At length one day Gloucester brought word to the Queen that Hastings had decided to himself take up arms and forcibly prevent Lord Rivers from escorting the young King to London, with an army.
This was the final blow. The poor Queen could resist no longer; so she consented to write to her brother and instruct him to bring only a sufficient retinue to sustain the dignity of the King, who was to be brought unto Westminster Palace, where the Queen would be ere her little son did there arrive.
Harleston was chosen as her messenger; so that was how it came about that he followed me to Ludlow.
Now I will tell of other matters which happened whilst I was absent from court; and this part, although it does not bear on history, was of the utmost importance to me; for it was but the prologue to the history of my greatest troubles, as ye shall learn anon.
The second morning after I had left Windsor, Hazel, feeling quiet, as she afterwards told me, strolled out into the park, that she might be alone. She seated herself in a secluded place beneath a beech tree, whose fresh new garments were fluttering in the soft and tender breeze of Spring. Bright and young were they, as she; yet why did not she feel as bright as did those green, fluttering young leaves o'er head? Still she did not, and her heart felt heavy and weary. Remember, this was the day after Gloucester's two interviews with the Queen, and she felt an inspiration which told her that trouble was brewing.
Looking back, she thought how happy her life had been before King Edward's death had cast a gloom o'er everything. She could not help thinking that the life at court would now be very different. Instead of the Queen having her way, the nobles, no longer held in check by the firm hand of Edward, would have control of everything. Here was the King scarce buried, and already Hastings had commenced to show his authority. All the life would be gone from the court, and instead of the round of amusements that the Queen had kept agoing, every thing should now be quiet, morose and cold.
How she did wish that I were back. She wondered when I would return, and if I still intended to remain at court, or would I ask her to fulfil the promise she had made me, to some day meet me at the altar. Indeed she wished the time would soon fly past till I should again return.
With these and kindred thoughts she had been so taken up that she had not heard the sound of approaching footsteps.
"Oh! I am so tired of this life at court. I wish I were away from it," said she, speaking aloud.