that spread to the near island; and the rumour of this new White Rose became a watch-word of hope for York, of fear for Lancaster.
The riches and magnificence of the now extinguished house of Burgundy, almost equalled that of Paris; their cavaliers were as noble and as gallant; their tournaments and feasts as gay and pompous. The prince felt his situation much changed for the better. His aunt's warm affection was more worth than Charles's politic and courteous protection. There he was an honoured visitor, here one of the family—his interests apparently bound up with theirs. His long-tried friends exulted in his position; Plantagenet and Lady Brampton congratulated each other. The English exiles, Sir George Neville and Sir John Taylor, the one proud and discontented, the other extravagant and poor, blessed the day which gave them dignity and station, as chief attendants and counsellors of the noble York. One friend he missed: his childhood's companion, his gentle nurse, his beloved Monina.
She had accompanied Lady Brampton to Paris, when intelligence came of Trangmar's treachery, of the falsehood of his pretensions; and, at the same time, letters were covertly conveyed to Lady Brampton from the dowager queen, in which mention was made of this man as a trustworthy agent: the Yorkists desired much to fathom this mystery, and to have some explicit elucidation from the imprisoned Elizabeth. As they canvassed the various modes by which this might be accomplished—the disguises that might be assumed—Monina preferred an earnest prayer, that she might be permitted to undertake the task; a thousand circumstances rendered this desirable—she would be entirely unsuspected, and she was fully acquainted with the circumstances of the case. Three days before Richard landed in France from Ireland, Monina crossed to England—she assumed a pilgrim's garb, and without danger or much difficulty, arrived at London from the seacoast.
The sudden apparition of Richard, first in Ireland, and afterwards in Paris, was a stunning blow to Henry. No Trangmar arrived to explain the riddle; and, in spite of his caution and his cruelty, he had been unable to avert the event he dreaded—nothing could he do now better than to scoff at his rival, and to oppose his statements with counter declarations; spreading around his spies to stop at its very outset any symptom of rebellion in England. He caused stricter watch than ever to be set on the unfortunate Elizabeth Woodville, who had been for six years the melancholy inmate of her convent prison. All necessity of caution there was soon to be at an end; her health had long declined—latterly she had wasted to a mere shadow, so that the continuance
