of death; and, though ready to face the grim skeleton, we must arm ourselves against him. I wish I could show you even as I see, the dangers that environ us—perhaps you would shrink; and it is yet time. What do you do? Not only plan escape, but ally yourself, and give the sanction of your untarnished name, to one whom Tudor brands as an impostor, and abhors as a rival. His vengeance will fall heavily for this deed, if he reach you. While a few years, like the many already gone by, may lead him to his grave, and you to liberty. I have too often met danger to be frightened by him: and I endure worse than death, each day I pass of youth, apart my sweet White Rose. You have no lady-love to beckon you across the path of peril. Bethink you well, my ever dear lord, will you not regret this prison, when the cruel axe glitters before your eyes?"
"Do you refuse then to take me with you?" said Warwick, mournfully.
"Be the choice yours; to go with me is fraught with danger—to stay—"
"Hush, cousin!" cried the earl, eagerly, "speak not the ill-omened word. Stay,—to endure days and nights of guarded doors; to eat viands served up poisoned by the jailor's touch; to see the sky but through those iron bars; alas! in my dreams, when heaven and its stars are before me, they are crossed and paled by those accursed lines. Give me but an hour to tread earth a free man—or, mark, cousin; sometimes I win good Roger to lead me to the roof of the White Tower; it is high, and overhangs the deep, dangerous river—the day you quit my side, I seek that tower, I leap from its height, and the cold waters shall drink up my being, rather than I endure another hour my prison-life."
"My dear, dear cousin," said York, "it is written by the Fates, and I yield—our fortunes shall be one. A few days now brings the hour; it will move along the dial; it will become a portion of past time—what it will leave us, is in the hands of God."
That hour came—full soon it came—the evening hour which preceded their escape. Long Roger served supper to the kinsmen, the last they were to partake within the fated walls. The poor fellow heaved a bitter sigh, as he waited by his lord's chair. "Thou art downcast, good Roger," said the earl, "pledge me, my man, in this ruby wine of Burgundy—think of to-morrow, not of to-night—to-morrow the deed will be done."
Roger quaffed the proffered bowl—he set it down with another sigh, almost a groan, adding, "Better drown reason than life in the vat!" Then recollecting to what he alluded, and before whom, he blushed scarlet to his very ears, and like a
