She gave one short, low cry, a convulsive shudder passed through her limbs, and she fell senseless to the ground.

That cry found its echo upon the pale lips of another--one who had closely followed the queen to learn the tidings of the travellers; and Edward turned to catch his bride in his arms, whilst her tears rained down fast as she heard how her noble father lay dead upon the fatal field that had lost her lord his crown, and had dashed to the ground the warmest hopes of the Red Rose.
"Let us to ship again," said Margaret, as she recovered from her long swoon.

"The cause is lost without hope.

Warwick is slain.

Whom have we now to trust to?
Let us back to France, and hide our dishonoured heads there.