie.

"Well, Richard," continued the King, at length rousing himself, "so you go to Burgundy? but hold yourself ready to join me when I have need."

"I am always ready, now or henceforward, Sire," answered the young gentleman, "to serve you with the best of my poor ability; and the day will be a happy one that calls me to you. I only go to seek honour in another land, because I had so resolved before I met your Highness, and because you yourself pronounced it best for me."

"And so I think it still," replied Henry. "I would myself advance you, Woodville, but for two reasons; first, I find every office near my person filled with old and faithful servants of the crown; and, as they fall vacant, I would place in them men who have themselves won renown. Next, I think it better that your own arm and your own judgment should be your prop, rather than a King's favour; and, as yet, there is here no opportunity. Besides, there are many other reasons why you will do well to go, in which I have not forgotten your own best interests. But keep yourself clear of long engagement to a foreign Prince, lest your own should need you."

"That I most assuredly w ill, Sire," answered Richard of Woodville. "I go but to take service as a volunteer, holding myself free to quit it when I see meet. I ask no pay from any one; and if I gain honour or reward, it shall be for what I have done, not for what I am to do."

"You are right, you are right," said Henry; "but have you anything to ask of me?"

"Nothing, Sire," replied the young gentleman. "I did but wish to pay reverence to your state, and thank you for the gracious letters you have given me, before I went;" and he took a step back as if to retire. But Henry made a sign, saying--

"Stop! yet a moment; I have something to ask you.--Lay the gloves down there, Surtis. Tighten this point a little, and then retire with Baynard."

The attendants did as they were bid; and Henry then inquired, "What of Sir Henry Dacre, and of that dark evening's work at which we were present?"

"Dacre goes with me, Sire," replied Richard of Woodville.

"Ha!" exclaimed the King; "then were we wrong in thinking he loved the other?"

"Not so," answered Woodville; "'tis a sad tale, Sire. He does love Isabel, I am sure--has long loved her, though struggling hard against such thoughts. But, as if to mar his whole happiness, that scoundrel, Roydon, whom you saw, when informed of poor Kate's death, wrote, though he did not come, raising doubts as to whether her fate had been accidental."

"Doubts!" cried the King. "Do you entertain no doubts, Richard?"

"Many, Sire," answered the young gentleman; "but I never mention doubts that I cannot justify by proof, and will not support with my arm. But he did more; he pointed suspicion at one he knew too well to be innocent. He called up some accidental circumstances affecting Dacre--not as charges, indeed, but as matters of inquiry; made the wound and left the venom, but shrunk from the result."

"And what did Dacre?" asked the King.

"Gave him the lie, Sire," replied Woodville; "called upon him to come boldly forward, make his accusation, and support it in the lists."

"He avoided that, I'll warrant," replied Henry; "I know him, Richard."

"He did so, Sire," answered the young gentleman; "he declared he had no accusation to bring--held Dacre to be good knight and true; but still kept his vague insinuations forward in view, as things that he mentions solely because it would be satisfactory to the knight himself to clear up whatever is obscure."

"And does the Lady Isabel give any credence, then, to these cowardly charges?" inquired the King.

"Oh! no, Sire," replied Woodville, warmly. "She has known Harry Dacre from her infancy; and those who have, are well aware that, though quick in temper, he is as kind as the May wind--as true and pure as light. But Dacre is miserable. He thinks, that, henceforth, the finger of suspicion will be pointed at him for ever; he sees imaginary doubts and dreads in every one's heart towards him; he feels the mere insinuation, as the first stain upon a high and noble name. It weighs upon him like a captive's chain; he cannot break it or get free--it binds his very heart and soul; and, casting all hope and happiness behind him, he is resolved to go and peril life itself in any rash enterprise that fortune may present."

"Poor man!" exclaimed Henry, "I can well understand his feelings: but God will bring all things to light. Yet, tell me, Richard of Woodville, do your own suspicions point in no particular direction?--have you no doubts of any one?"

"Perhaps I have, Sire," answered Woodville; "but I will beseech your Highness to grant me one of two things--either, to appoint a day and hour where, in fit lists and with arms at outrance, I may sustain my words to the death; or do not ask me to make a charge which I can support with no other proof than my right hand."

"I understand you, Richard," said the King, "and I will ask no farther. Your course is a just one; but I trust, and am sure, that heaven will not witness such deeds as have been done, without sending punishment. We both think of the same person, I know; and my eye is upon him. Tell me, however, one thing,--does not Sir Simeon of Roydon inherit the estates of this poor Lady Catherine?"

