Elizabeth was reluctant to go without a sight of her children.

"Stay," she said to her companions, " yet look back with me unto the Tower.

Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes
Whom envy hath immured within your walls!
Rough cradle for such little pretty ones!
Rude ragged nurse, old sullen playfellow
For tender princes, use my babies well!
So foolish sorrow bids your stones farewell."

With many a backward look they passed along the narrow street which led to London Bridge, but the Queen never saw her bold and brave young sons again. Three men named Tyrrel, Dighton and Forrest were even now waiting impatiently for darkness to shroud the Tower in order that they might murder the Princes as they slept. Next morning Tyrrel waited in the ante-chamber of King Richard's palace to announce the execution of the wicked deed. As he waited he went over to himself the details of the tragedy.

"The tyrannous and bloody deed is done,
The most arch act of piteous massacre
That ever yet this land was guilty of.
Dighton and Forrest, whom I did suborn
To do this ruthless piece of butchery,

Although they were flesh'd villains, bloody dogs,
Melting with tenderness and kind compassion
Wept like two children in their deaths' sad stories.
'Lo, thus,' quoth Dighton, lay those tender babes':
'Thus, thus,' quoth Forrest, 'girdling one another
Within their innocent alabaster arms:

Their lips were four red roses on a stalk,

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Which in their summer beauty kiss'd each other.

A book of prayers on their pillow lay ;

Which once,' quoth Forrest, almost changed my mind;
But O! the devil'—there the villain stopp'd;
While Dighton thus told on: We smothered
The most replenished sweet work of nature
That from the prime creation e'er she framed.'
Thus both are gone with conscience and remorse;
They could not speak; and so I left them both,
To bring this tidings to the bloody king."

It was indeed the most arch act of piteous massacre that ever the land of England was guilty of, but it did not seem to trouble the mind of the triumphant Richard III. On the contrary, all the obstacles in his way had now been removed, and he stood on the peak towards which his ambitious efforts had been for many years directed. And yet the cloud no bigger than a man's hand, which foretold the breaking of the tempest which would destroy him, was even now drifting across the expanse of Richard's sky.

Many years before, a young lad named Henry Richmond, a descendant of John of Gaunt by his marriage with Catherine Swynford, had been sent off for safety to Brittany in order that the heir of the great Beaufort family might not be involved in the wreck of the Lancastrians. His father, Edmund Tudor, Earl of Richmond, had married Margaret Beaufort. Henry was now a man. His exile and the dangers of his position had made him serious, silent, suspicious, and reserved. He was selfish and cold, but loved fine clothes, bright jewels, and glittering pageants. In person he was of the middle height, with grey eyes, and

R

dark brown hair. His face was always pale, but a bright red wart was conspicuous on his cheek. He was no soldier, and hated the strife of battle. King Richard was his superior in everything, and looked upon him as a cowardly runagate. Yet Richmond, by the grace of God, was destined to hurl the powerful Richard from his throne.

He crossed from Brittany and landed at Pembroke in Wales, where he was joined by Sir Walter Herbert, Sir Gilbert Talbot, Sir William Stanley, and the Earls of Oxford and Pembroke. Buckingham, who had now broken away from Richard, also raised an army, but was defeated and executed. Richmond pressed on towards Tamworth, and finally encamped near Bosworth Field, in Leicestershire. King Richard gathered the northern lords and squires; and Norfolk from the east, Brakenbury from the south-east and Lovel from the south-west soon joined him with a strong army in the town of Leicester.

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Lord Stanley, with the men of Lancashire and Cheshire, delayed because, he said, that he was ill of the sweating sickness." Afterwards he deserted the King on the field of battle, and was the main cause of his overthrow. Richard chose his battle-ground with rare skill, making a marsh protect the right wing of his army, and taking a position which compelled his enemy's archers to fight with the sun in their faces. But on the day of battle the sun did not shine, heavy mists rolled up from the marsh, and the sullen sky seemed to lour and frown upon the armies. It was a striking contrast to the day when Richard of Gloucester stood in the streets of London and the bells were everywhere ringing out the triumph of the House of York. Now, the sun