KENILWORTH.

by Sir Walter Scott, Bart.




*

Note:  Footnotes and references to the notes at the end of the
       printed book have been inserted in the etext in square
       brackets ("[]") close to the place where they were
       indicated by a suffix in the original text.  The notes
       at the end are now numbered instead of using pages to
       identify them as was done in the printed text.

       Text in italics has been written in capital letters.

*




INTRODUCTION

A certain degree of success, real or supposed, in the delineation
of Queen Mary, naturally induced the author to attempt something
similar respecting "her sister and her foe," the celebrated
Elizabeth.  He will not, however, pretend to have approached the
task with the same feelings; for the candid Robertson himself
confesses having felt the prejudices with which a Scottishman is
tempted to regard the subject; and what so liberal a historian
avows, a poor romance-writer dares not disown.  But he hopes the
influence of a prejudice, almost as natural to him as his native
air, will not be found to have greatly affected the sketch he has
attempted of England's Elizabeth.  I have endeavoured to describe
her as at once a high-minded sovereign, and a female of
passionate feelings, hesitating betwixt the sense of her rank and
the duty she owed her subjects on the one hand, and on the other
her attachment to a nobleman, who, in external qualifications at
least, amply merited her favour.  The interest of the story is
thrown upon that period when the sudden death of the first
Countess of Leicester seemed to open to the ambition of her
husband the opportunity of sharing the crown of his sovereign.

It is possible that slander, which very seldom favours the
memories of persons in exalted stations, may have blackened the
character of Leicester with darker shades than really belonged to
it.  But the almost general voice of the times attached the most
foul suspicions to the death of the unfortunate Countess, more
especially as it took place so very opportunely for the
indulgence of her lover's ambition.  If we can trust Ashmole's
Antiquities of Berkshire, there was but too much ground for the
traditions which charge Leicester with the murder of his wife.
In the following extract of the passage, the reader will find the
authority I had for the story of the romance:--

"At the west end of the church are the ruins of a manor,
anciently belonging (as a cell, or place of removal, as some
report) to the monks of Abington.  At the Dissolution, the said
manor, or lordship, was conveyed to one -- Owen (I believe), the
possessor of Godstow then.

"In the hall, over the chimney, I find Abington arms cut in
stone--namely, a patonee between four martletts; and also another
escutcheon--namely, a lion rampant, and several mitres cut in
stone about the house.  There is also in the said house a chamber
called Dudley's chamber, where the Earl of Leicester's wife was
murdered, of which this is the story following:--

"Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, a very goodly personage, and
singularly well featured, being a great favourite to Queen
Elizabeth, it was thought, and commonly reported, that had he
been a bachelor or widower, the Queen would have made him her
husband; to this end, to free himself of all obstacles, he
commands, or perhaps, with fair flattering entreaties, desires
his wife to repose herself here at his servant Anthony Forster's
house, who then lived in the aforesaid manor-house; and also
prescribes to Sir Richard Varney (a prompter to this design), at
his coming hither, that he should first attempt to poison her,
and if that did not take effect, then by any other way whatsoever
to dispatch her.  This, it seems, was proved by the report of Dr.
Walter Bayly, sometime fellow of New College, then living in
Oxford, and professor of physic in that university; whom, because
he would not consent to take away her life by poison, the Earl
endeavoured to displace him the court.  This man, it seems,
reported for most certain that there was a practice in Cumnor
among the conspirators, to have poisoned this poor innocent lady,
a little before she was killed, which was attempted after this
manner:--They seeing the good lady sad and heavy (as one that
well knew, by her other handling, that her death was not far
off), began to persuade her that her present disease was
abundance of melancholy and other humours, etc., and therefore
would needs counsel her to take some potion, which she absolutely
refusing to do, as still suspecting the worst; whereupon they
sent a messenger on a day (unawares to her) for Dr. Bayly, and
entreated him to persuade her to take some little potion by his
direction, and they would fetch the same at Oxford; meaning to
have added something of their own for her comfort, as the doctor
upon just cause and consideration did suspect, seeing their great
importunity, and the small need the lady had of physic, and
therefore he peremptorily denied their request; misdoubting (as
he afterwards reported) lest, if they had poisoned her under the
name of his potion, he might after have been hanged for a colour
of their sin, and the doctor remained still well assured that
this way taking no effect, she would not long escape their
violence, which afterwards happened thus.  For Sir Richard Varney
abovesaid (the chief projector in this design), who, by the
Earl's order, remained that day of her death alone with her, with
one man only and Forster, who had that day forcibly sent away all
her servants from her to Abington market, about three miles
distant from this place; they (I say, whether first stifling her,
or else strangling her) afterwards flung her down a pair of
stairs and broke her neck, using much violence upon her; but,
however, though it was vulgarly reported that she by chance fell
downstairs (but still without hurting her hood that was upon her
head), yet the inhabitants will tell you there that she was
conveyed from her usual chamber where she lay, to another where
the bed's head of the chamber stood close to a privy postern
door, where they in the night came and stifled her in her bed,
bruised her head very much broke her neck, and at length flung
her down stairs, thereby believing the world would have thought
it a mischance, and so have blinded their villainy.  But behold
the mercy and justice of God in revenging and discovering this
lady's murder; for one of the persons that was a coadjutor in
this murder was afterwards taken for a felony in the marches of
Wales, and offering to publish the manner of the aforesaid
murder, was privately made away in the prison by the Earl's
appointment; and Sir Richard Varney the other, dying about the
same time in London, cried miserably, and blasphemed God, and
said to a person of note (who hath related the same to others
since), not long before his death, that all the devils in hell
did tear him in pieces.  Forster, likewise, after this fact,
being a man formerly addicted to hospitality, company, mirth, and
music, was afterwards observed to forsake all this, and with much
melancholy and pensiveness (some say with madness) pined and
drooped away.  The wife also of Bald Butter, kinsman to the Earl,
gave out the whole fact a little before her death.  Neither are
these following passages to be forgotten, that as soon as ever
she was murdered, they made great haste to bury her before the
coroner had given in his inquest (which the Earl himself
condemned as not done advisedly), which her father, or Sir John
Robertsett (as I suppose), hearing of, came with all speed
hither, caused her corpse to be taken up, the coroner to sit upon
her, and further inquiry to be made concerning this business to
the full; but it was generally thought that the Earl stopped his
mouth, and made up the business betwixt them; and the good Earl,
to make plain to the world the great love he bare to her while
alive, and what a grief the loss of so virtuous a lady was to his
tender heart, caused (though the thing, by these and other means,
was beaten into the heads of the principal men of the University
of Oxford) her body to be reburied in St, Mary's Church in
Oxford, with great pomp and solemnity.  It is remarkable, when
Dr. Babington, the Earl's chaplain, did preach the funeral
sermon, he tript once or twice in his speech, by recommending to
their memories that virtuous lady so pitifully murdered, instead
of saying pitifully slain.  This Earl, after all his murders and
poisonings, was himself poisoned by that which was prepared for
others (some say by his wife at Cornbury Lodge before mentioned),
though Baker in his Chronicle would have it at Killingworth; anno
1588."  [Ashmole's Antiquities of Berkshire, vol.i., p.149.  The
tradition as to Leicester's death was thus communicated by Ben
Jonson to Drummond of Hawthornden:--"The Earl of Leicester gave
a bottle of liquor to his Lady, which he willed her to use in any
faintness, which she, after his returne from court, not knowing
it was poison, gave him, and so he died."--BEN JONSON'S
INFORMATION TO DRUMMOND OF HAWTHORNDEN, MS., SIR ROBERT SIBBALD'S
COPY.]

The same accusation has been adopted and circulated by the author
of Leicester's Commonwealth, a satire written directly against
the Earl of Leicester, which loaded him with the most horrid
crimes, and, among the rest, with the murder of his first wife.
It was alluded to in the Yorkshire Tragedy, a play erroneously
ascribed to Shakespeare, where a baker, who determines to destroy
all his family, throws his wife downstairs, with this allusion to
the supposed murder of Leicester's lady,--

  "The only way to charm a woman's tongue
  Is, break her neck--a politician did it."

The reader will find I have borrowed several incidents as well as
names from Ashmole, and the more early authorities; but my first
acquaintance with the history was through the more pleasing
medium of verse.  There is a period in youth when the mere power
of numbers has a more strong effect on ear and imagination than
in more advanced life.  At this season of immature taste, the
author was greatly delighted with the poems of Mickle and
Langhorne, poets who, though by no means deficient in the higher
branches of their art, were eminent for their powers of verbal
melody above most who have practised this department of poetry.
One of those pieces of Mickle, which the author was particularly
pleased with, is a ballad, or rather a species of elegy, on the
subject of Cumnor Hall, which, with others by the same author,
was to be found in Evans's Ancient Ballads (vol. iv., page 130),
to which work Mickle made liberal contributions.  The first
stanza especially had a peculiar species of enchantment for the
youthful ear of the author, the force of which is not even now
entirely spent; some others are sufficiently prosaic.


CUMNOR HALL.

  The dews of summer night did fall;
   The moon, sweet regent of the sky,
  Silver'd the walls of Cumnor Hall,
   And many an oak that grew thereby,

  Now nought was heard beneath the skies,
   The sounds of busy life were still,
  Save an unhappy lady's sighs,
   That issued from that lonely pile.

  "Leicester," she cried, "is this thy love
   That thou so oft hast sworn to me,
  To leave me in this lonely grove,
   Immured in shameful privity?

  "No more thou com'st with lover's speed,
   Thy once beloved bride to see;
  But be she alive, or be she dead,
   I fear, stern Earl, 's the same to thee.

  "Not so the usage I received
   When happy in my father's hall;
  No faithless husband then me grieved,
   No chilling fears did me appal.

  "I rose up with the cheerful morn,
   No lark more blithe, no flower more gay;
  And like the bird that haunts the thorn,
   So merrily sung the livelong day.

  "If that my beauty is but small,
   Among court ladies all despised,
  Why didst thou rend it from that hall,
   Where, scornful Earl, it well was prized?

  "And when you first to me made suit,
   How fair I was you oft would say!
  And proud of conquest, pluck'd the fruit,
   Then left the blossom to decay.

  "Yes!  now neglected and despised,
   The rose is pale, the lily's dead;
  But he that once their charms so prized,
   Is sure the cause those charms are fled.

  "For know, when sick'ning grief doth prey,
   And tender love's repaid with scorn,
  The sweetest beauty will decay,--
   What floweret can endure the storm?

  "At court, I'm told, is beauty's throne,
   Where every lady's passing rare,
  That Eastern flowers, that shame the sun,
   Are not so glowing, not so fair.

  "Then, Earl, why didst thou leave the beds
   Where roses and where lilies vie,
  To seek a primrose, whose pale shades
   Must sicken when those gauds are by?

  "'Mong rural beauties I was one,
   Among the fields wild flowers are fair;
  Some country swain might me have won,
   And thought my beauty passing rare.

  "But, Leicester (or I much am wrong),
   Or 'tis not beauty lures thy vows;
  Rather ambition's gilded crown
   Makes thee forget thy humble spouse.

  "Then, Leicester, why, again I plead
   (The injured surely may repine)--
  Why didst thou wed a country maid,
   When some fair princess might be thine?

  "Why didst thou praise my hum'ble charms,
   And, oh!  then leave them to decay?
  Why didst thou win me to thy arms,
   Then leave to mourn the livelong day?

  "The village maidens of the plain
   Salute me lowly as they go;
  Envious they mark my silken train,
   Nor think a Countess can have woe.

  "The simple nymphs!  they little know
   How far more happy's their estate;
  To smile for joy, than sigh for woe--
   To be content, than to be great.

  "How far less blest am I than them?
   Daily to pine and waste with care!
  Like the poor plant that, from its stem
   Divided, feels the chilling air.

  "Nor, cruel Earl!  can I enjoy
   The humble charms of solitude;
  Your minions proud my peace destroy,
   By sullen frowns or pratings rude.

  "Last night, as sad I chanced to stray,
   The village death-bell smote my ear;
  They wink'd aside, and seemed to say,
   'Countess, prepare, thy end is near!'

  "And now, while happy peasants sleep,
   Here I sit lonely and forlorn;
  No one to soothe me as I weep,
   Save Philomel on yonder thorn.

  "My spirits flag--my hopes decay--
   Still that dread death-bell smites my ear;
  And many a boding seems to say,
   'Countess, prepare, thy end is near!'"

  Thus sore and sad that lady grieved,
   In Cumnor Hall, so lone and drear;
  And many a heartfelt sigh she heaved,
   And let fall many a bitter tear.

  And ere the dawn of day appear'd,
   In Cumnor Hall, so lone and drear,
  Full many a piercing scream was heard,
   And many a cry of mortal fear.

  The death-bell thrice was heard to ring,
   An aerial voice was heard to call,
  And thrice the raven flapp'd its wing
   Around the towers of Cumnor Hall.

  The mastiff howl'd at village door,
   The oaks were shatter'd on the green;
  Woe was the hour--for never more
   That hapless Countess e'er was seen!

  And in that Manor now no more
   Is cheerful feast and sprightly ball;
  For ever since that dreary hour
   Have spirits haunted Cumnor Hall.

  The village maids, with fearful glance,
   Avoid the ancient moss-grown wall;
  Nor ever lead the merry dance,
   Among the groves of Cumnor Hall.

  Full many a traveller oft hath sigh'd,
   And pensive wept the Countess' fall,
  As wand'ring onward they've espied
   The haunted towers of Cumnor Hall.

ARBOTSFORD,
1st March 1831.


*


KENILWORTH



CHAPTER I.

  I am an innkeeper, and know my grounds,
  And study them; Brain o' man, I study them.
  I must have jovial guests to drive my ploughs,
  And whistling boys to bring my harvests home,
  Or I shall hear no flails thwack.             THE NEW INN.

It is the privilege of tale-tellers to open their story in an
inn, the free rendezvous of all travellers, and where the humour
of each displays itself without ceremony or restraint.  This is
specially suitable when the scene is laid during the old days of
merry England, when the guests were in some sort not merely the
inmates, but the messmates and temporary companions of mine Host,
who was usually a personage of privileged freedom, comely
presence, and good-humour.  Patronized by him the characters of
the company were placed in ready contrast; and they seldom
failed, during the emptying of a six-hooped pot, to throw off
reserve, and present themselves to each other, and to their
landlord, with the freedom of old acquaintance.

The village of Cumnor, within three or four miles of Oxford,
boasted, during the eighteenth of Queen Elizabeth, an excellent
inn of the old stamp, conducted, or rather ruled, by Giles
Gosling, a man of a goodly person, and of somewhat round belly;
fifty years of age and upwards, moderate in his reckonings,
prompt in his payments, having a cellar of sound liquor, a ready
wit, and a pretty daughter.  Since the days of old Harry Baillie
of the Tabard in Southwark, no one had excelled Giles Gosling in
the power of pleasing his guests of every description; and so
great was his fame, that to have been in Cumnor without wetting a
cup at the bonny Black Bear, would have been to avouch one's-self
utterly indifferent to reputation as a traveller.  A country
fellow might as well return from London without looking in the
face of majesty.  The men of Cumnor were proud of their Host, and
their Host was proud of his house, his liquor, his daughter, and
himself.

It was in the courtyard of the inn which called this honest
fellow landlord, that a traveller alighted in the close of the
evening, gave his horse, which seemed to have made a long
journey, to the hostler, and made some inquiry, which produced
the following dialogue betwixt the myrmidons of the bonny Black
Bear.

"What, ho!  John Tapster."

"At hand, Will Hostler," replied the man of the spigot, showing
himself in his costume of loose jacket, linen breeches, and green
apron, half within and half without a door, which appeared to
descend to an outer cellar.

"Here is a gentleman asks if you draw good ale," continued the
hostler.

"Beshrew my heart else," answered the tapster, "since there are
but four miles betwixt us and Oxford.  Marry, if my ale did not
convince the heads of the scholars, they would soon convince my
pate with the pewter flagon."

"Call you that Oxford logic?"  said the stranger, who had now
quitted the rein of his horse, and was advancing towards the inn-
door, when he was encountered by the goodly form of Giles Gosling
himself.

"Is it logic you talk of, Sir Guest?"  said the host; "why, then,
have at you with a downright consequence--

  'The horse to the rack,
  And to fire with the sack.'"

"Amen!  with all my heart, my good host," said the stranger; "let
it be a quart of your best Canaries, and give me your good help
to drink it."

"Nay, you are but in your accidence yet, Sir Traveller, if you
call on your host for help for such a sipping matter as a quart
of sack; Were it a gallon, you might lack some neighbouring aid
at my hand, and yet call yourself a toper."

"Fear me not."  said the guest, "I will do my devoir as becomes a
man who finds himself within five miles of Oxford; for I am not
come from the field of Mars to discredit myself amongst the
followers of Minerva."

As he spoke thus, the landlord, with much semblance of hearty
welcome, ushered his guest into a large, low chamber, where
several persons were seated together in different parties--some
drinking, some playing at cards, some conversing, and some, whose
business called them to be early risers on the morrow, concluding
their evening meal, and conferring with the chamberlain about
their night's quarters.

The entrance of a stranger procured him that general and careless
sort of attention which is usually paid on such occasions, from
which the following results were deduced:--The guest was one of
those who, with a well-made person, and features not in
themselves unpleasing, are nevertheless so far from handsome
that, whether from the expression of their features, or the tone
of their voice, or from their gait and manner, there arises, on
the whole, a disinclination to their society.  The stranger's
address was bold, without being frank, and seemed eagerly and
hastily to claim for him a degree of attention and deference
which he feared would be refused, if not instantly vindicated as
his right.  His attire was a riding-cloak, which, when open,
displayed a handsome jerkin overlaid with lace, and belted with a
buff girdle, which sustained a broadsword and a pair of pistols.

"You ride well provided, sir," said the host, looking at the
weapons as he placed on the table the mulled sack which the
traveller had ordered.

"Yes, mine host; I have found the use on't in dangerous times,
and I do not, like your modern grandees, turn off my followers
the instant they are useless."

"Ay, sir?"  said Giles Gosling; "then you are from the Low
Countries, the land of pike and caliver?"

"I have been high and low, my friend, broad and wide, far and
near.  But here is to thee in a cup of thy sack; fill thyself
another to pledge me, and, if it is less than superlative, e'en
drink as you have brewed."

"Less than superlative?"  said Giles Gosling, drinking off the
cup, and smacking his lips with an air of ineffable relish,--"I
know nothing of superlative, nor is there such a wine at the
Three Cranes, in the Vintry, to my knowledge; but if you find
better sack than that in the Sheres, or in the Canaries either, I
would I may never touch either pot or penny more.  Why, hold it
up betwixt you and the light, you shall see the little motes
dance in the golden liquor like dust in the sunbeam.  But I would
rather draw wine for ten clowns than one traveller.--I trust your
honour likes the wine?"

"It is neat and comfortable, mine host; but to know good liquor,
you should drink where the vine grows.  Trust me, your Spaniard
is too wise a man to send you the very soul of the grape.  Why,
this now, which you account so choice, were counted but as a cup
of bastard at the Groyne, or at Port St. Mary's.  You should
travel, mine host, if you would be deep in the mysteries of the
butt and pottle-pot."

"In troth, Signior Guest," said Giles Gosling, "if I were to
travel only that I might be discontented with that which I can
get at home, methinks I should go but on a fool's errand.
Besides, I warrant you, there is many a fool can turn his nose up
at good drink without ever having been out of the smoke of Old
England; and so ever gramercy mine own fireside."

"This is but a mean mind of yours, mine host," said the stranger;
"I warrant me, all your town's folk do not think so basely.  You
have gallants among you, I dare undertake, that have made the
Virginia voyage, or taken a turn in the Low Countries at least.
Come, cudgel your memory.  Have you no friends in foreign parts
that you would gladly have tidings of?"

"Troth, sir, not I," answered the host, "since ranting Robin of
Drysandford was shot at the siege of the Brill.  The devil take
the caliver that fired the ball, for a blither lad never filled a
cup at midnight!  But he is dead and gone, and I know not a
soldier, or a traveller, who is a soldier's mate, that I would
give a peeled codling for."

"By the Mass, that is strange.  What!  so many of our brave
English hearts are abroad, and you, who seem to be a man of mark,
have no friend, no kinsman among them?"

"Nay, if you speak of kinsmen," answered Gosling, "I have one
wild slip of a kinsman, who left us in the last year of Queen
Mary; but he is better lost than found."

"Do not say so, friend, unless you have heard ill of him lately.
Many a wild colt has turned out a noble steed.--His name, I pray
you?"

"Michael Lambourne," answered the landlord of the Black Bear; "a
son of my sister's--there is little pleasure in recollecting
either the name or the connection."

"Michael Lambourne!"  said the stranger, as if endeavouring to
recollect himself--"what, no relation to Michael Lambourne, the
gallant cavalier who behaved so bravely at the siege of Venlo
that Grave Maurice thanked him at the head of the army?  Men said
he was an English cavalier, and of no high extraction."

"It could scarcely be my nephew," said Giles Gosling, "for he had
not the courage of a hen-partridge for aught but mischief."

"Oh, many a man finds courage in the wars," replied the stranger.

"It may be," said the landlord; "but I would have thought our
Mike more likely to lose the little he had."

"The Michael Lambourne whom I knew," continued the traveller,
"was a likely fellow--went always gay and well attired, and had a
hawk's eye after a pretty wench."

"Our Michael," replied the host, "had the look of a dog with a
bottle at its tail, and wore a coat, every rag of which was
bidding good-day to the rest."

"Oh, men pick up good apparel in the wars," replied the guest.

"Our Mike," answered the landlord, "was more like to pick it up
in a frippery warehouse, while the broker was looking another
way; and, for the hawk's eye you talk of, his was always after my
stray spoons.  He was tapster's boy here in this blessed house
for a quarter of a year; and between misreckonings, miscarriages,
mistakes, and misdemeanours, had he dwelt with me for three
months longer, I might have pulled down sign, shut up house, and
given the devil the key to keep."

"You would be sorry, after all," continued the traveller, "were I
to tell you poor Mike Lambourne was shot at the head of his
regiment at the taking of a sconce near Maestricht?"

"Sorry!--it would be the blithest news I ever heard of him, since
it would ensure me he was not hanged.  But let him pass--I doubt
his end will never do such credit to his friends.  Were it so, I
should say"--(taking another cup of sack)--"Here's God rest him,
with all my heart."

"Tush, man," replied the traveller, "never fear but you will have
credit by your nephew yet, especially if he be the Michael
Lambourne whom I knew, and loved very nearly, or altogether, as
well as myself.  Can you tell me no mark by which I could judge
whether they be the same?"

"Faith, none that I can think of," answered Giles Gosling,
"unless that our Mike had the gallows branded on his left
shoulder for stealing a silver caudle-cup from Dame Snort of
Hogsditch."

"Nay, there you lie like a knave, uncle," said the stranger,
slipping aside his ruff; and turning down the sleeve of his
doublet from his neck and shoulder; "by this good day, my
shoulder is as unscarred as thine own.

"What, Mike, boy--Mike!"  exclaimed the host;--"and is it thou,
in good earnest?  Nay, I have judged so for this half-hour; for I
knew no other person would have ta'en half the interest in thee.
But, Mike, an thy shoulder be unscathed as thou sayest, thou must
own that Goodman Thong, the hangman, was merciful in his office,
and stamped thee with a cold iron."

"Tush, uncle--truce with your jests.  Keep them to season your
sour ale, and let us see what hearty welcome thou wilt give a
kinsman who has rolled the world around for eighteen years; who
has seen the sun set where it rises, and has travelled till the
west has become the east."

"Thou hast brought back one traveller's gift with thee, Mike, as
I well see; and that was what thou least didst:  need to travel
for.  I remember well, among thine other qualities, there was no
crediting a word which came from thy mouth."

"Here's an unbelieving pagan for you, gentlemen!"  said Michael
Lambourne, turning to those who witnessed this strange interview
betwixt uncle and nephew, some of whom, being natives of the
village, were no strangers to his juvenile wildness.  "This may
be called slaying a Cumnor fatted calf for me with a vengeance.--
But, uncle, I come not from the husks and the swine-trough, and I
care not for thy welcome or no welcome; I carry that with me will
make me welcome, wend where I will."

So saying, he pulled out a purse of gold indifferently well
filled, the sight of which produced a visible effect upon the
company.  Some shook their heads and whispered to each other,
while one or two of the less scrupulous speedily began to
recollect him as a school-companion, a townsman, or so forth.  On
the other hand, two or three grave, sedate-looking persons shook
their heads, and left the inn, hinting that, if Giles Gosling
wished to continue to thrive, he should turn his thriftless,
godless nephew adrift again, as soon as he could.  Gosling
demeaned himself as if he were much of the same opinion, for even
the sight of the gold made less impression on the honest
gentleman than it usually doth upon one of his calling.

"Kinsman Michael," he said, "put up thy purse.  My sister's son
shall be called to no reckoning in my house for supper or
lodging; and I reckon thou wilt hardly wish to stay longer where
thou art e'en but too well known."

"For that matter, uncle," replied the traveller, "I shall consult
my own needs and conveniences.  Meantime I wish to give the
supper and sleeping cup to those good townsmen who are not too
proud to remember Mike Lambourne, the tapster's boy.  If you will
let me have entertainment for my money, so; if not, it is but a
short two minutes' walk to the Hare and Tabor, and I trust our
neighbours will not grudge going thus far with me."

"Nay, Mike," replied his uncle, "as eighteen years have gone over
thy head, and I trust thou art somewhat amended in thy
conditions, thou shalt not leave my house at this hour, and shalt
e'en have whatever in reason you list to call for.  But I would I
knew that that purse of thine, which thou vapourest of, were as
well come by as it seems well filled."

"Here is an infidel for you, my good neighbours!"  said
Lambourne, again appealing to the audience.  "Here's a fellow
will rip up his kinsman's follies of a good score of years'
standing.  And for the gold, why, sirs, I have been where it
grew, and was to be had for the gathering.  In the New World have
I been, man--in the Eldorado, where urchins play at cherry-pit
with diamonds, and country wenches thread rubies for necklaces,
instead of rowan-tree berries; where the pantiles are made of
pure gold, and the paving-stones of virgin silver."

"By my credit, friend Mike," said young Laurence Goldthred, the
cutting mercer of Abingdon, "that were a likely coast to trade
to.  And what may lawns, cypruses, and ribands fetch, where gold
is so plenty?"

"Oh, the profit were unutterable," replied Lambourne, "especially
when a handsome young merchant bears the pack himself; for the
ladies of that clime are bona-robas, and being themselves somewhat
sunburnt, they catch fire like tinder at a fresh complexion like
thine, with a head of hair inclining to be red."

"I would I might trade thither," said the mercer, chuckling.

"Why, and so thou mayest," said Michael--"that is, if thou art
the same brisk boy who was partner with me at robbing the Abbot's
orchard.  'Tis but a little touch of alchemy to decoct thy house
and land into ready money, and that ready money into a tall ship,
with sails, anchors, cordage, and all things conforming; then
clap thy warehouse of goods under hatches, put fifty good fellows
on deck, with myself to command them, and so hoist topsails, and
hey for the New World!"

"Thou hast taught him a secret, kinsman," said Giles Gosling, "to
decoct, an that be the word, his pound into a penny and his webs
into a thread.--Take a fool's advice, neighbour Goldthred.  Tempt
not the sea, for she is a devourer.  Let cards and cockatrices do
their worst, thy father's bales may bide a banging for a year or
two ere thou comest to the Spital; but the sea hath a bottomless
appetite,--she would swallow the wealth of Lombard Street in a
morning, as easily as I would a poached egg and a cup of clary.
And for my kinsman's Eldorado, never trust me if I do not believe
he has found it in the pouches of some such gulls as thyself.--
But take no snuff in the nose about it; fall to and welcome, for
here comes the supper, and I heartily bestow it on all that will
take share, in honour of my hopeful nephew's return, always
trusting that he has come home another man.--In faith, kinsman,
thou art as like my poor sister as ever was son to mother."

"Not quite so like old Benedict Lambourne, her husband, though,"
said the mercer, nodding and winking.  "Dost thou remember, Mike,
what thou saidst when the schoolmaster's ferule was over thee for
striking up thy father's crutches?--it is a wise child, saidst
thou, that knows its own father.  Dr. Bircham laughed till he
cried again, and his crying saved yours."

"Well, he made it up to me many a day after," said Lambourne;
"and how is the worthy pedagogue?"

"Dead," said Giles Gosling, "this many a day since."

"That he is," said the clerk of the parish; "I sat by his bed the
whilst.  He passed away in a blessed frame.  'MORIOR--MORTUUS SUM
VEL FUI--MORI'--these were his latest words; and he just added,
'my last verb is conjugated."

"Well, peace be with him," said Mike, "he owes me nothing."

"No, truly," replied Goldthred; "and every lash which he laid on
thee, he always was wont to say, he spared the hangman a labour."

"One would have thought he left him little to do then," said the
clerk; "and yet Goodman Thong had no sinecure of it with our
friend, after all."

"VOTO A DIOS!"  exclaimed Lambourne, his patience appearing to
fail him, as he snatched his broad, slouched hat from the table
and placed it on his head, so that the shadow gave the sinister
expression of a Spanish brave to eyes and features which
naturally boded nothing pleasant.  "Hark'ee, my masters--all is
fair among friends, and under the rose; and I have already
permitted my worthy uncle here, and all of you, to use your
pleasure with the frolics of my nonage.  But I carry sword and
dagger, my good friends, and can use them lightly too upon
occasion.  I have learned to be dangerous upon points of honour
ever since I served the Spaniard, and I would not have you
provoke me to the degree of falling foul."

"Why, what would you do?"  said the clerk.

"Ay, sir, what would you do?"  said the mercer, bustling up on
the other side of the table.

"Slit your throat, and spoil your Sunday's quavering, Sir Clerk,"
said Lambourne fiercely; "cudgel you, my worshipful dealer in
flimsy sarsenets, into one of your own bales."

"Come, come," said the host, interposing, "I will have no
swaggering here.--Nephew, it will become you best to show no
haste to take offence; and you, gentlemen, will do well to
remember, that if you are in an inn, still you are the inn-
keeper's guests, and should spare the honour of his family.--I
protest your silly broils make me as oblivious as yourself; for
yonder sits my silent guest as I call him, who hath been my two
days' inmate, and hath never spoken a word, save to ask for his
food and his reckoning--gives no more trouble than a very
peasant--pays his shot like a prince royal--looks but at the sum
total of the reckoning, and does not know what day he shall go
away.  Oh, 'tis a jewel of a guest!  and yet, hang-dog that I am,
I have suffered him to sit by himself like a castaway in yonder
obscure nook, without so much as asking him to take bite or sup
along with us.  It were but the right guerdon of my incivility
were he to set off to the Hare and Tabor before the night grows
older."

With his white napkin gracefully arranged over his left arm, his
velvet cap laid aside for the moment, and his best silver flagon
in his right hand, mine host walked up to the solitary guest whom
he mentioned, and thereby turned upon him the eyes of the
assembled company.

He was a man aged betwixt twenty-five and thirty, rather above
the middle size, dressed with plainness and decency, yet bearing
an air of ease which almost amounted to dignity, and which seemed
to infer that his habit was rather beneath his rank.  His
countenance was reserved and thoughtful, with dark hair and dark
eyes; the last, upon any momentary excitement, sparkled with
uncommon lustre, but on other occasions had the same meditative
and tranquil cast which was exhibited by his features.  The busy
curiosity of the little village had been employed to discover his
name and quality, as well as his business at Cumnor; but nothing
had transpired on either subject which could lead to its
gratification.  Giles Gosling, head-borough of the place, and a
steady friend to Queen Elizabeth and the Protestant religion, was
at one time inclined to suspect his guest of being a Jesuit, or
seminary priest, of whom Rome and Spain sent at this time so many
to grace the gallows in England.  But it was scarce possible to
retain such a prepossession against a guest who gave so little
trouble, paid his reckoning so regularly, and who proposed, as it
seemed, to make a considerable stay at the bonny Black Bear.

"Papists," argued Giles Gosling, "are a pinching, close-fisted
race, and this man would have found a lodging with the wealthy
squire at Bessellsey, or with the old Knight at Wootton, or in
some other of their Roman dens, instead of living in a house of
public entertainment, as every honest man and good Christian
should.  Besides, on Friday he stuck by the salt beef and carrot,
though there were as good spitch-cocked eels on the board as ever
were ta'en out of the Isis."

Honest Giles, therefore, satisfied himself that his guest was no
Roman, and with all comely courtesy besought the stranger to
pledge him in a draught of the cool tankard, and honour with his
attention a small collation which he was giving to his nephew, in
honour of his return, and, as he verily hoped, of his
reformation.  The stranger at first shook his head, as if
declining the courtesy; but mine host proceeded to urge him with
arguments founded on the credit of his house, and the
construction which the good people of Cumnor might put upon such
an unsocial humour.

"By my faith, sir," he said, "it touches my reputation that men
should be merry in my house; and we have ill tongues amongst us
at Cumnor (as where be there not?), who put an evil mark on men
who pull their hat over their brows, as if they were looking back
to the days that are gone, instead of enjoying the blithe
sunshiny weather which God has sent us in the sweet looks of our
sovereign mistress, Queen Elizabeth, whom Heaven long bless and
preserve!"

"Why, mine host," answered the stranger, "there is no treason,
sure, in a man's enjoying his own thoughts, under the shadow of
his own bonnet?  You have lived in the world twice as long as I
have, and you must know there are thoughts that will haunt us in
spite of ourselves, and to which it is in vain to say, Begone,
and let me be merry."

"By my sooth," answered Giles Gosling, "if such troublesome
thoughts haunt your mind, and will not get them gone for plain
English, we will have one of Father Bacon's pupils from Oxford,
to conjure them away with logic and with Hebrew--or, what say you
to laying them in a glorious red sea of claret, my noble guest?
Come, sir, excuse my freedom.  I am an old host, and must have my
talk.  This peevish humour of melancholy sits ill upon you; it
suits not with a sleek boot, a hat of trim block, a fresh cloak,
and a full purse.  A pize on it!  send it off to those who have
their legs swathed with a hay-wisp, their heads thatched with a
felt bonnet, their jerkin as thin as a cobweb, and their pouch
without ever a cross to keep the fiend Melancholy from dancing in
it.  Cheer up, sir!  or, by this good liquor, we shall banish
thee from the joys of blithesome company, into the mists of
melancholy and the land of little-ease.  Here be a set of good
fellows willing to be merry; do not scowl on them like the devil
looking over Lincoln."

"You say well, my worthy host," said the guest, with a melancholy
smile, which, melancholy as it was, gave a very pleasant:
expression to his countenance--"you say well, my jovial friend;
and they that are moody like myself should not disturb the mirth
of those who are happy.  I will drink a round with your guests
with all my heart, rather than be termed a mar-feast."

So saying, he arose and joined the company, who, encouraged by
the precept and example of Michael Lambourne, and consisting
chiefly of persons much disposed to profit by the opportunity of
a merry meal at the expense of their landlord, had already made
some inroads upon the limits of temperance, as was evident from
the tone in which Michael inquired after his old acquaintances in
the town, and the bursts of laughter with which each answer was
received.  Giles Gosling himself was somewhat scandalized at the
obstreperous nature of their mirth, especially as he
involuntarily felt some respect for his unknown guest.  He
paused, therefore, at some distance from the table occupied by
these noisy revellers, and began to make a sort of apology for
their license.

"You would think," he said, "to hear these fellows talk, that
there was not one of them who had not been bred to live by Stand
and Deliver; and yet tomorrow you will find them a set of as
painstaking mechanics, and so forth, as ever cut an inch short of
measure, or paid a letter of change in light crowns over a
counter.  The mercer there wears his hat awry, over a shaggy head
of hair, that looks like a curly water-dog's back, goes unbraced,
wears his cloak on one side, and affects a ruffianly vapouring
humour:  when in his shop at Abingdon, he is, from his flat cap
to his glistening shoes, as precise in his apparel as if he was
named for mayor.  He talks of breaking parks, and taking the
highway, in such fashion that you would think he haunted every
night betwixt Hounslow and London; when in fact he may be found
sound asleep on his feather-bed, with a candle placed beside him
on one side, and a Bible on the other, to fright away the
goblins."

"And your nephew, mine host, this same Michael Lambourne, who is
lord of the feast--is he, too, such a would-be ruffler as the
rest of them?"

"Why, there you push me hard," said the host; "my nephew is my
nephew, and though he was a desperate Dick of yore, yet Mike may
have mended like other folks, you wot.  And I would not have you
think all I said of him, even now, was strict gospel; I knew the
wag all the while, and wished to pluck his plumes from him.  And
now, sir, by what name shall I present my worshipful guest to
these gallants?"

"Marry, mine host," replied the stranger, "you may call me
Tressilian."

"Tressilian?"  answered mine host of the Bear.  "A worthy name,
and, as I think, of Cornish lineage; for what says the south
proverb--

  'By Pol, Tre, and Pen,
  You may know the Cornish men.'

Shall I say the worthy Master Tressilian of Cornwall?"

"Say no more than I have given you warrant for, mine host, and so
shall you be sure you speak no more than is true.  A man may have
one of those honourable prefixes to his name, yet be born far
from Saint Michael's Mount."

