"I grieve to be the bearer of bad tidings, gracious sire," replied Lord Lovel, to whom these words were addressed, and who had entered the room the moment before. "I did not know that either of your graces were here, and was hastening to your closet."
"But the news, the news," cried Richard, eagerly. "Heavy tidings grow doubly weighty by long carrying. Out with them, man. Is there a new insurrection in the west?--Has Richmond landed?--Speak, speak at once!"
"I had better have your grace's private ear for a few minutes," replied Lord Lovel, in a low and very sad tone, at the same time giving a glance towards the queen. Her eyes were fixed upon his face, and she caught the expression at once.
"My boy," she exclaimed. "He is worse. He is hopeless--I see it there--I see it there;" and she pointed with her hand to his face.
Richard gazed at him in profound deathlike silence, with his brow knitted over his fine keen eyes, and the thin pale lip quivering fearfully. It was a terrible thing to see the traces of such deep and unwonted emotion on that powerful and commanding countenance; and Lovel felt almost afraid to proceed. Richard tried to speak, but, for the first time in life, his voice found no utterance; and all he could do was to make a vehement sign for his favourite to go on.
"Alas, sire," said Level, in a tone of unfeigned anguish, "your worst fears are, I grieve to say--"
"No, no," cried Richard, in a broken voice, grasping his arm as if he would have sunk the fingers into the flesh. "No, no, not the worst--not the worst!--He is very ill, you would say--the physicians have no hope--but we will find more, wiser, skilfuller! There are simples of great power--there are--there are--no, not dead, not dead--no, not dead, not dead!--Oh, Jesu!" and he fell headlong to the ground.
The unhappy queen stood with her hands clasped together, her eyes bent upon the floor, not a trace of colour in her cheeks or lips. She moved not, she spoke not, she wept not, she uttered no cry, but remained standing like a statue where the words had reached her ears with all the terrible anguish of the moment concentrated in her heart.
In the meantime, the embroidery frames were cast away. Her ladies gathered round her, and drew her gently to her chair of state, in which they placed her unresisting; but there she remained, precisely as they had seated her, with her eyes still bent down, and her lips still motionless. At the same time, Lovel raised the king, and called loudly for assistance. Attendants hurried in, and amongst them the messenger from Middleham, who had brought the tidings of the young prince's death, and had been left at the door by Lord Lovel, when he undertook to communicate the sad intelligence. But it was long ere Richard could be brought to himself; and then he sat where they had placed him, rubbing his brow with his hand, and muttering broken sentences to himself. At length he looked up, and gazed with a curious wild expression of countenance--still shrewd, still cunning, but hardly sane; and then he laughed aloud, and, rising from his chair, exclaimed:
"Why, this is well. Why, this is mighty well! We'll march ten thousand men on York, to-morrow, and then to Middleham.--We'll have cannon too, ay, cannon too, lest the usurper should refuse to give up the boy. Why, he is the son of a king, a prince--a prince, I tell you, Lovel, the dog--Ha, ha, ha! That was a merry distich--