distinguished. The first was a female, clad in the coarse dress usually worn by domestics and the lower order of citizens' wives, who carried a torch to guide the footsteps of an aged man, in the garb of a priest, who silently followed her guidance. As they drew near they were challenged by the guard. The male person, who was no other than the celebrated Dr. Lewis, replied by a "Benedicite!" The rough soldier piously crossed himself.

"And whither would you, reverend father?" demanded the

man.

"Dost thou not perceive, son ?" answered the priest, calmly; "to the sanctuary."

"And that is the very place, father, that my

prevent all strangers from approaching."

"I am no stranger!" observed the doctor.

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orders are to

Stranger or not, I dare not take upon myself to let you pass; you must speak first with the captain."

Whilst the speaker went to summon his commander, the two intruders exchanged uneasy glances.

"Be firm," whispered the priest. "John Nesfield dare not refuse us: he is already in bad odor with the church, and fears its censure. Fortunate," he added, “that he fears anything, for he is a hardened villain."

Further speech was cut short by the clank of armor, which announced the arrival of Richard's myrmidon, who—annoyed at being disturbed from his repose-roughly demanded their purpose in visiting the sanctuary at such an hour.

"To see her," replied Dr. Lewis, "who was both the wife and mother of a king, now a helpless widow: the sanctuary woman, Elizabeth Woodville."

"You must choose your hour better," observed the soldier, with brutal indifference. "The gates are closed."

"But she is sick and ill!"

"Wait till morning!"

"The angel of death, whose hand is upon her, will not wait," answered the priest, solemnly. "Search me, if you will: I bear neither missive nor token; for what have I to do with the miser

able intrigues and passions of this world? I come but in the exercise of mine office."

"Pooh! there are priests enough in the sanctuary!"

"But not physicians !" interrupted Dr. Lewis. "I tell you that Elizabeth Woodville is sick even unto death. If aught happens through your refusal, the responsibility rest upon your head-I have done my duty. See," he added, beckoning to his servant to approach, “I have even selected my household servant to guide me hither, that no cause of refusal might fairly exist."

Nesfield took the torch from the hand of the woman, and examined her features closely. She was one who had reached the middle age, with strongly marked but not unhandsome features. She endured his scrutiny without flinching, returning his glance with a wondering stare.

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Humph! I suppose I must let you pass," observed the ruffian, in a dissatisfied tone-for he was naturally suspicious; "but there is no occasion for the woman to accompany you: she can remain here."

No sooner did the supposed servant hear the decision of the speaker than she quickly gave the torch into her master's hand, and seated herself on a pile of stones near the watch-fire. field's last suspicions vanished.

Nes

"I know my duty too well to expose her to the company of thy lascivious soldiers," observed the priest; "if I go, Margaret goes with me !??

"Go, then, in the fiend's name!" emphatically interrupted the soldier; "and, as a punishment for thy pertinacity, heaven send thy penitent a long shrift! I know you priests," he added, with a brutal laugh, "but ill relish being kept from your warm beds." So saying, he turned upon his heel and walked away, after giving the necessary order to his men for Dr. Lewis and his attendant to pass into the sanctuary.

The priest had to call twice to the woman to take the torch and precede him, before she appeared to understand what he required; and yet her heart had secretly beat with agony and doubt whilst her companion was disputing with the commander.

With a discontented air she resumed her task, and muttered something, loud enough for the soldiers to hear, about the folly of quitting a warm home on such a night.

As they passed under the low Saxon archway which led to the sanctuary, many a coarse jest was uttered by the rude guards on the old priest and his buxom attendant.

Elizabeth Woodville was in the oratory when her visitors entered. It was evident that she expected one of them at least. For some time previous to their arrival, she had been casting impatient glances towards the door. Dr. Lewis was much shocked to perceive the ravages which grief, rather than time, had made in her person. A lock of her once golden hair, which had escaped from under her widow's coif, was tinged with silver, her eyes were sunken and hollow, and her whole countenance betokened the sorrow which is hopeless.