Mine host pushed his curiosity no further, but presented Master
Tressilian to his nephew's company, who, after exchange of
salutations, and drinking to the health of their new companion,
pursued the conversation in which he found them engaged,
seasoning it with many an intervening pledge.



CHAPTER II.

  Talk you of young Master Lancelot?   MERCHANT OF VENICE.

After some brief interval, Master Goldthred, at the earnest
instigation of mine host, and the joyous concurrence of his
guest, indulged the company with, the following morsel of
melody:-

    "Of all the birds on bush or tree,
     Commend me to the owl,
    Since he may best ensample be
     To those the cup that trowl.
  For when the sun hath left the west,
  He chooses the tree that he loves the best,
  And he whoops out his song, and he laughs at his jest;
  Then, though hours be late and weather foul,
  We'll drink to the health of the bonny, bonny owl.

    "The lark is but a bumpkin fowl,
     He sleeps in his nest till morn;
    But my blessing upon the jolly owl,
     That all night blows his horn.
  Then up with your cup till you stagger in speech,
  And match me this catch till you swagger and screech,
  And drink till you wink, my merry men each;
  For, though hours be late and weather be foul,
  We'll drink to the health of the bonny, bonny owl."

"There is savour in this, my hearts," said Michael, when the
mercer had finished his song, "and some goodness seems left among
you yet; but what a bead-roll you have read me of old comrades,
and to every man's name tacked some ill-omened motto!  And so
Swashing Will of Wallingford hath bid us good-night?"

"He died the death of a fat buck," said one of the party, "being
shot with a crossbow bolt, by old Thatcham, the Duke's stout
park-keeper at Donnington Castle."

"Ay, ay, he always loved venison well," replied Michael, "and a
cup of claret to boot--and so here's one to his memory.  Do me
right, my masters."

When the memory of this departed worthy had been duly honoured,
Lambourne proceeded to inquire after Prance of Padworth.

"Pranced off--made immortal ten years since," said the mercer;
"marry, sir, Oxford Castle and Goodman Thong, and a tenpenny-
worth of cord, best know how."

"What, so they hung poor Prance high and dry?  so much for loving
to walk by moonlight.  A cup to his memory, my masters-all merry
fellows like moonlight.  What has become of Hal with the Plume--
he who lived near Yattenden, and wore the long feather?--I
forget his name."

"What, Hal Hempseed?"  replied the mercer.  "Why, you may
remember he was a sort of a gentleman, and would meddle in state
matters, and so he got into the mire about the Duke of Norfolk's
affair these two or three years since, fled the country with a
pursuivant's warrant at his heels, and has never since been heard
of."

"Nay, after these baulks," said Michael Lambourne, "I need hardly
inquire after Tony Foster; for when ropes, and crossbow shafts,
and pursuivant's warrants, and such-like gear, were so rife, Tony
could hardly 'scape them."

"Which Tony Foster mean you?"  said the innkeeper.

"Why, him they called Tony Fire-the-Fagot, because he brought a
light to kindle the pile round Latimer and Ridley, when the wind
blew out Jack Thong's torch, and no man else would give him light
for love or money."

"Tony Foster lives and thrives," said the host.  "But, kinsman, I
would not have you call him Tony Fire-the-Fagot, if you would
not brook the stab."

"How!  is he grown ashamed on't?"  said Lambourne, "Why, he was
wont to boast of it, and say he liked as well to see a roasted
heretic as a roasted ox."

"Ay, but, kinsman, that was in Mary's time," replied the
landlord, "when Tony's father was reeve here to the Abbot of
Abingdon.  But since that, Tony married a pure precisian, and is
as good a Protestant, I warrant you, as the best."

"And looks grave, and holds his head high, and scorns his old
companions," said the mercer.

"Then he hath prospered, I warrant him," said Lambourne; "for
ever when a man hath got nobles of his own, he keeps out of the
way of those whose exchequers lie in other men's purchase."

"Prospered, quotha!"  said the mercer; "why, you remember Cumnor
Place, the old mansion-house beside the churchyard?"

"By the same token, I robbed the orchard three times-- what of
that?  It was the old abbot's residence when there was plague or
sickness at Abingdon."

"Ay," said the host, "but that has been long over; and Anthony
Foster hath a right in it, and lives there by some grant from a
great courtier, who had the church-lands from the crown.  And
there he dwells, and has as little to do with any poor wight in
Cumnor, as if he were himself a belted knight."

"Nay," said the mercer, "it is not altogether pride in Tony
neither; there is a fair lady in the case, and Tony will scarce
let the light of day look on her."

"How!"  said Tressilian, who now for the first time interfered in
their conversation; "did ye not say this Foster was married, and
to a precisian?"

"Married he was, and to as bitter a precisian as ever ate flesh
in Lent; and a cat-and-dog life she led with Tony, as men said.
But she is dead, rest be with her!  and Tony hath but a slip of a
daughter; so it is thought he means to wed this stranger, that
men keep such a coil about."

"And why so?--I mean, why do they keep a coil about her?"  said
Tressilian.

"Why, I wot not," answered the host, "except that men say she is
as beautiful as an angel, and no one knows whence she comes, and
every one wishes to know why she is kept so closely mewed up.
For my part, I never saw her--you have, I think, Master
Goldthred?"

"That I have, old boy," said the mercer.  "Look you, I was riding
hither from Abingdon.  I passed under the east oriel window of
the old mansion, where all the old saints and histories and such-
like are painted.  It was not the common path I took, but one
through the Park; for the postern door was upon the latch, and I
thought I might take the privilege of an old comrade to ride
across through the trees, both for shading, as the day was
somewhat hot, and for avoiding of dust, because I had on my
peach-coloured doublet, pinked out with cloth of gold."

"Which garment," said Michael Lambourne, "thou wouldst willingly
make twinkle in the eyes of a fair dame.  Ah!  villain, thou wilt
never leave thy old tricks."

"Not so-not so," said the mercer, with a smirking laugh--"not
altogether so--but curiosity, thou knowest, and a strain of
compassion withal; for the poor young lady sees nothing from morn
to even but Tony Foster, with his scowling black brows, his
bull's head, and his bandy legs."

"And thou wouldst willingly show her a dapper body, in a silken
jerkin--a limb like a short-legged hen's, in a cordovan boot--
and a round, simpering, what-d'ye-lack sort of a countenance,
set off with a velvet bonnet, a Turkey feather, and a gilded
brooch?  Ah!  jolly mercer, they who have good wares are fond to
show them!--Come, gentles, let not the cup stand--here's to long
spurs, short boots, full bonnets, and empty skulls!"

"Nay, now, you are jealous of me, Mike," said Goldthred; "and yet
my luck was but what might have happened to thee, or any man."

"Marry confound thine impudence," retorted Lambourne; "thou
wouldst not compare thy pudding face, and sarsenet manners, to a
gentleman, and a soldier?"

"Nay, my good sir," said Tressilian, "let me beseech you will not
interrupt the gallant citizen; methinks he tells his tale so
well, I could hearken to him till midnight."

"It's more of your favour than of my desert," answered Master
Goldthred; "but since I give you pleasure, worthy Master
Tressilian, I shall proceed, maugre all the gibes and quips of
this valiant soldier, who, peradventure, hath had more cuffs than
crowns in the Low Countries.  And so, sir, as I passed under the
great painted window, leaving my rein loose on my ambling
palfrey's neck, partly for mine ease, and partly that I might
have the more leisure to peer about, I hears me the lattice open;
and never credit me, sir, if there did not stand there the person
of as fair a woman as ever crossed mine eyes; and I think I have
looked on as many pretty wenches, and with as much judgment, as
other folks."

"May I ask her appearance, sir?"  said Tressilian.

"Oh, sir," replied Master Goldthred, "I promise you, she was in
gentlewoman's attire--a very quaint and pleasing dress, that
might have served the Queen herself; for she had a forepart with
body and sleeves, of ginger-coloured satin, which, in my
judgment, must have cost by the yard some thirty shillings, lined
with murrey taffeta, and laid down and guarded with two broad
laces of gold and silver.  And her hat, sir, was truly the best
fashioned thing that I have seen in these parts, being of tawny
taffeta, embroidered with scorpions of Venice gold, and having a
border garnished with gold fringe--I promise you, sir, an
absolute and all-surpassing device.  Touching her skirts, they
were in the old pass-devant fashion."

"I did not ask you of her attire, sir," said Tressilian, who had
shown some impatience during this conversation, "but of her
complexion--the colour of her hair, her features."

"Touching her complexion," answered the mercer, "I am not so
special certain, but I marked that her fan had an ivory handle,
curiously inlaid.  And then again, as to the colour of her hair,
why, I can warrant, be its hue what it might, that she wore above
it a net of green silk, parcel twisted with gold."

"A most mercer-like memory!"  said Lambourne.  "The gentleman
asks him of the lady's beauty, and he talks of her fine clothes!"

"I tell thee," said the mercer, somewhat disconcerted, "I had
little time to look at her; for just as I was about to give her
the good time of day, and for that purpose had puckered my
features with a smile--"

"Like those of a jackanape simpering at a chestnut," said Michael
Lambourne.

"Up started of a sudden," continued Goldthred, without heeding
the interruption, "Tony Foster himself, with a cudgel in his
hand--"

"And broke thy head across, I hope, for thine impertinence," said
his entertainer.

"That were more easily said than done," answered Goldthred
indignantly; "no, no--there was no breaking of heads.  It's true,
he advanced his cudgel, and spoke of laying on, and asked why I
did not keep the public road, and such like; and I would have
knocked him over the pate handsomely for his pains, only for the
lady's presence, who might have swooned, for what I know."

"Now, out upon thee for a faint-spirited slave!"  said Lambourne;
"what adventurous knight ever thought of the lady's terror, when
he went to thwack giant, dragon, or magician, in her presence,
and for her deliverance?  But why talk to thee of dragons, who
would be driven back by a dragon-fly.  There thou hast missed the
rarest opportunity!"

"Take it thyself, then, bully Mike," answered Goldthred.  "Yonder
is the enchanted manor, and the dragon, and the lady, all at thy
service, if thou darest venture on them."

"Why, so I would for a quartern of sack," said the soldier --"or
stay:  I am foully out of linen--wilt thou bet a piece of
Hollands against these five angels, that I go not up to the Hall
to-morrow and force Tony Foster to introduce me to his fair
guest?"

"I accept your wager," said the mercer; "and I think, though thou
hadst even the impudence of the devil, I shall gain on thee this
bout.  Our landlord here shall hold stakes, and I will stake down
gold till I send the linen."

"I will hold stakes on no such matter," said Gosling.  "Good now,
my kinsman, drink your wine in quiet, and let such ventures
alone.  I promise you, Master Foster hath interest enough to lay
you up in lavender in the Castle at Oxford, or to get your legs
made acquainted with the town-stocks."

"That would be but renewing an old intimacy, for Mike's shins and
the town's wooden pinfold have been well known to each other ere
now," said the mercer; "but he shall not budge from his wager,
unless he means to pay forfeit."

"Forfeit?"  said Lambourne; "I scorn it.  I value Tony Foster's
wrath no more than a shelled pea-cod; and I will visit his
Lindabrides, by Saint George, be he willing or no!"

"I would gladly pay your halves of the risk, sir," said
Tressilian, "to be permitted to accompany you on the adventure."

"In what would that advantage you, sir?"  answered Lambourne.

"In nothing, sir," said Tressilian, "unless to mark the skill and
valour with which you conduct yourself.  I am a traveller who
seeks for strange rencounters and uncommon passages, as the
knights of yore did after adventures and feats of arms."

"Nay, if it pleasures you to see a trout tickled," answered
Lambourne, "I care not how many witness my skill.  And so here I
drink success to my enterprise; and he that will not pledge me on
his knees is a rascal, and I will cut his legs off by the
garters!"

The draught which Michael Lambourne took upon this occasion had
been preceded by so many others, that reason tottered on her
throne.  He swore one or two incoherent oaths at the mercer, who
refused, reasonably enough, to pledge him to a sentiment which
inferred the loss of his own wager.

"Wilt thou chop logic with me," said Lambourne, "thou knave, with
no more brains than are in a skein of ravelled silk?  By Heaven,
I will cut thee into fifty yards of galloon lace!"

But as he attempted to draw his sword for this doughty purpose,
Michael Lambourne was seized upon by the tapster and the
chamberlain, and conveyed to his own apartment, there to sleep
himself sober at his leisure.

The party then broke up, and the guests took their leave; much
more to the contentment of mine host than of some of the company,
who were unwilling to quit good liquor, when it was to be had for
free cost, so long as they were able to sit by it.  They were,
however, compelled to remove; and go at length they did, leaving
Gosling and Tressilian in the empty apartment.

"By my faith," said the former, "I wonder where our great folks
find pleasure, when they spend their means in entertainments, and
in playing mine host without sending in a reckoning.  It is what
I but rarely practise; and whenever I do, by Saint Julian, it
grieves me beyond measure.  Each of these empty stoups now, which
my nephew and his drunken comrades have swilled off, should have
been a matter of profit to one in my line, and I must set them
down a dead loss.  I cannot, for my heart, conceive the pleasure
of noise, and nonsense, and drunken freaks, and drunken quarrels,
and smut, and blasphemy, and so forth, when a man loses money
instead of gaining by it.  And yet many a fair estate is lost in
upholding such a useless course, and that greatly contributes to
the decay of publicans; for who the devil do you think would pay
for drink at the Black Bear, when he can have it for nothing at
my Lord's or the Squire's?"

Tressilian perceived that the wine had made some impression even
on the seasoned brain of mine host, which was chiefly to be
inferred from his declaiming against drunkenness.  As he himself
had carefully avoided the bowl, he would have availed himself of
the frankness of the moment to extract from Gosling some further
information upon the subject of Anthony Foster, and the lady whom
the mercer had seen in his mansion-house; but his inquiries only
set the host upon a new theme of declamation against the wiles of
the fair sex, in which he brought, at full length, the whole
wisdom of Solomon to reinforce his own.  Finally, he turned his
admonitions, mixed with much objurgation, upon his tapsters and
drawers, who were employed in removing the relics of the
entertainment, and restoring order to the apartment; and at
length, joining example to precept, though with no good success,
he demolished a salver with half a score of glasses, in
attempting to show how such service was done at the Three Cranes
in the Vintry, then the most topping tavern in London.  This last
accident so far recalled him to his better self, that he retired
to his bed, slept sound, and awoke a new man in the morning.



CHAPTER III.

  Nay, I'll hold touch--the game shall be play'd out;
  It ne'er shall stop for me, this merry wager:
  That which I say when gamesome, I'll avouch
  In my most sober mood, ne'er trust me else.   THE HAZARD TABLE.

"And how doth your kinsman, good mine host?"  said Tressilian,
when Giles Gosling first appeared in the public room, on the
morning following the revel which we described in the last
chapter.  "Is he well, and will he abide by his wager?"

"For well, sir, he started two hours since, and has visited I
know not what purlieus of his old companions; hath but now
returned, and is at this instant breakfasting on new-laid eggs
and muscadine.  And for his wager, I caution you as a friend to
have little to do with that, or indeed with aught that Mike
proposes.  Wherefore, I counsel you to a warm breakfast upon a
culiss, which shall restore the tone of the stomach; and let my
nephew and Master Goldthred swagger about their wager as they
list."

"It seems to me, mine host," said Tressilian, "that you know not
well what to say about this kinsman of yours, and that you can
neither blame nor commend him without some twinge of conscience."

"You have spoken truly, Master Tressilian," replied Giles
Gosling.  "There is Natural Affection whimpering into one ear,
'Giles, Giles, why wilt thou take away the good name of thy own
nephew?  Wilt thou defame thy sister's son, Giles Gosling?  wilt
thou defoul thine own nest, dishonour thine own blood?' And then,
again, comes Justice, and says, 'Here is a worthy guest as ever
came to the bonny Black Bear; one who never challenged a
reckoning' (as I say to your face you never did, Master
Tressilian--not that you have had cause), 'one who knows not why
he came, so far as I can see, or when he is going away; and wilt
thou, being a publican, having paid scot and lot these thirty
years in the town of Cumnor, and being at this instant head-
borough, wilt thou suffer this guest of guests, this man of men,
this six-hooped pot (as I may say) of a traveller, to fall into
the meshes of thy nephew, who is known for a swasher and a
desperate Dick, a carder and a dicer, a professor of the seven
damnable sciences, if ever man took degrees in them?'  No, by
Heaven!  I might wink, and let him catch such a small butterfly
as Goldthred; but thou, my guest, shall be forewarned, forearmed,
so thou wilt but listen to thy trusty host."

"Why, mine host, thy counsel shall not be cast away," replied
Tressilian; "however, I must uphold my share in this wager,
having once passed my word to that effect.  But lend me, I pray,
some of thy counsel.  This Foster, who or what is he, and why
makes he such mystery of his female inmate?"

"Troth," replied Gosling, "I can add but little to what you heard
last night.  He was one of Queen Mary's Papists, and now he is
one of Queen Elizabeth's Protestants; he was an onhanger of the
Abbot of Abingdon; and now he lives as master of the Manor-house.
Above all, he was poor, and is rich.  Folk talk of private
apartments in his old waste mansion-house, bedizened fine enough
to serve the Queen, God bless her!  Some men think he found a
treasure in the orchard, some that he sold himself to the devil
for treasure, and some say that he cheated the abbot out of the
church plate, which was hidden in the old Manor-house at the
Reformation.  Rich, however, he is, and God and his conscience,
with the devil perhaps besides, only know how he came by it.  He
has sulky ways too--breaking off intercourse with all that are of
the place, as if he had either some strange secret to keep, or
held himself to be made of another clay than we are.  I think it
likely my kinsman and he will quarrel, if Mike thrust his
acquaintance on him; and I am sorry that you, my worthy Master
Tressilian, will still think of going in my nephew's company."

Tressilian again answered him, that he would proceed with great
caution, and that he should have no fears on his account; in
short, he bestowed on him all the customary assurances with which
those who are determined on a rash action are wont to parry the
advice of their friends.

Meantime, the traveller accepted the landlord's invitation, and
had just finished the excellent breakfast, which was served to
him and Gosling by pretty Cicely, the beauty of the bar, when the
hero of the preceding night, Michael Lambourne, entered the
apartment.  His toilet had apparently cost him some labour, for
his clothes, which differed from those he wore on his journey,
were of the newest fashion, and put on with great attention to
the display of his person.

"By my faith, uncle," said the gallant, "you made a wet night of
it, and I feel it followed by a dry morning.  I will pledge you
willingly in a cup of bastard.--How, my pretty coz Cicely!  why,
I left you but a child in the cradle, and there thou stand'st in
thy velvet waistcoat, as tight a girl as England's sun shines on.
Know thy friends and kindred, Cicely, and come hither, child,
that I may kiss thee, and give thee my blessing."

"Concern not yourself about Cicely, kinsman," said Giles Gosling,
"but e'en let her go her way, a' God's name; for although your
mother were her father's sister, yet that shall not make you and
her cater-cousins."

"Why, uncle," replied Lambourne, "think'st thou I am an infidel,
and would harm those of mine own house?"

"It is for no harm that I speak, Mike," answered his uncle, "but
a simple humour of precaution which I have.  True, thou art as
well gilded as a snake when he casts his old slough in the spring
time; but for all that, thou creepest not into my Eden.  I will
look after mine Eve, Mike, and so content thee.--But how brave
thou be'st, lad!  To look on thee now, and compare thee with
Master Tressilian here, in his sad-coloured riding-suit, who
would not say that thou wert the real gentleman and he the
tapster's boy?"

"Troth, uncle," replied Lambourne, "no one would say so but one
of your country-breeding, that knows no better.  I will say, and
I care not who hears me, there is something about the real gentry
that few men come up to that are not born and bred to the
mystery.  I wot not where the trick lies; but although I can
enter an ordinary with as much audacity, rebuke the waiters and
drawers as loudly, drink as deep a health, swear as round an
oath, and fling my gold as freely about as any of the jingling
spurs and white feathers that are around me, yet, hang me if I
can ever catch the true grace of it, though I have practised an
hundred times.  The man of the house sets me lowest at the board,
and carves to me the last; and the drawer says, 'Coming, friend,'
without any more reverence or regardful addition.  But, hang it,
let it pass; care killed a cat.  I have gentry enough to pass the
trick on Tony Fire-the-Faggot, and that will do for the matter in
hand."

"You hold your purpose, then, of visiting your old acquaintance?"
said Tressilian to the adventurer.

"Ay, sir," replied Lambourne; "when stakes are made, the game
must be played; that is gamester's law, all over the world.  You,
sir, unless my memory fails me (for I did steep it somewhat too
deeply in the sack-butt), took some share in my hazard?"

"I propose to accompany you in your adventure," said Tressilian,
"if you will do me so much grace as to permit me; and I have
staked my share of the forfeit in the hands of our worthy host."

"That he hath," answered Giles Gosling, "in as fair Harry-nobles
as ever were melted into sack by a good fellow.  So, luck to your
enterprise, since you will needs venture on Tony Foster; but, by
my credit, you had better take another draught before you depart,
for your welcome at the Hall yonder will be somewhat of the
driest.  And if you do get into peril, beware of taking to cold
steel; but send for me, Giles Gosling, the head-borough, and I
may be able to make something out of Tony yet, for as proud as he
is."

The nephew dutifully obeyed his uncle's hint, by taking a second
powerful pull at the tankard, observing that his wit never served
him so well as when he had washed his temples with a deep
morning's draught; and they set forth together for the habitation
of Anthony Foster.

The village of Cumnor is pleasantly built on a hill, and in a
wooded park closely adjacent was situated the ancient mansion
occupied at this time by Anthony Foster, of which the ruins may
be still extant.  The park was then full of large trees, and in
particular of ancient and mighty oaks, which stretched their
giant arms over the high wall surrounding the demesne, thus
giving it a melancholy, secluded, and monastic appearance.  The
entrance to the park lay through an old-fashioned gateway in the
outer wall, the door of which was formed of two huge oaken leaves
thickly studded with nails, like the gate of an old town.

"We shall be finely helped up here," said Michael Lambourne,
looking at the gateway and gate, "if this fellow's suspicious
humour should refuse us admission altogether, as it is like he
may, in case this linsey-wolsey fellow of a mercer's visit to his
premises has disquieted him.  But, no," he added, pushing the
huge gate, which gave way, "the door stands invitingly open; and
here we are within the forbidden ground, without other impediment
than the passive resistance of a heavy oak door moving on rusty
hinges."

They stood now in an avenue overshadowed by such old trees as we
have described, and which had been bordered at one time by high
hedges of yew and holly.  But these, having been untrimmed for
many years, had run up into great bushes, or rather dwarf-trees,
and now encroached, with their dark and melancholy boughs, upon
the road which they once had screened.  The avenue itself was
grown up with grass, and, in one or two places, interrupted by
piles of withered brushwood, which had been lopped from the trees
cut down in the neighbouring park, and was here stacked for
drying.  Formal walks and avenues, which, at different points,
crossed this principal approach, were, in like manner, choked up
and interrupted by piles of brushwood and billets, and in other
places by underwood and brambles.  Besides the general effect of
desolation which is so strongly impressed whenever we behold the
contrivances of man wasted and obliterated by neglect, and
witness the marks of social life effaced gradually by the
influence of vegetation, the size of the trees and the
outspreading extent of their boughs diffused a gloom over the
scene, even when the sun was at the highest, and made a
proportional impression on the mind of those who visited it.
This was felt even by Michael Lambourne, however alien his habits
were to receiving any impressions, excepting from things which
addressed themselves immediately to his passions.

"This wood is as dark as a wolf's mouth," said he to Tressilian,
as they walked together slowly along the solitary and broken
approach, and had just come in sight of the monastic front of the
old mansion, with its shafted windows, brick walls overgrown with
ivy and creeping shrubs, and twisted stalks of chimneys of heavy
stone-work.  "And yet," continued Lambourne, "it is fairly done
on the part of Foster too for since he chooses not visitors, it
is right to keep his place in a fashion that will invite few to
trespass upon his privacy.  But had he been the Anthony I once
knew him, these sturdy oaks had long since become the property of
some honest woodmonger, and the manor-close here had looked
lighter at midnight than it now does at noon, while Foster played
fast and loose with the price, in some cunning corner in the
purlieus of Whitefriars."

"Was he then such an unthrift?"  asked Tressilian.

"He was," answered Lambourne, "like the rest of us, no saint, and
no saver.  But what I liked worst of Tony was, that he loved to
take his pleasure by himself, and grudged, as men say, every drop
of water that went past his own mill.  I have known him deal with
such measures of wine when he was alone, as I would not have
ventured on with aid of the best toper in Berkshire;--that, and
some sway towards superstition, which he had by temperament,
rendered him unworthy the company of a good fellow.  And now he
has earthed himself here, in a den just befitting such a sly fox
as himself."

"May I ask you, Master Lambourne," said Tressilian, "since your
old companion's humour jumps so little with your own, wherefore
you are so desirous to renew acquaintance with him?"

"And may I ask you, in return, Master Tressilian," answered
Lambourne, "wherefore you have shown yourself so desirous to
accompany me on this party?"

"I told you my motive," said Tressilian, "when I took share in
your wager--it was simple curiosity."

"La you there now!"  answered Lambourne.  "See how you civil and
discreet gentlemen think to use us who live by the free exercise
of our wits!  Had I answered your question by saying that it was
simple curiosity which led me to visit my old comrade Anthony
Foster, I warrant you had set it down for an evasion, and a turn
of my trade.  But any answer, I suppose, must serve my turn."

"And wherefore should not bare curiosity," said Tressilian, "be a
sufficient reason for my taking this walk with you?"

"Oh, content yourself, sir," replied Lambourne; "you cannot put
the change on me so easy as you think, for I have lived among the
quick-stirring spirits of the age too long to swallow chaff for
grain.  You are a gentleman of birth and breeding--your bearing
makes it good; of civil habits and fair reputation--your manners
declare it, and my uncle avouches it; and yet you associate
yourself with a sort of scant-of-grace, as men call me, and,
knowing me to be such, you make yourself my companion in a visit
to a man whom you are a stranger to--and all out of mere
curiosity, forsooth!  The excuse, if curiously balanced, would be
found to want some scruples of just weight, or so."

"If your suspicions were just," said Tressilian, "you have shown
no confidence in me to invite or deserve mine."

"Oh, if that be all," said Lambourne, "my motives lie above
water.  While this gold of mine lasts"--taking out his purse,
chucking it into the air, and catching it as it fell--"I will
make it buy pleasure; and when it is out I must have more.  Now,
if this mysterious Lady of the Manor--this fair Lindabrides of
Tony Fire-the-Fagot--be so admirable a piece as men say, why,
there is a chance that she may aid me to melt my nobles into
greats; and, again, if Anthony be so wealthy a chuff as report
speaks him, he may prove the philosopher's stone to me, and
convert my greats into fair rose-nobles again."

"A comfortable proposal truly," said Tressilian; "but I see not
what chance there is of accomplishing it."

"Not to-day, or perchance to-morrow," answered Lambourne; "I
expect not to catch the old jack till.  I have disposed my
ground-baits handsomely.  But I know something more of his
affairs this morning than I did last night, and I will so use my
knowledge that he shall think it more perfect than it is.  Nay,
without expecting either pleasure or profit, or both, I had not
stepped a stride within this manor, I can tell you; for I promise
you I hold our visit not altogether without risk.--But here we
are, and we must make the best on't."

While he thus spoke, they had entered a large orchard which
surrounded the house on two sides, though the trees, abandoned by
the care of man, were overgrown and messy, and seemed to bear
little fruit.  Those which had been formerly trained as espaliers
had now resumed their natural mode of growing, and exhibited
grotesque forms, partaking of the original training which they
had received.  The greater part of the ground, which had once
been parterres and flower-gardens, was suffered in like manner to
run to waste, excepting a few patches which had been dug up and
planted with ordinary pot herbs.  Some statues, which had
ornamented the garden in its days of splendour, were now thrown
down from their pedestals and broken in pieces; and a large
summer-house, having a heavy stone front, decorated with carving
representing the life and actions of Samson, was in the same
dilapidated condition.

They had just traversed this garden of the sluggard, and were
within a few steps of the door of the mansion, when Lambourne had
ceased speaking; a circumstance very agreeable to Tressilian, as
it saved him the embarrassment of either commenting upon or
replying to the frank avowal which his companion had just made of
the sentiments and views which induced him to come hither.
Lambourne knocked roundly and boldly at the huge door of the
mansion, observing, at the same time, he had seen a less strong
one upon a county jail.  It was not until they had knocked more
than once that an aged, sour-visaged domestic reconnoitred them
through a small square hole in the door, well secured with bars
of iron, and demanded what they wanted.

"To speak with Master Foster instantly, on pressing business of
the state," was the ready reply of Michael Lambourne.

"Methinks you will find difficulty to make that good," said
Tressilian in a whisper to his companion, while the servant went
to carry the message to his master.

"Tush," replied the adventurer; "no soldier would go on were he
always to consider when and how he should come off.  Let us once
obtain entrance, and all will go well enough."

In a short time the servant returned, and drawing with a careful
hand both bolt and bar, opened the gate, which admitted them
through an archway into a square court, surrounded by buildings.
Opposite to the arch was another door, which the serving-man in
like manner unlocked, and thus introduced them into a stone-paved
parlour, where there was but little furniture, and that of the
rudest and most ancient fashion.  The windows were tall and
ample, reaching almost to the roof of the room, which was
composed of black oak; those opening to the quadrangle were
obscured by the height of the surrounding buildings, and, as they
were traversed with massive shafts of solid stone-work, and
thickly painted with religious devices, and scenes taken from
Scripture history, by no means admitted light in proportion to
their size, and what did penetrate through them partook of the
dark and gloomy tinge of the stained glass.

Tressilian and his guide had time enough to observe all these
particulars, for they waited some space in the apartment ere the
present master of the mansion at length made his appearance.
Prepared as he was to see an inauspicious and ill-looking person,
the ugliness of Anthony Foster considerably exceeded what
Tressilian had anticipated.  He was of middle stature, built
strongly, but so clumsily as to border on deformity, and to give
all his motions the ungainly awkwardness of a left-legged and
left-handed man.  His hair, in arranging which men at that time,
as at present, were very nice and curious, instead of being
carefully cleaned and disposed into short curls, or else set up
on end, as is represented in old paintings, in a manner
resembling that used by fine gentlemen of our own day, escaped in
sable negligence from under a furred bonnet, and hung in elf-
locks, which seemed strangers to the comb, over his rugged brows,
and around his very singular and unprepossessing countenance.
His keen, dark eyes were deep set beneath broad and shaggy
eyebrows, and as they were usually bent on the ground, seemed as
if they were themselves ashamed of the expression natural to
them, and were desirous to conceal it from the observation of
men.  At times, however, when, more intent on observing others,
he suddenly raised them, and fixed them keenly on those with whom
he conversed, they seemed to express both the fiercer passions,
and the power of mind which could at will suppress or disguise
the intensity of inward feeling.  The features which corresponded
with these eyes and this form were irregular, and marked so as to
be indelibly fixed on the mind of him who had once seen them.
Upon the whole, as Tressilian could not help acknowledging to
himself, the Anthony Foster who now stood before them was the
last person, judging from personal appearance, upon whom one
would have chosen to intrude an unexpected and undesired visit.
His attire was a doublet of russet leather, like those worn by
the better sort of country folk, girt with a buff belt, in which
was stuck on the right side a long knife, or dudgeon dagger, and
on the other a cutlass.  He raised his eyes as he entered the
room, and fixed a keenly penetrating glance upon his two
visitors; then cast them down as if counting his steps, while he
advanced slowly into the middle of the room, and said, in a low
and smothered tone of voice, "Let me pray you, gentlemen, to tell
me the cause of this visit."

He looked as if he expected the answer from Tressilian, so true
was Lambourne's observation that the superior air of breeding and
dignity shone through the disguise of an inferior dress.  But it
was Michael who replied to him, with the easy familiarity of an
old friend, and a tone which seemed unembarrassed by any doubt of
the most cordial reception.

"Ha!  my dear friend and ingle, Tony Foster!"  he exclaimed,
seizing upon the unwilling hand, and shaking it with such
emphasis as almost to stagger the sturdy frame of the person whom
he addressed, "how fares it with you for many a long year?  What!
have you altogether forgotten your friend, gossip, and
playfellow, Michael Lambourne?"

"Michael Lambourne!"  said Foster, looking at him a moment; then
dropping his eyes, and with little ceremony extricating his hand
from the friendly grasp of the person by whom he was addressed,
"are you Michael Lambourne?"

"Ay; sure as you are Anthony Foster," replied Lambourne.

"'Tis well," answered his sullen host.  "And what may Michael
Lambourne expect from his visit hither?"

"VOTO A DIOS," answered Lambourne, "I expected a better welcome
than I am like to meet, I think."

"Why, thou gallows-bird--thou jail-rat--thou friend of the
hangman and his customers!"  replied Foster, "hast thou the
assurance to expect countenance from any one whose neck is beyond
the compass of a Tyburn tippet?"

"It may be with me as you say," replied Lambourne; "and suppose I
grant it to be so for argument's sake, I were still good enough
society for mine ancient friend Anthony Fire-the-Fagot, though he
be, for the present, by some indescribable title, the master of
Cumnor Place."

"Hark you, Michael Lambourne," said Foster; "you are a gambler
now, and live by the counting of chances--compute me the odds
that I do not, on this instant, throw you out of that window into
the ditch there."

"Twenty to one that you do not," answered the sturdy visitor.

"And wherefore, I pray you?"  demanded Anthony Foster, setting
his teeth and compressing his lips, like one who endeavours to
suppress some violent internal emotion.

"Because," said Lambourne coolly, "you dare not for your life lay
a finger on me.  I am younger and stronger than you, and have in
me a double portion of the fighting devil, though not, it may be,
quite so much of the undermining fiend, that finds an underground
way to his purpose--who hides halters under folk's pillows, and
who puts rats-bane into their porridge, as the stage-play says."

Foster looked at him earnestly, then turned away, and paced the
room twice with the same steady and considerate pace with which
he had entered it; then suddenly came back, and extended his hand
to Michael Lambourne, saying, "Be not wroth with me, good Mike; I
did but try whether thou hadst parted with aught of thine old and
honourable frankness, which your enviers and backbiters called
saucy impudence."

"Let them call it what they will," said Michael Lambourne, "it is
the commodity we must carry through the world with us.--Uds
daggers!  I tell thee, man, mine own stock of assurance was too
small to trade upon.  I was fain to take in a ton or two more of
brass at every port where I touched in the voyage of life; and I
started overboard what modesty and scruples I had remaining, in
order to make room for the stowage."

"Nay, nay," replied Foster, "touching scruples and modesty, you
sailed hence in ballast.  But who is this gallant, honest Mike?
--is he a Corinthian--a cutter like thyself?"

"I prithee, know Master Tressilian, bully Foster," replied
Lambourne, presenting his friend in answer to his friend's
question, "know him and honour him, for he is a gentleman of many
admirable qualities; and though he traffics not in my line of
business, at least so far as I know, he has, nevertheless, a just
respect and admiration for artists of our class.  He will come to
in time, as seldom fails; but as yet he is only a neophyte, only
a proselyte, and frequents the company of cocks of the game, as a
puny fencer does the schools of the masters, to see how a foil is
handled by the teachers of defence."

"If such be his quality, I will pray your company in another
chamber, honest Mike, for what I have to say to thee is for thy
private ear.--Meanwhile, I pray you, sir, to abide us in this
apartment, and without leaving it; there be those in this house
who would be alarmed by the sight of a stranger."

Tressilian acquiesced, and the two worthies left the apartment
together, in which he remained alone to await their return."
[See Note 1. Foster, Lambourne, and the Black Bear.]



CHAPTER IV.

  Not serve two masters?--Here's a youth will try it--
  Would fain serve God, yet give the devil his due;
  Says grace before he doth a deed of villainy,
  And returns his thanks devoutly when 'tis acted,   OLD PLAY.

The room into which the Master of Cumnor Place conducted his
worthy visitant was of greater extent than that in which they had
at first conversed, and had yet more the appearance of
dilapidation.  Large oaken presses, filled with shelves of the
same wood, surrounded the room, and had, at one time, served for
the arrangement of a numerous collection of books, many of which
yet remained, but torn and defaced, covered with dust, deprived
of their costly clasps and bindings, and tossed together in heaps
upon the shelves, as things altogether disregarded, and abandoned
to the pleasure of every spoiler.  The very presses themselves
seemed to have incurred the hostility of those enemies of
learning who had destroyed the volumes with which they had been
heretofore filled.  They were, in several places, dismantled of
their shelves, and otherwise broken and damaged, and were,
moreover, mantled with cobwebs and covered with dust.

"The men who wrote these books," said Lambourne, looking round
him, "little thought whose keeping they were to fall into."

"Nor what yeoman's service they were to do me," quoth Anthony
Foster; "the cook hath used them for scouring his pewter, and the
groom hath had nought else to clean my boots with, this many a
month past."

"And yet," said Lambourne, "I have been in cities where such
learned commodities would have been deemed too good for such
offices."

"Pshaw, pshaw," answered Foster, "'they are Popish trash, every
one of them--private studies of the mumping old Abbot of
Abingdon.  The nineteenthly of a pure gospel sermon were worth a
cartload of such rakings of the kennel of Rome."

"Gad-a-mercy, Master Tony Fire-the-Fagot!"  said Lambourne, by
way of reply.

