"Perhaps so, my dear lord," replied the old peer. "We should always in this world take time and fortune by the forelock, otherwise we shall never catch them, if they get on in front. I know the king intends to honour you to the utmost," he added, in a low tone; "so away at once, and show your zeal and promptness. There is nothing pleases a king so much as to see diligence in obeying his commands."
"I would fain speak with you for some moments before I go, my noble lord," said Fulmer in the same low voice; but the old nobleman made a sign of impatience, saying aloud, "No time for that, no time for that. You will be back in a day or two at the farthest."
"Then I must write," answered the young man, in a whisper; but, raising his tone, he added, "Farewell, all gentlemen and ladies who are likely to be gone before my return. My Lord Chartley, I will not bid you adieu, as doubtless I shall find you here for some days to come."
"By my faith, I fear so," answered Chartley, laughing. "His grace the king, when he has got his grasp upon a man's neck, is not famous for slackening it, as long as there is any head above; but I wait his good pleasure in all humility, trusting that you will bring me good tidings, and use your best eloquence to work my liberation."
"I will, upon my honour," answered Fulmer, earnestly; and then, turning his horse, he rode away.
CHAPTER XXXI.
There is nothing which should teach man virtue, if not religion, more than the study of history; not by showing that the result of evil action is punishment to the ill-doer, for such is frequently not the case, in this world at least, unless we take into account the moral suffering which the consciousness of wickedness must produce: but by showing in the strongest possible light the vanity of human wishes, the futility of human efforts, when directed in any other course than that which leads to imperishable happiness hereafter. We often see the man who lies, and cheats, and grinds the poor, and deceives the unwary, and wrongs the confiding, obtain the pitiful yellow dust which has caused so much misery on earth. We see the grander knave who plots, and fights, and overcomes, and triumphs, who desolates fertile lands, and sheds the blood of thousands, obtain power, that phantom which has led statesmen, priests, and kings, through oceans of fraud, falsehood, and gore. We see them all passing away like a vain shadow, snatched from the midst of trickery or strife, of disappointment or success, of prosperity or adversity, before the cup of joy is tasted, before effort has been crowned by fruition. A few lines of history, a brief record of censure or panegyric; then the page is turned, and all is over. The mighty and the good things last; and the spirits of those who wrought them are gone on high.
Richard walked in the gallery of the castle at York, his arms crossed upon his chest, his eyes bent down upon the ground, his brain busy, rejoining the broken threads of policy; as great a man perhaps as a bad man can ever be. He was mighty as a soldier, mighty as a politician, almost sublime in the vast wide-stretching reach of his subtlety. Through life he had played a game almost against all odds; and he had won every stake. He had seen those who stood between him and the light swept away; he had contrived to remove obstacle after obstacle; he had crushed or aided to crush all the enemies of his house; he had imposed the silence of death, or the chains of exile, upon all personal opponents; and he had often succeeded in the still more perilous strife with the passions and the feelings of his own heart; for, because he was ambitious, and all things gave place to ambition, we have no right to conclude that his heart was without feelings even of a gentle and a kindly nature. Ambition was the idol, and to it the heart sacrificed its children.
As he thus walked, a man in a black robe, with a velvet cap upon his head, which he doffed as soon as he saw the king, entered the gallery. His step roused Richard from his reverie; and, looking up, he exclaimed:
"Ha! How is the queen?"