Chartley thanked him and retired; and the king, calling a page, whispered to him some brief words, adding aloud, "To Tamworth then, with all speed. Say, there must be no delay--no, not a moment."
CHAPTER XLIX.
In a small room, in the stranger's lodging at the abbey of St. Clare of Atherston, lay the form of a wounded man, upon a low bed. A lady sat by the pillow weeping; and the abbess was near the head of the bed, with her eyes overflowing too, while the priest stood near, with a boy in white garments behind him.
"Not yet, not yet, good father," said the wounded man; "I am still very strong--too strong. Nay, weep not, Mary, you have shed tears enough for me already in your life; and in good sooth thus would I die. My heart is light and happy, my dear wife, and I look up in trust and hope. Knightly in my harness have I met my fate; and I am cheered by my lady's love. I trust Richmond will come before I go; for, as my journey is long, we might not meet again for many years; and I would fain insure all, that there be no shade on my departure."
"Lord Chartley expects him instantly, my noble son," replied the abbess; "he is waiting his arrival now under the gateway. Oh, had I known your rank, and dear ties to my poor brother St. Leger, when I but thought you a poor woodman, you should have had every tenant of the abbey to lead to fight for the house of Lancaster."
"The king!" said Chartley, opening the door; and, with a slow step, and look of sympathy, Henry entered and approached the dying man's bed-side.
"How can I enough thank you, sir?" he said; "and how can I enough regret the fate of such a knight?"
"Regret it not, sir," replied the other, gazing firmly in Henry's face; "for I regret it not. Nor do I need thanks. I have fought for that side on which I fought and bled in years gone by. I am content to die in arms. I wish no better. But I have a boon to crave, not for ought done in this day's field, but for a service rendered months ago, when Bishop Morton bore to Henry of Richmond the proof of a plot to yield him to the hands of his fell enemy."
"I remember well," replied Henry; "but he told me he had those proofs from a poor woodman, who was called Boyd."
"He told you true," replied the other; "the woodman lies before you, but, none the less, Thomas Boyd, earl of Arran."