Foster scowled darkly at him, as he replied, "Hark ye, friend
Mike; forget that name, and the passage which it relates to, if
you would not have our newly-revived comradeship die a sudden and
a violent death."

"Why," said Michael Lambourne, "you were wont to glory in the
share you had in the death of the two old heretical bishops."

"That," said his comrade, "was while I was in the gall of
bitterness and bond of iniquity, and applies not to my walk or my
ways now that I am called forth into the lists.  Mr. Melchisedek
Maultext compared my misfortune in that matter to that of the
Apostle Paul, who kept the clothes of the witnesses who stoned
Saint Stephen.  He held forth on the matter three Sabbaths past,
and illustrated the same by the conduct of an honourable person
present, meaning me."

"I prithee peace, Foster," said Lambourne, "for I know not how it
is, I have a sort of creeping comes over my skin when I hear the
devil quote Scripture; and besides, man, how couldst thou have
the heart to quit that convenient old religion, which you could
slip off or on as easily as your glove?  Do I not remember how
you were wont to carry your conscience to confession, as duly as
the month came round?  and when thou hadst it scoured, and
burnished, and whitewashed by the priest, thou wert ever ready
for the worst villainy which could be devised, like a child who
is always readiest to rush into the mire when he has got his
Sunday's clean jerkin on."

"Trouble not thyself about my conscience," said Foster; "it is a
thing thou canst not understand, having never had one of thine
own.  But let us rather to the point, and say to me, in one word,
what is thy business with me, and what hopes have drawn thee
hither?"

"The hope of bettering myself, to be sure," answered Lambourne,
"as the old woman said when she leapt over the bridge at
Kingston.  Look you, this purse has all that is left of as round
a sum as a man would wish to carry in his slop-pouch.  You are
here well established, it would seem, and, as I think, well
befriended, for men talk of thy being under some special
protection--nay, stare not like a pig that is stuck, mon; thou
canst not dance in a net and they not see thee.  Now I know such
protection is not purchased for nought; you must have services to
render for it, and in these I propose to help thee."

"But how if I lack no assistance from thee, Mike?  I think thy
modesty might suppose that were a case possible."

"That is to say," retorted Lambourne, "that you would engross the
whole work, rather than divide the reward.  But be not over-
greedy, Anthony--covetousness bursts the sack and spills the
grain.  Look you, when the huntsman goes to kill a stag, he takes
with him more dogs than one.  He has the stanch lyme-hound to
track the wounded buck over hill and dale, but he hath also the
fleet gaze-hound to kill him at view.  Thou art the lyme-hound, I
am the gaze-hound; and thy patron will need the aid of both, and
can well afford to requite it.  Thou hast deep sagacity--an
unrelenting purpose--a steady, long-breathed malignity of nature,
that surpasses mine.  But then, I am the bolder, the quicker, the
more ready, both at action and expedient.  Separate, our
properties are not so perfect; but unite them, and we drive the
world before us.  How sayest thou--shall we hunt in couples?"

"It is a currish proposal--thus to thrust thyself upon my private
matters," replied Foster; "but thou wert ever an ill-nurtured
whelp."

"You shall have no cause to say so, unless you spurn my
courtesy," said Michael Lambourne; "but if so, keep thee well
from me, Sir Knight, as the romance has it.  I will either share
your counsels or traverse them; for I have come here to be busy,
either with thee or against thee."

"Well," said Anthony Foster, "since thou dost leave me so fair a
choice, I will rather be thy friend than thine enemy.  Thou art
right; I CAN prefer thee to the service of a patron who has
enough of means to make us both, and an hundred more.  And, to
say truth, thou art well qualified for his service.  Boldness and
dexterity he demands--the justice-books bear witness in thy
favour; no starting at scruples in his service why, who ever
suspected thee of a conscience?  an assurance he must have who
would follow a courtier--and thy brow is as impenetrable as a
Milan visor.  There is but one thing I would fain see amended in
thee."

"And what is that, my most precious friend Anthony?"  replied
Lambourne; "for I swear by the pillow of the Seven Sleepers I
will not be slothful in amending it."

"Why, you gave a sample of it even now," said Foster.  "Your
speech twangs too much of the old stamp, and you garnish it ever
and anon with singular oaths, that savour of Papistrie.  Besides,
your exterior man is altogether too deboshed and irregular to
become one of his lordship's followers, since he has a reputation
to keep up in the eye of the world.  You must somewhat reform
your dress, upon a more grave and composed fashion; wear your
cloak on both shoulders, and your falling band unrumpled and well
starched.  You must enlarge the brim of your beaver, and diminish
the superfluity of your trunk-hose; go to church, or, which will
be better, to meeting, at least once a month; protest only upon
your faith and conscience; lay aside your swashing look, and
never touch the hilt of your sword but when you would draw the
carnal weapon in good earnest."

"By this light, Anthony, thou art mad," answered Lambourne, "and
hast described rather the gentleman-usher to a puritan's wife,
than the follower of an ambitious courtier!  Yes, such a thing as
thou wouldst make of me should wear a book at his girdle instead
of a poniard, and might just be suspected of manhood enough to
squire a proud dame-citizen to the lecture at Saint Antonlin's,
and quarrel in her cause with any flat-capped threadmaker that
would take the wall of her.  He must ruffle it in another sort
that would walk to court in a nobleman's train."

"Oh, content you, sir," replied Foster, "there is a change since
you knew the English world; and there are those who can hold
their way through the boldest courses, and the most secret, and
yet never a swaggering word, or an oath, or a profane word in
their conversation."

"That is to say," replied Lambourne, "they are in a trading
copartnery, to do the devil's business without mentioning his
name in the firm?  Well, I will do my best to counterfeit, rather
than lose ground in this new world, since thou sayest it is grown
so precise.  But, Anthony, what is the name of this nobleman, in
whose service I am to turn hypocrite?"

"Aha!  Master Michael, are you there with your bears?"  said
Foster, with a grim smile; "and is this the knowledge you pretend
of my concernments?  How know you now there is such a person IN
RERUM NATURA, and that I have not been putting a jape upon you
all this time?"

"Thou put a jape on me, thou sodden-brained gull?"  answered
Lambourne, nothing daunted.  "Why, dark and muddy as thou
think'st thyself, I would engage in a day's space to sec as clear
through thee and thy concernments, as thou callest them, as
through the filthy horn of an old stable lantern."

At this moment their conversation was interrupted by a scream
from the next apartment.

"By the holy Cross of Abingdon," exclaimed Anthony Foster,
forgetting his Protestantism in his alarm, "I am a ruined man!"

So saying, he rushed into the apartment whence the scream issued,
followed by Michael Lambourne.  But to account for the sounds
which interrupted their conversation, it is necessary to recede a
little way in our narrative.

It has been already observed, that when Lambourne accompanied
Foster into the library, they left Tressilian alone in the
ancient parlour.  His dark eye followed them forth of the
apartment with a glance of contempt, a part of which his mind
instantly transferred to himself, for having stooped to be even
for a moment their familiar companion.  "These are the
associates, Amy"--it was thus he communed with himself--"to which
thy cruel levity--thine unthinking and most unmerited falsehood,
has condemned him of whom his friends once hoped far other
things, and who now scorns himself, as he will be scorned by
others, for the baseness he stoops to for the love of thee!  But
I will not leave the pursuit of thee, once the object of my
purest and most devoted affection, though to me thou canst
henceforth be nothing but a thing to weep over.  I will save thee
from thy betrayer, and from thyself; I will restore thee to thy
parent--to thy God.  I cannot bid the bright star again sparkle
in the sphere it has shot from, but--"

A slight noise in the apartment interrupted his reverie.  He
looked round, and in the beautiful and richly-attired female who
entered at that instant by a side-door he recognized the object
of his search.  The first impulse arising from this discovery
urged him to conceal his face with the collar of his cloak, until
he should find a favourable moment of making himself known.  But
his purpose was disconcerted by the young lady (she was not above
eighteen years old), who ran joyfully towards him, and, pulling
him by the cloak, said playfully, "Nay, my sweet friend, after I
have waited for you so long, you come not to my bower to play the
masquer.  You are arraigned of treason to true love and fond
affection, and you must stand up at the bar and answer it with
face uncovered--how say you, guilty or not?"

"Alas, Amy!"  said Tressilian, in a low and melancholy tone, as
he suffered her to draw the mantle from his face.  The sound of
his voice, and still more the unexpected sight of his face,
changed in an instant the lady's playful mood.  She staggered
back, turned as pale as death, and put her hands before her face.
Tressilian was himself for a moment much overcome, but seeming
suddenly to remember the necessity of using an opportunity which
might not again occur, he said in a low tone, "Amy, fear me not."

"Why should I fear you?"  said the lady, withdrawing her hands
from her beautiful face, which was now covered with crimson,-
-"Why should I fear you, Master Tressilian?--or wherefore have
you intruded yourself into my dwelling, uninvited, sir, and
unwished for?"

"Your dwelling, Amy!"  said Tressilian.  "Alas!  is a prison your
dwelling?--a prison guarded by one of the most sordid of men, but
not a greater wretch than his employer!"

"This house is mine," said Amy--"mine while I choose to inhabit
it.  If it is my pleasure to live in seclusion, who shall gainsay
me?"

"Your father, maiden," answered Tressilian, "your broken-hearted
father, who dispatched me in quest of you with that authority
which he cannot exert in person.  Here is his letter, written
while he blessed his pain of body which somewhat stunned the
agony of his mind."

"The pain!  Is my father then ill?"  said the lady.

"So ill," answered Tressilian, "that even your utmost haste may
not restore him to health; but all shall be instantly prepared
for your departure, the instant you yourself will give consent."

"Tressilian," answered the lady, "I cannot, I must not, I dare
not leave this place.  Go back to my father--tell him I will
obtain leave to see him within twelve hours from hence.  Go back,
Tressilian--tell him I am well, I am happy--happy could I think
he was so; tell him not to fear that I will come, and in such a
manner that all the grief Amy has given him shall be forgotten
--the poor Amy is now greater than she dare name.  Go, good
Tressilian--I have injured thee too, but believe me I have power
to heal the wounds I have caused.  I robbed you of a childish
heart, which was not worthy of you, and I can repay the loss with
honours and advancement."

"Do you say this to me, Amy?--do you offer me pageants of idle
ambition, for the quiet peace you have robbed me of!--But be it
so I came not to upbraid, but to serve and to free you.  You
cannot disguise it from me--you are a prisoner.  Otherwise your
kind heart--for it was once a kind heart--would have been already
at your father's bedside.--Come, poor, deceived, unhappy maiden!
--all shall be forgot--all shall be forgiven.  Fear not my
importunity for what regarded our contract--it was a dream, and I
have awaked.  But come--your father yet lives--come, and one word
of affection, one tear of penitence, will efface the memory of
all that has passed."

"Have I not already said, Tressilian," replied she, "that I will
surely come to my father, and that without further delay than is
necessary to discharge other and equally binding duties?--Go,
carry him the news; I come as sure as there is light in heaven
--that is, when I obtain permission."

"Permission!--permission to visit your father on his sick-bed,
perhaps on his death-bed!"  repeated Tressilian, impatiently;
"and permission from whom?  From the villain, who, under disguise
of friendship, abused every duty of hospitality, and stole thee
from thy father's roof!"

"Do him no slander, Tressilian!  He whom thou speakest of wears a
sword as sharp as thine--sharper, vain man; for the best deeds
thou hast ever done in peace or war were as unworthy to be named
with his, as thy obscure rank to match itself with the sphere he
moves in.--Leave me!  Go, do mine errand to my father; and when
he next sends to me, let him choose a more welcome messenger."

"Amy," replied Tressilian calmly, "thou canst not move me by thy
reproaches.  Tell me one thing, that I may bear at least one ray
of comfort to my aged friend:--this rank of his which thou dost
boast--dost thou share it with him, Amy?--does he claim a
husband's right to control thy motions?"

"Stop thy base, unmannered tongue!"  said the lady; "to no
question that derogates from my honour do I deign an answer."

"You have said enough in refusing to reply," answered Tressilian;
"and mark me, unhappy as thou art, I am armed with thy father's
full authority to command thy obedience, and I will save thee
from the slavery of sin and of sorrow, even despite of thyself,
Amy."

"Menace no violence here!"  exclaimed the lady, drawing back from
him, and alarmed at the determination expressed in his look and
manner; "threaten me not, Tressilian, for I have means to repel
force."

"But not, I trust, the wish to use them in so evil a cause?"
said Tressilian.  "With thy will--thine uninfluenced, free, and
natural will, Amy, thou canst not choose this state of slavery
and dishonour.  Thou hast been bound by some spell--entrapped by
some deceit--art now detained by some compelled vow.  But thus I
break the charm--Amy, in the name of thine excellent, thy broken-
hearted father, I command thee to follow me!"

As he spoke he advanced and extended his arm, as with the purpose
of laying hold upon her.  But she shrunk back from his grasp, and
uttered the scream which, as we before noticed, brought into the
apartment Lambourne and Foster.

The latter exclaimed, as soon as he entered, "Fire and fagot!
what have we here?"  Then addressing the lady, in a tone betwixt
entreaty and command, he added, "Uds precious!  madam, what make
you here out of bounds?  Retire--retire--there is life and death
in this matter.--And you, friend, whoever you may be, leave this
house--out with you, before my dagger's hilt and your costard
become acquainted.--Draw, Mike, and rid us of the knave!"

"Not I, on my soul," replied Lambourne; "he came hither in my
company, and he is safe from me by cutter's law, at least till we
meet again.--But hark ye, my Cornish comrade, you have brought a
Cornish flaw of wind with you hither, a hurricanoe as they call
it in the Indies.  Make yourself scarce--depart--vanish--or we'll
have you summoned before the Mayor of Halgaver, and that before
Dudman and Ramhead meet."  [Two headlands on the Cornish coast.
The expressions are proverbial.]

"Away, base groom!"  said Tressilian.--"And you, madam, fare you
well--what life lingers in your father's bosom will leave him at
the news I have to tell."

He departed, the lady saying faintly as he left the room,
"Tressilian, be not rash--say no scandal of me."

"Here is proper gear," said Foster.  "I pray you go to your
chamber, my lady, and let us consider how this is to be answered
--nay, tarry not."

"I move not at your command, sir," answered the lady.

"Nay, but you must, fair lady," replied Foster; "excuse my
freedom, but, by blood and nails, this is no time to strain
courtesies--you MUST go to your chamber.--Mike, follow that
meddling coxcomb, and, as you desire to thrive, see him safely
clear of the premises, while I bring this headstrong lady to
reason.  Draw thy tool, man, and after him."

"I'll follow him," said Michael Lambourne, "and see him fairly
out of Flanders; but for hurting a man I have drunk my morning's
draught withal, 'tis clean against my conscience."  So saying, he
left the apartment.

Tressilian, meanwhile, with hasty steps, pursued the first path
which promised to conduct him through the wild and overgrown park
in which the mansion of Foster was situated.  Haste and distress
of mind led his steps astray, and instead of taking the avenue
which led towards the village, he chose another, which, after he
had pursued it for some time with a hasty and reckless step,
conducted him to the other side of the demesne, where a postern
door opened through the wall, and led into the open country.

Tressilian paused an instant.  It was indifferent to him by what
road he left a spot now so odious to his recollections; but it
was probable that the postern door was locked, and his retreat by
that pass rendered impossible.

"I must make the attempt, however," he said to himself; "the only
means of reclaiming this lost--this miserable--this still most
lovely and most unhappy girl, must rest in her father's appeal to
the broken laws of his country.  I must haste to apprise him of
this heartrending intelligence."

As Tressilian, thus conversing with himself, approached to try
some means of opening the door, or climbing over it, he perceived
there was a key put into the lock from the outside.  It turned
round, the bolt revolved, and a cavalier, who entered, muffled in
his riding-cloak, and wearing a slouched hat with a drooping
feather, stood at once within four yards of him who was desirous
of going out.  They exclaimed at once, in tones of resentment and
surprise, the one "Varney!"  the other "Tressilian!"

"What make you here?"  was the stern question put by the stranger
to Tressilian, when the moment of surprise was past--"what make
you here, where your presence is neither expected nor desired?"

"Nay, Varney," replied Tressilian, "what make you here?  Are you
come to triumph over the innocence you have destroyed, as the
vulture or carrion-crow comes to batten on the lamb whose eyes it
has first plucked out?  Or are you come to encounter the merited
vengeance of an honest man?  Draw, dog, and defend thyself!"

Tressilian drew his sword as he spoke, but Varney only laid his
hand on the hilt of his own, as he replied, "Thou art mad,
Tressilian.  I own appearances are against me; but by every oath
a priest can make or a man can swear, Mistress Amy Robsart hath
had no injury from me.  And in truth I were somewhat loath to
hurt you in this cause--thou knowest I can fight."

"I have heard thee say so, Varney," replied Tressilian; "but now,
methinks, I would fain have some better evidence than thine own
word."

"That shall not be lacking, if blade and hilt be but true to me,"
answered Varney; and drawing his sword with the right hand, he
threw his cloak around his left, and attacked Tressilian with a
vigour which, for a moment, seemed to give him the advantage of
the combat.  But this advantage lasted not long.  Tressilian
added to a spirit determined on revenge a hand and eye admirably
well adapted to the use of the rapier; so that Varney, finding
himself hard pressed in his turn, endeavoured to avail himself of
his superior strength by closing with his adversary.  For this
purpose, he hazarded the receiving one of Tressilian's passes in
his cloak, wrapped as it was around his arm, and ere his
adversary could, extricate his rapier thus entangled, he closed
with him, shortening his own sword at the same time, with the
purpose of dispatching him.  But Tressilian was on his guard, and
unsheathing his poniard, parried with the blade of that weapon
the home-thrust which would otherwise have finished the combat,
and, in the struggle which followed, displayed so much address,
as might have confirmed, the opinion that he drew his origin from
Cornwall whose natives are such masters in the art of wrestling,
as, were the games of antiquity revived, might enable them to
challenge all Europe to the ring.  Varney, in his ill-advised
attempt, received a fall so sudden and violent that his sword
flew several paces from his hand and ere he could recover his
feet, that of his antagonist was; pointed to his throat.

"Give me the instant means of relieving the victim of thy
treachery," said Tressilian, "or take the last look of your
Creator's blessed sun!"

And while Varney, too confused or too sullen to reply, made a
sudden effort to arise, his adversary drew back his arm, and
would have executed his threat, but that the blow was arrested by
the grasp of Michael Lambourne, who, directed by the clashing of
swords had come up just in time to save the life of Varney,

"Come, come, comrade;" said Lambourne, "here is enough done and
more than enough; put up your fox and let us be jogging.  The
Black Bear growls for us."

"Off, abject!"  said Tressilian, striking himself free of
Lambourne's grasp; "darest thou come betwixt me and mine enemy?"

"Abject!  abject!"  repeated Lambourne; "that shall be answered
with cold steel whenever a bowl of sack has washed out memory of
the morning's draught that we had together.  In the meanwhile, do
you see, shog--tramp--begone--we are two to one."

He spoke truth, for Varney had taken the opportunity to regain
his weapon, and Tressilian perceived it was madness to press the
quarrel further against such odds.  He took his purse from his
side, and taking out two gold nobles, flung them to Lambourne.
"There, caitiff, is thy morning wage; thou shalt not say thou
hast been my guide unhired.--Varney, farewell!  we shall meet
where there are none to come betwixt us."  So saying, he turned
round and departed through the postern door.

Varney seemed to want the inclination, or perhaps the power (for
his fall had been a severe one), to follow his retreating enemy.
But he glared darkly as he disappeared, and then addressed
Lambourne.  "Art thou a comrade of Foster's, good fellow?"

"Sworn friends, as the haft is to the knife," replied Michael
Lambourne.

"Here is a broad piece for thee.  Follow yonder fellow, and see
where he takes earth, and bring me word up to the mansion-house
here.  Cautious and silent, thou knave, as thou valuest thy
throat."

"Enough said," replied Lambourne; "I can draw on a scent as well
as a sleuth-hound."

"Begone, then," said Varney, sheathing his rapier; and, turning
his back on Michael Lambourne, he walked slowly towards the
house.  Lambourne stopped but an instant to gather the nobles
which his late companion had flung towards him so
unceremoniously, and muttered to himself, while he put them upon
his purse along with the gratuity of Varney, "I spoke to yonder
gulls of Eldorado.  By Saint Anthony, there is no Eldorado for
men of our stamp equal to bonny Old England!  It rains nobles, by
Heaven--they lie on the grass as thick as dewdrops--you may have
them for gathering.  And if I have not my share of such
glittering dewdrops, may my sword melt like an icicle!"



CHAPTER V.

         He was a man
  Versed in the world as pilot in his compass.
  The needle pointed ever to that interest
  Which was his loadstar, and he spread his sails
  With vantage to the gale of others' passion.
                                 THE DECEIVER, A TRAGEDY.

Antony Foster was still engaged in debate with his fair guest,
who treated with scorn every entreaty and request that she would
retire to her own apartment, when a whistle was heard at the
entrance-door of the mansion.

"We are fairly sped now," said Foster; "yonder is thy lord's
signal, and what to say about the disorder which has happened in
this household, by my conscience, I know not.  Some evil fortune
dogs the heels of that unhanged rogue Lambourne, and he has
'scaped the gallows against every chance, to come back and be the
ruin of me!"

"Peace, sir," said the lady, "and undo the gate to your master.
--My lord!  my dear lord!"  she then exclaimed, hastening to the
entrance of the apartment; then added, with a voice expressive of
disappointment, "Pooh!  it is but Richard Varney."

"Ay, madam," said Varney, entering and saluting the lady with a
respectful obeisance, which she returned with a careless mixture
of negligence and of displeasure, "it is but Richard Varney; but
even the first grey cloud should be acceptable, when it lightens
in the east, because it announces the approach of the blessed
sun."

"How!  comes my lord hither to-night?"  said the lady, in joyful
yet startled agitation; and Anthony Foster caught up the word,
and echoed the question.  Varney replied to the lady, that his
lord purposed to attend her; and would have proceeded with some
compliment, when, running to the door of the parlour, she called
aloud, "Janet--Janet!  come to my tiring-room instantly."  Then
returning to Varney, she asked if her lord sent any further
commendations to her.

"This letter, honoured madam," said he, taking from his bosom a
small parcel wrapped in scarlet silk, "and with it a token to
the Queen of his Affections."  With eager speed the lady hastened
to undo the silken string which surrounded the little packet, and
failing to unloose readily the knot with which it was secured,
she again called loudly on Janet, "Bring me a knife--scissors--
aught that may undo this envious knot!"

"May not my poor poniard serve, honoured madam?"  said Varney,
presenting a small dagger of exquisite workmanship, which hung in
his Turkey-leather sword-belt.

"No, sir," replied the lady, rejecting the instrument which he
offered--"steel poniard shall cut no true-love knot of mine."

"It has cut many, however," said Anthony Foster, half aside, and
looking at Varney.  By this time the knot was disentangled
without any other help than the neat and nimble fingers of Janet,
a simply-attired pretty maiden, the daughter of Anthony Foster,
who came running at the repeated call of her mistress.  A
necklace of orient pearl, the companion of a perfumed billet, was
now hastily produced from the packet.  The lady gave the one,
after a slight glance, to the charge of her attendant, while she
read, or rather devoured, the contents of the other.

"Surely, lady," said Janet, gazing with admiration at the neck-
string of pearls, "the daughters of Tyre wore no fairer neck-
jewels than these.  And then the posy, 'For a neck that is
fairer'--each pearl is worth a freehold."

"Each word in this dear paper is worth the whole string, my girl.
But come to my tiring-room, girl; we must be brave, my lord comes
hither to-night.--He bids me grace you, Master Varney, and to me
his wish is a law.  I bid you to a collation in my bower this
afternoon; and you, too, Master Foster.  Give orders that all is
fitting, and that suitable preparations be made for my lord's
reception to-night."  With these words she left the apartment.

"She takes state on her already," said Varney, "and distributes
the favour of her presence, as if she were already the partner of
his dignity.  Well, it is wise to practise beforehand the part
which fortune prepares us to play--the young eagle must gaze at
the sun ere he soars on strong wing to meet it."

"If holding her head aloft," said Foster, "will keep her eyes
from dazzling, I warrant you the dame will not stoop her crest.
She will presently soar beyond reach of my whistle, Master
Varney.  I promise you, she holds me already in slight regard."

"It is thine own fault, thou sullen, uninventive companion,"
answered Varney, "who knowest no mode of control save downright
brute force.  Canst thou not make home pleasant to her, with
music and toys?  Canst thou not make the out-of-doors frightful
to her, with tales of goblins?  Thou livest here by the
churchyard, and hast not even wit enough to raise a ghost, to
scare thy females into good discipline."

"Speak not thus, Master Varney," said Foster; "the living I fear
not, but I trifle not nor toy with my dead neighbours of the
churchyard.  I promise you, it requires a good heart to live so
near it.  Worthy Master Holdforth, the afternoon's lecturer of
Saint Antonlin's, had a sore fright there the last time he came
to visit me."

"Hold thy superstitious tongue," answered Varney; "and while thou
talkest of visiting, answer me, thou paltering knave, how came
Tressilian to be at the postern door?"

"Tressilian!"  answered Foster, "what know I of Tressilian?  I
never heard his name."

"Why, villain, it was the very Cornish chough to whom old Sir
Hugh Robsart destined his pretty Amy; and hither the hot-brained
fool has come to look after his fair runaway.  There must be some
order taken with him, for he thinks he hath wrong, and is not the
mean hind that will sit down with it.  Luckily he knows nought of
my lord, but thinks he has only me to deal with.  But how, in the
fiend's name, came he hither?"

"Why, with Mike Lambourne, an you must know," answered Foster.

"And who is Mike Lambourne?"  demanded Varney.  "By Heaven!  thou
wert best set up a bush over thy door, and invite every stroller
who passes by to see what thou shouldst keep secret even from the
sun and air."

"Ay!  ay!  this is a courtlike requital of my service to you,
Master Richard Varney," replied Foster.  "Didst thou not charge
me to seek out for thee a fellow who had a good sword and an
unscrupulous conscience?  and was I not busying myself to find a
fit man--for, thank Heaven, my acquaintance lies not amongst such
companions--when, as Heaven would have it, this tall fellow, who
is in all his dualities the very flashing knave thou didst wish,
came hither to fix acquaintance upon me in the plenitude of his
impudence; and I admitted his claim, thinking to do you a
pleasure.  And now see what thanks I get for disgracing myself by
converse with him!"

"And did he," said Varney, "being such a fellow as thyself, only
lacking, I suppose, thy present humour of hypocrisy, which lies
as thin over thy hard, ruffianly heart as gold lacquer upon rusty
iron--did he, I say, bring the saintly, sighing Tressilian in his
train?"

"They came together, by Heaven!"  said Foster; "and Tressilian--
to speak Heaven's truth--obtained a moment's interview with our
pretty moppet, while I was talking apart with Lambourne."

"Improvident villain!  we are both undone," said Varney.  "She
has of late been casting many a backward look to her father's
halls, whenever her lordly lover leaves her alone.  Should this
preaching fool whistle her back to her old perch, we were but
lost men."

"No fear of that, my master," replied Anthony Foster; "she is in
no mood to stoop to his lure, for she yelled out on seeing him as
if an adder had stung her."

"That is good.  Canst thou not get from thy daughter an inkling
of what passed between them, good Foster?"

"I tell you plain, Master Varney," said Foster, "my daughter
shall not enter our purposes or walk in our paths.  They may suit
me well enough, who know how to repent of my misdoings; but I
will not have my child's soul committed to peril either for your
pleasure or my lord's.  I may walk among snares and pitfalls
myself, because I have discretion, but I will not trust the poor
lamb among them."

"Why, thou suspicious fool, I were as averse as thou art that thy
baby-faced girl should enter into my plans, or walk to hell at
her father's elbow.  But indirectly thou mightst gain some
intelligence of her?"

"And so I did, Master Varney," answered Foster; "and she said her
lady called out upon the sickness of her father."

"Good!"  replied Varney; "that is a hint worth catching, and I
will work upon it.  But the country must be rid of this
Tressilian.  I would have cumbered no man about the matter, for I
hate him like strong poison--his presence is hemlock to me--and
this day I had been rid of him, but that my foot slipped, when,
to speak truth, had not thy comrade yonder come to my aid, and
held his hand, I should have known by this time whether you and I
have been treading the path to heaven or hell."

"And you can speak thus of such a risk!"  said Foster.  "You keep
a stout heart, Master Varney.  For me, if I did not hope to live
many years, and to have time for the great work of repentance, I
would not go forward with you."

"Oh!  thou shalt live as long as Methuselah," said Varney, "and
amass as much wealth as Solomon; and thou shalt repent so
devoutly, that thy repentance shall be more famous than thy
villainy--and that is a bold word.  But for all this, Tressilian
must be looked after.  Thy ruffian yonder is gone to dog him.  It
concerns our fortunes, Anthony."

"Ay, ay," said Foster sullenly, "this it is to be leagued with
one who knows not even so much of Scripture, as that the labourer
is worthy of his hire.  I must, as usual, take all the trouble
and risk."

"Risk!  and what is the mighty risk, I pray you?"  answered
Varney. "This fellow will come prowling again about your demesne
or into your house, and if you take him for a house-breaker or a
park-breaker, is it not most natural you should welcome him with
cold steel or hot lead?  Even a mastiff will pull down those who
come near his kennel; and who shall blame him?"

"Ay, I have a mastiff's work and a mastiff's wage among you,"
said Foster.  "Here have you, Master Varney, secured a good
freehold estate out of this old superstitious foundation; and I
have but a poor lease of this mansion under you, voidable at your
honour's pleasure."

"Ay, and thou wouldst fain convert thy leasehold into a copyhold
--the thing may chance to happen, Anthony Foster, if thou dost
good service for it.  But softly, good Anthony--it is not the
lending a room or two of this old house for keeping my lord's
pretty paroquet--nay, it is not the shutting thy doors and
windows to keep her from flying off that may deserve it.
Remember, the manor and tithes are rated at the clear annual
value of seventy-nine pounds five shillings and fivepence
halfpenny, besides the value of the wood.  Come, come, thou must
be conscionable; great and secret service may deserve both this
and a better thing.  And now let thy knave come and pluck off my
boots.  Get us some dinner, and a cup of thy best wine.  I must
visit this mavis, brave in apparel, unruffled in aspect, and gay
in temper."

They parted and at the hour of noon, which was then that of
dinner, they again met at their meal, Varney gaily dressed like a
courtier of the time, and even Anthony Foster improved in
appearance, as far as dress could amend an exterior so
unfavourable.

This alteration did not escape Varney.  Then the meal was
finished, the cloth removed, and they were left to their private
discourse--"Thou art gay as a goldfinch, Anthony," said Varney,
looking at his host; "methinks, thou wilt whistle a jig anon.
But I crave your pardon, that would secure your ejection from the
congregation of the zealous botchers, the pure-hearted weavers,
and the sanctified bakers of Abingdon, who let their ovens cool
while their brains get heated."

"To answer you in the spirit, Master Varney," said Foster, "were
--excuse the parable--to fling sacred and precious things before
swine.  So I will speak to thee in the language of the world,
which he who is king of the world, hath taught thee, to
understand, and to profit by in no common measure."

"Say what thou wilt, honest Tony," replied Varney; "for be it
according to thine absurd faith, or according to thy most
villainous practice, it cannot choose but be rare matter to
qualify this cup of Alicant.  Thy conversation is relishing and
poignant, and beats caviare, dried neat's-tongue, and all other
provocatives that give savour to good liquor."

"Well, then, tell me," said Anthony Foster, "is not our good lord
and master's turn better served, and his antechamber more
suitably filled, with decent, God-fearing men, who will work his
will and their own profit quietly, and without worldly scandal,
than that he should be manned, and attended, and followed by such
open debauchers and ruffianly swordsmen as Tidesly, Killigrew,
this fellow Lambourne, whom you have put me to seek out for you,
and other such, who bear the gallows in their face and murder in
their right hand--who are a terror to peaceable men, and a
scandal to my lord's service?"

"Oh, content you, good Master Anthony Foster," answered Varney;
"he that flies at all manner of game must keep all kinds of
hawks, both short and long-winged.  The course my lord holds is
no easy one, and he must stand provided at all points with trusty
retainers to meet each sort of service.  He must have his gay
courtier, like myself, to ruffle it in the presence-chamber, and
to lay hand on hilt when any speaks in disparagement of my lord's
honour--"

"Ay," said Foster, "and to whisper a word for him into a fair
lady's ear, when he may not approach her himself."

"Then," said Varney, going on without appearing to notice the
interruption, "he must have his lawyers--deep, subtle pioneers
--to draw his contracts, his pre-contracts, and his post-
contracts, and to find the way to make the most of grants of
church-lands, and commons, and licenses for monopoly.  And he
must have physicians who can spice a cup or a caudle.  And he
must have his cabalists, like Dec and Allan, for conjuring up the
devil.  And he must have ruffling swordsmen, who would fight the
devil when he is raised and at the wildest.  And above all,
without prejudice to others, he must have such godly, innocent,
puritanic souls as thou, honest Anthony, who defy Satan, and do
his work at the same time."

"You would not say, Master Varney," said Foster, "that our good
lord and master, whom I hold to be fulfilled in all nobleness,
would use such base and sinful means to rise, as thy speech
points at?"

"Tush, man," said Varney, "never look at me with so sad a brow.
You trap me not--nor am I in your power, as your weak brain may
imagine, because I name to you freely the engines, the springs,
the screws, the tackle, and braces, by which great men rise in
stirring times.  Sayest thou our good lord is fulfilled of all
nobleness?  Amen, and so be it--he has the more need to have
those about him who are unscrupulous in his service, and who,
because they know that his fall will overwhelm and crush them,
must wager both blood and brain, soul and body, in order to keep
him aloft; and this I tell thee, because I care not who knows
it."

"You speak truth, Master Varney," said Anthony Foster.  "He that
is head of a party is but a boat on a wave, that raises not
itself, but is moved upward by the billow which it floats upon."

"Thou art metaphorical, honest Anthony," replied Varney; "that
velvet doublet hath made an oracle of thee.  We will have thee to
Oxford to take the degrees in the arts.  And, in the meantime,
hast thou arranged all the matters which were sent from London,
and put the western chambers into such fashion as may answer my
lord's humour?"

"They may serve a king on his bridal-day," said Anthony; "and I
promise you that Dame Amy sits in them yonder as proud and gay as
if she were the Queen of Sheba."

"'Tis the better, good Anthony," answered Varney; "we must found
our future fortunes on her good liking."

"We build on sand then," said Anthony Foster; "for supposing that
she sails away to court in all her lord's dignity and authority,
how is she to look back upon me, who am her jailor as it were, to
detain her here against her will, keeping her a caterpillar on an
old wall, when she would fain be a painted butterfly in a court
garden?"

"Fear not her displeasure, man," said Varney.  "I will show her
all thou hast done in this matter was good service, both to my
lord and her; and when she chips the egg-shell and walks alone,
she shall own we have hatched her greatness."

"Look to yourself, Master Varney," said Foster, "you may
misreckon foully in this matter.  She gave you but a frosty
reception this morning, and, I think, looks on you, as well as
me, with an evil eye."

"You mistake her, Foster--you mistake her utterly.  To me she is
bound by all the ties which can secure her to one who has been
the means of gratifying both her love and ambition.  Who was it
that took the obscure Amy Robsart, the daughter of an
impoverished and dotard knight--the destined bride of a
moonstruck, moping enthusiast, like Edmund Tressilian, from her
lowly fates, and held out to her in prospect the brightest
fortune in England, or perchance in Europe?  Why, man, it was I
--as I have often told thee--that found opportunity for their
secret meetings.  It was I who watched the wood while he beat for
the deer.  It was I who, to this day, am blamed by her family as
the companion of her flight; and were I in their neighbourhood,
would be fain to wear a shirt of better stuff than Holland linen,
lest my ribs should be acquainted with Spanish steel.  Who
carried their letters?--I.  Who amused the old knight and
Tressilian?--I.  Who planned her escape?--it was I.  It was I, in
short, Dick Varney, who pulled this pretty little daisy from its
lowly nook, and placed it in the proudest bonnet in Britain."

"Ay, Master Varney," said Foster; "but it may be she thinks that
had the matter remained with you, the flower had been stuck so
slightly into the cap, that the first breath of a changeable
breeze of passion had blown the poor daisy to the common."

"She should consider," said Varney, smiling, "the true faith I
owed my lord and master prevented me at first from counselling
marriage; and yet I did counsel marriage when I saw she would not
be satisfied without the--the sacrament, or the ceremony--which
callest thou it, Anthony?"

"Still she has you at feud on another score," said Foster; "and I
tell it you that you may look to yourself in time.  She would not
hide her splendour in this dark lantern of an old monastic house,
but would fain shine a countess amongst countesses."

"Very natural, very right," answered Varney; "but what have I to
do with that?--she may shine through horn or through crystal at
my lord's pleasure, I have nought to say against it."

"She deems that you have an oar upon that side of the boat,
Master Varney," replied Foster, "and that you can pull it or no,
at your good pleasure.  In a word, she ascribes the secrecy and
obscurity in which she is kept to your secret counsel to my lord,
and to my strict agency; and so she loves us both as a sentenced
man loves his judge and his jailor."