"Now, father," she said, "I have received your token; you wish to see me?"

"Ay, daughter!" replied the priest, "I am the bearer of intelligence which may once more revive your drooping spirits."

The widowed queen mournfully shook her head. Her hopes were buried in the grave of her two murdered boys. Before proceeding to question her visitor--for adversity had made her cautious-she glanced at the female who accompanied him, as if to remind the priest that they were not alone.

"Let her remain," said the old man; "she is not what she seems."

Elizabeth cast a second look towards the woman, who stood at the door of the oratory, contemplating her.

"Now, father," said the still sorrowing mother, with a bitter smile, "what is the intelligence that is to make the heart of Elizabeth rejoice?"

"Your enemy is punished."

"How-dead?" exclaimed the queen.

"No; but stricken where he is most sensible-in his affections. His only child, the heir of his blood-stained crown, for whose advancement he has steeped his soul in crime, is dead."

Elizabeth fell upon her knees before the altar, with an hysterical laugh of joy, exclaiming that heaven had heard her maledictions-that God was just, and in his anger had avenged her!" "And who," said the pretended servant, advancing towards her, was the avenger of the son of Margaret of Anjou, mur

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dered by your husband ?”

Elizabeth trembled; for by the light of the lamp she recognized the features of Margaret Beaufort, the mother of the Earl of Richmond, the last heir of the house of Lancaster !

CHAPTER XVI.

And now let Henry and Elizabeth,
The true successors of each royal house,

Conjointly heal these blood-stained wounds again.

SHAKSPEARE.

A GLEAM of joy lit the pallid features of Elizabeth as she recognized her visitor-the mother of the last heir of Lancaster. Her conduct towards the unfortunate Margaret of Anjou, whilst her husband's prisoner, showed that she had ever entertained a strong feeling of gratitude for the kindness she had received whilst maid of honor to that unfortunate queen. Her own misfortunes had softened her heart towards the enemies of her husband's house; and she had listened with a favorable ear to the proposals-of which Dr. Lewis had been the bearer of uniting the rival roses, and the conflicting claims which had so long desolated England with civil war, in the persons of her eldest daughter and the young Earl of Richmond.

In her hatred of Richard, she freely promised to acknowledge Henry as king, provided he espoused her daughter, and succeeded in dispossessing the tyrant of his crown.

""Tis well!" said Margaret of Beaufort, as soon as they had

come to an understanding on the point; "but this assent must be signed."

Elizabeth hesitated. She knew that such a paper, if it fell into the hands of the usurper, would in all probability be the signal of her death, or, at the least, still further suffering; and, like most weak-minded persons, she clung to life.

"What!" said her strong-minded visitor, "can you hesitate? You, the widow of Edward, and the mother of his murdered sons! I, who have not half your interest to urge me to the usurper's downfall, have fearlessly risked my life by this secret visit! I marvel that your grace should pause when so many powerful motives urge you on!"

"Alas!" replied the unhappy queen, wringing her hands, “ your courage has not been broken by repeated sufferings, as mine has; you have not mourned your sons cut off untimely by the ruthless act of an assassin !"

"Before I had mourned them," replied Margaret, sternly, "I should have avenged them !"

"But should Gloucester discover

"What then!" interrupted the masculine mother of the future monarch; can he more than slay? end the life he has deprived of honor-stripped of happiness? Alas, poor queen !" she added, with a look of mingled pity and contempt for her hardy spirit could not comprehend such weakness-" your misfortunes must indeed have been great, since they have humbled your spirit to your state!"

Urged by the representations of Dr. Lewis, and stung by the scarcely veiled reproaches of Margaret Beaufort, Elizabeth at last consented to write the required promise, and seal it with her signet. When she had done so, her mind seemed more at ease.

"Be careful!" she said, as she gave it to her imperious visitor; "not for my sake, but for my children's! Remember I am still a mother! Should the usurper suspect our project, the lives of my daughters would be sacrificed to his jealous fears!"

Margaret removed the coarse linen coif which concealed her long dark hair, which she suffered to fall upon her shoulders.