something of the high soul of his brother soldier. But that age had
not the virtue of later times, and cannot be judged by its standard.
He heard this bold dare-devil menace his country with civil war upon
grounds not plainly stated nor clearly understood,--he aided not, but
he connived: "Twenty thousand men in arms," he muttered to himself,--
"say half-well, ten thousand--not against Edward, but the Woodvilles!
It must bring the king to his senses; must prove to him how odious the
mushroom race of the Woodvilles, and drive him for safety and for
refuge to Montagu and Warwick. If the knaves presume too far," (and
Montagu smiled), "what are undisciplined multitudes to the eye of a
skilful captain? Let the storm blow, we will guide the blast. In this
world man must make use of man."




CHAPTER IV.

SIBYLL.

While Montagu in anxious forethought awaited the revolt that Robin of
Redesdale had predicted; while Edward feasted and laughed, merry-made
with his courtiers, and aided the conjugal duties of his good citizens
in London; while the queen and her father, Lord Rivers, more and more
in the absence of Warwick encroached on all the good things power can
bestow and avarice seize; while the Duchess of Bedford and Friar
Bungey toiled hard at the waxen effigies of the great earl, who still
held his royal son-in-law in his court at Calais,--the stream of our
narrative winds from its noisier channels, and lingers, with a quiet
wave, around the temple of a virgin's heart. Wherefore is Sibyll sad?