"She must love us better ere she leave this place, Anthony,"
answered Varney.  "If I have counselled for weighty reasons that
she remain here for a season, I can also advise her being brought
forth in the full blow of her dignity.  But I were mad to do so,
holding so near a place to my lord's person, were she mine enemy.
Bear this truth in upon her as occasion offers, Anthony, and let
me alone for extolling you in her ear, and exalting you in her
opinion--KA ME, KA THEE--it is a proverb all over the world.  The
lady must know her friends, and be made to judge of the power
they have of being her enemies; meanwhile, watch her strictly,
but with all the outward observance that thy rough nature will
permit.  'Tis an excellent thing that sullen look and bull-dog
humour of thine; thou shouldst thank God for it, and so should my
lord, for when there is aught harsh or hard-natured to be done,
thou dost it as if it flowed from thine own natural doggedness,
and not from orders, and so my lord escapes the scandal.--But,
hark--some one knocks at the gate.  Look out at the window--let
no one enter--this were an ill night to be interrupted."

"It is he whom we spoke of before dinner," said Foster, as he
looked through the casement; "it is Michael Lambourne."

"Oh, admit him, by all means," said the courtier; "he comes to
give some account of his guest; it imports us much to know the
movements of Edmund Tressilian.--Admit him, I say, but bring him
not hither; I will come to you presently in the Abbot's library."

Foster left the room, and the courtier, who remained behind,
paced the parlour more than once in deep thought, his arms folded
on his bosom, until at length he gave vent to his meditations in
broken words, which we have somewhat enlarged and connected, that
his soliloquy may be intelligible to the reader.

"'Tis true," he said, suddenly stopping, and resting his right
hand on the table at which they had been sitting, "this base
churl hath fathomed the very depth of my fear, and I have been
unable to disguise it from him.  She loves me not--I would it
were as true that I loved not her!  Idiot that I was, to move her
in my own behalf, when wisdom bade me be a true broker to my
lord!  And this fatal error has placed me more at her discretion
than a wise man would willingly be at that of the best piece of
painted Eve's flesh of them all.  Since the hour that my policy
made so perilous a slip, I cannot look at her without fear, and
hate, and fondness, so strangely mingled, that I know not
whether, were it at my choice, I would rather possess or ruin
her.  But she must not leave this retreat until I am assured on
what terms we are to stand.  My lord's interest--and so far it is
mine own, for if he sinks I fall in his train--demands
concealment of this obscure marriage; and besides, I will not
lend her my arm to climb to her chair of state, that she may set
her foot on my neck when she is fairly seated.  I must work an
interest in her, either through love or through fear; and who
knows but I may yet reap the sweetest and best revenge for her
former scorn?--that were indeed a masterpiece of courtlike art!
Let me but once be her counsel-keeper--let her confide to me a
secret, did it but concern the robbery of a linnet's nest, and,
fair Countess, thou art mine own!"  He again paced the room in
silence, stopped, filled and drank a cup of wine, as if to
compose the agitation of his mind, and muttering, "Now for a
close heart and an open and unruffled brow," he left the
apartment.



CHAPTER VI.

  The dews of summer night did fall,
    The moon, sweet regent of the sky,
  Silver'd the walls of Cumnor Hall,
    And many an oak that grew thereby.     MICKLE.

[This verse is the commencement of the ballad already quoted, as
what suggested the novel.]

Four apartments; which, occupied the western side of the old
quadrangle at Cumnor Place, had been fitted up with extraordinary
splendour.  This had been the work of several days prior to that
on which our story opened.  Workmen sent from London, and not
permitted to leave the premises until the work was finished, had
converted the apartments in that side of the building from the
dilapidated appearance of a dissolved monastic house into the
semblance of a royal palace.  A mystery was observed in all these
arrangements:  the workmen came thither and returned by night,
and all measures were taken to prevent the prying curiosity of
the villagers from observing or speculating upon the changes
which were taking place in the mansion of their once indigent but
now wealthy neighbour, Anthony Foster.  Accordingly, the secrecy
desired was so far preserved, that nothing got abroad but vague
and uncertain reports, which were received and repeated, but
without much credit being attached to them.

On the evening of which we treat, the new and highly-decorated
suite of rooms were, for the first time, illuminated, and that
with a brilliancy which might have been visible half-a-dozen
miles off, had not oaken shutters, carefully secured with bolt
and padlock, and mantled with long curtains of silk and of
velvet, deeply fringed with gold, prevented the slightest gleam
of radiance front being seen without.

The principal apartments, as we have seen, were four in number,
each opening into the other.  Access was given to them by a large
scale staircase, as they were then called, of unusual length and
height, which had its landing-place at the door of an
antechamber, shaped somewhat like a gallery.  This apartment the
abbot had used as an occasional council-room, but it was now
beautifully wainscoted with dark, foreign wood of a brown colour,
and bearing a high polish, said to have been brought from the
Western Indies, and to have been wrought in London with infinite
difficulty and much damage to the tools of the workmen.  The dark
colour of this finishing was relieved by the number of lights in
silver sconces which hung against the walls, and by six large and
richly-framed pictures, by the first masters of the age.  A massy
oaken table, placed at the lower end of the apartment, served to
accommodate such as chose to play at the then fashionable game of
shovel-board; and there was at the other end an elevated gallery
for the musicians or minstrels, who might be summoned to increase
the festivity of the evening.

From this antechamber opened a banqueting-room of moderate size,
but brilliant enough to dazzle the eyes of the spectator with the
richness of its furniture.  The walls, lately so bare and
ghastly, were now clothed with hangings of sky-blue velvet and
silver; the chairs were of ebony, richly carved, with cushions
corresponding to the hangings; and the place of the silver
sconces which enlightened the ante-chamber was supplied by a huge
chandelier of the same precious metal.  The floor was covered
with a Spanish foot-cloth, or carpet, on which flowers and fruits
were represented in such glowing and natural colours, that you
hesitated to place the foot on such exquisite workmanship.  The
table, of old English oak, stood ready covered with the finest
linen; and a large portable court-cupboard was placed with the
leaves of its embossed folding-doors displayed, showing the
shelves within, decorated with a full display of plate and
porcelain.  In the midst of the table stood a salt-cellar of
Italian workmanship--a beautiful and splendid piece of plate
about two feet high, moulded into a representation of the giant
Briareus, whose hundred hands of silver presented to the guests
various sorts of spices, or condiments, to season their food
withal.

The third apartment was called the withdrawing-room.  It was hung
with the finest tapestry, representing the fall of Phaeton; for
the looms of Flanders were now much occupied on classical
subjects.  The principal seat of this apartment was a chair of
state, raised a step or two from the floor, and large enough to
contain two persons.  It was surmounted by a canopy, which, as
well as the cushions, side-curtains, and the very footcloth, was
composed of crimson velvet, embroidered with seed-pearl.  On the
top of the canopy were two coronets, resembling those of an earl
and countess.  Stools covered with velvet, and some cushions
disposed in the Moorish fashion, and ornamented with Arabesque
needle-work, supplied the place of chairs in this apartment,
which contained musical instruments, embroidery frames, and other
articles for ladies' pastime.  Besides lesser lights, the
withdrawing-room was illuminated by four tall torches of virgin
wax, each of which was placed in the grasp of a statue,
representing an armed Moor, who held in his left arm a round
buckler of silver, highly polished, interposed betwixt his breast
and the light, which was thus brilliantly reflected as from a
crystal mirror.

The sleeping chamber belonging to this splendid suite of
apartments was decorated in a taste less showy, but not less
rich, than had been displayed in the others.  Two silver lamps,
fed with perfumed oil, diffused at once a delicious odour and a
trembling twilight-seeming shimmer through the quiet apartment.
It was carpeted so thick that the heaviest step could not have
been heard, and the bed, richly heaped with down, was spread with
an ample coverlet of silk and gold; from under which peeped forth
cambric sheets and blankets as white as the lambs which yielded
the fleece that made them.  The curtains were of blue velvet,
lined with crimson silk, deeply festooned with gold, and
embroidered with the loves of Cupid and Psyche.  On the toilet
was a beautiful Venetian mirror, in a frame of silver filigree,
and beside it stood a gold posset-dish to contain the night-
draught.  A pair of pistols and a dagger, mounted with gold, were
displayed near the head of the bed, being the arms for the night,
which were presented to honoured guests, rather, it may be
supposed, in the way of ceremony than from any apprehension of
danger.  We must not omit to mention, what was more to the credit
of the manners of the time, that in a small recess, illuminated
by a taper, were disposed two hassocks of velvet and gold,
corresponding with the bed furniture, before a desk of carved
ebony.  This recess had formerly been the private oratory of the
abbot; but the crucifix was removed, and instead there were
placed on the desk, two Books of Common Prayer, richly bound, and
embossed with silver.  With this enviable sleeping apartment,
which was so far removed from every sound save that of the wind
sighing among the oaks of the park, that Morpheus might have
coveted it for his own proper repose, corresponded two wardrobes,
or dressing-rooms as they are now termed, suitably furnished, and
in a style of the same magnificence which we have already
described.  It ought to be added, that a part of the building in
the adjoining wing was occupied by the kitchen and its offices,
and served to accommodate the personal attendants of the great
and wealthy nobleman, for whose use these magnificent
preparations had been made.

The divinity for whose sake this temple had been decorated was
well worthy the cost and pains which had been bestowed.  She was
seated in the withdrawing-room which we have described, surveying
with the pleased eye of natural and innocent vanity the splendour
which had been so suddenly created, as it were, in her honour.
For, as her own residence at Cumnor Place formed the cause of the
mystery observed in all the preparations for opening these
apartments, it was sedulously arranged that, until she took
possession of them, she should have no means of knowing what was
going forward in that part of the ancient building, or of
exposing herself to be seen by the workmen engaged in the
decorations.  She had been, therefore, introduced on that evening
to a part of the mansion which she had never yet seen, so
different from all the rest that it appeared, in comparison, like
an enchanted palace.  And when she first examined and occupied
these splendid rooms, it was with the wild and unrestrained joy
of a rustic beauty who finds herself suddenly invested with a
splendour which her most extravagant wishes had never imagined,
and at the same time with the keen feeling of an affectionate
heart, which knows that all the enchantment that surrounds her is
the work of the great magician Love.

The Countess Amy, therefore--for to that rank she was exalted by
her private but solemn union with England's proudest Earl--had
for a time flitted hastily from room to room, admiring each new
proof of her lover and her bridegroom's taste, and feeling that
admiration enhanced as she recollected that all she gazed upon
was one continued proof of his ardent and devoted affection.
"How beautiful are these hangings!  How natural these paintings,
which seem to contend with life!  How richly wrought is that
plate, which looks as if all the galleons of Spain had been
intercepted on the broad seas to furnish it forth!  And oh,
Janet!"  she exclaimed repeatedly to the daughter of Anthony
Foster, the close attendant, who, with equal curiosity, but
somewhat less ecstatic joy, followed on her mistress's footsteps
--"oh, Janet!  how much more delightful to think that all these
fair things have been assembled by his love, for the love of me!
and that this evening--this very evening, which grows darker
every instant, I shall thank him more for the love that has
created such an unimaginable paradise, than for all the wonders
it contains."

"The Lord is to be thanked first," said the pretty Puritan, "who
gave thee, lady, the kind and courteous husband whose love has
done so much for thee.  I, too, have done my poor share.  But if
you thus run wildly from room to room, the toil of my crisping
and my curling pins will vanish like the frost-work on the window
when the sun is high."

"Thou sayest true, Janet," said the young and beautiful Countess,
stopping suddenly from her tripping race of enraptured delight,
and looking at herself from head to foot in a large mirror, such
as she had never before seen, and which, indeed, had few to match
it even in the Queen's palace--"thou sayest true, Janet!"  she
answered, as she saw, with pardonable self-applause, the noble
mirror reflect such charms as were seldom presented to its fair
and polished surface; "I have more of the milk-maid than the
countess, with these cheeks flushed with haste, and all these
brown curls, which you laboured to bring to order, straying as
wild as the tendrils of an unpruned vine.  My falling ruff is
chafed too, and shows the neck and bosom more than is modest and
seemly.  Come, Janet; we will practise state--we will go to the
withdrawing-room, my good girl, and thou shalt put these rebel
locks in order, and imprison within lace and cambric the bosom
that beats too high."

They went to the withdrawing apartment accordingly, where the
Countess playfully stretched herself upon the pile of Moorish
cushions, half sitting, half reclining, half wrapt in her own
thoughts, half listening to the prattle of her attendant.

While she was in this attitude, and with a corresponding
expression betwixt listlessness and expectation on her fine and
intelligent features, you might have searched sea and land
without finding anything half so expressive or half so lovely.
The wreath of brilliants which mixed with her dark-brown hair did
not match in lustre the hazel eye which a light-brown eyebrow,
pencilled with exquisite delicacy, and long eyelashes of the same
colour, relieved and shaded.  The exercise she had just taken,
her excited expectation and gratified vanity, spread a glow over
her fine features, which had been sometimes censured (as beauty
as well as art has her minute critics) for being rather too pale.
The milk-white pearls of the necklace which she wore, the same
which she had just received as a true-love token from her
husband, were excelled in purity by her teeth, and by the colour
of her skin, saving where the blush of pleasure and self-
satisfaction had somewhat stained the neck with a shade of light
crimson.--"Now, have done with these busy fingers, Janet," she
said to her handmaiden, who was still officiously employed in
bringing her hair and her dress into order--"have done, I say.  I
must see your father ere my lord arrives, and also Master Richard
Varney, whom my lord has highly in his esteem--but I could tell
that of him would lose him favour."

"Oh, do not do so, good my lady!"  replied Janet; "leave him to
God, who punishes the wicked in His own time; but do not you
cross Varney's path, for so thoroughly hath he my lord's ear,
that few have thriven who have thwarted his courses."

"And from whom had you this, my most righteous Janet?"  said the
Countess; "or why should I keep terms with so mean a gentleman as
Varney, being as I am, wife to his master and patron?"

"Nay, madam," replied Janet Foster, "your ladyship knows better
than I; but I have heard my father say he would rather cross a
hungry wolf than thwart Richard Varney in his projects.  And he
has often charged me to have a care of holding commerce with
him."

"Thy father said well, girl, for thee," replied the lady, "and I
dare swear meant well.  It is a pity, though, his face and manner
do little match his true purpose--for I think his purpose may be
true."

"Doubt it not, my lady," answered Janet--"doubt not that my
father purposes well, though he is a plain man, and his blunt
looks may belie his heart."

"I will not doubt it, girl, were it only for thy sake; and yet he
has one of those faces which men tremble when they look on.  I
think even thy mother, Janet--nay, have done with that poking-
iron--could hardly look upon him without quaking."

"If it were so, madam," answered Janet Foster, "my mother had
those who could keep her in honourable countenance.  Why, even
you, my lady, both trembled and blushed when Varney brought the
letter from my lord."

"You are bold, damsel," said the Countess, rising from the
cushions on which she sat half reclined in the arms of her
attendant.  "Know that there are causes of trembling which have
nothing to do with fear.--But, Janet," she added, immediately
relapsing into the good-natured and familiar tone which was
natural to her, "believe me, I will do what credit I can to your
father, and the rather that you, sweetheart, are his child.
Alas!  alas!"  she added, a sudden sadness passing over her fine
features, and her eyes filling with tears, "I ought the rather to
hold sympathy with thy kind heart, that my own poor father is
uncertain of my fate, and they say lies sick and sorrowful for my
worthless sake!  But I will soon cheer him--the news of my
happiness and advancement will make him young again.  And that I
may cheer him the sooner"--she wiped her eyes as she spoke--"I
must be cheerful myself.  My lord must not find me insensible to
his kindness, or sorrowful, when he snatches a visit to his
recluse, after so long an absence.  Be merry, Janet; the night
wears on, and my lord must soon arrive.  Call thy father hither,
and call Varney also.  I cherish resentment against neither; and
though I may have some room to be displeased with both, it shall
be their own fault if ever a complaint against them reaches the
Earl through my means.  Call them hither, Janet."

Janet Foster obeyed her mistress; and in a few minutes after,
Varney entered the withdrawing-room with the graceful ease and
unclouded front of an accomplished courtier, skilled, under the
veil of external politeness, to disguise his own feelings and to
penetrate those of others.  Anthony Foster plodded into the
apartment after him, his natural gloomy vulgarity of aspect
seeming to become yet more remarkable, from his clumsy attempt to
conceal the mixture of anxiety and dislike with which he looked
on her, over whom he had hitherto exercised so severe a control,
now so splendidly attired, and decked with so many pledges of the
interest which she possessed in her husband's affections.  The
blundering reverence which he made, rather AT than TO the
Countess, had confession in it.  It was like the reverence which
the criminal makes to the judge, when he at once owns his guilt
and implores mercy--which is at the same time an impudent and
embarrassed attempt at defence or extenuation, a confession of a
fault, and an entreaty for lenity.

Varney, who, in right of his gentle blood, had pressed into the
room before Anthony Foster, knew better what to say than he, and
said it with more assurance and a better grace.

The Countess greeted him indeed with an appearance of cordiality,
which seemed a complete amnesty for whatever she might have to
complain of.  She rose from her seat, and advanced two steps
towards him, holding forth her hand as she said, "Master Richard
Varney, you brought me this morning such welcome tidings, that I
fear surprise and joy made me neglect my lord and husband's
charge to receive you with distinction.  We offer you our hand,
sir, in reconciliation."

"I am unworthy to touch it," said Varney, dropping on one knee,
"save as a subject honours that of a prince."

He touched with his lips those fair and slender fingers, so
richly loaded with rings and jewels; then rising, with graceful
gallantry, was about to hand her to the chair of state, when she
said, "No, good Master Richard Varney, I take not my place there
until my lord himself conducts me.  I am for the present but a
disguised Countess, and will not take dignity on me until
authorized by him whom I derive it from."

"I trust, my lady," said Foster, "that in doing the commands of
my lord your husband, in your restraint and so forth, I have not
incurred your displeasure, seeing that I did but my duty towards
your lord and mine; for Heaven, as holy writ saith, hath given
the husband supremacy and dominion over the wife--I think it runs
so, or something like it."

"I receive at this moment so pleasant a surprise, Master Foster,"
answered the Countess, "that I cannot but excuse the rigid
fidelity which secluded me from these apartments, until they had
assumed an appearance so new and so splendid."

"Ay lady," said Foster, "it hath cost many a fair crown; and that
more need not be wasted than is absolutely necessary, I leave you
till my lord's arrival with good Master Richard Varney, who, as I
think, hath somewhat to say to you from your most noble lord and
husband.--Janet, follow me, to see that all be in order."

"No, Master Foster," said the Countess, "we will your daughter
remains here in our apartment--out of ear-shot, however, in case
Varney bath ought to say to me from my lord."

Foster made his clumsy reverence, and departed, with an aspect
which seemed to grudge the profuse expense which had been wasted
upon changing his house from a bare and ruinous grange to an
Asiastic palace.  When he was gone, his daughter took her
embroidery frame, and went to establish herself at the bottom of
the apartment; while Richard Varney, with a profoundly humble
courtesy, took the lowest stool he could find, and placing it by
the side of the pile of cushions on which the Countess had now
again seated herself, sat with his eyes for a time fixed on the
ground, and in pro-found silence

"I thought, Master Varney," said the Countess, when she saw he
was not likely to open the conversation, "that you had something
to communicate from my lord and husband; so at least I understood
Master Foster, and therefore I removed my waiting-maid.  If I am
mistaken, I will recall her to my side; for her needle is not so
absolutely perfect in tent and cross-stitch, but that my
superintendence is advisable."

"Lady," said Varney, "Foster was partly mistaken in my purpose.
It was not FROM but OF your noble husband, and my approved and
most noble patron, that I am led, and indeed bound, to speak."

"The theme is most welcome, sir," said the Countess, "whether it
be of or from my noble husband.  But be brief, for I expect his
hasty approach."

"Briefly then, madam," replied Varney, "and boldly, for my
argument requires both haste and courage--you have this day seen
Tressilian?"

"I have, sir and what of that?"  answered the lady somewhat
sharply.

"Nothing that concerns me, lady," Varney replied with humility.
"But, think you, honoured madam, that your lord will hear it with
equal equanimity?"

"And wherefore should he not?  To me alone was Tressilian's visit
embarrassing and painful, for he brought news of my good father's
illness."

"Of your father's illness, madam!"  answered Varney.  "It must
have been sudden then--very sudden; for the messenger whom I
dispatched, at my lord's instance, found the good knight on the
hunting field, cheering his beagles with his wonted jovial field-
cry.  I trust Tressilian has but forged this news.  He hath his
reasons, madam, as you well know, for disquieting your present
happiness."

"You do him injustice, Master Varney," replied the Countess, with
animation--"you do him much injustice.  He is the freest, the
most open, the most gentle heart that breathes.  My honourable
lord ever excepted, I know not one to whom falsehood is more
odious than to Tressilian."

"I crave your pardon, madam," said Varney, "I meant the gentleman
no injustice--I knew not how nearly his cause affected you.  A
man may, in some circumstances, disguise the truth for fair and
honest purpose; for were it to be always spoken, and upon all
occasions, this were no world to live in."

"You have a courtly conscience, Master Varney," said the
Countess, "and your veracity will not, I think, interrupt your
preferment in the world, such as it is.  But touching Tressilian
--I must do him justice, for I have done him wrong, as none knows
better than thou.  Tressilian's conscience is of other mould--the
world thou speakest of has not that which could bribe him from
the way of truth and honour; and for living in it with a soiled
fame, the ermine would as soon seek to lodge in the den of the
foul polecat.  For this my father loved him; for this I would
have loved him--if I could.  And yet in this case he had what
seemed to him, unknowing alike of my marriage and to whom I was
united, such powerful reasons to withdraw me from this place,
that I well trust he exaggerated much of my father's
indisposition, and that thy better news may be the truer."

"Believe me they are, madam," answered Varney.  "I pretend not to
be a champion of that same naked virtue called truth, to the very
outrance.  I can consent that her charms be hidden with a veil,
were it but for decency's sake.  But you must think lower of my
head and heart than is due to one whom my noble lord deigns to
call his friend, if you suppose I could wilfully and
unnecessarily palm upon your ladyship a falsehood, so soon to be
detected, in a matter which concerns your happiness."

"Master Varney," said the Countess, "I know that my lord esteems
you, and holds you a faithful and a good pilot in those seas in
which he has spread so high and so venturous a sail.  Do not
suppose, therefore, I meant hardly by you, when I spoke the truth
in Tressilian's vindication.  I am as you well know, country-
bred, and like plain rustic truth better than courtly compliment;
but I must change my fashions with my sphere, I presume."

"True, madam," said Varney, smiling; "and though you speak now in
jest, it will not be amiss that in earnest your present speech
had some connection with your real purpose.  A court-dame--take
the most noble, the most virtuous, the most unimpeachable that
stands around our Queen's throne--would, for example, have
shunned to speak the truth, or what she thought such, in praise
of a discarded suitor, before the dependant and confidant of her
noble husband."

"And wherefore," said the Countess, colouring impatiently,
"should I not do justice to Tressilian's worth, before my
husband's friend--before my husband himself--before the whole
world?"

"And with the same openness," said Varney, "your ladyship will
this night tell my noble lord your husband that Tressilian has
discovered your place of residence, so anxiously concealed from
the world, and that he has had an interview with you?"

"Unquestionably," said the Countess.  "It will be the first thing
I tell him, together with every word that Tressilian said and
that I answered.  I shall speak my own shame in this, for
Tressilian's reproaches, less just than he esteemed them, were
not altogether unmerited.  I will speak, therefore, with pain,
but I will speak, and speak all."

"Your ladyship will do your pleasure," answered Varney; "but
methinks it were as well, since nothing calls for so frank a
disclosure, to spare yourself this pain, and my noble lord the
disquiet, and Master Tressilian, since belike he must be thought
of in the matter, the danger which is like to ensue."

"I can see nought of all these terrible consequences," said the
lady composedly, "unless by imputing to my noble lord unworthy
thoughts, which I am sure never harboured in his generous heart."

"Far be it from me to do so," said Varney.  And then, after a
moment's silence, he added, with a real or affected plainness of
manner, very different from his usual smooth courtesy, "Come,
madam, I will show you that a courtier dare speak truth as well
as another, when it concerns the weal of those whom he honours
and regards, ay, and although it may infer his own danger."  He
waited as if to receive commands, or at least permission, to go
on; but as the lady remained silent, he proceeded, but obviously
with caution.  "Look around you," he said, "noble lady, and
observe the barriers with which this place is surrounded, the
studious mystery with which the brightest jewel that England
possesses is secluded from the admiring gaze.  See with what
rigour your walks are circumscribed.  and your movement
restrained at the beck of yonder churlish Foster.  Consider all
this, and judge for yourself what can be the cause.

"My lord's pleasure," answered the Countess; "and I am bound to
seek no other motive."

"His pleasure it is indeed," said Varney; "and his pleasure
arises out of a love worthy of the object which inspires it.  But
he who possesses a treasure, and who values it, is oft anxious,
in proportion to the value he puts upon it, to secure it from the
depredations of others."

"What needs all this talk, Master Varney?"  said the lady, in
reply.  "You would have me believe that my noble lord is
jealous.  Suppose it true, I know a cure for jealousy."

"Indeed, madam?"  said Varney.

"It is," replied the lady, "to speak the truth to my lord at all
times--to hold up my mind and my thoughts before him as pure as
that polished mirror--so that when he looks into my heart, he
shall only see his own features reflected there."

"I am mute, madam answered Varney; "and as I have no reason to
grieve for Tressilian, who would have my heart's blood were he
able, I shall reconcile myself easily to what may befall the
gentleman in consequence of your frank disclosure of his having
presumed to intrude upon your solitude.  You, who know my lord so
much better than I, will judge if he be likely to bear the insult
unavenged."

"Nay, if I could think myself the cause of Tressilian's ruin,"
said the Countess, "I who have already occasioned him so much
distress, I might be brought to be silent.  And yet what will it
avail, since he was seen by Foster, and I think by some one else?
No, no, Varney, urge it no more.  I will tell the whole matter to
my lord; and with such pleading for Tressilian's folly, as shall
dispose my lord's generous heart rather to serve than to punish
him."

"Your judgment, madam," said Varney, "is far superior to mine,
especially as you may, if you will, prove the ice before you step
on it, by mentioning Tressilian's name to my lord, and observing
how he endures it.  For Foster and his attendant, they know not
Tressilian by sight, and I can easily give them some reasonable
excuse for the appearance of an unknown stranger."

The lady paused for an instant, and then replied, "If, Varney, it
be indeed true that Foster knows not as yet that the man he saw
was Tressilian, I own I were unwilling he should learn what
nowise concerns him.  He bears himself already with austerity
enough, and I wish him not to be judge or privy-councillor in my
affairs."

"Tush," said Varney, "what has the surly groom to do with your
ladyship's concerns?--no more, surely, than the ban-dog which
watches his courtyard.  If he is in aught distasteful to your
ladyship, I have interest enough to have him exchanged for a
seneschal that shall be more agreeable to you."

"Master Varney," said the Countess, "let us drop this theme.
When I complain of the attendants whom my lord has placed around
me, it must be to my lord himself.--Hark!  I hear the trampling
of horse.  He comes!  he comes!"  she exclaimed, jumping up in
ecstasy.

"I cannot think it is he," said Varney; "or that you can hear the
tread of his horse through the closely-mantled casements."

"Stop me not, Varney--my ears are keener than thine.  It is he!"

"But, madam!--but, madam!"  exclaimed Varney anxiously, and still
placing himself in her way, "I trust that what I have spoken in
humble duty and service will not be turned to my ruin?  I hope
that my faithful advice will not be bewrayed to my prejudice?  I
implore that--"

"Content thee, man--content thee!"  said the Countess, "and quit
my skirt--you are too bold to detain me.  Content thyself, I
think not of thee."

At this moment the folding-doors flew wide open, and a man of
majestic mien, muffled in the folds of a long dark riding-cloak,
entered the apartment.



CHAPTER VII.

       This is he
  Who rides on the court-gale; controls its tides;
  Knows all their secret shoals and fatal eddies;
  Whose frown abases, and whose smile exalts.
  He shines like any rainbow--and, perchance,
  His colours are as transient."                OLD PLAY.

There was some little displeasure and confusion on the Countess's
brow, owing to her struggle with Varney's pertinacity; but it was
exchanged for an expression of the purest joy and affection, as
she threw herself into the arms of the noble stranger who
entered, and clasping him to her bosom, exclaimed, "At length--at
length thou art come!"

Varney discreetly withdrew as his lord entered, and Janet was
about to do the same, when her mistress signed to her to remain.
She took her place at the farther end of the apartment, and
continued standing, as if ready for attendance.

Meanwhile the Earl, for he was of no inferior rank, returned his
lady's caress with the most affectionate ardour, but affected to
resist when she strove to take his cloak from him.

"Nay," she said, "but I will unmantle you.  I must see if you
have kept your word to me, and come as the great Earl men call
thee, and not as heretofore like a private cavalier."

"Thou art like the rest of the world, Amy," said the Earl,
suffering her to prevail in the playful contest; "the jewels, and
feathers, and silk are more to them than the man whom they adorn
--many a poor blade looks gay in a velvet scabbard."

"But so cannot men say of thee, thou noble Earl," said his lady,
as the cloak dropped on the floor, and showed him dressed as
princes when they ride abroad; "thou art the good and well-tried
steel, whose inly worth deserves, yet disdains, its outward
ornaments.  Do not think Amy can love thee better in this
glorious garb than she did when she gave her heart to him who
wore the russet-brown cloak in the woods of Devon."

"And thou too," said the Earl, as gracefully and majestically he
led his beautiful Countess towards the chair of state which was
prepared for them both--"thou too, my love, hast donned a dress
which becomes thy rank, though it cannot improve thy beauty.
What think'st thou of our court taste?"

The lady cast a sidelong glance upon the great mirror as they
passed it by, and then said, "I know not how it is, but I think
not of my own person while I look at the reflection of thine.
Sit thou there," she said, as they approached the chair of state,
"like a thing for men to worship and to wonder at."

"Ay, love," said the Earl, "if thou wilt share my state with me."

"Not so," said the Countess; "I will sit on this footstool at thy
feet, that I may spell over thy splendour, and learn, for the
first time, how princes are attired."

And with a childish wonder, which her youth and rustic education
rendered not only excusable but becoming, mixed as it was with a
delicate show of the most tender conjugal affection, she examined
and admired from head to foot the noble form and princely attire
of him who formed the proudest ornament of the court of England's
Maiden Queen, renowned as it was for splendid courtiers, as well
as for wise counsellors.  Regarding affectionately his lovely
bride, and gratified by her unrepressed admiration, the dark eye
and noble features of the Earl expressed passions more gentle
than the commanding and aspiring look which usually sat upon his
broad forehead, and in the piercing brilliancy of his dark eye;
and he smiled at the simplicity which dictated the questions she
put to him concerning the various ornaments with which he was
decorated.

"The embroidered strap, as thou callest it, around my knee," he
said, "is the English Garter, an ornament which kings are proud
to wear.  See, here is the star which belongs to it, and here the
Diamond George, the jewel of the order.  You have heard how King
Edward and the Countess of Salisbury--"

"Oh, I know all that tale," said the Countess, slightly blushing,
"and how a lady's garter became the proudest badge of English
chivalry."

"Even so," said the Earl; "and this most honourable Order I had
the good hap to receive at the same time with three most noble
associates, the Duke of Norfolk, the Marquis of Northampton, and
the Earl of Rutland.  I was the lowest of the four in rank--but
what then?  he that climbs a ladder must begin at the first
round."

"But this other fair collar, so richly wrought, with some jewel
like a sheep hung by the middle attached to it, what," said the
young Countess, "does that emblem signify?"

"This collar," said the Earl, "with its double fusilles
interchanged with these knobs, which are supposed to present
flint-stones sparkling with fire, and sustaining the jewel you
inquire about, is the badge of the noble Order of the Golden
Fleece, once appertaining to the House of Burgundy it hath high
privileges, my Amy, belonging to it, this most noble Order; for
even the King of Spain himself, who hath now succeeded to the
honours and demesnes of Burgundy, may not sit in judgment upon a
knight of the Golden Fleece, unless by assistance and consent of
the Great Chapter of the Order."

"And is this an Order belonging to the cruel King of Spain?"
said the Countess.  "Alas!  my noble lord, that you will defile
your noble English breast by bearing such an emblem!  Bethink you
of the most unhappy Queen Mary's days, when this same Philip held
sway with her in England, and of the piles which were built for
our noblest, and our wisest, and our most truly sanctified
prelates and divines--and will you, whom men call the standard-
bearer of the true Protestant faith, be contented to wear the
emblem and mark of such a Romish tyrant as he of Spain?"

"Oh, content you, my love," answered the Earl; "we who spread our
sails to gales of court favour cannot always display the ensigns
we love the best, or at all times refuse sailing under colours
which we like not.  Believe me, I am not the less good
Protestant, that for policy I must accept the honour offered me
by Spain, in admitting me to this his highest order of
knighthood.  Besides, it belongs properly to Flanders; and
Egmont, Orange, and others have pride in seeing it displayed on
an English bosom."

"Nay, my lord, you know your own path best," replied the
Countess.  "And this other collar, to what country does this fair
jewel belong?"

"To a very poor one, my love," replied the Earl; "this is the
Order of Saint Andrew, revived by the last James of Scotland.  It
was bestowed on me when it was thought the young widow of France
and Scotland would gladly have wedded an English baron; but a
free coronet of England is worth a crown matrimonial held at the
humour of a woman, and owning only the poor rocks and bogs of the
north."

The Countess paused, as if what the Earl last said had excited
some painful but interesting train of thought; and, as she still
remained silent, her husband proceeded:--

"And now, loveliest, your wish is gratified, and you have seen
your vassal in such of his trim array as accords with riding
vestments; for robes of state and coronets are only for princely
halls."

"Well, then," said the Countess, "my gratified wish has, as
usual, given rise to a new one."

"And what is it thou canst ask that I can deny?"  said the fond
husband.

"I wished to see my Earl visit this obscure and secret bower,"
said the Countess, "in all his princely array; and now, methinks
I long to sit in one of his princely halls, and see him enter
dressed in sober russet, as when he won poor Amy Robsart's
heart."

"That is a wish easily granted," said the Earl--"the sober russet
shall be donned to-morrow, if you will."

"But shall I," said the lady, "go with you to one of your
castles, to see how the richness of your dwelling will correspond
with your peasant habit?"

"Why, Amy," said the Earl, looking around, "are not these
apartments decorated with sufficient splendour?  I gave the most
unbounded order, and, methinks, it has been indifferently well
obeyed; but if thou canst tell me aught which remains to be done,
I will instantly give direction."

"Nay, my lord, now you mock me," replied the Countess; "the
gaiety of this rich lodging exceeds my imagination as much as it
does my desert.  But shall not your wife, my love--at least one
day soon--be surrounded with the honour which arises neither from
the toils of the mechanic who decks her apartment, nor from the
silks and jewels with which your generosity adorns her, but which
is attached to her place among the matronage, as the avowed wife
of England's noblest Earl?"

"One day?"  said her husband.  "Yes, Amy, my love, one day this
shall surely happen; and, believe me, thou canst not wish for
that day more fondly than I.  With what rapture could I retire
from labours of state, and cares and toils of ambition, to spend
my life in dignity and honour on my own broad domains, with thee,
my lovely Amy, for my friend and companion!  But, Amy, this
cannot yet be; and these dear but stolen interviews are all I can
give to the loveliest and the best beloved of her sex."

"But WHY can it not be?"  urged the Countess, in the softest
tones of persuasion--"why can it not immediately take place--this
more perfect, this uninterrupted union, for which you say you
wish, and which the laws of God and man alike command?  Ah!  did
you but desire it half as much as you say, mighty and favoured as
you are, who or what should bar your attaining your wish?"

The Earl's brow was overcast.

"Amy," he said, "you speak of what you understand not.  We that
toil in courts are like those who climb a mountain of loose sand
--we dare make no halt until some projecting rock affords us a
secure footing and resting-place.  If we pause sooner, we slide
down by our own weight, an object of universal derision.  I stand
high, but I stand not secure enough to follow my own inclination.
To declare my marriage were to be the artificer of my own ruin.
But, believe me, I will reach a point, and that speedily, when I
can do justice to thee and to myself.  Meantime, poison not the
bliss of the present moment, by desiring that which cannot at
present be, Let me rather know whether all here is managed to thy
liking.  How does Foster bear himself to you?--in all things
respectful, I trust, else the fellow shall dearly rue it."

"He reminds me sometimes of the necessity of this privacy,"
answered the lady, with a sigh; "but that is reminding me of your
wishes, and therefore I am rather bound to him than disposed to
blame him for it."

"I have told you the stern necessity which is upon us," replied
the Earl.  "Foster is, I note, somewhat sullen of mood; but
Varney warrants to me his fidelity and devotion to my service.
If thou hast aught, however, to complain of the mode in which he
discharges his duty, he shall abye it."

"Oh, I have nought to complain of," answered the lady, "so he
discharges his task with fidelity to you; and his daughter Janet
is the kindest and best companion of my solitude--her little air
of precision sits so well upon her!"

"Is she indeed?"  said the Earl.  "She who gives you pleasure
must not pass unrewarded.--Come hither, damsel."

"Janet," said the lady, "come hither to my lord."

