the king himself. It was not long ere Aubrey recognised the standard of the "beautiful swan," an appellation universally applied to Buckingham; and it was with a glow of enthusiastic admiration he gazed on the handsome and fascinating leader, held up amongst his compeers as the very mirror of knighthood, yet who, with a thoughtlessness which would have been scarcely excusable in extreme youth, thus paraded his claims to royalty, deporting himself both in his bearing and in his way of living as if he were heir to the throne itself. Nor was the ill-fated noble unsurrounded by those who assured him that such really was the case. By his side rode Lord Abergavenny, the husband of his daughter Mary; Lord Montague, the king's cousin, and Sir Edward Neville, one of Henry's special favourites; whilst not far behind lurked Sir Gilbert Perke, the steward of his household and creature of his bountyone of those to whose treachery he was indebted for his ultimate ruin. Proud of his horsemanship, the duke was splendidly mounted, his riding-dress being, in accordance with the folly of the age, stiff with goldsmith's work and embroidery, the placardo literally blazing with gems, whilst the long white plume which decorated his scarlet velvet cap floated in every direction, no bad epitome of the thousand ambitious projects which continually chased each other through the wearer's mind. "Ha, Sir Aubrey de Buron! Has the young falcon at length slipped the hood of the ambitious prelate?" exclaimed the dazzling noble as the youth approached to make his request with a simplicity and involuntary homage which did not escape the notice of one so quicksighted as Buckingham. "We cheerfully accord the required permission, and would that we could entice thee to take service with us altogether. By St. George, but 'tis shame so promising a youth should loiter away the spring-time of his life to swell the pomp of an arrogant churchman; and equal shame is it of us, my Lord Montague, to proceed on this fool's errand to Calais to witness the revenues of the state thus squandered in senseless pageantry by my lord cardinal.” H "By my knighthood," exclaimed the nobleman addressed, “but I have heard they have taken Hall to chronicle their deeds; whilst none will serve their turn for the adornment of their banquet-room but Bastell; Urmeston, and even Master Barclay himself, must with them.” "There will be no lack of imposts this winter," said Lord Abergavenny; "the people must pay for this reckless expenditure." “ Thou art right,” exclaimed the duke in a loud tone, totally regardless of prudence; "they would imprison Bulmer too; by the rood, an they do, it were small sin to plunge a dagger into the tyrant's heart, as my father would have done to Richard, could he have been admitted into his presence at Salisbury." A dead silence succeeded this outbreak, and whilst his friends exchanged glances of apprehension at his temerity, Aubrey drew from his bosom the packet he had received from the Prior of the "Salutation," explaining as he did so in what manner it had come into his possession. An instantaneous change was perceptible in Buckingham; an expression almost amounting to reverential awe overspread his countenance; his fine features became composed as though about to peruse some document of deep importance; in the space of a moment his cheek flushed, his eye lighted up with an expression of hopeful ambition, which now at length deemed itself within reach of the object of its wishes: as he read on he compressed his lips, knit his brow, then, setting spurs to his horse, he made him perform some half-dozen voltes and caracoles, exclaiming, may yet be regent of this fair realm, and then let cardinal and Sir Thomas Lovel look to their heads, for methinks they will sit but loosely on their shoulders. And now, my lords, forward; ere we embark I must to St. Lawrence Poultney, having appointed to meet one at my manor of the Rose who will bear my answer back to Hinton." my lord To this fatal speech may be attributed the tragical fateof Buckingham, who, although he knew it not, was surrounded with spies by whom every word was reported and exaggerated; his domestics, the dependants on whom he so liberally showered his benefits, were placed there by a suspicious and jealous monarch, to mark conversations and actions which they failed not to torture and misrepresent until they assumed the semblance of positive guilt. Stunned and stupefied at what he had heard, and heartily wishing the Carthusian prior had chosen some other messenger for the mysterious scroll, Aubrey fell into the rear, preserving a profound silence, to the great mortification of Patch, who was inclined to be unusually communicative, but who, on finding all his attempts at conversation unavailing, attached himself to the company of one of the esquires, with whom he soon contrived to establish an intimacy which endured the remainder of the journey. The troop once more in motion proceeded at a rapid rate; and before night the young adventurer had re-entered London, from whence on the following morning he again set forth in the train of the Duke of Buckingham for Calais. { 100 CHAPTER IX. "Woman?-she is his slave; she has become Falsehood and fear and toil, like waves, have worn Shelley. THE meeting between the sovereigns of England and France (celebrated both in song of ancient minstrel and in page of modern novelist as the "Field of the Cloth of Gold"), with all its pageantry of tilt and tourney, was over; that spectacle, more brilliant than the romaunt of a troubadour, had been succeeded by one of the earliest though deepest tragedies which disgraced even the sanguinary reign of Henry. The axe of the executioner had been stained with the blood of the worthiest and noblest: Edward Stafford, Duke of Buckingham, had perished on the scaffold. "The soul of truth and mirror of courtesy" had been offered as a victim to the fears of a monarch who trembled at the very shadow of a rival, not to the throne, but in the affections of his people; whilst, as if to affix a darker stigma on his memory, and brand with more indelible shame the brow of his son, the choir of St. George's College, Windsor, resounded with the proclamation of degradation, which, in the presence of the principal peers of the realm, issued from the lips of garter king-at-arms. This done, the hatchment of the ill-fated noble was, with his crest, banner, and sword, cast by the herald from the rood-loft into the choir, and then spurned by the feet of the assembled knights through the body of the church out of the western door, "and so over the bridge into the ditch;" as if by this piece of gratuitous cruelty towards the survivors the colouring of justice could be given to an act universally execrated by all the crowned heads of Europe. But though, in accordance with the recognised privilege of all story-tellers, we have vaulted over a second and longer interval since the conclusion of our last chapter, it will be necessary to glance at the divers storm-clouds which had meanwhile obscured the face of the political horizon. Luther, the great agitator of Germany, had commenced his onslaught against all that was good, pure, and holy; not only laughing to scorn the hierarchy of the Church, but setting at defiance the power of the emperor; whilst the king of England, on the first alarm, hastened to win for himself a wreath of controversial laurels, and obtained from the Holy Father, by his celebrated Assertio, the title of Defender of the Faith,-an enduring memorial at once of his glory and of his shame. This zeal in the cause of religion was not destined to be of long duration: at the time when our story re-opens, Henry, forgetful of the decree by which the writings of the monk of Wittemberg had been publicly burnt in St. Paul's Cathedral, was himself more than half a "reformer"-involved in state-intrigues of the most treacherous and disgraceful nature; entangled in the snares of an artful and (report said) dissolute woman, striving to rend asunder the bonds which united him to a being adorned by every virtue that could elevate the Christian wife and mother. It had become the king's object to fill his court with those whose interest tallied with his inclinations, and to surround the injured Katherine with creatures devoted to his will; thus the indifference of Sherwin in all matters of conscience, being well known at Greenwich through the medium of the giddy Florence, gave an ultimate turn to the destinies of Alice and her sister as unexpected as probably (on the one part) it was undesired. The return of Aubrey de Buron had been delayed longer than either he or his child-pupil had anticipated; his visit to the Carthusian monastery, where he became the bearer of the fatal packet from Prior Hopkins to the Duke of Buckingham, had been so distorted and misrepresented, that the cardinal deemed it advisable to leave his young |