"Well, then," replied Mary, the tears starting in her eyes--"I must say I see more, far more, cause for apprehension in this letter than in this;" and she laid her hand first upon the letter of her father, and then upon that of the Count de Chimay. "The one," she proceeded, "speaks vaguely of traitors to be feared in my father's camp; the other shows me much cause to fear for my father himself. Oh, my lord!" she added, laying her left hand upon the arm of Imbercourt, while, with her right, she pointed to a number of blots and erasures, sentences begun and not finished, or phrases entirely altered, in the despatch from her father: "Oh, my lord! do you not see a great alteration here? The time was when the brief, clear sentences of Charles of Burgundy, unstudied and rough though they might sometimes be, proceeded at once to the point, without change or hesitation, and expressed with force and precision the exact meaning, which was too distinct in his mind, ever to be doubtful in his words: but look at that letter, my lord. Did you ever see anything like that from the hand of the duke before?"
Imbercourt was silent, and gazed upon the paper with a stern and mournful glance.
"My lord, my lord!" continued Mary, "my father is ill; and, with Heaven's blessing, I will set out to-morrow to see him and console him."
"Nay, lady," replied Imbercourt, "you must not forget that you are left here by our sovereign lord, as his representative in Flanders; and indeed you must not quit your post. Before you could arrive, too, a battle will have been fought. I will yet trust that the noble duke will win it gloriously; and you know him too well to doubt," he added, with a faint smile, "that a battle won will do more to console him than the sweetest voice that ever whispered comfort in the ear of man."
"I do indeed, I do indeed!" replied Mary; but no smile accompanied her words; for that truth had been often felt too bitterly during the course of her past life. "I do indeed; but yet the only thing that can detain me here while my father, ill at ease, and shaken both in body and mind, lies in his weary leaguer before Nancy, is the doubt which is the superior duty: to join him there, or to remain in the situation in which he has placed me."
"Nay, nay, Mary," said Margaret of York; "your duty binds you to stay here, and mine calls me hence. You can trust my lore both for your father and yourself; and, as soon as may be, I will join him, though haply my coming unbidden may call on me some harsh words, as when last I saw him at Dijon."
"Bear with him, dear lady! oh, bear with him!" exclaimed Mary. "It is but the haste of an impatient spirit chafed by unwonted reverses. He knows the worth of your love too well to chide with any bitterness. But hark!" she proceeded, "what noise is that in the court? For God's sake, my Lord of Imbercourt, look out and see! for since I took upon me the sad task of holding the reins, which require a far stronger hand than mine, I have met with so many sorrows and misfortunes, that every sound alarms me. Hark! there are many people speaking." In obedience to her command, Imbercourt approached the casement which opened above the lesser court of the palace, and, throwing back a part of the lattice, he looked out upon what was passing below. The first object that his eyes fell upon was the form of the old Lord of Neufchatel, in the act of dismounting from his horse by the aid of two stout attendants, whose dusty armour and jaded horses evinced that they, like their master, had travelled far and fast. The old nobleman himself, however, displayed strong traces of battle as well as wayfaring. His helmet was off, and its place supplied by a small furred cap, from underneath which, a mingled mass of bandages and long gray hair, dabbled with dust and blood, made its appearance; while his left arm, supported in a torn and soiled scarf, showed that the fight had been severe ere he left it.
Imbercourt at once guessed the event which he had come to communicate, well knowing that an aged and wounded cavalier would not have been chosen as the messenger of victory, and while, with slow and painful efforts, the old lord dismounted, the counsellor withdrew from the window, doubting whether he should meet him on the stairs, and delay the tidings that he bore, till Mary was more prepared to receive them, or whether he should suffer him to see the princess, and let the shock pass over at once. His course, however, was determined by Mary herself, who marked the conflict in his mind by the changing expression of his countenance.
"What is it, my lord?" she exclaimed; "speak boldly! Are they again in revolt?"
"Who, madam?--the men of Ghent?" demanded Imbercourt. "Oh! no, no! nothing of the kind. It is apparently a wounded officer bearing news from the army; and I fear----"