Janet, who, as we already noticed, had discreetly retired to some
distance, that her presence might be no check upon the private
conversation of her lord and lady, now came forward; and as she
made her reverential curtsy, the Earl could not help smiling at
the contrast which the extreme simplicity of her dress, and the
prim demureness of her looks, made with a very pretty countenance
and a pair of black eyes, that laughed in spite of their
mistress's desire to look grave.

"I am bound to you, pretty damsel," said the Earl, "for the
contentment which your service hath given to this lady."  As he
said this, he took from his finger a ring of some price, and
offered it to Janet Foster, adding, "Wear this, for her sake and
for mine."

"I am well pleased, my lord," answered Janet demurely, "that my
poor service hath gratified my lady, whom no one can draw nigh to
without desiring to please; but we of the precious Master
Holdforth's congregation seek not, like the gay daughters of this
world, to twine gold around our fingers, or wear stones upon our
necks, like the vain women of Tyre and of Sidon."

"Oh, what!  you are a grave professor of the precise sisterhood,
pretty Mistress Janet," said the Earl, "and I think your father
is of the same congregation in sincerity?  I like you both the
better for it; for I have been prayed for, and wished well to, in
your congregations.  And you may the better afford the lack of
ornament, Mistress Janet, because your fingers are slender, and
your neck white.  But here is what neither Papist nor Puritan,
latitudinarian nor precisian, ever boggles or makes mouths at.
E'en take it, my girl, and employ it as you list."

So saying, he put into her hand five broad gold pieces of Philip
and Mary,

"I would not accept this gold either," said Janet, "but that I
hope to find a use for it which will bring a blessing on us all."

"Even please thyself, pretty Janet," said the Earl, "and I shall
be well satisfied.  And I prithee let them hasten the evening
collation."

"I have bidden Master Varney and Master Foster to sup with us, my
lord," said the Countess, as Janet retired to obey the Earl's
commands; "has it your approbation?"

"What you do ever must have so, my sweet Amy," replied her
husband; "and I am the better pleased thou hast done them this
grace, because Richard Varney is my sworn man, and a close
brother of my secret council; and for the present, I must needs
repose much trust in this Anthony Foster."

"I had a boon to beg of thee, and a secret to tell thee, my dear
lord," said the Countess, with a faltering accent.

"Let both be for to-morrow, my love," replied the Earl.  "I see
they open the folding-doors into the banqueting-parlour, and as I
have ridden far and fast, a cup of wine will not be
unacceptable."

So saying he led his lovely wife into the next apartment, where
Varney and Foster received them with the deepest reverences,
which the first paid after the fashion of the court, and the
second after that of the congregation.  The Earl returned their
salutation with the negligent courtesy of one long used to such
homage; while the Countess repaid it with a punctilious
solicitude, which showed it was not quite so familiar to her.

The banquet at which the company seated themselves corresponded
in magnificence with the splendour of the apartment in which it
was served up, but no domestic gave his attendance.  Janet alone
stood ready to wait upon the company; and, indeed, the board was
so well supplied with all that could be desired, that little or
no assistance was necessary.  The Earl and his lady occupied the
upper end of the table, and Varney and Foster sat beneath the
salt, as was the custom with inferiors.  The latter, overawed
perhaps by society to which he was altogether unused, did not
utter a single syllable during the repast; while Varney, with
great tact and discernment, sustained just so much of the
conversation as, without the appearance of intrusion on his part,
prevented it from languishing, and maintained the good-humour of
the Earl at the highest pitch.  This man was indeed highly
qualified by nature to discharge the part in which he found
himself placed, being discreet and cautious on the one hand, and,
on the other, quick, keen-witted, and imaginative; so that even
the Countess, prejudiced as she was against him on many accounts,
felt and enjoyed his powers of conversation, and was more
disposed than she had ever hitherto found herself to join in the
praises which the Earl lavished on his favourite.  The hour of
rest at length arrived, the Earl and Countess retired to their
apartment, and all was silent in the castle for the rest of the
night.

Early on the ensuing morning, Varney acted as the Earl's
chamberlain as well as his master of horse, though the latter was
his proper office in that magnificent household, where knights
and gentlemen of good descent were well contented to hold such
menial situations, as nobles themselves held in that of the
sovereign.  The duties of each of these charges were familiar to
Varney, who, sprung from an ancient but somewhat decayed family,
was the Earl's page during his earlier and more obscure fortunes,
and, faithful to him in adversity, had afterwards contrived to
render himself no less useful to him in his rapid and splendid
advance to fortune; thus establishing in him an interest resting
both on present and past services, which rendered him an almost
indispensable sharer of his confidence.

"Help me to do on a plainer riding-suit, Varney," said the Earl,
as he laid aside his morning-gown, flowered with silk and lined
with sables, "and put these chains and fetters there" (pointing
to the collars of the various Orders which lay on the table)
"into their place of security--my neck last night was well-nigh
broke with the weight of them.  I am half of the mind that they
shall gall me no more.  They are bonds which knaves have invented
to fetter fools.  How thinkest thou, Varney?"

"Faith, my good lord," said his attendant, "I think fetters of
gold are like no other fetters--they are ever the weightier the
welcomer."

"For all that, Varney," replied his master, "I am well-nigh
resolved they shall bind me to the court no longer.  What can
further service and higher favour give me, beyond the high rank
and large estate which I have already secured?  What brought my
father to the block, but that he could not bound his wishes
within right and reason?  I have, you know, had mine own ventures
and mine own escapes.  I am well-nigh resolved to tempt the sea
no further, but sit me down in quiet on the shore."

"And gather cockle-shells, with Dan Cupid to aid you," said
Varney.

"How mean you by that, Varney?"  said the Earl somewhat hastily.

"Nay, my lord," said Varney, "be not angry with me.  If your
lordship is happy in a lady so rarely lovely that, in order to
enjoy her company with somewhat more freedom, you are willing to
part with all you have hitherto lived for, some of your poor
servants may be sufferers; but your bounty hath placed me so
high, that I shall ever have enough to maintain a poor gentleman
in the rank befitting the high office he has held in your
lordship's family."

"Yet you seem discontented when I propose throwing up a dangerous
game, which may end in the ruin of both of us."

"I, my lord?"  said Varney; "surely I have no cause to regret
your lordship's retreat!  It will not be Richard Varney who will
incur the displeasure of majesty, and the ridicule of the court,
when the stateliest fabric that ever was founded upon a prince's
favour melts away like a morning frost-work.  I would only have
you yourself to be assured, my lord, ere you take a step which
cannot be retracted, that you consult your fame and happiness in
the course you propose."

"Speak on, then, Varney," said the Earl; "I tell thee I have
determined nothing, and will weigh all considerations on either
side."

"Well, then, my lord," replied Varney, "we will suppose the step
taken, the frown frowned, the laugh laughed, and the moan moaned.
You have retired, we will say, to some one of your most distant
castles, so far from court that you hear neither the sorrow of
your friends nor the glee of your enemies, We will suppose, too,
that your successful rival will be satisfied (a thing greatly to
be doubted) with abridging and cutting away the branches of the
great tree which so long kept the sun from him, and that he does
not insist upon tearing you up by the roots.  Well; the late
prime favourite of England, who wielded her general's staff and
controlled her parliaments, is now a rural baron, hunting,
hawking, drinking fat ale with country esquires, and mustering
his men at the command of the high sheriff--"

"Varney, forbear!"  said the Earl.

"Nay, my lord, you must give me leave to conclude my picture.
--Sussex governs England--the Queen's health fails--the
succession is to be settled--a road is opened to ambition more
splendid than ambition ever dreamed of.  You hear all this as you
sit by the hob, under the shade of your hall-chimney.  You then
begin to think what hopes you have fallen from, and what
insignificance you have embraced; and all that you might look
babies in the eyes of your fair wife oftener than once a
fortnight,"

"I say, Varney," said the Earl, "no more of this.  I said not
that the step, which my own ease and comfort would urge me to,
was to be taken hastily, or without due consideration to the
public safety.  Bear witness to me, Varney; I subdue my wishes of
retirement, not because I am moved by the call of private
ambition, but that I may preserve the position in which I may
best serve my country at the hour of need.--Order our horses
presently; I will wear, as formerly, one of the livery cloaks,
and ride before the portmantle.  Thou shalt be master for the
day, Varney--neglect nothing that can blind suspicion.  We will
to horse ere men are stirring.  I will but take leave of my lady,
and be ready.  I impose a restraint on my own poor heart, and
wound one yet more dear to me; but the patriot must subdue the
husband.

Having said this in a melancholy but firm accent, he left the
dressing apartment.

"I am glad thou art gone," thought Varney, "or, practised as I am
in the follies of mankind, I had laughed in the very face of
thee!  Thou mayest tire as thou wilt of thy new bauble, thy
pretty piece of painted Eve's flesh there, I will not be thy
hindrance. But of thine old bauble, ambition, thou shalt not
tire; for as you climb the hill, my lord, you must drag Richard
Varney up with you, and if he can urge you to the ascent he means
to profit by, believe me he will spare neither whip nor spur, and
for you, my pretty lady, that would be Countess outright, you
were best not thwart my courses, lest you are called to an old
reckoning on a new score.  'Thou shalt be master,' did he say?
By my faith, he may find that he spoke truer than he is aware of;
and thus he who, in the estimation of so many wise-judging men,
can match Burleigh and Walsingham in policy, and Sussex in war,
becomes pupil to his own menial--and all for a hazel eye and a
little cunning red and white, and so falls ambition.  And yet if
the charms of mortal woman could excuse a man's politic pate for
becoming bewildered, my lord had the excuse at his right hand on
this blessed evening that has last passed over us.  Well--let
things roll as they may, he shall make me great, or I will make
myself happy; and for that softer piece of creation, if she speak
not out her interview with Tressilian, as well I think she dare
not, she also must traffic with me for concealment and mutual
support, in spite of all this scorn.  I must to the stables.
Well, my lord, I order your retinue now; the time may soon come
that my master of the horse shall order mine own.  What was
Thomas Cromwell but a smith's son?  and he died my lord--on a
scaffold, doubtless, but that, too, was in character.  And what
was Ralph Sadler but the clerk of Cromwell?  and he has gazed
eighteen fair lordships--VIA!  I know my steerage as well as
they."

So saying, he left the apartment.

In the meanwhile the Earl had re-entered the bedchamber, bent on
taking a hasty farewell of the lovely Countess, and scarce daring
to trust himself in private with her, to hear requests again
urged which he found it difficult to parry, yet which his recent
conversation with his master of horse had determined him not to
grant.

He found her in a white cymar of silk lined with furs, her little
feet unstockinged and hastily thrust into slippers; her unbraided
hair escaping from under her midnight coif, with little array but
her own loveliness, rather augmented than diminished by the grief
which she felt at the approaching moment of separation.

"Now, God be with thee, my dearest and loveliest!"  said the
Earl, scarce tearing himself from her embrace, yet again
returning to fold her again and again in his arms, and again
bidding farewell, and again returning to kiss and bid adieu once
more.  "The sun is on the verge of the blue horizon--I dare not
stay.  Ere this I should have been ten miles from hence."

Such were the words with which at length he strove to cut short
their parting interview.  "You will not grant my request, then?"
said the Countess.  "Ah, false knight!  did ever lady, with bare
foot in slipper, seek boon of a brave knight, yet return with
denial?"

"Anything, Amy, anything thou canst ask I will grant," answered
the Earl--"always excepting," he said, "that which might ruin us
both."

"Nay," said the Countess, "I urge not my wish to be acknowledged
in the character which would make me the envy of England--as the
wife, that is, of my brave and noble lord, the first as the most
fondly beloved of English nobles.  Let me but share the secret
with my dear father!  Let me but end his misery on my unworthy
account--they say he is ill, the good old kind-hearted man!"

"They say?"  asked the Earl hastily; "who says?  Did not Varney
convey to Sir Hugh all we dare at present tell him concerning
your happiness and welfare?  and has he not told you that the
good old knight was following, with good heart and health, his
favourite and wonted exercise.  Who has dared put other thoughts
into your head?"

"Oh, no one, my lord, no one," said the Countess, something
alarmed at the tone, in which the question was put; "but yet, my
lord, I would fain be assured by mine own eyesight that my father
is well."

"Be contented, Amy; thou canst not now have communication with
thy father or his house.  Were it not a deep course of policy to
commit no secret unnecessarily to the custody of more than must
needs be, it were sufficient reason for secrecy that yonder
Cornish man, yonder Trevanion, or Tressilian, or whatever his
name is, haunts the old knight's house, and must necessarily know
whatever is communicated there."

"My lord," answered the Countess, "I do not think it so.  My
father has been long noted a worthy and honourable man; and for
Tressilian, if we can pardon ourselves the ill we have wrought
him, I will wager the coronet I am to share with you one day that
he is incapable of returning injury for injury."

"I will not trust him, however, Amy," said her husband--"by my
honour, I will not trust him, I would rather the foul fiend
intermingle in our secret than this Tressilian!"

"And why, my lord?"  said the Countess, though she shuddered
slightly at the tone of determination in which he spoke; "let me
but know why you think thus hardly of Tressilian?"

"Madam," replied the Earl, "my will ought to be a sufficient
reason.  If you desire more, consider how this Tressilian is
leagued, and with whom.  He stands high in the opinion of this
Radcliffe, this Sussex, against whom I am barely able to maintain
my ground in the opinion of our suspicious mistress; and if he
had me at such advantage, Amy, as to become acquainted with the
tale of our marriage, before Elizabeth were fitly prepared, I
were an outcast from her grace for ever--a bankrupt at once in
favour and in fortune, perhaps, for she hath in her a touch of
her father Henry--a victim, and it may be a bloody one, to her
offended and jealous resentment."

"But why, my lord," again urged his lady, "should you deem thus
injuriously of a man of whom you know so little?  What you do
know of Tressilian is through me, and it is I who assure you that
in no circumstances will be betray your secret.  If I did him
wrong in your behalf, my lord, I am now the more concerned you
should do him justice.  You are offended at my speaking of him,
what would you say had I actually myself seen him?"

"If you had," replied the Earl, "you would do well to keep that
interview as secret as that which is spoken in a confessional.  I
seek no one's ruin; but he who thrusts himself on my secret
privacy were better look well to his future walk.  The bear [The
Leicester cognizance was the ancient device  adopted by his
father, when Earl of Warwick, the bear and ragged staff.]  brooks
no one to cross his awful path."

"Awful, indeed!"  said the Countess, turning very pale.

"You are ill, my love," said the Earl, supporting her in his
arms.  "Stretch yourself on your couch again; it is but an early
day for you to leave it.  Have you aught else, involving less
than my fame, my fortune, and my life, to ask of me?"

"Nothing, my lord and love," answered the Countess faintly;
"something there was that I would have told you, but your anger
has driven it from my recollection."

"Reserve it till our next meeting, my love," said the Earl
fondly, and again embracing her; "and barring only those requests
which I cannot and dare not grant, thy wish must be more than
England and all its dependencies can fulfil, if it is not
gratified to the letter."

Thus saying, he at length took farewell.  At the bottom of the
staircase he received from Varney an ample livery cloak and
slouched hat, in which he wrapped himself so as to disguise his
person and completely conceal his features.  Horses were ready in
the courtyard for himself and Varney; for one or two of his
train, intrusted with the secret so far as to know or guess that
the Earl intrigued with a beautiful lady at that mansion, though
her name and duality were unknown to them, had already been
dismissed over-night.

Anthony Foster himself had in hand the rein of the Earl's
palfrey, a stout and able nag for the road; while his old
serving-man held the bridle of the more showy and gallant steed
which Richard Varney was to occupy in the character of master.

As the Earl approached, however, Varney advanced to hold his
master's bridle, and to prevent Foster from paying that duty to
the Earl which he probably considered as belonging to his own
office.  Foster scowled at an interference which seemed intended
to prevent his paying his court to his patron, but gave place to
Varney; and the Earl, mounting without further observation, and
forgetting that his assumed character of a domestic threw him
into the rear of his supposed master, rode pensively out of the
quadrangle, not without waving his hand repeatedly in answer to
the signals which were made by the Countess with her kerchief
from the windows of her apartment.

While his stately form vanished under the dark archway which led
out of the quadrangle, Varney muttered, "There goes fine policy
--the servant before the master!"  then as he disappeared, seized
the moment to speak a word with Foster.  "Thou look'st dark on
me, Anthony," he said, "as if I had deprived thee of a parting
nod of my lord; but I have moved him to leave thee a better
remembrance for thy faithful service.  See here!  a purse of as
good gold as ever chinked under a miser's thumb and fore-finger.
Ay, count them, lad," said he, as Foster received the gold with a
grim smile, "and add to them the goodly remembrance he gave last
night to Janet."

"How's this?  how's this?"  said Anthony Foster hastily; "gave he
gold to Janet?"

"Ay, man, wherefore not?--does not her service to his fair lady
require guerdon?"

"She shall have none on't," said Foster; "she shall return it.  I
know his dotage on one face is as brief as it is deep.  His
affections are as fickle as the moon."

"Why, Foster, thou art mad--thou dost not hope for such good
fortune as that my lord should cast an eye on Janet?  Who, in the
fiend's name, would listen to the thrush while the nightingale is
singing?"

"Thrush or nightingale, all is one to the fowler; and, Master
Varney, you can sound the quail-pipe most daintily to wile
wantons into his nets.  I desire no such devil's preferment for
Janet as you have brought many a poor maiden to.  Dost thou
laugh?  I will keep one limb of my family, at least, from Satan's
clutches, that thou mayest rely on.  She shall restore the gold."

"Ay, or give it to thy keeping, Tony, which will serve as well,"
answered Varney; "but I have that to say which is more serious.
Our lord is returning to court in an evil humour for us."

"How meanest thou?"  said Foster.  "Is he tired already of his
pretty toy--his plaything yonder?  He has purchased her at a
monarch's ransom, and I warrant me he rues his bargain."

"Not a whit, Tony," answered the master of the horse; "he dotes
on her, and will forsake the court for her.  Then down go hopes,
possessions, and safety--church-lands are resumed, Tony, and well
if the holders be not called to account in Exchequer."

"That were ruin," said Foster, his brow darkening with
apprehensions; "and all this for a woman!  Had it been for his
soul's sake, it were something; and I sometimes wish I myself
could fling away the world that cleaves to me, and be as one of
the poorest of our church."

"Thou art like enough to be so, Tony," answered Varney; "but I
think the devil will give thee little credit for thy compelled
poverty, and so thou losest on all hands.  But follow my counsel,
and Cumnor Place shall be thy copyhold yet.  Say nothing of this
Tressilian's visit--not a word until I give thee notice."

"And wherefore, I pray you?"  asked Foster, suspiciously.

"Dull beast!"  replied Varney.  "In my lord's present humour it
were the ready way to confirm him in his resolution of
retirement, should he know that his lady was haunted with such a
spectre in his absence.  He would be for playing the dragon
himself over his golden fruit, and then, Tony, thy occupation is
ended.  A word to the wise.  Farewell!  I must follow him."

He turned his horse, struck him with the spurs, and rode off
under the archway in pursuit of his lord.

"Would thy occupation were ended, or thy neck broken, damned
pander!"  said Anthony Foster.  "But I must follow his beck, for
his interest and mine are the same, and he can wind the proud
Earl to his will.  Janet shall give me those pieces though; they
shall be laid out in some way for God's service, and I will keep
them separate in my strong chest, till I can fall upon a fitting
employment for them.  No contagious vapour shall breathe on
Janet--she shall remain pure as a blessed spirit, were it but to
pray God for her father.  I need her prayers, for I am at a hard
pass.  Strange reports are abroad concerning my way of life.  The
congregation look cold on me, and when Master Holdforth spoke of
hypocrites being like a whited sepulchre, which within was full
of dead men's bones, methought he looked full at me.  The Romish
was a comfortable faith; Lambourne spoke true in that.  A man had
but to follow his thrift by such ways as offered--tell his beads,
hear a mass, confess, and be absolved.  These Puritans tread a
harder and a rougher path; but I will try--I will read my Bible
for an hour ere I again open mine iron chest."

Varney, meantime, spurred after his lord, whom he found waiting
for him at the postern gate of the park.

"You waste time, Varney," said the Earl, "and it presses.  I must
be at Woodstock before I can safely lay aside my disguise, and
till then I journey in some peril."

"It is but two hours' brisk riding, my lord," said Varney.  "For
me, I only stopped to enforce your commands of care and secrecy
on yonder Foster, and to inquire about the abode of the gentleman
whom I would promote to your lordship's train, in the room of
Trevors."

"Is he fit for the meridian of the antechamber, think'st thou?"
said the Earl.

"He promises well, my lord," replied Varney ; "but if your
lordship were pleased to ride on, I could go back to Cumnor, and
bring him to your lordship at Woodstock before you are out of
bed."

"Why, I am asleep there, thou knowest, at this moment," said the
Earl; "and I pray you not to spare horse-flesh, that you may be
with me at my levee."

So saying, he gave his horse the spur, and proceeded on his
journey, while Varney rode back to Cumnor by the public road,
avoiding the park.  The latter alighted at the door of the bonny
Black Bear, and desired to speak with Master Michael Lambourne,
That respectable character was not long of appearing before his
new patron, but it was with downcast looks.

"Thou hast lost the scent," said Varney, "of thy comrade
Tressilian.  I know it by thy bang-dog visage.  Is this thy
alacrity, thou impudent knave?"

"Cogswounds!"  said Lambourne, "there was never a trail so finely
hunted.  I saw him to earth at mine uncle's here--stuck to him
like bees'-wax--saw him at supper--watched him to his chamber,
and, presto!  he is gone next morning, the very hostler knows not
where."

"This sounds like practice upon me, sir," replied Varney; "and if
it proves so, by my soul you shall repent it!"

"Sir, the best hound will be sometimes at fault," answered
Lambourne; "how should it serve me that this fellow should have
thus evanished?  You may ask mine host, Giles Gosling--ask the
tapster and hostler--ask Cicely, and the whole household, how I
kept eyes on Tressilian while he was on foot.  On my soul, I
could not be expected to watch him like a sick nurse, when I had
seen him fairly a-bed in his chamber.  That will be allowed me,
surely."

Varney did, in fact, make some inquiry among the household, which
confirmed the truth of Lambourne's statement.  Tressilian, it was
unanimously agreed, had departed suddenly and unexpectedly,
betwixt night and morning.

"But I will wrong no one," said mine host; "he left on the table
in his lodging the full value of his reckoning, with some
allowance to the servants of the house, which was the less
necessary that he saddled his own gelding, as it seems, without
the hostler's assistance."

Thus satisfied of the rectitude of Lambourne's conduct, Varney
began to talk to him upon his future prospects, and the mode in
which he meant to bestow himself, intimating that he understood
from Foster he was not disinclined to enter into the household of
a nobleman.

"Have you," said he, "ever been at court?"

"No," replied Lambourne; "but ever since I was ten years old, I
have dreamt once a week that I was there, and made my fortune."

"It may be your own fault if your dream comes not true," said
Varney.  "Are you needy?"

"Um!"  replied Lambourne; "I love pleasure."

"That is a sufficient answer, and an honest one," said Varney.
"Know you aught of the requisites expected from the retainer of a
rising courtier?"

"I have imagined them to myself, sir," answered Lambourne; "as,
for example, a quick eye, a close mouth, a ready and bold hand, a
sharp wit, and a blunt conscience."

"And thine, I suppose," said Varney, "has had its edge blunted
long since?"

"I cannot remember, sir, that its edge was ever over-keen,"
replied Lambourne.  "When I was a youth, I had some few whimsies;
but I rubbed them partly out of my recollection on the rough
grindstone of the wars, and what remained I washed out in the
broad waves of the Atlantic."

"Thou hast served, then, in the Indies?"

"In both East and West," answered the candidate for court
service, "by both sea and land.  I have served both the Portugal
and the Spaniard, both the Dutchman and the Frenchman, and have
made war on our own account with a crew of jolly fellows, who
held there was no peace beyond the Line."  [Sir Francis Drake,
Morgan, and many a bold buccaneer of those days, were, in fact,
little better than pirates.]

"Thou mayest do me, and my lord, and thyself, good service," said
Varney, after a pause.  "But observe, I know the world--and
answer me truly, canst thou be faithful?"

"Did you not know the world," answered Lambourne, "it were my
duty to say ay, without further circumstance, and to swear to it
with life and honour, and so forth.  But as it seems to me that
your worship is one who desires rather honest truth than politic
falsehood, I reply to you, that I can be faithful to the gallows'
foot, ay, to the loop that dangles from it, if I am well used and
well recompensed--not otherwise."

"To thy other virtues thou canst add, no doubt," said Varney, in
a jeering tone, "the knack of seeming serious and religious, when
the moment demands it?"

"It would cost me nothing," said Lambourne, "to say yes; but, to
speak on the square, I must needs say no.  If you want a
hypocrite, you may take Anthony Foster, who, from his childhood,
had some sort of phantom haunting him, which he called religion,
though it was that sort of godliness which always ended in being
great gain.  But I have no such knack of it."

"Well," replied Varney, "if thou hast no hypocrisy, hast thou not
a nag here in the stable?"

"Ay, sir," said Lambourne, "that shall take hedge and ditch with
my Lord Duke's best hunters.  Then I made a little mistake on
Shooter's Hill, and stopped an ancient grazier whose pouches were
better lined than his brain-pan, the bonny bay nag carried me
sheer off in spite of the whole hue and cry."

"Saddle him then instantly, and attend me," said Varney.  "Leave
thy clothes and baggage under charge of mine host; and I will
conduct thee to a service, in which, if thou do not better
thyself, the fault shall not be fortune's, but thine own."

"Brave and hearty!"  said Lambourne, "and I am mounted in an
instant.--Knave, hostler, saddle my nag without the loss of one
second, as thou dost value the safety of thy noddle.--Pretty
Cicely, take half this purse to comfort thee for my sudden
departure."

"Gogsnouns!"  replied the father, "Cicely wants no such token
from thee.  Go away, Mike, and gather grace if thou canst, though
I think thou goest not to the land where it grows."

"Let me look at this Cicely of thine, mine host," said Varney; "I
have heard much talk of her beauty."

"It is a sunburnt beauty," said mine host, "well qualified to
stand out rain and wind, but little calculated to please such
critical gallants as yourself.  She keeps her chamber, and cannot
encounter the glance of such sunny-day courtiers as my noble
guest."

"Well, peace be with her, my good host," answered Varney; "our
horses are impatient--we bid you good day."

"Does my nephew go with you, so please you?"  said Gosling.

"Ay, such is his purpose," answered Richard Varney.

"You are right--fully right," replied mine host--"you are, I say,
fully right, my kinsman.  Thou hast got a gay horse; see thou
light not unaware upon a halter--or, if thou wilt needs be made
immortal by means of a rope, which thy purpose of following this
gentleman renders not unlikely, I charge thee to find a gallows
as far from Cumnor as thou conveniently mayest.  And so I commend
you to your saddle."

The master of the horse and his new retainer mounted accordingly,
leaving the landlord to conclude his ill-omened farewell, to
himself and at leisure; and set off together at a rapid pace,
which prevented conversation until the ascent of a steep sandy
hill permitted them to resume it.

"You are contented, then," said Varney to his companion, "to take
court service?"

"Ay, worshipful sir, if you like my terms as well as I like
yours."

"And what are your terms?"  demanded Varney.

"If I am to have a quick eye for my patron's interest, he must
have a dull one towards my faults," said Lambourne.

"Ay," said Varney, "so they lie not so grossly open that he must
needs break his shins over them."

"Agreed," said Lambourne.  "Next, if I run down game, I must have
the picking of the bones."

"That is but reason," replied Varney, "so that your betters are
served before you."

"Good," said Lambourne; "and it only remains to be said, that if
the law and I quarrel, my patron must bear me out, for that is a
chief point."

"Reason again," said Varney, "if the quarrel hath happened in
your master's service."

"For the wage and so forth, I say nothing," proceeded Lambourne;
"it is the secret guerdon that I must live by."

"Never fear," said Varney; "thou shalt have clothes and spending
money to ruffle it with the best of thy degree, for thou goest to
a household where you have gold, as they say, by the eye."

"That jumps all with my humour," replied Michael Lambourne; "and
it only remains that you tell me my master's name."

"My name is Master Richard Varney," answered his companion.

"But I mean," said Lambourne, "the name of the noble lord to
whose service you are to prefer me."

"How, knave, art thou too good to call me master?"  said Varney
hastily; "I would have thee bold to others, but not saucy to me."

"I crave your worship's pardon," said Lambourne, "but you seemed
familiar with Anthony Foster; now I am familiar with Anthony
myself."

"Thou art a shrewd knave, I see," replied Varney.  "Mark me--I do
indeed propose to introduce thee into a nobleman's household; but
it is upon my person thou wilt chiefly wait, and upon my
countenance that thou wilt depend.  I am his master of horse.
Thou wilt soon know his name--it is one that shakes the council
and wields the state."

"By this light, a brave spell to conjure with," said Lambourne,
"if a man would discover hidden treasures!"

"Used with discretion, it may prove so," replied Varney; "but
mark--if thou conjure with it at thine own hand, it may raise a
devil who will tear thee in fragments."

"Enough said," replied Lambourne; "I will not exceed my limits."

The travellers then resumed the rapid rate of travelling which
their discourse had interrupted, and soon arrived at the Royal
Park of Woodstock.  This ancient possession of the crown of
England was then very different from what it had been when it was
the residence of the fair Rosamond, and the scene of Henry the
Second's secret and illicit amours; and yet more unlike to the
scene which it exhibits in the present day, when Blenheim House
commemorates the victory of Marlborough, and no less the genius
of Vanbrugh, though decried in his own time by persons of taste
far inferior to his own.  It was, in Elizabeth's time, an ancient
mansion in bad repair, which had long ceased to be honoured with
the royal residence, to the great impoverishment of the adjacent
village.  The inhabitants, however, had made several petitions to
the Queen to have the favour of the sovereign's countenance
occasionally bestowed upon them; and upon this very business,
ostensibly at least, was the noble lord, whom we have already
introduced to our readers, a visitor at Woodstock.

Varney and Lambourne galloped without ceremony into the courtyard
of the ancient and dilapidated mansion, which presented on that
morning a scene of bustle which it had not exhibited for two
reigns.  Officers of the Earl's household, liverymen and
retainers, went and came with all the insolent fracas which
attaches to their profession.  The neigh of horses and the baying
of hounds were heard; for my lord, in his occupation of
inspecting and surveying the manor and demesne, was of course
provided with the means of following his pleasure in the chase or
park, said to have been the earliest that was enclosed in
England, and which was well stocked with deer that had long
roamed there unmolested.  Several of the inhabitants of the
village, in anxious hope of a favourable result from this
unwonted visit, loitered about the courtyard, and awaited the
great man's coming forth.  Their attention was excited by the
hasty arrival of Varney, and a murmur ran amongst them, "The
Earl's master of the horse!"  while they hurried to bespeak
favour by hastily unbonneting, and proffering to hold the bridle
and stirrup of the favoured retainer and his attendant.

"Stand somewhat aloof, my masters!"  said Varney haughtily, "and
let the domestics do their office."

The mortified citizens and peasants fell back at the signal;
while Lambourne, who had his eye upon his superior's deportment,
repelled the services of those who offered to assist him, with
yet more discourtesy--"Stand back, Jack peasant, with a murrain
to you, and let these knave footmen do their duty!"

While they gave their nags to the attendants of the household,
and walked into the mansion with an air of superiority which long
practice and consciousness of birth rendered natural to Varney,
and which Lambourne endeavoured to imitate as well as he could,
the poor inhabitants of Woodstock whispered to each other, "Well-
a-day!  God save us from all such misproud princoxes!  An the
master be like the men, why, the fiend may take all, and yet have
no more than his due."

"Silence, good neighbours!"  said the bailiff, "keep tongue
betwixt teeth; we shall know more by-and-by.  But never will a
lord come to Woodstock so welcome as bluff old King Harry!  He
would horsewhip a fellow one day with his own royal hand, and
then fling him an handful of silver groats, with his own broad
face on them, to 'noint the sore withal."

"Ay, rest be with him!"  echoed the auditors; "it will be long
ere this Lady Elizabeth horsewhip any of us."

"There is no saying," answered the bailiff.  "Meanwhile,
patience, good neighbours, and let us comfort ourselves by
thinking that we deserve such notice at her Grace's hands."

Meanwhile, Varney, closely followed by his new dependant, made
his way to the hall, where men of more note and consequence than
those left in the courtyard awaited the appearance of the Earl,
who as yet kept his chamber.  All paid court to Varney, with more
or less deference, as suited their own rank, or the urgency of
the business which brought them to his lord's levee.  To the
general question of, "When comes my lord forth, Master Varney?"
he gave brief answers, as, "See you not my boots?  I am but just
returned from Oxford, and know nothing of it," and the like,
until the same query was put in a higher tone by a personage of
more importance.  "I will inquire of the chamberlain, Sir Thomas
Copely," was the reply.  The chamberlain, distinguished by his
silver key, answered that the Earl only awaited Master Varney's
return to come down, but that he would first speak with him in
his private chamber.  Varney, therefore, bowed to the company,
and took leave, to enter his lord's apartment.

There was a murmur of expectation which lasted a few minutes, and
was at length hushed by the opening of the folding-doors at the
upper end or the apartment, through which the Earl made his
entrance, marshalled by his chamberlain and the steward of his
family, and followed by Richard Varney.  In his noble mien and
princely features, men read nothing of that insolence which was
practised by his dependants.  His courtesies were, indeed,
measured by the rank of those to whom they were addressed, but
even the meanest person present had a share of his gracious
notice.  The inquiries which he made respecting the condition of
the manor, of the Queen's rights there, and of the advantages and
disadvantages which might attend her occasional residence at the
royal seat of Woodstock, seemed to show that he had most
earnestly investigated the matter of the petition of the
inhabitants, and with a desire to forward the interest of the
place.

"Now the Lord love his noble countenance!"  said the bailiff, who
had thrust himself into the presence-chamber; "he looks somewhat
pale.  I warrant him he hath spent the whole night in perusing
our memorial.  Master Toughyarn, who took six months to draw it
up, said it would take a week to understand it; and see if the
Earl hath not knocked the marrow out of it in twenty-four hours!"

The Earl then acquainted them that he should move their sovereign
to honour Woodstock occasionally with her residence during her
royal progresses, that the town and its vicinity might derive,
from her countenance and favour, the same advantages as from
those of her predecessors.  Meanwhile, he rejoiced to be the
expounder of her gracious pleasure, in assuring them that, for
the increase of trade and encouragement of the worthy burgesses
of Woodstock, her Majesty was minded to erect the town into a
Staple for wool.

This joyful intelligence was received with the acclamations not
only of the better sort who were admitted to the audience-
chamber, but of the commons who awaited without.

The freedom of the corporation was presented to the Earl upon
knee by the magistrates of the place, together with a purse of
gold pieces, which the Earl handed to Varney, who, on his part,
gave a share to Lambourne, as the most acceptable earnest of his
new service.

The Earl and his retinue took horse soon after to return to
court, accompanied by the shouts of the inhabitants of Woodstock,
who made the old oaks ring with re-echoing, "Long live Queen
Elizabeth, and the noble Earl of Leicester!"  The urbanity and
courtesy of the Earl even threw a gleam of popularity over his
attendants, as their haughty deportment had formerly obscured
that of their master; and men shouted, "Long life to the Earl,
and to his gallant followers!"  as Varney and Lambourne, each in
his rank, rode proudly through the streets of Woodstock.



CHAPTER VIII.

  HOST.  I will hear you, Master Fenton; and I will, at the
  least, keep your counsel.--MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.

It becomes necessary to return to the detail of those
circumstances which accompanied, and indeed occasioned, the
sudden disappearance of Tressilian from the sign of the Black
Bear at Cumnor.  It will be recollected that this gentleman,
after his rencounter with Varney, had returned to Giles Gosling's
caravansary, where he shut himself up in his own chamber,
demanded pen, ink, and paper, and announced his purpose to remain
private for the day.  In the evening he appeared again in the
public room, where Michael Lambourne, who had been on the watch
for him, agreeably to his engagement to Varney, endeavoured to
renew his acquaintance with him, and hoped he retained no
unfriendly recollection of the part he had taken in the morning's
scuffle.

But Tressilian repelled his advances firmly, though with
civility.  "Master Lambourne," said he, "I trust I have
recompensed to your pleasure the time you have wasted on me.
Under the show of wild bluntness which you exhibit, I know you
have sense enough to understand me, when I say frankly that the
object of our temporary acquaintance having been accomplished, we
must be strangers to each other in future."

"VOTO!"  said Lambourne, twirling his whiskers with one hand, and
grasping the hilt of his weapon with the other; "if I thought
that this usage was meant to insult me--"

"You would bear it with discretion, doubtless," interrupted
Tressilian, "as you must do at any rate.  You know too well the
distance that is betwixt us, to require me to explain myself
further.  Good evening."

So saying, he turned his back upon his former companion, and
entered into discourse with the landlord.  Michael Lambourne felt
strongly disposed to bully; but his wrath died away in a few
incoherent oaths and ejaculations, and he sank unresistingly
under the ascendency which superior spirits possess over persons
of his habits and description.  He remained moody and silent in a
corner of the apartment, paying the most marked attention to
every motion of his late companion, against whom he began now to
nourish a quarrel on his own account, which he trusted to avenge
by the execution of his new master Varney's directions.  The hour
of supper arrived, and was followed by that of repose, when
Tressilian, like others, retired to his sleeping apartment.

