forward, saying: "Mynheer Jahn Warbeck, God be with you! you travel on a stormy night."
"And you, Lord Lovel," replied the money-lender, angrily, "are sufficiently discourteous to wanderers at suck a season. Why even vipers are harmless during a storm."
"But fair weather returns, and they again find their sting. I might bare my own breast, but—" he pointed to the bed of leaves, on which, in spite of the tumult, young Richard still slept.
Warbeck started: but before he could reply, one of his companions turned to speak to him, and a conversation ensued, begun in Dutch, and continued in French, concerning the circumstances which had divided them from their attendants, and their fatiguing wanderings during the storm. A small saddlebag was produced by Warbeck, containing a few provisions. A bed for the sleeping child was formed, and the travellers sat round the fire, enjoying their simple fare. From time to time the fair blue eyes of the younger lady, who was evidently the mistress, and the other an attendant, turned to look on the chivalric form and manly beauty of Lovel; a few smiling observations escaped her in her native language, which Warbeck answered drily and succinctly. The bench on which the lady sat was soon sacrificed for firing—the cloaks of the party were dried, and the women, wrapt in them, sought repose on the bare ground, which was the sole flooring of the hut, the younger drawing to her bosom the sleeping child. Lovel and Warbeck kept silence, till the deep breathing of their companions showed that they slept: then, in reply to the Fleming's questions, Lovel related the history of the last months, and at the conclusion frankly asked his advice and assistance in accomplishing his design of conveying the duke of York to Winchester. Warbeck looked thoughtful on this demand, and after a pause said, "I cannot say wherefore this unfortunate prince excites so strong an interest in me; for in truth my heart yearns towards him as if he were akin to me. Is it because he bore for a time my poor boy's name?"
Warbeck paused; his hard features were strongly marked by grief—"I and my sister," he continued, "crossed the country to visit my Peterkin, who was ill—who is lost to me now for ever."
A pause again ensued: the young soldier respected too much the father's grief to interrupt it. At length the Fleming said, "Lord Lovel, I will—I trust I can—save Duke Richard's life. My sister is kind-hearted; and the silence you have observed concerning the very existence of King Edward's son makes the task more easy. Madeline is about to return to her own country; she was to have taken my Peterkin with her. Let the prince
