Fortune, though she be a spiteful jade, will occasionally favour true lovers; and she certainly showed herself particularly benign to Richard of Woodville in the present instance. Hurrying on with Hugh of Clatford, he made his way through the crowded streets of Westminster, till, at the outskirts of the town, near where now stands George Street, he reached the gates of a large house in a garden, where Sir Philip Beauchamp had taken up his abode. With all due reverence he asked for his uncle; but he must not be looked upon as a very undutiful nephew, if we admit that he was not a little rejoiced to find that the good old knight had gone forth, leaving fair Mary Markham behind. Guided by Hugh of Clatford, who very well understood all that was passing in the young gentleman's heart, Richard was soon in his fair lady's bower; and certainly Mary's bright face expressed quite as much pleasure to see him as he could have desired. It expressed surprise also, however; and after chiding him, not very harshly, for a sweet liberty he took with her arched lips, she exclaimed, "But how are you here, Richard? I thought you were firm at Meon, polishing armour and trying horses." Now Richard of Woodville, as soon as he heard that Mary was in the same city with himself, had formed his own conclusions in regard to various matters that had puzzled him the day before; and he answered, gaily, "What, deceiver! Do you think I do not know your arts? You would have me believe you were ignorant that I was here, and must tease your poor lover twice in the course of yesterday, by letting him hear your voice, yet hiding the face that he loves best, from his sight?" "Nay, dear Richard," replied Mary, with a look of still greater surprise than before; "you are speaking riddles to me. You could not hear my voice yesterday, at least in Westminster--unless, indeed, it were late at night; and then it must have been in sad, dolorous tones, for I was very tired. We did not reach this place till three hours after dark. But what is it you mean, by daring to call Mary a deceiver, when you know right well I could not cheat you into thinking that I did not love you, though I tried hard to look as demure as a cat in the sunshine?" "Are you sincere now, Mary?--are you telling me the truth?" asked Richard, still half inclined to doubt; but the moment after, he added, "Yet I know you are, my Mary, without guile. Truth gives you half your beauty, Mary; it lights your eyes, it smiles upon your lips. Yet this is very strange; and I thought that I had discovered the key to a mystery which must puzzle me still. But hear what has happened, and you shall judge;" and he proceeded to relate the injunctions which had been twice laid upon him the day before, by some unseen acquaintance in the crowd.