He had not been in bed long, when the train of sad reveries,
which supplied the place of rest in his disturbed mind, was
suddenly interrupted by the jar of a door on its hinges, and a
light was seen to glimmer in the apartment.  Tressilian, who was
as brave as steel, sprang from his bed at this alarm, and had
laid hand upon his sword, when he was prevented from drawing it
by a voice which said, "Be not too rash with your rapier, Master
Tressilian.  It is I, your host, Giles Gosling."

At the same time, unshrouding the dark lantern, which had
hitherto only emitted an indistinct glimmer, the goodly aspect
and figure of the landlord of the Black Bear was visibly
presented to his astonished guest.

"What mummery is this, mine host?"  said Tressilian.  "Have you
supped as jollily as last night, and so mistaken your chamber?
or is midnight a time for masquerading it in your guest's
lodging?"

"Master Tressilian," replied mine host, "I know my place and my
time as well as e'er a merry landlord in England.  But here has
been my hang-dog kinsman watching you as close as ever cat
watched a mouse; and here have you, on the other hand, quarrelled
and fought, either with him or with some other person, and I fear
that danger will come of it."

"Go to, thou art but a fool, man," said Tressilian.  "Thy kinsman
is beneath my resentment; and besides, why shouldst thou think I
had quarrelled with any one whomsoever?"

"Oh, sir," replied the innkeeper, "there was a red spot on thy
very cheek-bone, which boded of a late brawl, as sure as the
conjunction of Mars and Saturn threatens misfortune; and when you
returned, the buckles of your girdle were brought forward, and
your step was quick and hasty, and all things showed your hand
and your hilt had been lately acquainted."

"Well, good mine host, if I have been obliged to draw my sword,"
said Tressilian, "why should such a circumstance fetch thee out
of thy warm bed at this time of night?  Thou seest the mischief
is all over."

"Under favour, that is what I doubt.  Anthony Foster is a
dangerous man, defended by strong court patronage, which hath
borne him out in matters of very deep concernment.  And, then, my
kinsman--why, I have told you what he is; and if these two old
cronies have made up their old acquaintance, I would not, my
worshipful guest, that it should be at thy cost.  I promise you,
Mike Lambourne has been making very particular inquiries at my
hostler when and which way you ride.  Now, I would have you think
whether you may not have done or said something for which you may
be waylaid, and taken at disadvantage."

"Thou art an honest man, mine host," said Tressilian, after a
moment's consideration, "and I will deal frankly with thee.  If
these men's malice is directed against me--as I deny not but it
may--it is because they are the agents of a more powerful villain
than themselves."

"You mean Master Richard Varney, do you not?"  said the landlord;
"he was at Cumnor Place yesterday, and came not thither so
private but what he was espied by one who told me."

"I mean the same, mine host."

"Then, for God's sake, worshipful Master Tressilian," said honest
Gosling, "look well to yourself.  This Varney is the protector
and patron of Anthony Foster, who holds under him, and by his
favour, some lease of yonder mansion and the park.  Varney got a
large grant of the lands of the Abbacy of Abingdon, and Cumnor
Place amongst others, from his master, the Earl of Leicester.
Men say he can do everything with him, though I hold the Earl too
good a nobleman to employ him as some men talk of.  And then the
Earl can do anything (that is, anything right or fitting) with
the Queen, God bless her!  So you see what an enemy you have made
to yourself."

"Well--it is done, and I cannot help it," answered Tressilian.

"Uds precious, but it must be helped in some manner," said the
host.  "Richard Varney--why, what between his influence with my
lord, and his pretending to so many old and vexatious claims in
right of the abbot here, men fear almost to mention his name,
much more to set themselves against his practices.  You may judge
by our discourses the last night. Men said their pleasure of Tony
Foster, but not a word of Richard Varney, though all men judge
him to be at the bottom of yonder mystery about the pretty wench.
But perhaps you know more of that matter than I do; for women,
though they wear not swords, are occasion for many a blade's
exchanging a sheath of neat's leather for one of flesh and
blood."

"I do indeed know more of that poor unfortunate lady than thou
dost, my friendly host; and so bankrupt am I, at this moment, of
friends and advice, that I will willingly make a counsellor of
thee, and tell thee the whole history, the rather that I have a
favour to ask when my tale is ended."

"Good Master Tressilian," said the landlord, "I am but a poor
innkeeper, little able to adjust or counsel such a guest as
yourself.  But as sure as I have risen decently above the world,
by giving good measure and reasonable charges, I am an honest
man; and as such, if I may not be able to assist you, I am, at
least, not capable to abuse your confidence.  Say away therefore,
as confidently as if you spoke to your father; and thus far at
least be certain, that my curiosity--for I will not deny that
which belongs to my calling--is joined to a reasonable degree of
discretion."

"I doubt it not, mine host," answered Tressilian; and while his
auditor remained in anxious expectation, he meditated for an
instant how he should commence his narrative.  "My tale," he at
length said, "to be quite intelligible, must begin at some
distance back.  You have heard of the battle of Stoke, my good
host, and perhaps of old Sir Roger Robsart, who, in that battle,
valiantly took part with Henry VII., the Queen's grandfather, and
routed the Earl of Lincoln, Lord Geraldin and his wild Irish, and
the Flemings whom the Duchess of Burgundy had sent over, in the
quarrel of Lambert Simnel?"

"I remember both one and the other," said Giles Gosling; "it is
sung of a dozen times a week on my ale-bench below.  Sir Roger
Robsart of Devon--oh, ay, 'tis him of whom minstrels sing to this
hour,--

 'He was the flower of Stoke's red field,
  When Martin Swart on ground lay slain;
  In raging rout he never reel'd,
  But like a rock did firm remain.'

[This verse, or something similar, occurs in a long ballad, or
poem, on Flodden Field, reprinted by the late Henry Weber.]

Ay, and then there was Martin Swart I have heard my grandfather
talk of, and of the jolly Almains whom he commanded, with their
slashed doublets and quaint hose, all frounced with ribands above
the nether-stocks.  Here's a song goes of Martin Swart, too, an I
had but memory for it:--

 'Martin Swart and his men,
  Saddle them, saddle them,
  Martin Swart and his men;
  Saddle them well.'"

[This verse of an old song actually occurs in an old play where
the singer boasts,
 "Courteously I can both counter and knack
  Of Martin Swart and all his merry men."]

"True, good mine host--the day was long talked of; but if you
sing so loud, you will awake more listeners than I care to commit
my confidence unto."

"I crave pardon, my worshipful guest," said mine host, "I was
oblivious.  When an old song comes across us merry old knights of
the spigot, it runs away with our discretion."

"Well, mine host, my grandfather, like some other Cornishmen,
kept a warm affection to the House of York, and espoused the
quarrel of this Simnel, assuming the title of Earl of Warwick, as
the county afterwards, in great numbers, countenanced the cause
of Perkin Warbeck, calling himself the Duke of York.  My
grandsire joined Simnel's standard, and was taken fighting
desperately at Stoke, where most of the leaders of that unhappy
army were slain in their harness.  The good knight to whom he
rendered himself, Sir Roger Robsart, protected him from the
immediate vengeance of the king, and dismissed him without
ransom.  But he was unable to guard him from other penalties of
his rashness, being the heavy fines by which he was impoverished,
according to Henry's mode of weakening his enemies.  The good
knight did what he might to mitigate the distresses of my
ancestor; and their friendship became so strict, that my father
was bred up as the sworn brother and intimate of the present Sir
Hugh Robsart, the only son of Sir Roger, and the heir of his
honest, and generous, and hospitable temper, though not equal to
him in martial achievements."

"I have heard of good Sir Hugh Robsart," interrupted the host,
"many a time and oft; his huntsman and sworn servant, Will
Badger, hath spoken of him an hundred times in this very house.
A jovial knight he is, and hath loved hospitality and open
housekeeping more than the present fashion, which lays as much
gold lace on the seams of a doublet as would feed a dozen of tall
fellows with beef and ale for a twelvemonth, and let them have
their evening at the alehouse once a week, to do good to the
publican."

"If you have seen Will Badger, mine host," said Tressilian, "you
have heard enough of Sir Hugh Robsart; and therefore I will but
say, that the hospitality you boast of hath proved somewhat
detrimental to the estate of his family, which is perhaps of the
less consequence, as he has but one daughter to whom to bequeath
it.  And here begins my share in the tale.  Upon my father's
death, now several years since, the good Sir Hugh would willingly
have made me his constant companion.  There was a time, however,
at which I felt the kind knight's excessive love for field-sports
detained me from studies, by which I might have profited more;
but I ceased to regret the leisure which gratitude and hereditary
friendship compelled me to bestow on these rural avocations.  The
exquisite beauty of Mistress Amy Robsart, as she grew up from
childhood to woman, could not escape one whom circumstances
obliged to be so constantly in her company--I loved her, in
short, mine host, and her father saw it."

"And crossed your true loves, no doubt?"  said mine host.  "It is
the way in all such cases; and I judge it must have been so in
your instance, from the heavy sigh you uttered even now."

"The case was different, mine host.  My suit was highly approved
by the generous Sir Hugh Robsart; it was his daughter who was
cold to my passion."

"She was the more dangerous enemy of the two," said the
innkeeper.  "I fear me your suit proved a cold one."

"She yielded me her esteem," said Tressilian, "and seemed not
unwilling that I should hope it might ripen into a warmer
passion.  There was a contract of future marriage executed
betwixt us, upon her father's intercession; but to comply with
her anxious request, the execution was deferred for a
twelvemonth.  During this period, Richard Varney appeared in the
country, and, availing himself of some distant family connection
with Sir Hugh Robsart, spent much of his time in his company,
until, at length, he almost lived in the family."

"That could bode no good to the place he honoured with his
residence," said Gosling.

"No, by the rood!"  replied Tressilian.  "Misunderstanding and
misery followed his presence, yet so strangely that I am at this
moment at a loss to trace the gradations of their encroachment
upon a family which had, till then, been so happy.  For a time
Amy Robsart received the attentions of this man Varney with the
indifference attached to common courtesies; then followed a
period in which she seemed to regard him with dislike, and even
with disgust; and then an extraordinary species of connection
appeared to grow up betwixt them.  Varney dropped those airs of
pretension and gallantry which had marked his former approaches;
and Amy, on the other hand, seemed to renounce the ill-disguised
disgust with which she had regarded them.  They seemed to have
more of privacy and confidence together than I fully liked, and I
suspected that they met in private, where there was less
restraint than in our presence.  Many circumstances, which I
noticed but little at the time--for I deemed her heart as open as
her angelic countenance--have since arisen on my memory, to
convince me of their private understanding.  But I need not
detail them--the fact speaks for itself.  She vanished from her
father's house; Varney disappeared at the same time; and this
very day I have seen her in the character of his paramour, living
in the house of his sordid dependant Foster, and visited by him,
muffled, and by a secret entrance."

"And this, then, is the cause of your quarrel?  Methinks, you
should have been sure that the fair lady either desired or
deserved your interference."

"Mine host," answered Tressilian, "my father--such I must ever
consider Sir Hugh Robsart--sits at home struggling with his
grief, or, if so far recovered, vainly attempting to drown, in
the practice of his field-sports, the recollection that he had
once a daughter--a recollection which ever and anon breaks from
him under circumstances the most pathetic.  I could not brook the
idea that he should live in misery, and Amy in guilt; and I
endeavoured to-seek her out, with the hope of inducing her to
return to her family.  I have found her, and when I have either
succeeded in my attempt, or have found it altogether unavailing,
it is my purpose to embark for the Virginia voyage."

"Be not so rash, good sir," replied Giles Gosling, "and cast not
yourself away because a woman--to be brief--IS a woman, and
changes her lovers like her suit of ribands, with no better
reason than mere fantasy.  And ere we probe this matter further,
let me ask you what circumstances of suspicion directed you so
truly to this lady's residence, or rather to her place of
concealment?"

"The last is the better chosen word, mine host," answered
Tressilian; "and touching your question, the knowledge that
Varney held large grants of the demesnes formerly belonging to
the monks of Abingdon directed me to this neighbourhood; and your
nephew's visit to his old comrade Foster gave me the means of
conviction on the subject."

"And what is now your purpose, worthy sir?--excuse my freedom in
asking the question so broadly."

"I purpose, mine host," said Tressilian, "to renew my visit to
the place of her residence to-morrow, and to seek a more detailed
communication with her than I have had to-day.  She must indeed
be widely changed from what she once was, if my words make no
impression upon her."

"Under your favour, Master Tressilian," said the landlord, "you
can follow no such course.  The lady, if I understand you, has
already rejected your interference in the matter."

"It is but too true," said Tressilian; "I cannot deny it."

"Then, marry, by what right or interest do you process a
compulsory interference with her inclination, disgraceful as it
may be to herself and to her parents?  Unless my judgment gulls
me, those under whose protection she has thrown herself would
have small hesitation to reject your interference, even if it
were that of a father or brother; but as a discarded lover, you
expose yourself to be repelled with the strong hand, as well as
with scorn.  You can apply to no magistrate for aid or
countenance; and you are hunting, therefore, a shadow in water,
and will only (excuse my plainness) come by ducking and danger in
attempting to catch it."

"I will appeal to the Earl of Leicester," said Tressilian,
"against the infamy of his favourite.  He courts the severe and
strict sect of Puritans.  He dare not, for the sake of his own
character, refuse my appeal, even although he were destitute of
the principles of honour and nobleness with which fame invests
him.  Or I will appeal to the Queen herself."

"Should Leicester," said the landlord, "be disposed to protect
his dependant (as indeed he is said to be very confidential with
Varney), the appeal to the Queen may bring them both to reason.
Her Majesty is strict in such matters, and (if it be not treason
to speak it) will rather, it is said, pardon a dozen courtiers
for falling in love with herself, than one for giving preference
to another woman.  Coragio then, my brave guest!  for if thou
layest a petition from Sir Hugh at the foot of the throne,
bucklered by the story of thine own wrongs, the favourite Earl
dared as soon leap into the Thames at the fullest and deepest, as
offer to protect Varney in a cause of this nature.  But to do
this with any chance of success, you must go formally to work;
and, without staying here to tilt with the master of horse to a
privy councillor, and expose yourself to the dagger of his
cameradoes, you should hie you to Devonshire, get a petition
drawn up for Sir Hugh Robsart, and make as many friends as you
can to forward your interest at court."

"You have spoken well, mine host," said Tressilian, "and I will
profit by your advice, and leave you to-morrow early."

"Nay, leave me to-night, sir, before to-morrow comes," said he
landlord.  "I never prayed for a guest's arrival more eagerly
than I do to have you safely gone, My kinsman's destiny is most
like to be hanged for something, but I would not that the cause
were the murder of an honoured guest of mine.  'Better ride safe
in the dark,' says the proverb, 'than in daylight with a cut-
throat at your elbow.' Come, sir, I move you for your own safety.
Your horse and all is ready, and here is your score."

"It is somewhat under a noble," said Tressilian, giving one to
the host; "give the balance to pretty Cicely, your daughter, and
the servants of the house."

"They shall taste of your bounty, sir," said Gosling, "and you
should taste of my daughter's lips in grateful acknowledgment,
but at this hour she cannot grace the porch to greet your
departure."

"Do not trust your daughter too far with your guests, my good
landlord," said Tressilian.

"Oh, sir, we will keep measure; but I wonder not that you are
jealous of them all.--May I crave to know with what aspect the
fair lady at the Place yesterday received you?"

"I own," said Tressilian, "it was angry as well as confused, and
affords me little hope that she is yet awakened from her unhappy
delusion."

"In that case, sir, I see not why you should play the champion of
a wench that will none of you, and incur the resentment of a
favourite's favourite, as dangerous a monster as ever a knight
adventurer encountered in the old story books."

"You do me wrong in the supposition, mine host--gross wrong,"
said Tressilian; "I do not desire that Amy should ever turn
thought upon me more.  Let me but see her restored to her father,
and all I have to do in Europe--perhaps in the world--is over and
ended."

"A wiser resolution were to drink a cup of sack, and forget her,"
said the landlord.  "But five-and-twenty and fifty look on those
matters with different eyes, especially when one cast of peepers
is set in the skull of a young gallant, and the other in that of
an old publican.  I pity you, Master Tressilian, but I see not
how I can aid you in the matter."

"Only thus far, mine host," replied Tressilian--"keep a watch on
the motions of those at the Place, which thou canst easily learn
without suspicion, as all men's news fly to the ale-bench; and be
pleased to communicate the tidings in writing to such person, and
to no other, who shall bring you this ring as a special token.
Look at it; it is of value, and I will freely bestow it on you."

"Nay, sir," said the landlord, "I desire no recompense--but it
seems an unadvised course in me, being in a public line, to
connect myself in a matter of this dark and perilous nature.  I
have no interest in it."

"You, and every father in the land, who would have his daughter
released from the snares of shame, and sin, and misery, have an
interest deeper than aught concerning earth only could create."

"Well, sir," said the host, "these are brave words; and I do pity
from my soul the frank-hearted old gentleman, who has minished
his estate in good housekeeping for the honour of his country,
and now has his daughter, who should be the stay of his age, and
so forth, whisked up by such a kite as this Varney.  And though
your part in the matter is somewhat of the wildest, yet I will
e'en be a madcap for company, and help you in your honest attempt
to get back the good man's child, so far as being your faithful
intelligencer can serve.  And as I shall be true to you, I pray
you to be trusty to me, and keep my secret; for it were bad for
the custom of the Black Bear should it be said the bear-warder
interfered in such matters.  Varney has interest enough with the
justices to dismount my noble emblem from the post on which he
swings so gallantly, to call in my license, and ruin me from
garret to cellar."

"Do not doubt my secrecy, mine host," said Tressilian; "I will
retain, besides, the deepest sense of thy service, and of the
risk thou dost run--remember the ring is my sure token.  And now,
farewell!  for it was thy wise advice that I should tarry here as
short a time as may be."

"Follow me, then, Sir Guest," said the landlord, "and tread as
gently as if eggs were under your foot, instead of deal boards.
No man must know when or how you departed."

By the aid of his dark lantern he conducted Tressilian, as soon
as he had made himself ready for his journey, through a long
intricacy of passages, which opened to an outer court, and from
thence to a remote stable, where he had already placed his
guest's horse.  He then aided him to fasten on the saddle the
small portmantle which contained his necessaries, opened a
postern door, and with a hearty shake of the hand, and a
reiteration of his promise to attend to what went on at Cumnor
Place, he dismissed his guest to his solitary journey.



CHAPTER IX.

  Far in the lane a lonely hut he found,
  No tenant ventured on the unwholesome ground:
  Here smokes his forge, he bares his sinewy arm,
  And early strokes the sounding anvil warm;
  Around his shop the steely sparkles flew,
  As for the steed he shaped the bending shoe.   GAY'S TRIVIA.

As it was deemed proper by the traveller himself, as well as by
Giles Gosling, that Tressilian should avoid being seen in the
neighbourhood of Cumnor by those whom accident might make early
risers, the landlord had given him a route, consisting of various
byways and lanes, which he was to follow in succession, and
which, all the turns and short-cuts duly observed, was to conduct
him to the public road to Marlborough.

But, like counsel of every other kind, this species of direction
is much more easily given than followed; and what betwixt the
intricacy of the way, the darkness of the night, Tressilian's
ignorance of the country, and the sad and perplexing thoughts
with which he had to contend, his journey proceeded so slowly,
that morning found him only in the vale of Whitehorse, memorable
for the defeat of the Danes in former days, with his horse
deprived of a fore-foot shoe, an accident which threatened to put
a stop to his journey by laming the animal.  The residence of a
smith was his first object of inquiry, in which he received
little satisfaction from the dullness or sullenness of one or two
peasants, early bound for their labour, who gave brief and
indifferent answers to his questions on the subject.  Anxious, at
length, that the partner of his journey should suffer as little
as possible from the unfortunate accident, Tressilian dismounted,
and led his horse in the direction of a little hamlet, where he
hoped either to find or hear tidings of such an artificer as he
now wanted.  Through a deep and muddy lane, he at length waded on
to the place, which proved only an assemblage of five or six
miserable huts, about the doors of which one or two persons,
whose appearance seemed as rude as that of their dwellings, were
beginning the toils of the day.  One cottage, however, seemed of
rather superior aspect, and the old dame, who was sweeping her
threshold, appeared something less rude than her neighbours.  To
her Tressilian addressed the oft-repeated question, whether there
was a smith in this neighbourhood, or any place where he could
refresh his horse?  The dame looked him in the face with a
peculiar expression as she replied, "Smith!  ay, truly is there a
smith--what wouldst ha' wi' un, mon?"

"To shoe my horse, good dame," answered Tressiliany:  you may see
that he has thrown a fore-foot shoe."

"Master Holiday!"  exclaimed the dame, without returning any
direct answer--"Master Herasmus Holiday, come and speak to mon,
and please you."

"FAVETE LINGUIS," answered a voice from within;" I cannot now
come forth, Gammer Sludge, being in the very sweetest bit of my
morning studies."

"Nay, but, good now, Master Holiday, come ye out, do ye.  Here's
a mon would to Wayland Smith, and I care not to show him way to
devil; his horse hath cast shoe."

"QUID MIHI CUM CABALLO?"  replied the man of learning from
within; "I think there is but one wise man in the hundred, and
they cannot shoe a horse without him!"

And forth came the honest pedagogue, for such his dress bespoke
him.  A long, lean, shambling, stooping figure was surmounted by
a head thatched with lank, black hair somewhat inclining to grey.
His features had the cast of habitual authority, which I suppose
Dionysius carried with him from the throne to the schoolmaster's
pulpit, and bequeathed as a legacy to all of the same profession,
A black buckram cassock was gathered at his middle with a belt,
at which hung, instead of knife or weapon, a goodly leathern pen-
and-ink case.  His ferula was stuck on the other side, like
Harlequin's wooden sword; and he carried in his hand the tattered
volume which he had been busily perusing.

On seeing a person of Tressilian's appearance, which he was
better able to estimate than the country folks had been, the
schoolmaster unbonneted, and accosted him with, "SALVE, DOMINE.
INTELLIGISNE LINGUAM LATINAM?"

Tressilian mustered his learning to reply, "LINGUAE LATINAE HAUD
PENITUS IGNARUS, VENIA TUA, DOMINE ERUDITISSIME, VERNACULAM
LIBENTIUS LOQUOR."

The Latin reply had upon the schoolmaster the effect which the
mason's sign is said to produce on the brethren of the trowel.
He was at once interested in the learned traveller, listened with
gravity to his story of a tired horse and a lost shoe, and then
replied with solemnity, "It may appear a simple thing, most
worshipful, to reply to you that there dwells, within a brief
mile of these TUGURIA, the best FABER FERARIUS, the most
accomplished blacksmith, that ever nailed iron upon horse.  Now,
were I to say so, I warrant me you would think yourself COMPOS
VOTI, or, as the vulgar have it, a made man."

"I should at least," said Tressilian, "have a direct answer to a
plain question, which seems difficult to be obtained in this
country."

"It is a mere sending of a sinful soul to the evil un," said the
old woman, "the sending a living creature to Wayland Smith."

"Peace, Gammer Sludge!"  said the pedagogue; "PAUCA VERBA, Gammer
Sludge; look to the furmity, Gammer Sludge; CURETUR JENTACULUM,
Gammer Sludge; this gentleman is none of thy gossips."  Then
turning to Tressilian, he resumed his lofty tone, "And so, most
worshipful, you would really think yourself FELIX BIS TERQUE
should I point out to you the dwelling of this same smith?"

"Sir," replied Tressilian, "I should in that case have all that I
want at present--a horse fit to carry me forward;--out of hearing
of your learning."  The last words he muttered to himself.

"O CAECA MENS MORTALIUM!"  said the learned man "well was it sung
by Junius Juvenalis, 'NUMINIBUS VOTA EXAUDITA MALIGNIS!'"

"Learned Magister," said Tressilian, "your erudition so greatly
exceeds my poor intellectual capacity that you must excuse my
seeking elsewhere for information which I can better understand."

"There again now," replied the pedagogue, "how fondly you fly
from him that would instruct you!  Truly said Quintilian--"

"I pray, sir, let Quintilian be for the present, and answer, in a
word and in English, if your learning can condescend so far,
whether there is any place here where I can have opportunity to
refresh my horse until I can have him shod?"

"Thus much courtesy, sir," said the schoolmaster, "I can readily
render you, that although there is in this poor hamlet (NOSTRA
PAUPERA REGNA) no regular HOSPITIUM, as my namesake Erasmus
calleth it, yet, forasmuch as you are somewhat embued, or at
least tinged, as it were, with good letters, I will use my
interest with the good woman of the house to accommodate you with
a platter of furmity--an wholesome food for which I have found no
Latin phrase--your horse shall have a share of the cow-house,
with a bottle of sweet hay, in which the good woman Sludge so
much abounds, that it may be said of her cow, FAENUM HABET IN
CORNU; and if it please you to bestow on me the pleasure of your
company, the banquet shall cost you NE SEMISSEM QUIDEM, so much
is Gammer Sludge bound to me for the pains I have bestowed on the
top and bottom of her hopeful heir Dickie, whom I have painfully
made to travel through the accidence."

"Now, God yield ye for it, Master Herasmus," said the good
Gammer, "and grant that little Dickie may be the better for his
accident!  And for the rest, if the gentleman list to stay,
breakfast shall be on the board in the wringing of a dishclout;
and for horse-meat, and man's meat, I bear no such base mind as
to ask a penny."

Considering the state of his horse, Tressilian, upon the whole,
saw no better course than to accept the invitation thus learnedly
made and hospitably confirmed, and take chance that when the good
pedagogue had exhausted every topic of conversation, he might
possibly condescend to tell him where he could find the smith
they spoke of.  He entered the hut accordingly, and sat down with
the learned Magister Erasmus Holiday, partook of his furmity, and
listened to his learned account of himself for a good half hour,
ere he could get him to talk upon any other topic, The reader
will readily excuse our accompanying this man of learning into
all the details with which he favoured Tressilian, of which the
following sketch may suffice.

He was born at Hogsnorton, where, according to popular saying,
the pigs play upon the organ; a proverb which he interpreted
allegorically, as having reference to the herd of Epicurus, of
which litter Horace confessed himself a porker.  His name of
Erasmus he derived partly from his father having been the son of
a renowned washerwoman, who had held that great scholar in clean
linen all the while he was at Oxford; a task of some difficulty,
as he was only possessed of two shirts, "the one," as she
expressed herself, "to wash the other," The vestiges of one of
these CAMICIAE, as Master Holiday boasted, were still in his
possession, having fortunately been detained by his grandmother
to cover the balance of her bill.  But he thought there was a
still higher and overruling cause for his having had the name of
Erasmus conferred on him--namely, the secret presentiment of his
mother's mind that, in the babe to be christened, was a hidden
genius, which should one day lead him to rival the fame of the
great scholar of Amsterdam.  The schoolmaster's surname led him
as far into dissertation as his Christian appellative.  He was
inclined to think that he bore the name of Holiday QUASI LUCUS A
NON LUCENDO, because he gave such few holidays to his school.
"Hence," said he, "the schoolmaster is termed, classically, LUDI
MAGISTER, because he deprives boys of their play."  And yet, on
the other hand, he thought it might bear a very different
interpretation, and refer to his own exquisite art in arranging
pageants, morris-dances, May-day festivities, and such-like
holiday delights, for which he assured Tressilian he had
positively the purest and the most inventive brain in England;
insomuch, that his cunning in framing such pleasures had made him
known to many honourable persons, both in country and court, and
especially to the noble Earl of Leicester.  "And although he may
now seem to forget me," he said, "in the multitude of state
affairs, yet I am well assured that, had he some pretty pastime
to array for entertainment of the Queen's Grace, horse and man
would be seeking the humble cottage of Erasmus Holiday.  PARVO
CONTENTUS, in the meanwhile, I hear my pupils parse and construe,
worshipful sir, and drive away my time with the aid of the Muses.
And I have at all times, when in correspondence with foreign
scholars, subscribed myself Erasmus ab Die Fausto, and have
enjoyed the distinction due to the learned under that title:
witness the erudite Diedrichus Buckerschockius, who dedicated to
me under that title his treatise on the letter TAU.  In fine,
sir, I have been a happy and distinguished man."

"Long may it be so, sir!"  said the traveller; "but permit me to
ask, in your own learned phrase, QUID HOC AD IPHYCLI BOVES?  what
has all this to do with the shoeing of my poor nag?"

"FESTINA LENTE," said the man of learning, "we will presently
came to that point.  You must know that some two or three years
past there came to these parts one who called himself Doctor
Doboobie, although it may be he never wrote even MAGISTER ARTIUM,
save in right of his hungry belly.  Or it may be, that if he had
any degrees, they were of the devil's giving; for he was what the
vulgar call a white witch, a cunning man, and such like.--Now,
good sir, I perceive you are impatient; but if a man tell not his
tale his own way, how have you warrant to think that he can tell
it in yours?"

"Well, then, learned sir, take your way," answered Tressilian;
"only let us travel at a sharper pace, for my time is somewhat of
the shortest."

"Well, sir," resumed Erasmus Holiday, with the most provoking
perseverance, "I will not say that this same Demetrius for so he
wrote himself when in foreign parts, was an actual conjurer, but
certain it is that he professed to be a brother of the mystical
Order of the Rosy Cross, a disciple of Geber (EX NOMINE CUJUS
VENIT VERBUM VERNACULUM, GIBBERISH).  He cured wounds by salving
the weapon instead of the sore; told fortunes by palmistry;
discovered stolen goods by the sieve and shears; gathered the
right maddow and the male fern seed, through use of which men
walk invisible; pretended some advances towards the panacea, or
universal elixir; and affected to convert good lead into sorry
silver."

"In other words," said Tressilian, "he was a quacksalver and
common cheat; but what has all this to do with my nag, and the
shoe which he has lost?"

"With your worshipful patience," replied the diffusive man of
letters, "you shall understand that presently--PATENTIA then,
right worshipful, which word, according to our Marcus Tullius, is
'DIFFICILIUM RERUM DIURNA PERPESSIO.' This same Demetrius
Doboobie, after dealing with the country, as I have told you,
began to acquire fame INTER MAGNATES, among the prime men of the
land, and there is likelihood he might have aspired to great
matters, had not, according to vulgar fame (for I aver not the
thing as according with my certain knowledge), the devil claimed
his right, one dark night, and flown off with Demetrius, who was
never seen or heard of afterwards.  Now here comes the MEDULLA,
the very marrow, of my tale.  This Doctor Doboobie had a servant,
a poor snake, whom he employed in trimming his furnace,
regulating it by just measure--compounding his drugs--tracing his
circles--cajoling his patients, ET SIC ET CAETERIS.  Well, right
worshipful, the Doctor being removed thus strangely, and in a way
which struck the whole country with terror, this poor Zany thinks
to himself, in the words of Maro, 'UNO AVULSO, NON DEFICIT
ALTER;' and, even as a tradesman's apprentice sets himself up in
his master's shop when he is dead or hath retired from business,
so doth this Wayland assume the dangerous trade of his defunct
master.  But although, most worshipful sir, the world is ever
prone to listen to the pretensions of such unworthy men, who are,
indeed, mere SALTIM BANQUI and CHARLATANI, though usurping the
style and skill of doctors of medicine, yet the pretensions of
this poor Zany, this Wayland, were too gross to pass on them, nor
was there a mere rustic, a villager, who was not ready to accost
him in the sense of Persius, though in their own rugged words,--

  DILIUS HELLEBORUM CERTO COMPESCERE PUNCTO
  NESCIUS EXAMEN?  VETAT HOC NATURA VEDENDI;'

which I have thus rendered in a poor paraphrase of mine own,--

  Wilt thou mix hellebore, who dost not know
  How many grains should to the mixture go?
  The art of medicine this forbids, I trow.

Moreover, the evil reputation of the master, and his strange and
doubtful end, or at least sudden disappearance, prevented any,
excepting the most desperate of men, to seek any advice or
opinion from the servant; wherefore, the poor vermin was likely
at first to swarf for very hunger.  But the devil that serves
him, since the death of Demetrius or Doboobie, put him on a fresh
device.  This knave, whether from the inspiration of the devil,
or from early education, shoes horses better than e'er a man
betwixt us and Iceland; and so he gives up his practice on the
bipeds, the two-legged and unfledged species called mankind, and
betakes him entirely to shoeing of horses."

"Indeed!  and where does he lodge all this time?"  said
Tressilian. "And does he shoe horses well?  Show me his dwelling
presently."

The interruption pleased not the Magister, who exclaimed, "O
CAECA MENS MORTALIUM!--though, by the way, I used that quotation
before.  But I would the classics could afford me any sentiment
of power to stop those who are so willing to rush upon their own
destruction.  Hear but, I pray you, the conditions of this man,"
said he, in continuation, "ere you are so willing to place
yourself within his danger--"

"A' takes no money for a's work," said the dame, who stood by,
enraptured as it were with the line words and learned apophthegms
which glided so fluently from her erudite inmate, Master Holiday.
But this interruption pleased not the Magister more than that of
the traveller.

"Peace," said he, "Gammer Sludge; know your place, if it be your
will.  SUFFLAMINA, Gammer Sludge, and allow me to expound this
matter to our worshipful guest.--Sir," said he, again addressing
Tressilian, "this old woman speaks true, though in her own rude
style; for certainly this FABER FERRARIUS, or blacksmith, takes
money of no one."

"And that is a sure sign he deals with Satan," said Dame Sludge;
"since no good Christian would ever refuse the wages of his
labour."

"The old woman hath touched it again," said the pedagogue; "REM
ACU TETIGIT--she hath pricked it with her needle's point.  This
Wayland takes no money, indeed; nor doth he show himself to any
one."

"And can this madman, for such I hold him," said the traveller,
"know aught like good skill of his trade?"

"Oh, sir, in that let us give the devil his due--Mulciber
himself, with all his Cyclops, could hardly amend him.  But
assuredly there is little wisdom in taking counsel or receiving
aid from one who is but too plainly in league with the author of
evil."

"I must take my chance of that, good Master Holiday," said
Tressilian, rising; "and as my horse must now have eaten his
provender, I must needs thank you for your good cheer, and pray
you to show me this man's residence, that I may have the means of
proceeding on my journey."

"Ay, ay, do ye show him, Master Herasmus," said the old dame, who
was, perhaps, desirous to get her house freed of her guest; "a'
must needs go when the devil drives."

"DO MANUS," said the Magister, "I submit--taking the world to
witness, that I have possessed this honourable gentleman with the
full injustice which he has done and shall do to his own soul, if
he becomes thus a trinketer with Satan.  Neither will I go forth
with our guest myself, but rather send my pupil.--RICARDE!
ADSIS, NEBULO."

"Under your favour, not so," answered the old woman; "you may
peril your own soul, if you list, but my son shall budge on no
such errand.  And I wonder at you, Dominie Doctor, to propose
such a piece of service for little Dickie."

"Nay, my good Gammer Sludge," answered the preceptor, "Ricardus
shall go but to the top of the hill, and indicate with his digit
to the stranger the dwelling of Wayland Smith.  Believe not that
any evil can come to him, he having read this morning, fasting, a
chapter of the Septuagint, and, moreover, having had his lesson
in the Greek Testament."

"Ay," said his mother, "and I have sewn a sprig of witch's elm in
the neck of un's doublet, ever since that foul thief has begun
his practices on man and beast in these parts."

"And as he goes oft (as I hugely suspect) towards this conjurer
for his own pastime, he may for once go thither, or near it, to
pleasure us, and to assist this stranger.--ERGO, HEUS RICARDE!
ADSIS, QUAESO, MI DIDASCULE."

The pupil, thus affectionately invoked, at length came stumbling
into the room; a queer, shambling, ill-made urchin, who, by his
stunted growth, seemed about twelve or thirteen years old, though
he was probably, in reality, a year or two older, with a carroty
pate in huge disorder, a freckled, sunburnt visage, with a snub
nose, a long chin, and two peery grey eyes, which had a droll
obliquity of vision, approaching to a squint, though perhaps not
a decided one.  It was impossible to look at the little man
without some disposition to laugh, especially when Gammer Sludge,
seizing upon and kissing him, in spite of his struggling and
kicking in reply to her caresses, termed him her own precious
pearl of beauty.

"RICARDE," said the preceptor, "you must forthwith (which is
PROFECTO) set forth so far as the top of the hill, and show this
man of worship Wayland Smith's workshop."

"A proper errand of a morning," said the boy, in better language
than Tressilian expected; "and who knows but the devil may fly
away with me before I come back?"

"Ay, marry may un," said Dame Sludge; "and you might have thought
twice, Master Domine, ere you sent my dainty darling on arrow
such errand.  It is not for such doings I feed your belly and
clothe your back, I warrant you!"

"Pshaw--NUGAE, good Gammer Sludge," answered the preceptor; "I
ensure you that Satan, if there be Satan in the case, shall not
touch a thread of his garment; for Dickie can say his PATER with
the best, and may defy the foul fiend--EUMENIDES, STYGIUMQUE
NEFAS."

"Ay, and I, as I said before, have sewed a sprig of the mountain-
ash into his collar," said the good woman, "which will avail more
than your clerkship, I wus; but for all that, it is ill to seek
the devil or his mates either."

