“Passed! nay, thy good stars themselves have fought for thee in delay. Seven goodly manors swell the fair widow’s jointure; the noble dowry she brought returns to her. Her very daughter will bring thee power. Young Cecily Bonville [afterwards married to Dorset], the heiress, Lord Dorset demands in betrothal. Thy wife will be mother-in-law to thy queen’s son; on the other hand, she is already aunt to the Duchess of Clarence; and George, be sure, sooner or later, will desert Warwick, and win his pardon. Powerful connections, vast possessions, a lady of immaculate name and surpassing beauty, and thy first love!—(thy hand trembles!)—thy first love, thy sole love, and thy last!”
“Prince—Prince! forbear! Even if so—In brief, Katherine loves me not!”
“Thou mistakest! I have seen her, and she loves thee not the less because her virtue so long concealed the love.” Hastings uttered an exclamation of passionate joy, but again his face darkened.
Gloucester watched him in silence; besides any motive suggested by the affection he then sincerely bore to Hastings, policy might well interest the duke in the securing to so loyal a Yorkist the hand and the wealth of Lord Warwick’s sister; but, prudently not pressing the subject further, he said, in an altered and careless voice, “Pardon me if I have presumed on matters on which each man judges for himself. But as, despite all obstacle, one day or other Anne Nevile shall be mine, it would have delighted me to know a near connection in Lord Hastings. And now the hour grows late, I prithee let Edward find thee in his chamber.”
When Hastings attended the king, he at once perceived that Edward’s manner was changed to him. At first, he attributed the cause to the ill offices of the queen and her brother; but the king soon betrayed the true source of his altered humour.
“My lord,” he said abruptly, “I am no saint, as thou knowest; but there are some ties, par amour, which, in my mind, become not knights and nobles about a king’s person.”
“My liege, I arede you not.”
“Tush, William!” replied the king, more gently, “thou hast more than once wearied me with application for the pardon of the nigromancer Warner,—the whole court is scandalized at thy love for his daughter. Thou hast absented thyself from thine office on poor pretexts! I know thee too well not to be aware that love alone can make thee neglect thy king,—thy time has been spent at the knees or in the arms of this young sorceress! One word for all times,—he whom a witch snares cannot be a king’s true servant! I ask of thee as a right, or as a grace, see this fair ribaude no more! What, man, are there not ladies enough in merry England, that thou shouldst undo thyself for so unchristian a fere?”
“My king! how can this poor maid have angered thee thus?”
“Knowest thou not”—began the king, sharply, and changing colour as he eyed his favourite’s mournful astonishment,—“ah, well!” he muttered to himself, “they have been discreet hitherto, but how long will they be so? I am in time yet. It is enough,”—he added, aloud and gravely—“it is enough that our learned [it will be remembered that Edward himself was a man of no learning] Bungey holds her father as a most pestilent wizard, whose spells are muttered for Lancaster and the rebel Warwick; that the girl hath her father’s unholy gifts, and I lay my command on thee, as liege king, and I pray thee, as loving friend, to see no more either child or sire! Let this suffice—and now I will hear thee on state matters.”