“Oh yes, we know you are politic, Master Richard,” was the sneering reply, “but you need not fear my quarrelling with your citizen friends. I would not be the man to face Prince Edward if I had made too free with any of the caitiffs.” “Hark! Master Hamlyn, the tumult is louder than ever,” interposed an elderly man of lower rank, who was in charge of the stout rowers in the royal colours of red and gold. “Young gentlemen, the Mass must be ended; it were better to draw to the stairs, than to talk of you know not what,” he muttered. Hamlyn de Valence, who held the rudder, steered towards the wide stone steps that descended to the river, nearest to the apse in which “St. Peter’s Abbey Church” terminated before Henry VII. had added his chapel. At that moment a louder burst of sound, half imprecation, half shriek, was heard; there was a heavy splash a little way above, and a small blue bundle was seen on the river, apparently totally unheeded by the frantic crowd on the bank. No sooner was it seen by Richard, however, than he threw back his mantle and sprang out of the barge. There was a loud cry from the third page, a little fellow of nine or ten years old; but Richard gallantly swam out, battled with the current, and succeeded in laying hold of a young child, with whom he made for the barge, partly aided by the stream; but he was breathless, and heartily glad to reach the boat and support himself against the gunwale. “A pretty boat companion you!” said Hamlyn maliciously. “How are we to take you in, over the velvet cushions?” The little page gave an expostulating cry. “Hold the child an instant, John,” gasped Richard, raising it towards his younger friend; “I will but recover breath, and then land and seek out her friends.” “How is this?” said a voice above them; and looking up, they found that while all had been absorbed in the rescue, the Prince, with his little son in his arms and his wife hanging on his arm, had come to the stone stairs, and was looking down. “Richard overboard!” “A child fell over the bank, my Lord,” eagerly shouted the little John, with cap in hand, “and he swam out to pick it up.” “Into the barge instantly, Richard,” commanded the Prince. “’Tis as much as his life is worth to remain in this cold stream!” And truly Richard was beginning to feel as much. He was assisted in by two of the oarsmen, and the barge then putting towards the steps, the Princess was handed into her place, and began instantly to ask after the poor child. It had not been long enough in the water to lose its consciousness, though it had hitherto been too much frightened to cry; but it no sooner opened a wide pair of dark eyes to find itself in strange hands, than it set up a lamentable wail, calling in broken accents for “Da-da.” “Let me take it ashore at once, gracious lady,” said Richard, revived by a draught of wine from the stores provided for the long day; “I will find its friends.”