"A Yorkist gift, by the rood! Marry, and this be true, my friends, it is a good omen indeed," observed the Earl of Oxford, rising and going to the table. For quite a space he leaned above it, gazing fixedly upon the flowers, as though in the hope that they themselves might unravel the mystery their presence had aroused. "But this," he added presently, indicating the solitary white bloom, "doth sore defeat my understanding. Wherefore, prithee, mingle the white with the red?"
"Methinks I have the solution of that enigma," spoke up Herbert, whose form was merged in shadow, and who, until then, had taken no part in the discourse. "I would crave his lordship's indulgence, however, before adventuring my lame conjecture."
"Surely we would have thy answer to the riddle, Sir Walter," said Henry, yawning sleepily. "My mind doth refuse to probe its baffling depths."
"An I mistake me not," Herbert resumed, "my lord of Oxford in the very profession of his perplexity hath reached a good half way to the answer. Methinks 'tis meant to typify the peaceful mingling of the white rose with the red."
"Why—body o' God, I see it now!" Henry exclaimed. "But first, by force of arms, the red must overwhelm the white."
"Nay—not so, and your lordship, please," interjected Blunt. "But rather, let us hope, a mingling through the milder expedient of marriage."
"Ah! Princess Elizabeth!" cried Henry, assuming a sitting posture upon the edge of his couch. "Sir Walter, thou hast given us a fair answer and earned a guerdon for thy keen wit. But enough of soft speech, my noble knights. And now, sirs, to the sterner business of the day! My Lord of Oxford, where say'st thou camp Stanley's forces?"
"At a point equally distant from thine, most gracious liege, and those of the infamous Richard. He desires thee to understand that his beloved son's head hangs upon his dissembling devotion for yet a few hours to the murderous hunchback's cause."
"Aye—I know. We may depend upon him and his three thousand horse, think you?"
"With absolute certainty, my lord."