and the water covered with boats, hovering near shore, as they waited to reeeive tidings of their friends.
Before in the van, Richard now hung back to secure the retreat of those behind. Audley urged him to embark; but he moved slowly towards the beach, now calling his men to form and gather round him, now marking the motions of those behind, ready to ride back to their aid. At length Peachy's troops poured through the defile; the plain was covered by flying Yorkists: it only remained for him to assemble as many as he could, to protect and insure the embarkation of all.
"One word," cried Audley; "whither do you propose to sail?"
"It is doubtful; if Barry still be true, and my voice be heard, not to Burgundy and dependence, but rather to Ireland, to Cork and Desmond."
"Meanwhile, dear your highness," said the noble, "I will not believe that all is lost in England. I shall make good speed to the West, and gather my friends together; we shall not be distant neighbours; and if I succeed to my wish, Audley will call you from your Irish fastnesses to your own native England. Our Lady preserve you meanwhile—farewell!"
Audley, swift in all his proceedings, put spurs to his horse, and was away. A few minutes brought Richard to the sands; he guarded the embarkation of his diminished numbers; nor, till Peachy's troop was within bowshot, and the last straggler that arrived was in the last boat, did he throw himself from his horse and leap in; he was rowed to the chief vessel. He cast an anxious glance at the Adalid, just under weigh; a green and white flag was hoisted; Monina was on board. Further to reassure him of his friends' safety, Frion received him as he mounted on his own deck. Evening was at hand—the late balmy summer evening; a land breeze sprung up; the vessels had already weighed their anchors, and swiftly, with swelling sails, they gained the offing. How tranquil and sweet seemed the wide-spread waters; how welcome these arks of refuge, sailing placidly over them, after the strife, the blood, the shouts, the groans of battle. "Farewell, England," said the royal exile; "I have no country, save these decks trodden by my friends—where they are, there is my kingdom and my home!"
