Produced by Al Haines. [Illustration: "Nan!" broke from her father’s lips, in tones more eloquent than a volume would have been. "Little Nan!" "I would I were your little Nan again," she said. "We were happy then, my Lord—at least I was." P. 140.] _Red and White_ _A Tale of The Wars of the Roses_ BY EMILY SARAH HOLT AUTHOR OF "THE WHITE ROSE OF LANGLEY," ETC. "If loving hearts were never lonely, If all they wish might always be, Accepting what they look for only, They might be glad, but not in Thee." —ANNA L. WARING. _NEW EDITION_ LONDON JOHN F. SHAW AND CO. 48 PATERNOSTER ROW 1882 *PREFACE.* It is a proverbial truth that thunderstorms clear the air. And it would seem as though that eventful and terrible period of English history, known as the Wars of the Roses, had cleared the political air for the coming Reformation. How little those who took part in it realised the time to follow! To the men of that day it was either a wrestle for personal fame, or a passionate enthusiasm for the establishment of Right. To the women with whom it was not the latter, it must have been a meaningless agony—a passion with no visible end, and with no conceivable moral purpose. Alas for him who loses his faith in the providence of God, for the key of the world has dropped out of his hand. And happy are they who can calmly walk on in the dark by the side of the Father, it may be feeling the atmosphere painfully oppressive, yet willing to wait His time, and knowing that when they come forth into the light of the Golden City, they will be satisfied with it. *CONTENTS.* CHAP. I. THE FLEDGLINGS LEAVE THE NEST II. LILIES AMONG THE THORNS III. FLIGHT IV. SCENE-SHIFTING V. HIS LITTLE NAN VI. THE MIST ON EASTER DAY VII. THE LAST BATTLE OF THE RIVAL ROSES VIII. THE END OF A WEDDING-DAY IX. DRAWING NEARER X. AT THE PARCHMENT-MAKER’S XI. A LAST INTERVIEW XII. IDONIA UNDERSTANDS XIII. THE LAST OF THE SILVER RING HISTORICAL APPENDIX *RED AND WHITE.* *CHAPTER I.* *THE FLEDGLINGS LEAVE THE NEST.* "Ah, God will never let us plant Our tent-poles in the sand, But ever, e’er the blossom buds, We hear the dread command,— ’Arise and get thee hence away, Unto another land.’" "Frid!" said little Dorathie in a whisper. Frid held up a hushing finger with a smile. "Frid!" came again; in a tone which showed that tears were not very far from Dorathie’s blue eyes.