riverside. The drawbridge had been let down, and some of the horsemen had already passed over, and were waiting on the opposite bank for their leader, who still lingered to say a few more parting words to the beloved ones he was leaving behind. The little baby girl was brought to him for a last kiss, then he took Richard in his arms, and kissed him too, and stroking the glossy curls of Henry’s light brown hair, he said—

“I wish you were a few years older, my son, that you might go with me to fight for your king and queen.”

“I thank God that he is not old enough,” returned Lady Margaret; “it is grief enough for me to part with my husband. Oh! that these cruel wars were over, for they bring nothing but sorrow to the land!”

“Thou hast but a faint heart, my Margaret. Our queen is a lioness compared with thee!”

“I would not wish to resemble her then,” said the lady.

“Nor would I desire that thou shouldst,” replied her husband. “But keep up a brave spirit, for thou mayest need it.”

Again he embraced her lovingly, and mounting his gallant charger he rode from the castle-gate, with about fifty knights and esquires in his train, all well armed and mounted.

The first news that reached Brougham, was a cause of the deepest sorrow to Lady Margaret, although it told of a great battle that had been won by her husband’s party at Wakefield, and also of the death of Richard, Duke of York, who had fallen on the field. But it also told of a barbarous deed done by Lord Clifford, which she was sure would turn all hearts against him; and so it did, for it shocked both friends and foes, and has left a blot on his name that will never be effaced.

It was after the battle was over, as he was riding towards the town to rejoin the queen, that he overtook the young Earl of Rutland, second son of the unfortunate Duke of York, a youth about fourteen years of age, who had just heard of his father’s fate, and, overwhelmed with grief, was being hurried away by his tutor, Sir Robert Aspall, who had been left in charge of him near the field of battle, to seek refuge in a neighbouring convent. Clifford seized the affrighted boy, who fell on his knees and begged for mercy.

“Who is he?” demanded the fierce nobleman in a thundering tone.

“He is the son of a prince who is now beyond thy power,” answered the venerable 

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