and plunged them headlong into foreign conflict, thereby burdening his subjects with increased taxation, he would doubtless have been regarded by these same malcontents as being extravagant and needlessly cruel.

During the space of the greater part of an hour the King remained seated in the precise attitude in which the opening of the present chapter discovered him. His chin lowered upon his breast; his gaze fixed straight before him; his fingers tapping ceaselessly upon the arms of his chair.

Then, after the manner of a draped lay-figure imbued with sudden life, he sprang to his feet, threw aside the purple robes enveloping him and paced with nervous footfalls across the floor. Occasionally he would pause, incline his head, and pass his hand fretfully across his brow. Once he stopped, leaning heavily against a marble image of Kenelph, Saxon king of Mercia, from whom the castle had its name. The sun of a September afternoon shining brilliantly through one of the western windows bathed them, the marble effigy and the man, in squares of vari-colored light; affording thus a sharp contrast between the old and the new. In the chiseled head of stone the stamp of an iron will was predominant in every feature. Those of the living bespoke no less the possession of a will; but a will that would seek ever to achieve its purposes through the exercise of crafty cunning. The one had been grimly determined, brave, and openly cruel and tyrannical. The other was a secret coward, masking his cruelties beneath the guise of virtue.

Suddenly, looking up into the stone face of the dead king, the living king smiled.

"Yea," said he. "We will​—​rather we must​—​yea, we must command it to be done. And by doing it in that way, 'twill be transfixing two bullocks with a single dart."

Thereupon, mounting the steps of the dais and reseating himself in his chair, he carefully donned his robes of state, composed his features, and gently pulled a golden tassel depending from a silken cord at his elbow.

"Command my lord of Stanley instantly to attend me," was Henry's stern behest to the court attendant, who bowed himself within one of the curtained entrances.

Very soon thereafter Stanley came in. Approaching the dais, he knelt upon the lower step, touching with his lips the indifferent and cold hand extended to him.

"My lord of Stanley," said the King, "fetch yonder stool and dispose thyself beside our knee. We would have speech of thee​—​and council." Then, to the attendant waiting near the entrance, "Ralston," he ordered tersely, "we would have it known that we will brook no interruption till this conference be ended. But hold! do thou lay commands upon lords Oxford and de Vere, and Sir Richard Rohan, to be ready and waiting against our present summons. Thou mayst go, Ralston."

Silently the attendant withdrew. Folding his arms and looking steadily into Lord Stanley's eyes, the King resumed.

"Now, Stanley, to the business in hand. From what source hast thou drawn thy information that secret emissaries are at this moment on their way hither to acquaint Sir Richard of the facts concerning his noble lineage?"

"Are they then facts, my liege?" queried Stanley, his arched eyebrows plainly evidencing his surprise. "Is it indeed true that this youthful, fair-haired upstart may lay a true and proper claim to the title of Earl of Warwick, and, through that title, a seat upon this very throne?"

"Presume not upon our indulgence, Lord Stanley," warned the King in a menacing tone. "Thou hast met question with question. Now, my lord, the source of thy information."

"I crave thy pardon, liege," Stanley hastened to return. "Full well thou knowest, august highness, that every foul rebellion doth breed its fouler traitors. From these coward turn-coats have I stumbled upon this knowledge. The information thus gained I have supplemented and verified with that gleaned by thine own honest and tireless servants. 'Tis, I fear me much, unimpeachable."

"But under God's heaven, Stanley, how came these rag-tag rebels upon the facts as to Rohan's lineage? Marry, my lord, methought 'twas hidden as though sunken within the very entrails of the earth."

"Through one Michael Lidcote, a captain of ship in Duke Francis's fleet. The same, I'll swear, who brought thee to England at Milford Haven," Lord Stanley explained. "'Twas done, I hear, out of a certain love for the young knight, and a desire to witness his elevation to his​—​true position."

For a considerable space thereafter the King remained silent, his chin resting upon the fingers of his clasped hands, his pale blue eyes gazing straight ahead of him into space. In retrospect, his mind had turned to the contemplation of some happy days in sunny Brittany when he and Sir Richard were being reared and disciplined together beneath the eye of the stern but kind old Duke. The images materialized must have been pleasing to him, for the hard lines of his face softened into the semblance of a smile. Then, with a sudden, determined lowering of his head, a straightening of his thin lips beneath his sparse beard, he turned again toward Stanley.

"Ah! how true it is," said he, "that desire for fame and power is but an insatiate parasite which gluts and fattens upon the care-free joys of youth. What is this glittering panoply, pray, but a mask? A shining veneer, shielding from view the process of decay within? And now, after yielding nearly all​—​my health, my strength, my happiness​—​you ask of me that I shall spill the blood of my dearest friend. The companion of my joyous youth. Him, say you, must I offer up on the gory altar of public expediency. That I must perforce still the one brave heart that beats with an unselfish devotion to my cause and person."

"'Tis needless to tell thee, my liege," purred Stanley, who was ever careful to guard his precedence at the throne, "that the peace and integrity of a nation depend upon thy secure hold upon this very seat. Even that which but remotely menaces should be rendered impotent. These expressions of thy tender sentiment, your highness, are attuned in harmony with thy noble character as a man, but​—​—"

"Yea, Stanley," interrupted Henry, making a show of partial surrender to the flatterer's wiles, "but am I longer a man? There's the question, my lord. Dare I think as a man, and not as a fear-stricken, fettered monarch? Is it not true that the ruler hath swallowed up the mortal, leaving naught but an outward pageant? An effigy of cold and heartless clay upon which to drape a tawdry robe; to set a jeweled crown; to hang a golden scepter?"

Stanley ventured no reply, and a somewhat prolonged interval of silence followed Henry's theatric outburst.

"Think not that I am mad, my lord of Stanley," the King at length resumed, and in a tone so low, melancholy, and sad, that its false note was scarcely to be perceived. "It is indeed true that my first concern must ever be to safeguard my beloved people. Hath these rumors concerning the young knight been spread broadcast, my lord? It were an ill time to essay a cure of the malady, and it had festered over all England."

"It hath not done so, your majesty," Lord Stanley assured him. "The aged seaman and all but two of the seditious leaders are now imprisoned within the tower. The pair who escaped the meshes of my net are now journeying hither from London in disguise. I have their names and know well what like they are."

"'Tis well. Thy station be the forfeit, an they elude thee. Still all their busy tongues, my lord. We lay upon thee royal warrant of their death, and that speedily. Concerning the