"He does, Sire, and is already in possession," replied Woodville.

"He is here at the court," rejoined the King, "and I shall show him favour for her sake."

Richard of Woodville gazed at the monarch in surprise, but a slight smile curled Henry's lip; and, although he gave no explanation of the words which he had spoken in a grave tone, his young companion was satisfied.

"I always love to get at the heart of a mystery," continued the King, seeing that Richard remained silent; "and I should much like to know, if you can tell me, what was the cause of that furious quarrel which took place between Sir Henry Dacre and this unhappy lady, just before he went? I fear I had some share in it."

"You were but the drop, Sire, that overflowed the cup," replied Woodville; "it had been near the brim for several days before; but what was said I know not. Remonstrance upon his part, and cutting sneers on hers, as usual, I suppose; but he has never told me."

Henry mused for a moment at this reply; and then, changing the subject, he inquired, "Is good Ned Dyram with you here in Westminster?"

"He is in the Hall below, Sire," answered Woodville; "and a most useful gift has he been to me already."

"A loan, Richard, a loan!" cried the King; "I shall claim him back one of these days, after he has served you in Burgundy. You will find he has faults as well as virtues; so have an eye to correct them. But even now, as the country folk say, I have a mind to borrow my own horse. I want his services for three days, if you will lend him to me--You are not yet ready to set out?"

"Not yet, Sire," replied Woodville; "but, in one week more, I hope to be on the sea."

"Well, then, send the man up to me, and he shall rejoin you in four days," answered Henry; "but let me see you tomorrow, my good friend, before you go home, for I would fain talk farther with you. It is seldom that a King can meet one with whom he can speak his thoughts plainly; and I find already a difference that makes me sad. Command and obedience, arguments of state and policy, flattering acquiescence in my opinion, whether right or wrong, praise, broad and coarse, or neat and half concealed,--of these I can have plenty, and to surfeit; but a friend, into whose bosom one can pour forth one's ideas without restraint, whether they be sad or gay, is a rare thing in a court. So, for the present, fare-you-well, Richard. You will stay here for the banquet in the Hall, of course; and let me see you to-morrow morning, towards the hour of eight."

Richard of Woodville, as he well might, felt deeply gratified at the confidence which the King's words implied, and he answered, "I will not fail, Sire, to attend you at that hour, with more gratitude for your good opinion than any other favour. At the banquet, I will try to find a place, and will send Ned Dyram to you. Will you receive him now?"

"Yes, at once," replied the King; "for, good faith! these lords and bishops who are waiting for me, will think me long. I will order you a place below; but, mark me, Richard--if you meet Simeon of Roydon, seek no quarrel with him; and lay my commands upon Sir Henry Dacre, that he do not, on any pretence, again call him to the lists, without my knowledge and consent. As to Ned Dyram, he shall rejoin you soon. There is no way in which he may not be useful to you; for there is scarce an earthly chance for which his ready wit is not prepared. I met him first, studying alchemy with a poor wretch who, in pursuit of science, had blown all his wealth up the chimney of his furnace, and could no longer keep this boy. I found him next in an armourer's shop, hammering at hard iron, and thence I took him. He has a thousand qualities, some bad, some good. I think him honest; but his tongue is somewhat too free; and that which the wild Prince might laugh at, might not chime with the dignity of the crown. He will learn better in your train; but at the present I have an errand for him--so send him to me quickly."

Richard of Woodville bowed and withdrew; and, finding his way down to the Hall, he called Ned Dyram,--who was in full activity, aiding the royal officers to set out the tables,--and told him to go directly to the King. The man laughed, and ran off to fulfil the command: and about three quarters of an hour elapsed before the monarch appeared in the hall, which by that time was nearly filled with guests, invited to the banquet. He was followed by the train of high nobles and churchmen, whom Woodville had seen waiting in a chamber above; and the numerous tables, which were as many as that vast building could contain, were soon crowded.

It would be dull to the reader, were I to give any account of a mere ordinary event, such as a royal feast of those days--were I to tell the number of oxen and sheep that were consumed--the capons, ducks, geese, swans, and peacocks, that appeared upon the board. Suffice it, that one of the royal servants placed Richard of Woodville according to his rank; that the banquet, with all its ceremonies, was somewhat long in passing, but that the young gentleman's comfort was not disturbed by the sight of Simeon of Roydon, who, if he were in the Hall, kept himself from Richard's eyes. The lower part of the chamber was filled with minstrels, musicians, and attendants; and music, as usual, accompanied the feast; but ever and anon, from the court before the palace and the neighbouring streets, were heard loud shouts, and laughter, and bursts of song, showing that the merriment and revelry of the multitude were still kept up, while the King and his nobles were feasting within.

