Red and White: A Tale of the Wars of the Roses

by Emily Sarah Holt

"My Lady Saint Mary! What mean you?"

"I left him, my Lord, on the hither side of Herts."

"Gramercy! When?"

"This morrow at day-break."

"Is he on his way to London town?"

"Certes, my Lord."

The Archbishop's face might have furnished, not one, but several studies for a painter, as successive and diverse emotions swept across it. Foremost was the true Neville sentiment—How will this affect me? He was silent for a moment, pondering that deeply interesting question.

"Did he send thee to me?"

"He did so, my good Lord."

"What would he have of me?"