herself was in a considerable degree sheltered from the storm, but its
eddies, varying in every direction, often tossed aloft her dishevelled
hair; and we cannot describe the appearance of her noble and
beautiful, yet ghastly and wasted features, agitated strongly by
anxious hesitation, and conflicting thoughts, unless to those of our
readers who have had the advantage of having seen our inimitable
Siddons in such a character as this.

* * * * *

As Margaret spoke, she tore from her hair the sable feather and rose,
which the tempest had detached from the circlet in which they were
placed, and tossed them from the battlement with a gesture of wild
energy. They were instantly whirled off in a bickering eddy of the
agitated clouds, which swept the feather far distant into empty space,
through which the eye could not pursue it. But while that of Arthur
involuntarily strove to follow its course, a contrary gust of wind
caught the red rose, and drove it back against his breast, so that it
was easy for him to catch hold of and retain it.

"Joy, joy, and good fortune, royal mistress!" he said, returning to
her the emblematic flower; "the tempest brings back the badge of
Lancaster to its proper owner."

"I accept the omen," said Margaret; "but it concerns yourself,
noble youth and not me. The feather, which is borne away to waste
and desolation, is Margaret's emblem. My eyes will never see the
restoration of the line of Lancaster. But you will live to behold it,
and to aid to achieve it, and to dye our red rose deeper yet in the
blood of tyrants and traitors. My thoughts are so strangely poised,