Thus, when the banquet was over, the monarch gone from the Hall, and Richard of Woodville, with the rest of the guests, issued forth into the court, he was not surprised to find a gay and joyous scene without, the whole streets and roads filled with people, and every one giving himself up to joy and diversion. The gates of the court were thrown open, the populace admitted to the very doors of the palace, and a crowd of several hundred persons assembled round a spot in the centre, where a huge pile of dry wood had been lighted for the august ceremony of roasting an ox whole, which was duly superintended by half a dozen white-capped cooks, with a whole army of scullions and turnspits. Butts of strong beer stood in various corners; and a fountain, of four streams, flowed with wine at the side next to the Abbey. In one spot, people were jostling and pushing each other to get at the ale or wine; in another, they were dancing gaily to the sound of a viol; and further on was a tumbler, twisting himself into every sort of strange attitude for the amusement of the spectators. Loud shouts and exclamations, peals of laughter, the sounds of a thousand different musical instruments playing as many different tunes, with voices singing, and others crying wares of several sorts, prepared for the celebration of the day, made a strange and not very melodious din; but there was an air of festivity and rejoicing, of fun and good humour, in the whole, that compensated for the noise and the crowd.

Richard of Woodville had given orders for his horses to be taken to an inn at Charing, while waiting in the Hall before the banquet; and he now proceeded on foot, through the crowd in the palace courts, towards the gates. It was a matter of some difficulty to obtain egress; for twilight was now coming on, and the multitude were flocking from the sights which had been displayed in the more open road to Charing during the last two or three hours, to witness the roasting of the ox, and to obtain some of the slices which were to be distributed about the hour of nine.

At length, however, he found himself in freer air; but still, every four or five yards, he came upon a gay group, either standing and talking to each other, or gathered round a show, or some singer or musician. It was one constant succession of faces; some young, some old, some pretty, some ugly, but all of them strange to Richard of Woodville. Nevertheless, more than once he met the same merry salutations which he had been treated to when on horseback; and, as he paused here and there, gazing at this or that gay party, he was twice asked to join in the dance, and still more frequently required to contribute to the payment of a poor minstrel with his pipe or cithern.

The minstrels were not, indeed, in those days at least, a very elevated race of beings; their poetical powers, if they ever in this country possessed any, had entirely merged in the musical; and, though they occasionally did sing to their own instruments, or to those of others, the verses were generally either old ballads, or pieces of poetry composed by persons of a higher education than themselves.

Nearly opposite the old dwelling of the kings of Scotland, Woodville's ear caught the tones of a very sweet voice singing; and, approaching the group of people that had gathered round, he saw an old man playing on an instrument somewhat like, but greatly inferior to a modern guitar, while a girl by his side, with fine features, and apparently--for the light was faint--a beautiful complexion, dressed in somewhat strange costume, was pouring forth her lay to the delighted ears of youths and maidens. She had nearly finished the song, when the young gentleman approached; and, in a moment or two after, she went round with a cap in her hand, asking the donations of the listeners.

Woodville had been pleased, and he threw in some small silver coin, more than equal to all that the rest had given; and, resuming her place by the old man's side, she whispered a word in his ear, upon which he immediately struck his instrument again, and she began another ditty in honour, it would appear, of her generous auditor:--

The song was full of hope and cheerfulness; and though the melody was simple, as all music was in those days, it went happily with the words. Richard of Woodville well understood, that though certainly not an improvisation, the verse was intended for him; and feeling grateful to the girl for her promises of success, he drew forth his purse, and held out to her another piece of money. She stepped gracefully forward to receive it, and this time extended a fair, small hand, instead of the cap which she had before borne round the crowd; but just at that moment, a party of horsemen came up at full gallop, and, as if for sport--probably under the influence of wine--rode fiercely through the little circle assembled to hear the song.

