"Lady," replied Philipson, "in my proudest hours, I was, before the Being to whom I preferred my prayers, but as a worm in the dust--In His eyes I am now neither less nor more, degraded as I may be in the opinion of my fellow-reptiles." "How canst thou think thus?" said the devotee; "and yet it is well with thee that thou canst. But what have thy losses been, compared to mine!" She put her hand to her brow, and seemed for a moment overpowered by agonising recollections. Arthur pressed to his father's side, and inquired, in a tone of interest which could not be repressed, "Father, who is this lady?--Is it my mother?" "No, my son," answered Philipson;--"peace, for the sake of all you hold dear or holy!" The singular female, however, heard both the question and answer, though expressed in a whisper. "Yes," she said, "young man--I am--I should say I was--your mother; the mother, the protectress, of all that was noble in England--I am Margaret of Anjou." Arthur sank on his knees before the dauntless widow of Henry the Sixth, who so long, and in such desperate circumstances, upheld, by unyielding courage and deep policy, the sinking cause of her feeble husband; and who, if she occasionally abused victory by cruelty and revenge, had made some atonement by the indomitable resolution with which she had supported the fiercest storms of adversity. Arthur had been bred in devoted adherence to the now dethroned line of Lancaster, of which his father was one of the most distinguished supporters; and his earliest deeds of arms, which, though unfortunate, were neither obscure nor ignoble, had been done in their cause. With an enthusiasm belonging to his age and education, he in the same instant flung his bonnet on the pavement, and knelt at the feet of his ill-fated sovereign. Margaret threw back the veil which concealed those noble and majestic features, which even yet,--though rivers of tears had furrowed her cheek,--though care, disappointment, domestic grief, and humbled pride had quenched the fire of her eye, and wasted the smooth dignity of her forehead,--even yet showed the remains of that beauty which once was held unequalled in Europe. The apathy with which a succession of misfortunes and disappointed hopes had chilled the feelings of the unfortunate Princess was for a moment melted by the sight of the fair youth's enthusiasm. She abandoned one hand to him, which he covered with tears and kisses, and with the other stroked with maternal tenderness his curled locks, as she endeavoured to raise him from the posture he had assumed. His father, in the meanwhile, shut the door of the chapel, and placed his back against it, withdrawing himself thus from the group, as if for the purpose of preventing any stranger from entering, during a scene so extraordinary.