Leaving him, the young knight walked on, guided by what he remembered of the direction in which the house of Sir John Grey lay; for it is hardly needful to tell the reader that thither his steps were bent, when suddenly a cavalcade of some five or six horsemen appeared, coming at a slow pace up the street; and the tall graceful figure of a man somewhat past the middle age, but evidently of distinguished rank, was seen at their head. The garb was changed; the whole look and demeanour was different; but even before he could see the features, Richard of Woodville recognised the very man he was seeking, and, hurrying on to meet him, he advanced to his horse's side. Sir John Grey gazed on him coldly, however, as if he had never seen him before; and Woodville felt somewhat surprised and mortified, not well knowing whether the old knight's memory were really so much shorter than his own, or whether fortune, with Mary's father, had possessed the power it has over so many, to change the aspect of the things around, and blot out the love and gratitude of former days, as things unworthy of remembrance. "Do you not know me, Sir John Grey?" he asked: "if so, let me recal to your good remembrance Richard of Woodville, who brought you tidings from the King, and also some news of your sweet daughter." "I know you well, sir," replied the knight; "would I knew less. I hear you have acquired honour and renown in arms. God give you grace to merit more. I must ride on, I fear." His manner was cold and distant, his brow grave and stern; but Woodville was not one to bear such a change altogether calmly, though, for his sweet Mary's sake, he laid a strong constraint upon himself. "I know not, Sir John Grey," he said, "what has produced so strange a change in one, whom I had thought steadfast and firm: whether calmer thought and higher fortunes than those in which I first found you, may have engendered loftier views, or re-awakened slumbering ambition, so that you regret some words you spoke in the first liberal joy of renewed prosperity; but----" "Cease, sir, cease!" exclaimed the old knight. "I should indeed regret those words, could they be binding in a case like this. Steadfast and firm I am, and you will find me so; but not loftier views or re-awakened ambition has made the change, but better knowledge of a man I trusted on a fair seeming. But these things are not to be discussed here in the open street, before servants and horseboys. You know your own heart--you know your own actions; and if they do not make you shrink from discussing what may be between you and me--" "Shrink!" cried Richard of Woodville, vehemently; "Why should I shrink? shrink from discussing aught that I have done. No, by my knighthood! not before all the world, varlets or horseboys, princes or peers: I care not who hears my every action blazoned to the day."