"From the King!" exclaimed Sir John Grey--"from the King!--a letter to me!"--and he held the packet to the lamp, and gazed on the superscription attentively. "True, indeed?" he said at length, cutting the silk. "'Our trusty and well-beloved!'--a style I have not heard for years;" and bending his head over it, he perused the contents, which were somewhat long.
Woodville gazed at his face while he read, and marked the light and shade of many varied emotions come across it. Now, the eye strained eagerly at the first lines, and the brow knit; now, a proud smile curled the lip; and now, the eyelids showed a tear. But presently, as he proceeded, all haughtiness passed away from his look--he raised his eyes to heaven, as if in thankfulness; and at the end let fall the paper on the table, and clasped his hands together, exclaiming, "Praise to thy name, Most Merciful! The dark hour has come to an end!"
Then stretching forth his open arms to Richard of Woodville, he said, "Let me take you to my heart, messenger of joy!--you have brought me life!"
"I am overjoyed to be that messenger, Sir John," replied Woodville; "but, in truth, I was ignorant of what I carried. I did but guess, indeed, from my knowledge of the King's great soul, that he would not be so eager that this should reach you soon, if the tidings it contained were evil."
"They are home to the exile," replied the knight; "wealth to the beggar; grace and station to the disgraced and fallen; the reversal of all his father's bitter acts; the generous outpouring of a true royal heart! Noble, noble prince! God requite me with misery eternal, if I do not devote every moment that remains of this short life to do you signal service. And you, too, my friend," he continued, taking his visitor's hand--"so you are the man who, choosing by the heart alone, setting rank, and wealth, and name aside, looking but to loveliness and worth, sought the hand of a poor and portionless girl--the daughter of a proscribed and banished fugitive?"
"Good faith, Sir John!" replied the young gentleman, gazing upon him with a look of no small surprise and pleasure, "I begin to see light; but I have been so long in darkness that my eyes are dazzled. Can it be that I see my fair Mary's father--the father of Mary Markham--in Sir John Grey?"
But the knight's attention had been turned back to the letter, with that abrupt transition which the mind is subject to, when suddenly moved by joy so unexpected as almost to be rendered doubtful by its very intensity. "I cannot believe it," he said; "yet, who should deceive me? It is royal, too, in every word."
"It is the King's own hand that wrote it," replied Richard of Woodville; "and if there be aught that is high and generous therein--aught that speaks a soul above the ordinary crowd--aught that is marked as fitting for a King, who values royalty but for extended power to do good and redress wrong--set it down with full assurance as a proof that it is Henry's own! But you have not answered me as to that dear lady."
"She is my child, Richard," said Sir John Grey; "and if you are worthy, as I believe you, she shall be your wife. You chose her in lowliness and poverty; she shall be yours in wealth and honour. But tell me more about her. When did you see her? Why has she not come?"
"The last question I cannot answer," replied Richard of Woodville; "for, though I heard her father had sent for her, I knew not who that father was, or where; but----"