"My good boy," said Tressilian, who saw, from a grotesque sneer
on Dickie's face, that he was more likely to act upon his own
bottom than by the instructions of his elders, "I will give thee
a silver groat, my pretty fellow, if you will but guide me to
this man's forge."

The boy gave him a knowing side-look, which seemed to promise
acquiescence, while at the same time he exclaimed, "I be your
guide to Wayland Smith's!  Why, man, did I not say that the devil
might fly off with me, just as the kite there" (looking to the
window) "is flying off with one of grandam's chicks?"

"The kite!  the kite!"  exclaimed the old woman in return, and
forgetting all other matters in her alarm, hastened to the rescue
of her chickens as fast as her old legs could carry her.

"Now for it," said the urchin to Tressilian; "snatch your beaver,
get out your horse, and have at the silver groat you spoke of."

"Nay, but tarry, tarry," said the preceptor--"SUFFLAMINA,
RICARDE!"

"Tarry yourself," said Dickie, "and think what answer you are to
make to granny for sending me post to the devil."

The teacher, aware of the responsibility he was incurring,
bustled up in great haste to lay hold of the urchin and to
prevent his departure; but Dickie slipped through his fingers,
bolted from the cottage, and sped him to the top of a
neighbouring rising ground, while the preceptor, despairing, by
well-taught experience, of recovering his pupil by speed of foot,
had recourse to the most honied epithets the Latin vocabulary
affords to persuade his return.  But to MI ANIME, CORCULUM MEUM,
and all such classical endearments, the truant turned a deaf ear,
and kept frisking on the top of the rising ground like a goblin
by moonlight, making signs to his new acquaintance, Tressilian,
to follow him.

The traveller lost no time in getting out his horse and departing
to join his elvish guide, after half-forcing on the poor,
deserted teacher a recompense for the entertainment he had
received, which partly allayed that terror he had for facing the
return of the old lady of the mansion.  Apparently this took
place soon afterwards; for ere Tressilian and his guide had
proceeded far on their journey, they heard the screams of a
cracked female voice, intermingled with the classical
objurgations of Master Erasmus Holiday.  But Dickie Sludge,
equally deaf to the voice of maternal tenderness and of
magisterial authority, skipped on unconsciously before
Tressilian, only observing that "if they cried themselves hoarse,
they might go lick the honey-pot, for he had eaten up all the
honey-comb himself on yesterday even."



CHAPTER X.

  There entering in, they found the goodman selfe
  Full busylie unto his work ybent,
  Who was to weet a wretched wearish elf,
  With hollow eyes and rawbone cheeks forspent,
  As if he had been long in prison pent.   THE FAERY QUEENE.

"Are we far from the dwelling of this smith, my pretty lad?"
said Tressilian to his young guide.

"How is it you call me?"  said the boy, looking askew at him with
his sharp, grey eyes.

"I call you my pretty lad--is there any offence in that, my boy?"

"No; but were you with my grandam and Dominie Holiday, you might
sing chorus to the old song of

  'We three
  Tom-fools be.'"

"And why so, my little man?"  said Tressilian.

"Because," answered the ugly urchin, "you are the only three ever
called me pretty lad.  Now my grandam does it because she is
parcel blind by age, and whole blind by kindred; and my master,
the poor Dominie, does it to curry favour, and have the fullest
platter of furmity and the warmest seat by the fire.  But what
you call me pretty lad for, you know best yourself."

"Thou art a sharp wag at least, if not a pretty one.  But what do
thy playfellows call thee?"

"Hobgoblin," answered the boy readily; "but for all that, I would
rather have my own ugly viznomy than any of their jolter-heads,
that have no more brains in them than a brick-bat."

"Then you fear not this smith whom you are going to see?"

"Me fear him!"  answered the boy.  "If he were the devil folk
think him, I would not fear him; but though there is something
queer about him, he's no more a devil than you are, and that's
what I would not tell to every one."

"And why do you tell it to me, then, my boy?"  said Tressilian.

"Because you are another guess gentleman than those we see here
every day," replied Dickie; "and though I am as ugly as sin, I
would not have you think me an ass, especially as I may have a
boon to ask of you one day."

"And what is that, my lad, whom I must not call pretty?"  replied
Tressilian.

"Oh, if I were to ask it just now," said the boy, "you would deny
it me; but I will wait till we meet at court."

"At court, Richard!  are you bound for court?"  said Tressilian.

"Ay, ay, that's just like the rest of them," replied the boy.  "I
warrant me, you think, what should such an ill-favoured,
scrambling urchin do at court?  But let Richard Sludge alone; I
have not been cock of the roost here for nothing.  I will make
sharp wit mend foul feature."

"But what will your grandam say, and your tutor, Dominie
Holiday?"

"E'en what they like," replied Dickie; "the one has her chickens
to reckon, and the other has his boys to whip.  I would have
given them the candle to hold long since, and shown this trumpery
hamlet a fair pair of heels, but that Dominie promises I should
go with him to bear share in the next pageant he is to set forth,
and they say there are to be great revels shortly."

"And whereabouts are they to be held, my little friend?"  said
Tressilian.

"Oh, at some castle far in the north," answered his guide--"a
world's breadth from Berkshire.  But our old Dominie holds that
they cannot go forward without him; and it may be he is right,
for he has put in order many a fair pageant.  He is not half the
fool you would take him for, when he gets to work he understands;
and so he can spout verses like a play-actor, when, God wot, if
you set him to steal a goose's egg, he would be drubbed by the
gander."

"And you are to play a part in his next show?"  said Tressilian,
somewhat interested by the boy's boldness of conversation and
shrewd estimate of character.

"In faith," said Richard Sludge, in answer, "he hath so promised
me; and if he break his word, it will be the worse for him, for
let me take the bit between my teeth, and turn my head downhill,
and I will shake him off with a fall that may harm his bones.
And I should not like much to hurt him neither," said he, "for
the tiresome old fool has painfully laboured to teach me all he
could.  But enough of that--here are we at Wayland Smith's forge-
door."

"You jest, my little friend," said Tressilian; "here is nothing
but a bare moor, and that ring of stones, with a great one in the
midst, like a Cornish barrow."

"Ay, and that great flat stone in the midst, which lies across
the top of these uprights," said the boy, "is Wayland Smith's
counter, that you must tell down your money upon."

"What do you mean by such folly?"  said the traveller, beginning
to be angry with the boy, and vexed with himself for having
trusted such a hare-brained guide.

"Why," said Dickie, with a grin, "you must tie your horse to that
upright stone that has the ring in't, and then you must whistle
three times, and lay me down your silver groat on that other flat
stone, walk out of the circle, sit down on the west side of that
little thicket of bushes, and take heed you look neither to right
nor to left for ten minutes, or so long as you shall hear the
hammer clink, and whenever it ceases, say your prayers for the
space you could tell a hundred--or count over a hundred, which
will do as well--and then come into the circle; you will find
your money gone and your horse shod."

"My money gone to a certainty!"  said Tressilian; "but as for the
rest--Hark ye, my lad, I am not your school-master, but if you
play off your waggery on me, I will take a part of his task off
his hands, and punish you to purpose."

"Ay, when you catch me!"  said the boy; and presently took to his
heels across the heath, with a velocity which baffled every
attempt of Tressilian to overtake him, loaded as he was with his
heavy boots.  Nor was it the least provoking part of the urchin's
conduct, that he did not exert his utmost speed, like one who
finds himself in danger, or who is frightened, but preserved just
such a rate as to encourage Tressilian to continue the chase, and
then darted away from him with the swiftness of the wind, when
his pursuer supposed he had nearly run him down, doubling at the
same time, and winding, so as always to keep near the place from
which he started.

This lasted until Tressilian, from very weariness, stood still,
and was about to abandon the pursuit with a hearty curse on the
ill-favoured urchin, who had engaged him in an exercise so
ridiculous.  But the boy, who had, as formerly, planted himself
on the top of a hillock close in front, began to clap his long,
thin hands, point with his skinny fingers, and twist his wild and
ugly features into such an extravagant expression of laughter and
derision, that Tressilian began half to doubt whether he had not
in view an actual hobgoblin.

Provoked extremely, yet at the same time feeling an irresistible
desire to laugh, so very odd were the boy's grimaces and
gesticulations, the Cornishman returned to his horse, and mounted
him with the purpose of pursuing Dickie at more advantage.

The boy no sooner saw him mount his horse, than he holloed out to
him that, rather than he should spoil his white-footed nag, he
would come to him, on condition he would keep his fingers to
himself.

"I will make no conditions with thee, thou ugly varlet!"  said
Tressilian; "I will have thee at my mercy in a moment."

"Aha, Master Traveller," said the boy, "there is a marsh hard by
would swallow all the horses of the Queen's guard.  I will into
it, and see where you will go then.  You shall hear the bittern
bump, and the wild-drake quack, ere you get hold of me without my
consent, I promise you."

Tressilian looked out, and, from the appearance of the ground
behind the hillock, believed it might be as the boy said, and
accordingly determined to strike up a peace with so light-footed
and ready-witted an enemy.  "Come down," he said, "thou
mischievous brat!  Leave thy mopping and mowing, and, come
hither.

I will do thee no harm, as I am a gentleman."

The boy answered his invitation with the utmost confidence, and
danced down from his stance with a galliard sort of step, keeping
his eye at the same time fixed on Tressilian's, who, once more
dismounted, stood with his horse's bridle in his hand,
breathless, and half exhausted with his fruitless exercise,
though not one drop of moisture appeared on the freckled forehead
of the urchin, which looked like a piece of dry and discoloured
parchment, drawn tight across the brow of a fleshless skull.

"And tell me," said Tressilian, "why you use me thus, thou
mischievous imp?  or what your meaning is by telling me so absurd
a legend as you wished but now to put on me?  Or rather show me,
in good earnest, this smith's forge, and I will give thee what
will buy thee apples through the whole winter."

"Were you to give me an orchard of apples," said Dickie Sludge,
"I can guide thee no better than I have done.  Lay down the
silver token on the flat stone--whistle three times--then come
sit down on the western side of the thicket of gorse.  I will sit
by you, and give you free leave to wring my head off, unless you
hear the smith at work within two minutes after we are seated."

"I may be tempted to take thee at thy word," said Tressilian, "if
you make me do aught half so ridiculous for your own mischievous
sport; however, I will prove your spell.  Here, then, I tie my
horse to this upright stone.  I must lay my silver groat here,
and whistle three times, sayest thou?"

"Ay, but thou must whistle louder than an unfledged ousel," said
the boy, as Tressilian, having laid down his money, and half
ashamed of the folly he practised, made a careless whistle--"you
must whistle louder than that, for who knows where the smith is
that you call for?  He may be in the King of France's stables for
what I know."

"Why, you said but now he was no devil," replied Tressilian.

"Man or devil," said Dickie, "I see that I must summon him for
you;" and therewithal he whistled sharp and shrill, with an
acuteness of sound that almost thrilled through Tressilian's
brain.  "That is what I call whistling," said he, after he had
repeated the signal thrice; "and now to cover, to cover, or
Whitefoot will not be shod this day."

Tressilian, musing what the upshot of this mummery was to be, yet
satisfied there was to be some serious result, by the confidence
with which the boy had put himself in his power, suffered himself
to be conducted to that side of the little thicket of gorse and
brushwood which was farthest from the circle of stones, and there
sat down; and as it occurred to him that, after all, this might
be a trick for stealing his horse, he kept his hand on the boy's
collar, determined to make him hostage for its safety.

"Now, hush and listen," said Dickie, in a low whisper; "you will
soon hear the tack of a hammer that was never forged of earthly
iron, for the stone it was made of was shot from the moon."  And
in effect Tressilian did immediately hear the light stroke of a
hammer, as when a farrier is at work.  The singularity of such a
sound, in so very lonely a place, made him involuntarily start;
but looking at the boy, and discovering, by the arch malicious
expression of his countenance, that the urchin saw and enjoyed
his slight tremor, he became convinced that the whole was a
concerted stratagem, and determined to know by whom, or for what
purpose, the trick was played off.

Accordingly, he remained perfectly quiet all the time that the
hammer continued to sound, being about the space usually employed
in fixing a horse-shoe.  But the instant the sound ceased,
Tressilian, instead of interposing the space of time which his
guide had required, started up with his sword in his hand, ran
round the thicket, and confronted a man in a farrier's leathern
apron, but otherwise fantastically attired in a bear-skin dressed
with the fur on, and a cap of the same, which almost hid the
sooty and begrimed features of the wearer.  "Come back, come
back!"  cried the boy to Tressilian, "or you will be torn to
pieces; no man lives that looks on him."  In fact, the invisible
smith (now fully visible) heaved up his hammer, and showed
symptoms of doing battle.

But when the boy observed that neither his own entreaties nor the
menaces of the farrier appeared to change Tressilian's purpose,
but that, on the contrary, he confronted the hammer with his
drawn sword, he exclaimed to the smith in turn, "Wayland, touch
him not, or you will come by the worse!--the gentleman is a true
gentleman, and a bold."

"So thou hast betrayed me, Flibbertigibbet?"  said the smith; "it
shall be the worse for thee!"

"Be who thou wilt," said Tressilian, "thou art in no danger from
me, so thou tell me the meaning of this practice, and why thou
drivest thy trade in this mysterious fashion."

The smith, however, turning to Tressilian, exclaimed, in a
threatening tone, "Who questions the Keeper of the Crystal Castle
of Light, the Lord of the Green Lion, the Rider of the Red
Dragon?  Hence!--avoid thee, ere I summon Talpack with his fiery
lance, to quell, crush, and consume!"  These words he uttered
with violent gesticulation, mouthing, and flourishing his hammer.

"Peace, thou vile cozener, with thy gipsy cant!"  replied
Tressilian scornfully, "and follow me to the next magistrate, or
I will cut thee over the pate."

"Peace, I pray thee, good Wayland!"  said the boy.  "Credit me,
the swaggering vein will not pass here; you must cut boon whids."
["Give good words."--SLANG DIALECT.]

"I think, worshipful sir," said the smith, sinking his hammer,
and assuming a more gentle and submissive tone of voice, "that
when so poor a man does his day's job, he might be permitted to
work it out after his own fashion.  Your horse is shod, and your
farrier paid--what need you cumber yourself further than to mount
and pursue your journey?"

"Nay, friend, you are mistaken," replied Tressilian; "every man
has a right to take the mask from the face of a cheat and a
juggler; and your mode of living raises suspicion that you are
both."

"If you are so determined; sir," said the smith, "I cannot help
myself save by force, which I were unwilling to use towards you,
Master Tressilian; not that I fear your weapon, but because I
know you to be a worthy, kind, and well-accomplished gentleman,
who would rather help than harm a poor man that is in a strait."

"Well said, Wayland," said the boy, who had anxiously awaited the
issue of their conference.  "But let us to thy den, man, for it
is ill for thy health to stand here talking in the open air."

"Thou art right, Hobgoblin," replied the smith; and going to the
little thicket of gorse on the side nearest to the circle, and
opposite to that at which his customer had so lately crouched, he
discovered a trap-door curiously covered with bushes, raised it,
and, descending into the earth, vanished from their eyes.
Notwithstanding Tressilian's curiosity, he had some hesitation at
following the fellow into what might be a den of robbers,
especially when he heard the smith's voice, issuing from the
bowels of the earth, call out, "Flibertigibbet, do you come last,
and be sure to fasten the trap!"

"Have you seen enough of Wayland Smith now?"  whispered the
urchin to Tressilian, with an arch sneer, as if marking his
companion's uncertainty.

"Not yet," said Tressilian firmly; and shaking off his momentary
irresolution, he descended into the narrow staircase, to which
the entrance led, and was followed by Dickie Sludge, who made
fast the trap-door behind him, and thus excluded every glimmer of
daylight.  The descent, however, was only a few steps, and led to
a level passage of a few yards' length, at the end of which
appeared the reflection of a lurid and red light.  Arrived at
this point, with his drawn sword in his hand, Tressilian found
that a turn to the left admitted him and Hobgoblin, who followed
closely, into a small, square vault, containing a smith's forge,
glowing with charcoal, the vapour of which filled the apartment
with an oppressive smell, which would have been altogether
suffocating, but that by some concealed vent the smithy
communicated with the upper air.  The light afforded by the red
fuel, and by a lamp suspended in an iron chain, served to show
that, besides an anvil, bellows, tongs, hammers, a quantity of
ready-made horse-shoes, and other articles proper to the
profession of a farrier, there were also stoves, alembics,
crucibles, retorts, and other instruments of alchemy.  The
grotesque figure of the smith, and the ugly but whimsical
features of the boy, seen by the gloomy and imperfect light of
the charcoal fire and the dying lamp, accorded very well with all
this mystical apparatus, and in that age of superstition would
have made some impression on the courage of most men.

But nature had endowed Tressilian with firm nerves, and his
education, originally good, had been too sedulously improved by
subsequent study to give way to any imaginary terrors; and after
giving a glance around him, he again demanded of the artist who
he was, and by what accident he came to know and address him by
his name.

"Your worship cannot but remember," said the smith, "that about
three years since, upon Saint Lucy's Eve, there came a travelling
juggler to a certain hall in Devonshire, and exhibited his skill
before a worshipful knight and a fair company.--I see from your
worship's countenance, dark as this place is, that my memory has
not done me wrong."

"Thou hast said enough," said Tressilian, turning away, as
wishing to hide from the speaker the painful train of
recollections which his discourse had unconsciously awakened.

"The juggler," said the smith, "played his part so bravely that
the clowns and clown-like squires in the company held his art to
be little less than magical; but there was one maiden of fifteen,
or thereby, with the fairest face I ever looked upon, whose rosy
cheek grew pale, and her bright eyes dim, at the sight of the
wonders exhibited."

"Peace, I command thee, peace!"  said Tressilian.

"I mean your worship no offence," said the fellow; "but I have
cause to remember how, to relieve the young maiden's fears, you
condescended to point out the mode in which these deceptions were
practised, and to baffle the poor juggler by laying bare the
mysteries of his art, as ably as if you had been a brother of his
order.--She was indeed so fair a maiden that, to win a smile of
her, a man might well--"

"Not a word more of her, I charge thee!"  said Tressilian.  "I do
well remember the night you speak of--one of the few happy
evenings my life has known."

"She is gone, then," said the smith, interpreting after his own
fashion the sigh with which Tressilian uttered these words--"she
is gone, young, beautiful, and beloved as she was!--I crave your
worship's pardon--I should have hammered on another theme.  I see
I have unwarily driven the nail to the quick."

This speech was made with a mixture of rude feeling which
inclined Tressilian favourably to the poor artisan, of whom
before he was inclined to judge very harshly.  But nothing can so
soon attract the unfortunate as real or seeming sympathy with
their sorrows.

"I think," proceeded Tressilian, after a minute's silence, "thou
wert in those days a jovial fellow, who could keep a company
merry by song, and tale, and rebeck, as well as by thy juggling
tricks--why do I find thee a laborious handicraftsman, plying thy
trade in so melancholy a dwelling and under such extraordinary
circumstances?"

"My story is not long," said the artist, "but your honour had
better sit while you listen to it."  So saying, he approached to
the fire a three-footed stool, and took another himself; while
Dickie Sludge, or Flibbertigibbet, as he called the boy, drew a
cricket to the smith's feet, and looked up in his face with
features which, as illuminated by the glow of the forge, seemed
convulsed with intense curiosity.  "Thou too," said the smith to
him, "shalt learn, as thou well deservest at my hand, the brief
history of my life; and, in troth, it were as well tell it thee
as leave thee to ferret it out, since Nature never packed a
shrewder wit into a more ungainly casket.--Well, sir, if my poor
story may pleasure you, it is at your command, But will you not
taste a stoup of liquor?  I promise you that even in this poor
cell I have some in store."

"Speak not of it," said Tressilian, "but go on with thy story,
for my leisure is brief."

"You shall have no cause to rue the delay," said the smith, "for
your horse shall be better fed in the meantime than he hath been
this morning, and made fitter for travel."

With that the artist left the vault, and returned after a few
minutes' interval.  Here, also, we pause, that the narrative may
commence in another chapter.



CHAPTER XI.

  I say, my lord, can such a subtilty
  (But all his craft ye must not wot of me,
  And somewhat help I yet to his working),
  That all the ground on which we ben riding,
  Till that we come to Canterbury town,
  He can all clean turnen so up so down,
  And pave it all of silver and of gold.
       THE CANON'S YEOMAN'S PROLOGUE, CANTERBURY TALES.

THE artist commenced his narrative in the following terms:--

"I was bred a blacksmith, and knew my art as well as e'er a
black-thumbed, leathern-aproned, swart-faced knave of that noble
mystery.  But I tired of ringing hammer-tunes on iron stithies,
and went out into the world, where I became acquainted with a
celebrated juggler, whose fingers had become rather too stiff for
legerdemain, and who wished to have the aid of an apprentice in
his noble mystery.  I served him for six years, until I was
master of my trade--I refer myself to your worship, whose
judgment cannot be disputed, whether I did not learn to ply the
craft indifferently well?"

"Excellently," said Tressilian; "but be brief."

"It was not long after I had performed at Sir Hugh Robsart's, in
your worship's presence," said the artist, "that I took myself to
the stage, and have swaggered with the bravest of them all, both
at the Black Bull, the Globe, the Fortune, and elsewhere; but I
know not how--apples were so plenty that year that the lads in
the twopenny gallery never took more than one bite out of them,
and threw the rest of the pippin at whatever actor chanced to be
on the stage.  So I tired of it--renounced my half share in the
company, gave my foil to my comrade, my buskins to the wardrobe,
and showed the theatre a clean pair of heels."

"Well, friend, and what," said Tressilian, "was your next shift?"

"I became," said the smith, "half partner, half domestic to a man
of much skill and little substance, who practised the trade of a
physicianer."

"In other words," said Tressilian, "you were Jack Pudding to a
quacksalver."

"Something beyond that, let me hope, my good Master Tressilian,"
replied the artist; "and yet to say truth, our practice was of an
adventurous description, and the pharmacy which I had acquired in
my first studies for the benefit of horses was frequently applied
to our human patients.  But the seeds of all maladies are the
same; and if turpentine, tar, pitch, and beef-suet, mingled with
turmerick, gum-mastick, and one bead of garlick, can cure the
horse that hath been grieved with a nail, I see not but what it
may benefit the man that hath been pricked with a sword.  But my
master's practice, as well as his skill, went far beyond mine,
and dealt in more dangerous concerns.  He was not only a bold,
adventurous practitioner in physic, but also, if your pleasure so
chanced to be, an adept who read the stars, and expounded the
fortunes of mankind, genethliacally, as he called it, or
otherwise.  He was a learned distiller of simples, and a profound
chemist--made several efforts to fix mercury, and judged himself
to have made a fair hit at the philosopher's stone.  I have yet a
programme of his on that subject, which, if your honour
understandeth, I believe you have the better, not only of all who
read, but also of him who wrote it."

He gave Tressilian a scroll of parchment, bearing at top and
bottom, and down the margin, the signs of the seven planets,
curiously intermingled with talismanical characters and scraps of
Greek and Hebrew.  In the midst were some Latin verses from a
cabalistical author, written out so fairly, that even the gloom
of the place did not prevent Tressilian from reading them.  The
tenor of the original ran as follows:-

  "Si fixum solvas, faciasque volare solutum,
  Et volucrem figas, facient te vivere tutum;
  Si pariat ventum, valet auri pondere centum;
  Ventus ubi vult spirat--Capiat qui capere potest."

"I protest to you," said Tressilian, "all I understand of this
jargon is that the last words seem to mean 'Catch who catch
can.'"

"That," said the smith, "is the very principle that my worthy
friend and master, Doctor Doboobie, always acted upon; until,
being besotted with his own imaginations, and conceited of his
high chemical skill, he began to spend, in cheating himself, the
money which he had acquired in cheating others, and either
discovered or built for himself, I could never know which, this
secret elaboratory, in which he used to seclude himself both from
patients and disciples, who doubtless thought his long and
mysterious absences from his ordinary residence in the town of
Farringdon were occasioned by his progress in the mystic
sciences, and his intercourse with the invisible world.  Me also
he tried to deceive; but though I contradicted him not, he saw
that I knew too much of his secrets to be any longer a safe
companion.  Meanwhile, his name waxed famous--or rather infamous,
and many of those who resorted to him did so under persuasion
that he was a sorcerer.  And yet his supposed advance in the
occult sciences drew to him the secret resort of men too powerful
to be named, for purposes too dangerous to be mentioned.  Men
cursed and threatened him, and bestowed on me, the innocent
assistant of his studies, the nickname of the Devil's foot-post,
which procured me a volley of stones as soon as ever I ventured
to show my face in the street of the village.  At length my
master suddenly disappeared, pretending to me that he was about
to visit his elaboratory in this place, and forbidding me to
disturb him till two days were past.  When this period had
elapsed, I became anxious, and resorted to this vault, where I
found the fires extinguished and the utensils in confusion, with
a note from the learned Doboobius, as he was wont to style
himself, acquainting me that we should never meet again,
bequeathing me his chemical apparatus, and the parchment which I
have just put into your hands, advising me strongly to prosecute
the secret which it contained, which would infallibly lead me to
the discovery of the grand magisterium."

"And didst thou follow this sage advice?"  said Tressilian.

"Worshipful sir, no," replied the smith; "for, being by nature
cautious, and suspicious from knowing with whom I had to do, I
made so many perquisitions before I ventured even to light a
fire, that I at length discovered a small barrel of gunpowder,
carefully hid beneath the furnace, with the purpose, no doubt,
that as soon as I should commence the grand work of the
transmutation of metals, the explosion should transmute the vault
and all in it into a heap of ruins, which might serve at once for
my slaughter-house and my grave.  This cured me of alchemy, and
fain would I have returned to the honest hammer and anvil; but
who would bring a horse to be shod by the Devil's post?
Meantime, I had won the regard of my honest Flibbertigibbet here,
he being then at Farringdon with his master, the sage Erasmus
Holiday, by teaching him a few secrets, such as please youth at
his age; and after much counsel together, we agreed that, since I
could get no practice in the ordinary way, I should try how I
could work out business among these ignorant boors, by practising
upon their silly fears; and, thanks to Flibbertigibbet, who hath
spread my renown, I have not wanted custom.  But it is won at too
great risk, and I fear I shall be at length taken up for a
wizard; so that I seek but an opportunity to leave this vault,
when I can have the protection of some worshipful person against
the fury of the populace, in case they chance to recognize me."

"And art thou," said Tressilian, "perfectly acquainted with the
roads in this country?"

"I could ride them every inch by midnight," answered Wayland
Smith, which was the name this adept had assumed.

"Thou hast no horse to ride upon," said Tressilian.

"Pardon me," replied Wayland; "I have as good a tit as ever
yeoman bestrode; and I forgot to say it was the best part of the
mediciner's legacy to me, excepting one or two of the choicest of
his medical secrets, which I picked up without his knowledge and
against his will."

"Get thyself washed and shaved, then," said Tressilian; "reform
thy dress as well as thou canst, and fling away these grotesque
trappings; and, so thou wilt be secret and faithful, thou shalt
follow me for a short time, till thy pranks here are forgotten.
Thou hast, I think, both address and courage, and I have matter
to do that may require both."

Wayland Smith eagerly embraced the proposal, and protested his
devotion to his new master.  In a very few minutes he had made so
great an alteration in his original appearance, by change of
dress, trimming his beard and hair, and so forth, that Tressilian
could not help remarking that he thought he would stand in little
need of a protector, since none of his old acquaintance were
likely to recognize him.

"My debtors would not pay me money," said Wayland, shaking his
head; "but my creditors of every kind would be less easily
blinded.  And, in truth, I hold myself not safe, unless under the
protection of a gentleman of birth and character, as is your
worship."

So saying, he led the way out of the cavern.  He then called
loudly for Hobgoblin, who, after lingering for an instant,
appeared with the horse furniture, when Wayland closed and
sedulously covered up the trap-door, observing it might again
serve him at his need, besides that the tools were worth
somewhat.  A whistle from the owner brought to his side a nag
that fed quietly on the common, and was accustomed to the signal.

While he accoutred him for the journey, Tressilian drew his own
girths tighter, and in a few minutes both were ready to mount.

At this moment Sludge approached to bid them farewell.

"You are going to leave me, then, my old playfellow," said the
boy; "and there is an end of all our game at bo-peep with the
cowardly lubbards whom I brought hither to have their broad-
footed nags shed by the devil and his imps?"

"It is even so," said Wayland Smith, "the best friends must part,
Flibbertigibbet; but thou, my boy, art the only thing in the Vale
of Whitehorse which I shall regret to leave behind me."

"Well, I bid thee not farewell," said Dickie Sludge, "for you
will be at these revels, I judge, and so shall I; for if Dominie
Holiday take me not thither, by the light of day, which we see
not in yonder dark hole, I will take myself there!"

"In good time," said Wayland; "but I pray you to do nought
rashly."

"Nay, now you would make a child, a common child of me, and tell
me of the risk of walking without leading-strings.  But before
you are a mile from these stones, you shall know by a sure token
that I have more of the hobgoblin about me than you credit; and I
will so manage that, if you take advantage, you may profit by my
prank."

"What dost thou mean, boy?"  said Tressilian; but Flibbertigibbet
only answered with a grin and a caper, and bidding both of them
farewell, and, at the same time, exhorting them to make the best
of their way from the place, he set them the example by running
homeward with the same uncommon velocity with which he had
baffled Tressilian's former attempts to get hold of him.

"It is in vain to chase him," said Wayland Smith; "for unless
your worship is expert in lark-hunting, we should never catch
hold of him--and besides, what would it avail?  Better make the
best of our way hence, as he advises."

They mounted their horses accordingly, and began to proceed at a
round pace, as soon as Tressilian had explained to his guide the
direction in which he desired to travel.

After they had trotted nearly a mile, Tressilian could not help
observing to his companion that his horse felt more lively under
him than even when he mounted in the morning.

"Are you avised of that?"  said Wayland Smith, smiling.  "That is
owing to a little secret of mine.  I mixed that with an handful
of oats which shall save your worship's heels the trouble of
spurring these six hours at least.  Nay, I have not studied
medicine and pharmacy for nought."

"I trust," said Tressilian, "your drugs will do my horse no
harm?"

"No more than the mare's milk; which foaled him," answered the
artist, and was proceeding to dilate on the excellence of his
recipe when he was interrupted by an explosion as loud and
tremendous as the mine which blows up the rampart of a
beleaguered city.  The horses started, and the riders were
equally surprised.  They turned to gaze in the direction from
which the thunder-clap was heard, and beheld, just over the spot
they had left so recently, a huge pillar of dark smoke rising
high into the clear, blue atmosphere.  "My habitation is gone to
wreck," said Wayland, immediately conjecturing the cause of the
explosion.  "I was a fool to mention the doctor's kind intentions
towards my mansion before that limb of mischief, Flibbertigibbet;
I might have guessed he would long to put so rare a frolic into
execution.  But let us hasten on, for the sound will collect the
country to the spot."

So saying, he spurred his horse, and Tressilian also quickening
his speed, they rode briskly forward.

"This, then, was the meaning of the little imp's token which he
promised us?"  said Tressilian.  "Had we lingered near the spot,
we had found it a love-token with a vengeance."

"He would have given us warning," said the smith.  "I saw him
look back more than once to see if we were off--'tis a very
devil for mischief, yet not an ill-natured devil either.  It were
long to tell your honour how I became first acquainted with him,
and how many tricks he played me.  Many a good turn he did me
too, especially in bringing me customers; for his great delight
was to see them sit shivering behind the bushes when they heard
the click of my hammer.  I think Dame Nature, when she lodged a
double quantity of brains in that misshapen head of his, gave him
the power of enjoying other people's distresses, as she gave them
the pleasure of laughing at his ugliness."

"It may be so," said Tressilian; "those who find themselves
severed from society by peculiarities of form, if they do not
hate the common bulk of mankind, are at least not altogether
indisposed to enjoy their mishaps and calamities."

"But Flibbertigibbet," answered Wayland, "hath that about him
which may redeem his turn for mischievous frolic; for he is as
faithful when attached as he is tricky and malignant to
strangers, and, as I said before, I have cause to say so."

Tressilian pursued the conversation no further, and they
continued their journey towards Devonshire without further
adventure, until they alighted at an inn in the town of
Marlborough, since celebrated for having given title to the
greatest general (excepting one) whom Britain ever produced.
Here the travellers received, in the same breath, an example of
the truth of two old proverbs--namely, that ILL NEWS FLY FAST,
and that LISTENERS SELDOM HEAR A GOOD TALE OF THEMSELVES.

The inn-yard was in a sort of combustion when they alighted;
insomuch, that they could scarce get man or boy to take care of
their horses, so full were the whole household of some news which
flew from tongue to tongue, the import of which they were for
some time unable to discover.  At length, indeed, they found it
respected matters which touched them nearly.

"What is the matter, say you, master?"  answered, at length, the
head hostler, in reply to Tressilian's repeated questions.--"Why,
truly, I scarce know myself.  But here was a rider but now, who
says that the devil hath flown away with him they called Wayland
Smith, that won'd about three miles from the Whitehorse of
Berkshire, this very blessed morning, in a flash of fire and a
pillar of smoke, and rooted up the place he dwelt in, near that
old cockpit of upright stones, as cleanly as if it had all been
delved up for a cropping."

"Why, then," said an old farmer, "the more is the pity; for that
Wayland Smith (whether he was the devil's crony or no I skill
not) had a good notion of horses' diseases, and it's to be
thought the bots will spread in the country far and near, an
Satan has not gien un time to leave his secret behind un."

"You may say that, Gaffer Grimesby," said the hostler in return;
"I have carried a horse to Wayland Smith myself, for he passed
all farriers in this country."

"Did you see him?"  said Dame Alison Crane, mistress of the inn
bearing that sign, and deigning to term HUSBAND the owner
thereof, a mean-looking hop-o'-my-thumb sort or person, whose
halting gait, and long neck, and meddling, henpecked
insignificance are supposed to have given origin to the
celebrated old English tune of "My name hath a lame tame Crane."

On this occasion he chirped out a repetition of his wife's
question, "Didst see the devil, Jack Hostler, I say?"

"And what if I did see un, Master Crane?"  replied Jack Hostler,
for, like all the rest of the household, he paid as little
respect to his master as his mistress herself did.

"Nay, nought, Jack Hostler," replied the pacific Master Crane;
"only if you saw the devil, methinks I would like to know what
un's like?"

"You will know that one day, Master Crane," said his helpmate,
"an ye mend not your manners, and mind your business, leaving off
such idle palabras.--But truly, Jack Hostler, I should be glad to
know myself what like the fellow was."

"Why, dame," said the hostler, more respectfully, "as for what he
was like I cannot tell, nor no man else, for why I never saw un."

"And how didst thou get thine errand done," said Gaffer Grimesby,
"if thou seedst him not?"

"Why, I had schoolmaster to write down ailment o' nag," said Jack
Hostler; "and I went wi' the ugliest slip of a boy for my guide
as ever man cut out o' lime-tree root to please a child withal."

"And what was it?--and did it cure your nag, Jack Hostler?"  was
uttered and echoed by all who stood around.

"Why, how can I tell you what it was?"  said the hostler; "simply
it smelled and tasted--for I did make bold to put a pea's
substance into my mouth--like hartshorn and savin mixed with
vinegar; but then no hartshorn and savin ever wrought so speedy a
cure.  And I am dreading that if Wayland Smith be gone, the bots
will have more power over horse and cattle."

The pride of art, which is certainly not inferior in its
influence to any other pride whatever, here so far operated on
Wayland Smith, that, notwithstanding the obvious danger of his
being recognized, he could not help winking to Tressilian, and
smiling mysteriously, as if triumphing in the undoubted evidence
of his veterinary skill.  In the meanwhile, the discourse
continued.

"E'en let it be so," said a grave man in black, the companion of
Gaffer Grimesby; "e'en let us perish under the evil God sends us,
rather than the devil be our doctor."

"Very true," said Dame Crane; "and I marvel at Jack Hostler that
he would peril his own soul to cure the bowels of a nag."

"Very true, mistress," said Jack Hostler, "but the nag was my
master's; and had it been yours, I think ye would ha' held me
cheap enow an I had feared the devil when the poor beast was in
such a taking.  For the rest, let the clergy look to it.  Every
man to his craft, says the proverb--the parson to the prayer-
book, and the groom to his curry-comb.

"I vow," said Dame Crane, "I think Jack Hostler speaks like a
good Christian and a faithful servant, who will spare neither
body nor soul in his master's service.  However, the devil has
lifted him in time, for a Constable of the Hundred came hither
this morning to get old Gaffer Pinniewinks, the trier of witches,
to go with him to the Vale of Whitehorse to comprehend Wayland
Smith, and put him to his probation.  I helped Pinniewinks to
sharpen his pincers and his poking-awl, and I saw the warrant
from Justice Blindas."

"Pooh--pooh--the devil would laugh both at Blindas and his
warrant, constable and witch-finder to boot," said old Dame
Crank, the Papist laundress; "Wayland Smith's flesh would mind
Pinniewinks' awl no more than a cambric ruff minds a hot
piccadilloe-needle.  But tell me, gentlefolks, if the devil ever
had such a hand among ye, as to snatch away your smiths and your
artists from under your nose, when the good Abbots of Abingdon
had their own?  By Our Lady, no!--they had their hallowed tapers;
and their holy water, and their relics, and what not, could send
the foulest fiends a-packing.  Go ask a heretic parson to do the
like.  But ours were a comfortable people."

