"I am always ready, now or henceforward, Sire," answered the young gentleman, "to serve you with the best of my poor ability; and the day will be a happy one that calls me to you. I only go to seek honour in another land, because I had so resolved before I met your Highness, and because you yourself pronounced it best for me."
"And so I think it still," replied Henry. "I would myself advance you, Woodville, but for two reasons; first, I find every office near my person filled with old and faithful servants of the crown; and, as they fall vacant, I would place in them men who have themselves won renown. Next, I think it better that your own arm and your own judgment should be your prop, rather than a King's favour; and, as yet, there is here no opportunity. Besides, there are many other reasons why you will do well to go, in which I have not forgotten your own best interests. But keep yourself clear of long engagement to a foreign Prince, lest your own should need you."
"That I most assuredly w ill, Sire," answered Richard of Woodville. "I go but to take service as a volunteer, holding myself free to quit it when I see meet. I ask no pay from any one; and if I gain honour or reward, it shall be for what I have done, not for what I am to do."
"You are right, you are right," said Henry; "but have you anything to ask of me?"
"Nothing, Sire," replied the young gentleman. "I did but wish to pay reverence to your state, and thank you for the gracious letters you have given me, before I went;" and he took a step back as if to retire. But Henry made a sign, saying--
"Stop! yet a moment; I have something to ask you.--Lay the gloves down there, Surtis. Tighten this point a little, and then retire with Baynard."
The attendants did as they were bid; and Henry then inquired, "What of Sir Henry Dacre, and of that dark evening's work at which we were present?"
"Dacre goes with me, Sire," replied Richard of Woodville.
"Ha!" exclaimed the King; "then were we wrong in thinking he loved the other?"
"Not so," answered Woodville; "'tis a sad tale, Sire. He does love Isabel, I am sure--has long loved her, though struggling hard against such thoughts. But, as if to mar his whole happiness, that scoundrel, Roydon, whom you saw, when informed of poor Kate's death, wrote, though he did not come, raising doubts as to whether her fate had been accidental."