The listeners, young and active, easily got out of the way; but not so the old minstrel, who stood still, as if bewildered, and was knocked down and trampled by one of the horsemen. The girl, his companion, with a shriek, and Richard of Woodville, with a cry of indignation, started forward together; and the latter, catching the horse which had done file mischief by the bridle, with his powerful arm forced it back upon its haunches, throwing the rider to the ground with a heavy fall. As the man went down, his hood was cast back, and Woodville beheld the face of Simeon of Roydon. But he paused not to notice him farther, instantly turning to raise the old man, and endeavouring to support him. The poor minstrel's limbs had no strength, however, and fearing that he was much hurt, the young gentleman exclaimed, "Good heaven! why did you not get out of their way?"

The old man made no answer; but the girl replied, wringing her hands--"Alas! he is blind!"

"Let us bear him quick to some hospital!" said Richard; "he is stunned. Who will aid to carry him?"

"I will, sir!--I will!" answered half-a-dozen voices from the crowd; and the old minstrel was immediately raised in the arms of three or four stout young men, and carried towards the neighbouring nunnery and hospital of St. James's, accompanied by his fair companion.

Woodville was about to follow, but Sir Simeon of Roydon, who had by this time regained his saddle, thrust himself in the way, saying, in a fierce and bitter tone--"Richard of Woodville, I shall remember this!"

"And I shall not forget it, Simeon of Roydon," replied the other, hardly able to refrain from punishing him on the spot. "Get thee hence! Thou hast done mischief enough!"

The knight was about to reply; but a shout of execration burst from the people, and, at the same moment, a stone, flung from an unseen hand, struck him on the face, cutting his cheek severely, and shaking him in the saddle. His companions, alarmed at what they had done, had already ridden on; and, seeing that he was likely to fare ill in the hands of the crowd, Roydon put spurs to his horse, and galloped after them, muttering curses as he went.

Richard of Woodville soon overtook the little party which was hurrying on with the injured man to the lodge of the monastery, and found the poor girl weeping bitterly.

"Alas! noble sir!" she said, as soon as she saw him, "he is dead! He does not speak!--his head falls back!"

"I trust not--I trust not!" answered Woodville. "He is but stunned, probably, by the blow, and will soon recover."

She shook her head mournfully; and the next moment, one of the young men, who had taken up the old man's cithern, stepped forward before the rest, and rang the bell at the gate of the nunnery. It was opened instantly, and Woodville briefly explained to the porter what was the matter.

"Bring him in here," said the old man; "we will get help. The good prioress is skilful at such things, and brother Martin still more so; and he is nearest, for the monk's lodging is only just below there. Let one of the men run down and ask for brother Martin."

In the meantime, the old minstrel was brought in, and laid upon the pallet in the porter's room; and the news of the accident having spread, the lodge was speedily filled with nuns, having their veils down, all eagerly inquiring what had happened.

The prioress and brother Martin appeared at the same moment; and, in answer to their questions, Woodville explained the facts of the case; for the poor girl, overwhelmed with grief, was kneeling by her old companion's side, and holding a small ebony cross which she wore round her neck to his motionless lips.

"Give us room, my child--give us room!" said brother Martin, putting his hand kindly on her shoulder; and, having obtained access to the pallet, he and the prioress proceeded to examine what injuries the poor old man had received. Their search was short, however; for, after feeling the back of the head with his hand, and then putting his fingers on the pulse, the good monk turned round, with a grave countenance, saying, "God have mercy on his soul; for to Him has it gone."

The poor singer covered her eyes with her hands, and sobbed bitterly. All the rest were silent for a moment; and then Richard of Woodville, turning to the prioress, said, in a low voice, "I will beseech you, lady, to see, in all charity, to this poor man's interment; and that masses be said in your chapel for his soul. Also, if you would, like a good Christian, take some heed of this poor girl, who is his daughter, I suppose, I should be glad, for it may better become you than me; but whatever expense the convent may be at, I will repay, though, Heaven knows, I am not over rich. My name is Richard of Woodville; and to-morrow, if you will send a messenger to me, I shall be found at the Acorn, just beyond the Bishop of Durham's lodging. You must send before eight, however, or after ten; for at eight I am to be with the King."

The prioress bowed her head, saying simply, "I will," and Woodville turned to depart; but the poor girl, who had heard his words, started up, and catching his hand, pressed her lips upon it, then knelt by the pallet again, and seemed to pray.

Without farther words, Woodville quitted the lodge; the porter hurried on to open the gates, and the young gentleman went out with the people who had borne or accompanied the poor old minstrel thither. Just as he had reached the road, however, he heard a voice say, "Richard of Woodville, farewell; and remember!"

He started and turned round; but though it was a female voice that spoke, there were none but men around him; and at the same moment the gate rolled heavily to.