"He speaks the truth, father," observed John Woodville. "I remember me both of the old man and the girl: she is the same whom the Duke of Clarence sought to win to his mistress."

"Ay," added John Gould, "and whom her father would have sold-that's the word. The court-stricken idiot would rather see her the leman of a prince than the wife of an honest yeoman like myself."

“You love her, then?"

"No great harm in it if I do, young sir," replied the woodcutter. "On the contrary, I do commend thee for it."

"Not so my worthy uncle, who drove me from London by his influence with the marshal of the household."

"For what offence?" demanded Sir Richard.

"As I told you-for loving his daughter." "And the pretext?"

"That," replied the young man, "was easily found, or made. I quarrelled with an usher of the court about my cousin Alice. The knave spoke slightingly of her, and I split his crown; heaven forgive me if I wrong him! but I do believe that her own father set him on to thwart me.'

"Was, that I was condemned to lose my hand—have it struck off by the cook's cleaver-for striking a blow in the precincts of the court; so, whilst the block was getting ready, and the axe sharpening, I took to my heels, and have followed the occupation of woodcutter and charcoal-burner in the Forest of Dean here, ever since. And now, noble sirs, you are as well acquainted with my story as I am myself."

"I think thou art an honest fellow," observed the old knight. "As the world goes, perhaps I am."

"And a brave one."

"As for that, I fear neither man nor devil in a good cause, and I don't remember that I ever engaged in a bad one yet." "Canst guide us through the forest?"

"As easily as my worthy uncle could through the mazes of the palace."

"And safely?” added John Woodville.

"I cannot promise that," answered the young man, seriously; "safety may depend upon a chance-a straw-the rustling of a leaf; but I will do my best. Whiter would you?"

"To London," said Sir Richard, eagerly. "The capital is devoted to the king—the citizens will arm to a man in his defence; guide us but surely there, and Adam Gould shall have good cause to bless the day which changes his nephew to a son-in-law."

During this conversation the baying of the bloodhound had drawn nearer and nearer. It was evident that it was upon their track. The fugitives were for flying-their new-found friend was against it.

"Can you fly, worn and jaded as you are, as fast as they will follow? No! I have often seen the keepers track the outlaws through the forest with these same hounds: they are generally a mile or two ahead of those who set them on."

"What do you advise, then?"

"Wait!"

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'Wait, and be torn to pieces!" observed John Woodville, impatiently.

The woodcutter grasped his axe, which he swung round his head with remarkable dexterity.

"Torn to pieces!" he repeated; "pshaw! I once encountered a wolf in the forest, and his head and skin brought me four silver marks at Northampton. I don't think a bloodhound a more dangerous enemy than a wolf; and if it were," he added, "with a prize like my sweet cousin Alice in view, I would not shrink from it."

Further consultation was interrupted by the near approach of the hound. As the scent grew stronger the ferocity of the sagacious animal was excited to the highest pitch, and its bayings became doubly loud and terrible.

"Stand back, my lords," said Gould, calmly; "leave me to encounter the brute alone."

John Woodville drew his sword and placed himself before his father, who was too much exhausted by the fatigue he had under

gone, both of body and mind, to offer more than a faint resistance. Midway between the father and son and that side of the wood from whence the bay of the hound was heard, stood the woodcutter, his keen, watchful eye fixed on the narrow path, which, like a snake, wound through the underwood in many a mazy fold. It was the route by which the fugitives had reached the spot. The bloodhound, he knew, would be sure to follow it.

"I hear it!" exclaimed the knight.

Gould raised his axe: the next moment a large, powerful hound broke through the brushwood-its open jaws covered with foam-its nostrils close to the ground, to follow the trail. It was a noble creature-faithful to its masters-ferocious only to those upon whose track it was set.

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"Now, John," said Sir Richard Woodville, who saw the approach of the fierce animal with terror; now is your time!" The sound of the voice caused the dog to raise its head from the ground, to which it had been bent. No sooner did it behold the fugitives than its bloodshot eyes became of a yet deeper red; with a terrific bound it sprang towards them, without taking the slightest notice of Gould. Instinct taught it that he was not the victim he had followed.

Swift as was the motion of the hound, the arm of the woodcutter was yet swifter. With a whizzing sound, something like the hiss of a serpent, the axe flew through the air and buried itself in the skull of the animal, which fell dead, with one deep howl, at the feet of the Woodvilles.

"Well aimed, by heavens!" exclaimed the younger of the fugitives.

Gould approached, and gazed for some moments silently upon the hound.

"What regard you?" demanded Sir Richard.

"This is not one of the keepers' dogs," observed Gould, thoughtfully; "see! it has a collar and badge.”

He took them from the neck of the dead animal, and gave them into the hands of the old knight, who recognized, to his

terror, the bear and ragged staff, the well-known cognizance of the house of Warwick.

"Does the Earl lead the chase himself? we must be quick, then!" said Gould, as soon as he was informed to whom the hound had belonged. "Sportsman as he is, I think his woodcraft will be at fault before he finds us."

At this moment the baying of a second hound was heard. "This time we are lost!" observed Sir Richard.

"Not so; the animal will not pursue the chase after it has once scented the blood of its companion. Follow me; I know of a retreat where at least we may pass the night in safety. A little courage, sirs, and all will yet go well!"

Bearing, or rather assisting the old man between them, Gould and John Woodville forced their way through the underwood, and were quickly lost to sight. They had not been gone long before the second bloodhound, in full cry, came following the track of its companion. No sooner did it scent the blood than it crouched down beside it, and from time to time sent forth the peculiar monotonous howl which indicates that its chase is ended.

In less than half an hour a troop of soldiers and keepers surrounded the two dogs. They were led by a stern, dark-looking man, and a youth whose blue eyes, golden hair, and pleasing countenance but ill accorded with the cruelty and treachery of his disposition. The first was the king-making Earl of Warwick -his companion, the Duke of Clarence.

CHAPTER III.

"Off with his head-so much for Buckingham."

SHAKSPEARE

THE little town of Northampton presented a scene of bustle and confusion. The triumphant army of Clarence and the Kingmaker, as the Earl of Warwick was generally styled by the people, had taken possession of it on their march towards London, after their victory at Edgecote, where Edward IV. still held his court, and Henry VI. was still a prisoner. The avowed intention of the insurgents was to restore the latter monarch to his throne; the Duke of Clarence was to have the possessions of the house of York assured to him, and espouse the Lady Isabel, daughter of Warwick, who had destined her at one time to be the queen of Edward-hence his enmity to Elizabeth Woodville, whom he looked upon as having usurped her place.

It may be questioned whether this powerful noble ever entertained any serious thoughts of advancing the captive Henry to the throne. Most probably it was merely a pretext to conciliate the partisans of the house of Lancaster. Had he found himself strong enough, most probably he would have proclaimed Clarence king, and ruled England in the name of his intended son-in-law.

An immense crowd was gathered in the market-place of Northampton. From the windows and quaintly carved wooden balconies of the surrounding houses, curious faces might be seen gazing with mingled interest and terror on the scene which was being acted in the square below.

The bill and bowmen formed a circle round the market cross, whose topmost steps were occupied by a group of knights and nobles, amongst whom the tall form of Warwick was easily recognized, not less from his well-known blazon of the bear and ragged staff, than his uncommon height and haughty bearing. A