"Very true, Dame Crank," said the hostler; "so said Simpkins of
Simonburn when the curate kissed his wife,--'They are a
comfortable people,' said he."

"Silence, thou foul-mouthed vermin," said Dame Crank; "is it fit
for a heretic horse-boy like thee to handle such a text as the
Catholic clergy?"

"In troth no, dame," replied the man of oats; "and as you
yourself are now no text for their handling, dame, whatever may
have been the case in your day, I think we had e'en better leave
un alone."

At this last exchange of sarcasm, Dame Crank set up her throat,
and began a horrible exclamation against Jack Hostler, under
cover of which Tressilian and his attendant escaped into the
house.

They had no sooner entered a private chamber, to which Goodman
Crane himself had condescended to usher them, and dispatched
their worthy and obsequious host on the errand of procuring wine
and refreshment, than Wayland Smith began to give vent to his
self-importance.

"You see, sir," said he, addressing Tressilian, "that I nothing
fabled in asserting that I possessed fully the mighty mystery of
a farrier, or mareschal, as the French more honourably term us.
These dog-hostlers, who, after all, are the better judges in such
a case, know what credit they should attach to my medicaments.  I
call you to witness, worshipful Master Tressilian, that nought,
save the voice of calumny and the hand of malicious violence,
hath driven me forth from a station in which I held a place alike
useful and honoured."

"I bear witness, my friend, but will reserve my listening,"
answered Tressilian, "for a safer time; unless, indeed, you deem
it essential to your reputation to be translated, like your late
dwelling, by the assistance of a flash of fire.  For you see your
best friends reckon you no better than a mere sorcerer."

"Now, Heaven forgive them," said the artist, "who confounded
learned skill with unlawful magic!  I trust a man may be as
skilful, or more so, than the best chirurgeon ever meddled with
horse-flesh, and yet may be upon the matter little more than
other ordinary men, or at the worst no conjurer."

"God forbid else!"  said Tressilian.  "But be silent just for the
present, since here comes mine host with an assistant, who seems
something of the least."

Everybody about the inn, Dame Crane herself included, had been
indeed so interested and agitated by the story they had heard of
Wayland Smith, and by the new, varying, and more marvellous
editions of the incident which arrived from various quarters,
that mine host, in his righteous determination to accommodate his
guests, had been able to obtain the assistance of none of his
household, saving that of a little boy, a junior tapster, of
about twelve years old, who was called Sampson.

"I wish," he said, apologizing to his guests, as he set down a
flagon of sack, and promised some food immediately--"I wish the
devil had flown away with my wife and my whole family instead of
this Wayland Smith, who, I daresay, after all said and done, was
much less worthy of the distinction which Satan has done him."

"I hold opinion with you, good fellow," replied Wayland Smith;
"and I will drink to you upon that argument."

"Not that I would justify any man who deals with the devil," said
mine host, after having pledged Wayland in a rousing draught of
sack, "but that--saw ye ever better sack, my masters?--but that,
I say, a man had better deal with a dozen cheats and scoundrel
fellows, such as this Wayland Smith, than with a devil incarnate,
that takes possession of house and home, bed and board."

The poor fellow's detail of grievances was here interrupted by
the shrill voice of his helpmate, screaming from the kitchen, to
which he instantly hobbled, craving pardon of his guests.  He was
no sooner gone than Wayland Smith expressed, by every
contemptuous epithet in the language, his utter scorn for a
nincompoop who stuck his head under his wife's apron-string; and
intimated that, saving for the sake of the horses, which required
both rest and food, he would advise his worshipful Master
Tressilian to push on a stage farther, rather than pay a
reckoning to such a mean-spirited, crow-trodden, henpecked
coxcomb, as Gaffer Crane.

The arrival of a large dish of good cow-heel and bacon something
soothed the asperity of the artist, which wholly vanished before
a choice capon, so delicately roasted that the lard frothed on
it, said Wayland, like May-dew on a lily; and both Gaffer Crane
and his good dame became, in his eyes, very painstaking,
accommodating, obliging persons.

According to the manners of the times, the master and his
attendant sat at the same table, and the latter observed, with
regret, how little attention Tressilian paid to his meal.  He
recollected, indeed, the pain he had given by mentioning the
maiden in whose company he had first seen him; but, fearful of
touching upon a topic too tender to be tampered with, he chose to
ascribe his abstinence to another cause.

"This fare is perhaps too coarse for your worship," said Wayland,
as the limbs of the capon disappeared before his own exertions;
"but had you dwelt as long as I have done in yonder dungeon,
which Flibbertigibbet has translated to the upper element, a
place where I dared hardly broil my food, lest the smoke should
be seen without, you would think a fair capon a more welcome
dainty."

"If you are pleased, friend," said Tressilian, "it is well.
Nevertheless, hasten thy meal if thou canst, For this place is
unfriendly to thy safety, and my concerns crave travelling."

Allowing, therefore, their horses no more rest than was
absolutely necessary for them, they pursued their journey by a
forced march as far as Bradford, where they reposed themselves
for the night.

The next morning found them early travellers.  And, not to
fatigue the reader with unnecessary particulars, they traversed
without adventure the counties of Wiltshire and Somerset, and
about noon of the third day after Tressilian's leaving Cumnor,
arrived at Sir Hugh Robsart's seat, called Lidcote Hall, on the
frontiers of Devonshire.



CHAPTER XII.

  Ah me!  the flower and blossom of your house,
  The wind hath blown away to other towers.
                        JOANNA BAILLIE'S  FAMILY LEGEND.

The ancient seat of Lidcote Hall was situated near the village of
the same name, and adjoined the wild and extensive forest of
Exmoor, plentifully stocked with game, in which some ancient
rights belonging to the Robsart family entitled Sir Hugh to
pursue his favourite amusement of the chase.  The old mansion was
a low, venerable building, occupying a considerable space of
ground, which was surrounded by a deep moat.  The approach and
drawbridge were defended by an octagonal tower, of ancient
brickwork, but so clothed with ivy and other creepers that it was
difficult to discover of what materials it was constructed.  The
angles of this tower were each decorated with a turret,
whimsically various in form and in size, and, therefore, very
unlike the monotonous stone pepperboxes which, in modern Gothic
architecture, are employed for the same purpose.  One of these
turrets was square, and occupied as a clock-house.  But the clock
was now standing still; a circumstance peculiarly striking to
Tressilian, because the good old knight, among other harmless
peculiarities, had a fidgety anxiety about the exact measurement
of time, very common to those who have a great deal of that
commodity to dispose of, and find it lie heavy upon their hands--
just as we see shopkeepers amuse themselves with taking an exact
account of their stock at the time there is least demand for it.

The entrance to the courtyard of the old mansion lay through an
archway, surmounted by the foresaid tower; but the drawbridge was
down, and one leaf of the iron-studded folding-doors stood
carelessly open.  Tressilian hastily rode over the drawbridge,
entered the court, and began to call loudly on the domestics by
their names.  For some time he was only answered by the echoes
and the howling of the hounds, whose kennel lay at no great
distance from the mansion, and was surrounded by the same moat.
At length Will Badger, the old and favourite attendant of the
knight, who acted alike as squire of his body and superintendent
of his sports, made his appearance.  The stout, weather-beaten
forester showed great signs of joy when he recognized Tressilian.

"Lord love you," he said, "Master Edmund, be it thou in flesh and
fell?  Then thou mayest do some good on Sir Hugh, for it passes
the wit of man--that is, of mine own, and the curate's, and
Master Mumblazen's--to do aught wi'un."

"Is Sir Hugh then worse since I went away, Will?"  demanded
Tressilian.

"For worse in body--no; he is much better," replied the domestic;
"but he is clean mazed as it were--eats and drinks as he was
wont--but sleeps not, or rather wakes not, for he is ever in a
sort of twilight, that is neither sleeping nor waking.  Dame
Swineford thought it was like the dead palsy.  But no, no, dame,
said I, it is the heart, it is the heart."

"Can ye not stir his mind to any pastimes?"  said Tressilian.

"He is clean and quite off his sports," said Will Badger; "hath
neither touched backgammon or shovel-board, nor looked on the big
book of harrowtry wi' Master Mumblazen.  I let the clock run
down, thinking the missing the bell might somewhat move him--for
you know, Master Edmund, he was particular in counting time--but
he never said a word on't, so I may e'en set the old chime a-
towling again.  I made bold to tread on Bungay's tail too, and
you know what a round rating that would ha' cost me once a-day;
but he minded the poor tyke's whine no more than a madge howlet
whooping down the chimney--so the case is beyond me."

"Thou shalt tell me the rest within doors, Will.  Meanwhile, let
this person be ta'en to the buttery, and used with respect.  He
is a man of art."

"White art or black art, I would," said Will Badger, "that he had
any art which could help us.--Here, Tom Butler, look to the man
of art;--and see that he steals none of thy spoons, lad," he
added in a whisper to the butler, who showed himself at a low
window, "I have known as honest a faced fellow have art enough to
do that."

He then ushered Tressilian into a low parlour, and went, at his
desire, to see in what state his master was, lest the sudden
return of his darling pupil and proposed son-in-law should affect
him too strongly.  He returned immediately, and said that Sir
Hugh was dozing in his elbow-chair, but that Master Mumblazen
would acquaint Master Tressilian the instant he awaked.

"But it is chance if he knows you," said the huntsman, "for he
has forgotten the name of every hound in the pack.  I thought,
about a week since, he had gotten a favourable turn.  'Saddle me
old Sorrel,' said he suddenly, after he had taken his usual
night-draught out of the great silver grace-cup, 'and take the
hounds to Mount Hazelhurst to-morrow.' Glad men were we all, and
out we had him in the morning, and he rode to cover as usual,
with never a word spoken but that the wind was south, and the
scent would lie.  But ere we had uncoupled'the hounds, he began
to stare round him, like a man that wakes suddenly out of a
dream--turns bridle, and walks back to Hall again, and leaves us
to hunt at leisure by ourselves, if we listed."

"You tell a heavy tale, Will," replied Tressilian; "but God must
help us--there is no aid in man."

"Then you bring us no news of young Mistress Amy?  But what need
I ask--your brow tells the story.  Ever I hoped that if any man
could or would track her, it must be you.  All's over and lost
now.  But if ever I have that Varney within reach of a flight-
shot, I will bestow a forked shaft on him; and that I swear by
salt and bread."

As he spoke, the door opened, and Master Mumblazen appeared--a
withered, thin, elderly gentleman, with a cheek like a winter
apple, and his grey hair partly concealed by a small, high hat,
shaped like a cone, or rather like such a strawberry-basket as
London fruiterers exhibit at their windows.  He was too
sententious a person to waste words on mere salutation; so,
having welcomed Tressilian with a nod and a shake of the hand, he
beckoned him to follow to Sir Hugh's great chamber, which the
good knight usually inhabited.  Will Badger followed, unasked,
anxious to see whether his master would be relieved from his
state of apathy by the arrival of Tressilian.

In a long, low parlour, amply furnished with implements of the
chase, and with silvan trophies, by a massive stone chimney, over
which hung a sword and suit of armour somewhat obscured by
neglect, sat Sir Hugh Robsart of Lidcote, a man of large size,
which had been only kept within moderate compass by the constant
use of violent exercise, It seemed to Tressilian that the
lethargy, under which his old friend appeared to labour, had,
even during his few weeks' absence, added bulk to his person--at
least it had obviously diminished the vivacity of his eye, which,
as they entered, first followed Master Mumblazen slowly to a
large oaken desk, on which a ponderous volume lay open, and then
rested, as if in uncertainty, on the stranger who had entered
along with him.  The curate, a grey-headed clergyman, who had
been a confessor in the days of Queen Mary, sat with a book in
his hand in another recess in the apartment.  He, too, signed a
mournful greeting to Tressilian, and laid his book aside, to
watch the effect his appearance should produce on the afflicted
old man.

As Tressilian, his own eyes filling fast with tears, approached
more and more nearly to the father of his betrothed bride, Sir
Hugh's intelligence seemed to revive.  He sighed heavily, as one
who awakens from a state of stupor; a slight convulsion passed
over his features; he opened his arms without speaking a word,
and, as Tressilian threw himself into them, he folded him to his
bosom.

"There is something left to live for yet," were the first words
he uttered; and while he spoke, he gave vent to his feelings in a
paroxysm of weeping, the tears chasing each other down his
sunburnt cheeks and long white beard.

"I ne'er thought to have thanked God to see my master weep," said
Will Badger; "but now I do, though I am like to weep for
company."

"I will ask thee no questions," said the old knight; "no
questions--none, Edmund.  Thou hast not found her--or so found
her, that she were better lost."

Tressilian was unable to reply otherwise than by putting his
hands before his face.

"It is enough--it is enough.  But do not thou weep for her,
Edmund.  I have cause to weep, for she was my daughter; thou hast
cause to rejoice, that she did not become thy wife.--Great God!
thou knowest best what is good for us.  It was my nightly prayer
that I should see Amy and Edmund wedded,--had it been granted, it
had now been gall added to bitterness."

"Be comforted, my friend," said the curate, addressing Sir Hugh,
"it cannot be that the daughter of all our hopes and affections
is the vile creature you would bespeak her."

"Oh, no," replied Sir Hugh impatiently, "I were wrong to name
broadly the base thing she is become--there is some new court
name for it, I warrant me.  It is honour enough for the daughter
of an old Devonshire clown to be the leman of a gay courtier--of
Varney too--of Varney, whose grandsire was relieved by my father,
when his fortune was broken, at the battle of--the battle of--
where Richard was slain--out on my memory!--and I warrant none
of you will help me--"

"The battle of Bosworth," said Master Mumblazen--"stricken
between Richard Crookback and Henry Tudor, grandsire of the Queen
that now is, PRIMO HENRICI SEPTIMI; and in the year one thousand
four hundred and eighty-five, POST CHRISTUM NATUM."

"Ay, even so," said the old knight; "every child knows it.  But
my poor head forgets all it should remember, and remembers only
what it would most willingly forget.  My brain has been at fault,
Tressilian, almost ever since thou hast been away, and even yet
it hunts counter."

"Your worship," said the good clergyman, "had better retire to
your apartment, and try to sleep for a little space.  The
physician left a composing draught; and our Great Physician has
commanded us to use earthly means, that we may be strengthened to
sustain the trials He sends us."

"True, true, old friend," said Sir Hugh; "and we will bear our
trials manfully--we have lost but a woman.--See, Tressilian,"--he
drew from his bosom a long ringlet of glossy hair,--"see this
lock!  I tell thee, Edmund, the very night she disappeared, when
she bid me good even, as she was wont, she hung about my neck,
and fondled me more than usual; and I, like an old fool, held her
by this lock, until she took her scissors, severed it, and left
it in my hand--as all I was ever to see more of her!"

Tressilian was unable to reply, well judging what a complication
of feelings must have crossed the bosom of the unhappy fugitive
at that cruel moment.  The clergyman was about to speak, but Sir
Hugh interrupted him.

"I know what you would say, Master Curate,--After all, it is but
a lock of woman's tresses; and by woman, shame, and sin, and
death came into an innocent world.--And learned Master Mumblazen,
too, can say scholarly things of their inferiority."

"C'EST L'HOMME," said Master Mumblazen, "QUI SE BAST, ET QUI
CONSEILLE."

"True," said Sir Hugh, "and we will bear us, therefore, like men
who have both mettle and wisdom in us.--Tressilian, thou art as
welcome as if thou hadst brought better news.  But we have spoken
too long dry-lipped.--Amy, fill a cup of wine to Edmund, and
another to me."  Then instantly recollecting that he called upon
her who could not hear, he shook his head, and said to the
clergyman, "This grief is to my bewildered mind what the church
of Lidcote is to our park: we may lose ourselves among the briers
and thickets for a little space, but from the end of each avenue
we see the old grey steeple and the grave of my forefathers.  I
would I were to travel that road tomorrow!"

Tressilian and the curate joined in urging the exhausted old man
to lay himself to rest, and at length prevailed.  Tressilian
remained by his pillow till he saw that slumber at length sunk
down on him, and then returned to consult with the curate what
steps should be adopted in these unhappy circumstances.

They could not exclude from these deliberations Master Michael
Mumblazen; and they admitted him the more readily, that besides
what hopes they entertained from his sagacity, they knew him to
be so great a friend to taciturnity, that there was no doubt of
his keeping counsel.  He was an old bachelor, of good family, but
small fortune, and distantly related to the House of Robsart; in
virtue of which connection, Lidcote Hall had been honoured with
his residence for the last twenty years.  His company was
agreeable to Sir Hugh, chiefly on account of his profound
learning, which, though it only related to heraldry and
genealogy, with such scraps of history as connected themselves
with these subjects, was precisely of a kind to captivate the
good old knight; besides the convenience which he found in having
a friend to appeal to when his own memory, as frequently
happened, proved infirm and played him false concerning names and
dates, which, and all similar deficiencies, Master Michael
Mumblazen supplied with due brevity and discretion.  And, indeed,
in matters concerning the modern world, he often gave, in his
enigmatical and heraldic phrase, advice which was well worth
attending to, or, in Will Badger's language, started the game
while others beat the bush.

"We have had an unhappy time of it with the good knight, Master
Edmund," said the curate.  "I have not suffered so much since I
was torn away from my beloved flock, and compelled to abandon
them to the Romish wolves."

"That was in TERTIO MARIAE," said Master Mumblazen.

"In the name of Heaven," continued the curate, "tell us, has your
time been better spent than ours, or have you any news of that
unhappy maiden, who, being for so many years the principal joy of
this broken-down house, is now proved our greatest unhappiness?
Have you not at least discovered her place of residence?"

"I have," replied Tressilian.  "Know you Cumnor Place, near
Oxford?"

"Surely," said the clergyman; "it was a house of removal for the
monks of Abingdon."

"Whose arms," said Master Michael, "I have seen over a stone
chimney in the hall,--a cross patonce betwixt four martlets."

"There," said Tressilian, "this unhappy maiden resides, in
company with the villain Varney.  But for a strange mishap, my
sword had revenged all our injuries, as well as hers, on his
worthless head."

"Thank God, that kept thine hand from blood-guiltiness, rash
young man!"  answered the curate.  "Vengeance is mine, saith the
Lord, and I will repay it.  It were better study to free her from
the villain's nets of infamy."

"They are called, in heraldry, LAQUEI AMORIS, or LACS D'AMOUR,"
said Mumblazen.

"It is in that I require your aid, my friends," said Tressilian.
"I am resolved to accuse this villain, at the very foot of the
throne, of falsehood, seduction, and breach of hospitable laws.
The Queen shall hear me, though the Earl of Leicester, the
villain's patron, stood at her right hand."

"Her Grace," said the curate, "hath set a comely example of
continence to her subjects, and will doubtless do justice on this
inhospitable robber.  But wert thou not better apply to the Earl
of Leicester, in the first place, for justice on his servant?  If
he grants it, thou dost save the risk of making thyself a
powerful adversary, which will certainly chance if, in the first
instance, you accuse his master of the horse and prime favourite
before the Queen."

"My mind revolts from your counsel," said Tressilian.  "I cannot
brook to plead my noble patron's cause the unhappy Amy's cause--
before any one save my lawful Sovereign.  Leicester, thou wilt
say, is noble.  Be it so; he is but a subject like ourselves, and
I will not carry my plaint to him, if I can do better.  Still, I
will think on what thou hast said; but I must have your
assistance to persuade the good Sir Hugh to make me his
commissioner and fiduciary in this matter, for it is in his name
I must speak, and not in my own.  Since she is so far changed as
to dote upon this empty profligate courtier, he shall at least do
her the justice which is yet in his power."

"Better she died CAELEBS and SINE PROLE," said Mumblazen, with
more animation than he usually expressed, "than part, PER PALE,
the noble coat of Robsart with that of such a miscreant!"

"If it be your object, as I cannot question," said the clergyman,
"to save, as much as is yet possible, the credit of this unhappy
young woman, I repeat, you should apply, in the first instance,
to the Earl of Leicester.  He is as absolute in his household as
the Queen in her kingdom, and if he expresses to Varney that such
is his pleasure, her honour will not stand so publicly
committed."

"You are right, you are right!"  said Tressilian eagerly, "and I
thank you for pointing out what I overlooked in my haste.  I
little thought ever to have besought grace of Leicester; but I
could kneel to the proud Dudley, if doing so could remove one
shade of shame from this unhappy damsel.  You will assist me then
to procure the necessary powers from Sir Hugh Robsart?"

The curate assured him of his assistance, and the herald nodded
assent.

"You must hold yourselves also in readiness to testify, in case
you are called upon, the openhearted hospitality which our good
patron exercised towards this deceitful traitor, and the
solicitude with which he laboured to seduce his unhappy
daughter."

"At first," said the clergyman, "she did not, as it seemed to me,
much affect his company; but latterly I saw them often together."

"SEIANT in the parlour," said Michael Mumblazen, "and PASSANT in
the garden."

"I once came on them by chance," said the priest, "in the South
wood, in a spring evening.  Varney was muffled in a russet cloak,
so that I saw not his face.  They separated hastily, as they
heard me rustle amongst the leaves; and I observed she turned her
head and looked long after him."

"With neck REGUARDANT," said the herald.  "And on the day of her
flight, and that was on Saint Austen's Eve, I saw Varney's groom,
attired in his liveries, hold his master's horse and Mistress
Amy's palfrey, bridled and saddled PROPER, behind the wall of the
churchyard,"

"And now is she found mewed up in his secret place of
retirement," said Tressilian.  "The villain is taken in the
manner, and I well wish he may deny his crime, that I may thrust
conviction down his false throat!  But I must prepare for my
journey.  Do you, gentlemen, dispose my patron to grant me such
powers as are needful to act in his name."

So saying, Tressilian left the room.

"He is too hot," said the curate; "and I pray to God that He may
grant him the patience to deal with Varney as is fitting."

"Patience and Varney," said Mumblazen, "is worse heraldry than
metal upon metal.  He is more false than a siren, more rapacious
than a griffin, more poisonous than a wyvern, and more cruel than
a lion rampant."

"Yet I doubt much," said the curate, "whether we can with
propriety ask from Sir Hugh Robsart, being in his present
condition, any deed deputing his paternal right in Mistress Amy
to whomsoever--"

"Your reverence need not doubt that," said Will Badger, who
entered as he spoke, "for I will lay my life he is another man
when he wakes than he has been these thirty days past."

"Ay, Will," said the curate, "hast thou then so much confidence
in Doctor Diddleum's draught?"

"Not a whit," said Will, "because master ne'er tasted a drop
on't, seeing it was emptied out by the housemaid.  But here's a
gentleman, who came attending on Master Tressilian, has given Sir
Hugh a draught that is worth twenty of yon un.  I have spoken
cunningly with him, and a better farrier or one who hath a more
just notion of horse and dog ailment I have never seen; and such
a one would never be unjust to a Christian man."

"A farrier!  you saucy groom--and by whose authority, pray?"
said the curate, rising in surprise and indignation; "or who will
be warrant for this new physician?"

"For authority, an it like your reverence, he had mine; and for
warrant, I trust I have not been five-and-twenty years in this
house without having right to warrant the giving of a draught to
beast or body--I who can gie a drench, and a ball, and bleed, or
blister, if need, to my very self."

The counsellors of the house of Robsart thought it meet to carry
this information instantly to Tressilian, who as speedily
summoned before him Wayland Smith, and demanded of him (in
private, however) by what authority he had ventured to administer
any medicine to Sir Hugh Robsart?

"Why," replied the artist, "your worship cannot but remember that
I told you I had made more progress into my master's--I mean the
learned Doctor Doboobie's--mystery than he was willing to own;
and indeed half of his quarrel and malice against me was that,
besides that I got something too deep into his secrets, several
discerning persons, and particularly a buxom young widow of
Abingdon, preferred my prescriptions to his."

"None of thy buffoonery, sir," said Tressilian sternly.  "If thou
hast trifled with us--much more, if thou hast done aught that may
prejudice Sir Hugh Robsart's health, thou shalt find thy grave at
the bottom of a tin-mine."

"I know too little of the great ARCANUM to convert the ore to
gold," said Wayland firmly.  "But truce to your apprehensions,
Master Tressilian.  I understood the good knight's case from what
Master William Badger told me; and I hope I am able enough to
administer a poor dose of mandragora, which, with the sleep that
must needs follow, is all that Sir Hugh Robsart requires to
settle his distraught brains."

"I trust thou dealest fairly with me, Wayland?"  said Tressilian.

"Most fairly and honestly, as the event shall show," replied the
artist.  "What would it avail me to harm the poor old man for
whom you are interested?--you, to whom I owe it that Gaffer
Pinniewinks is not even now rending my flesh and sinews with his
accursed pincers, and probing every mole in my body with his
sharpened awl (a murrain on the hands which forged it!) in order
to find out the witch's mark?--I trust to yoke myself as a humble
follower to your worship's train, and I only wish to have my
faith judged of by the result of the good knight's slumbers."

Wayland Smith was right in his prognostication.  The sedative
draught which his skill had prepared, and Will Badger's
confidence had administered, was attended with the most
beneficial effects.  The patient's sleep was long and healthful,
and the poor old knight awoke, humbled indeed in thought and weak
in frame, yet a much better judge of whatever was subjected to
his intellect than he had been for some time past.  He resisted
for a while the proposal made by his friends that Tressilian
should undertake a journey to court, to attempt the recovery of
his daughter, and the redress of her wrongs, in so far as they
might yet be repaired.  "Let her go," he said; "she is but a hawk
that goes down the wind; I would not bestow even a whistle to
reclaim her."  But though he for some time maintained this
argument, he was at length convinced it was his duty to take the
part to which natural affection inclined him, and consent that
such efforts as could yet be made should be used by Tressilian in
behalf of his daughter.  He subscribed, therefore, a warrant of
attorney, such as the curate's skill enabled him to draw up; for
in those simple days the clergy were often the advisers of their
flock in law as well as in gospel.

All matters were prepared for Tressilian's second departure,
within twenty-four hours after he had returned to Lidcote Hall;
but one material circumstance had been forgotten, which was first
called to the remembrance of Tressilian by Master Mumblazen.
"You are going to court, Master Tressilian," said he; "you will
please remember that your blazonry must be ARGENT and OR--no
other tinctures will pass current."  The remark was equally just
and embarrassing.  To prosecute a suit at court, ready money was
as indispensable even in the golden days of Elizabeth as at any
succeeding period; and it was a commodity little at the command
of the inhabitants of Lidcote Hall.  Tressilian was himself poor;
the revenues of good Sir Hugh Robsart were consumed, and even
anticipated, in his hospitable mode of living; and it was finally
necessary that the herald who started the doubt should himself
solve it.  Master Michael Mumblazen did so by producing a bag of
money, containing nearly three hundred pounds in gold and silver
of various coinage, the savings of twenty years, which he now,
without speaking a syllable upon the subject, dedicated to the
service of the patron whose shelter and protection had given him
the means of making this little hoard.  Tressilian accepted it
without affecting a moment's hesitation, and a mutual grasp of
the hand was all that passed betwixt them, to express the
pleasure which the one felt in dedicating his all to such a
purpose, and that which the other received from finding so
material an obstacle to the success of his journey so suddenly
removed, and in a manner so unexpected.

While Tressilian was making preparations for his departure early
the ensuing morning, Wayland Smith desired to speak with him,
and, expressing his hope that he had been pleased with the
operation of his medicine in behalf of Sir Hugh Robsart, added
his desire to accompany him to court.  This was indeed what
Tressilian himself had several times thought of; for the
shrewdness, alertness of understanding, and variety of resource
which this fellow had exhibited during the time they had
travelled together, had made him sensible that his assistance
might be of importance.  But then Wayland was in danger from the
grasp of law; and of this Tressilian reminded him, mentioning
something, at the same time, of the pincers of Pinniewinks and
the warrant of Master Justice Blindas.  Wayland Smith laughed
both to scorn.

"See you, sir!"  said he, "I have changed my garb from that of a
farrier to a serving-man; but were it still as it was, look at my
moustaches.  They now hang down; I will but turn them up, and dye
them with a tincture that I know of, and the devil would scarce
know me again."

He accompanied these words with the appropriate action, and in
less than a minute, by setting up, his moustaches and his hair,
he seemed a different person from him that had but now entered
the room.  Still, however, Tressilian hesitated to accept his
services, and the artist became proportionably urgent.

"I owe you life and limb," he said, "and I would fain pay a part
of the debt, especially as I know from Will Badger on what
dangerous service your worship is bound.  I do not, indeed,
pretend to be what is called a man of mettle, one of those
ruffling tear-cats who maintain their master's quarrel with sword
and buckler.  Nay, I am even one of those who hold the end of a
feast better than the beginning of a fray.  But I know that I can
serve your worship better, in such quest as yours, than any of
these sword-and-dagger men, and that my head will be worth an
hundred of their hands."

Tressilian still hesitated.  He knew not much of this strange
fellow, and was doubtful how far he could repose in him the
confidence necessary to render him a useful attendant upon the
present emergency.  Ere he had come to a determination, the
trampling of a horse was heard in the courtyard, and Master
Mumblazen and Will Badger both entered hastily into Tressilian's
chamber, speaking almost at the same moment.

"Here is a serving-man on the bonniest grey tit I ever see'd in
my life," said Will Badger, who got the start--"having on his
arm a silver cognizance, being a fire-drake holding in his mouth
a brickbat, under a coronet of an Earl's degree," said Master
Mumblazen, "and bearing a letter sealed of the same."

Tressilian took the letter, which was addressed "To the
worshipful Master Edmund Tressilian, our loving kinsman--These--
ride, ride, ride--for thy life, for thy life, for thy life.  "He
then opened it, and found the following contents:--

"MASTER TRESSILIAN, OUR GOOD FRIEND AND COUSIN,

"We are at present so ill at ease, and otherwise so unhappily
circumstanced, that we are desirous to have around us those of
our friends on whose loving-kindness we can most especially
repose confidence; amongst whom we hold our good Master
Tressilian one of the foremost and nearest, both in good will and
good ability.  We therefore pray you, with your most convenient
speed, to repair to our poor lodging, at Sayes Court, near
Deptford, where we will treat further with you of matters which
we deem it not fit to commit unto writing.  And so we bid you
heartily farewell, being your loving kinsman to command,
          "RATCLIFFE, EARL OF SUSSEX."

"Send up the messenger instantly, Will Badger," said Tressilian;
and as the man entered the room, he exclaimed, "Ah, Stevens, is
it you?  how does my good lord?"

"Ill, Master Tressilian," was the messenger's reply, "and having
therefore the more need of good friends around him."

"But what is my lord's malady?"  said Tressilian anxiously; I
heard nothing of his being ill."

"I know not, sir," replied the man; "he is very ill at ease.  The
leeches are at a stand, and many of his household suspect foul
practice-witchcraft, or worse."

"What are the symptoms?"  said Wayland Smith, stepping forward
hastily.

"Anan?"  said the messenger, not comprehending his meaning.

"What does he ail?"  said Wayland; "where lies his disease?"

The man looked at Tressilian, as if to know whether he should
answer these inquiries from a stranger, and receiving a sign in
the affirmative, he hastily enumerated gradual loss of strength,
nocturnal perspiration, and loss of appetite, faintness, etc.

"Joined," said Wayland, "to a gnawing pain in the stomach, and a
low fever?"

"Even so," said the messenger, somewhat surprised.

"I know how the disease is caused," said the artist, "and I know
the cause.  Your master has eaten of the manna of Saint Nicholas.
I know the cure too--my master shall not say I studied in his
laboratory for nothing."

"How mean you?"  said Tressilian, frowning; "we speak of one of
the first nobles of England.  Bethink you, this is no subject for
buffoonery."

"God forbid!"  said Wayland Smith.  "I say that I know this
disease, and can cure him.  Remember what I did for Sir Hugh
Robsart,"

"We will set forth instantly," said Tressilian.  "God calls us."

Accordingly, hastily mentioning this new motive for his instant
departure, though without alluding to either the suspicions of
Stevens, or the assurances of Wayland Smith, he took the kindest
leave of Sir Hugh and the family at Lidcote Hall, who accompanied
him with prayers and blessings, and, attended by Wayland and the
Earl of Sussex's domestic, travelled with the utmost speed
towards London.



CHAPTER XIII.

  Ay, I know you have arsenic,
  Vitriol, sal-tartre, argaile, alkaly,
  Cinoper:  I know all.--This fellow, Captain,
  Will come in time to be a great distiller,
  And give a say (I will not say directly,
  But very near) at the philosopher's stone.   THE ALCHEMIST.

Tressilian and his attendants pressed their route with all
dispatch.  He had asked the smith, indeed, when their departure
was resolved on, whether he would not rather choose to avoid
Berkshire, in which he had played a part so conspicuous?  But
Wayland returned a confident answer.  He had employed the short
interval they passed at Lidcote Hall in transforming himself in a
wonderful manner.  His wild and overgrown thicket of beard was
now restrained to two small moustaches on the upper lip, turned
up in a military fashion.  A tailor from the village of Lidcote
(well paid) had exerted his skill, under his customer's
directions, so as completely to alter Wayland's outward man, and
take off from his appearance almost twenty years of age.
Formerly, besmeared with soot and charcoal, overgrown with hair,
and bent double with the nature of his labour, disfigured too by
his odd and fantastic dress, he seemed a man of fifty years old.
But now, in a handsome suit of Tressilian's livery, with a sword
by his side and a buckler on his shoulder, he looked like a gay
ruffling serving-man, whose age might be betwixt thirty and
thirty-five, the very prime of human life.  His loutish, savage-
looking demeanour seemed equally changed, into a forward, sharp,
and impudent alertness of look and action.

When challenged by Tressilian, who desired to know the cause of a
metamorphosis so singular and so absolute, Wayland only answered
by singing a stave from a comedy, which was then new, and was
supposed, among the more favourable judges, to augur some genius
on the part of the author.  We are happy to preserve the couplet,
which ran exactly thus,--

  "Ban, ban, ca Caliban--
  Get a new master--Be a new man."

Although Tressilian did not recollect the verses, yet they
reminded him that Wayland had once been a stage player, a
circumstance which, of itself, accounted indifferently well for
the readiness with which he could assume so total a change of
personal appearance.  The artist himself was so confident of his
disguise being completely changed, or of his having completely
changed his disguise, which may be the more correct mode of
speaking, that he regretted they were not to pass near his old
place of retreat.

"I could venture," he said, "in my present dress, and with your
worship's backing, to face Master Justice Blindas, even on a day
of Quarter Sessions; and I would like to know what is become of
Hobgoblin, who is like to play the devil in the world, if he can
once slip the string, and leave his granny and his dominie.--Ay,
and the scathed vault!"  he said; "I would willingly have seen
what havoc the explosion of so much gunpowder has made among
Doctor Demetrius Doboobie's retorts and phials.  I warrant me, my
fame haunts the Vale of the Whitehorse long after my body is
rotten; and that many a lout ties up his horse, lays down his
silver groat, and pipes like a sailor whistling in a calm for
Wayland Smith to come and shoe his tit for him.  But the horse
will catch the founders ere the smith answers the call."

In this particular, indeed, Wayland proved a true prophet; and so
easily do fables rise, that an obscure tradition of his
extraordinary practice in farriery prevails in the Vale of
Whitehorse even unto this day; and neither the tradition of
Alfred's Victory, nor of the celebrated Pusey Horn, are better
preserved in Berkshire than the wild legend of Wayland Smith.
[See Note 2, Legend of Wayland Smith.]

The haste of the travellers admitted their making no stay upon
their journey, save what the refreshment of the horses required;
and as many of the places through which they passed were under
the influence of the Earl of Leicester, or persons immediately
dependent on him, they thought it prudent to disguise their names
and the purpose of their journey.  On such occasions the agency
of Wayland Smith (by which name we shall continue to distinguish
the artist, though his real name was Lancelot Wayland) was
extremely serviceable.  He seemed, indeed, to have a pleasure in
displaying the alertness with which he could baffle
investigation, and amuse himself by putting the curiosity of
tapsters and inn-keepers on a false scent.  During the course of
their brief journey, three different and inconsistent reports
were circulated by him on their account--namely, first, that
Tressilian was the Lord Deputy of Ireland, come over in disguise
to take the Queen's pleasure concerning the great rebel Rory Oge
MacCarthy MacMahon; secondly, that the said Tressilian was an
agent of Monsieur, coming to urge his suit to the hand of
Elizabeth; thirdly, that he was the Duke of Medina, come over,
incognito, to adjust the quarrel betwixt Philip and that
princess.

Tressilian was angry, and expostulated with the artist on the
various inconveniences, and, in particular, the unnecessary
degree of attention to which they were subjected by the figments
he thus circulated; but he was pacified (for who could be proof
against such an argument?) by Wayland's assuring him that a
general importance was attached to his own (Tressilian's)
striking presence, which rendered it necessary to give an
extraordinary reason for the rapidity and secrecy of his journey.

At length they approached the metropolis, where, owing to the
more general recourse of strangers, their appearance excited
neither observation nor inquiry, and finally they entered London
itself.

It was Tressilian's purpose to go down directly to Deptford,
where Lord Sussex resided, in order to be near the court, then
held at Greenwich, the favourite residence of Elizabeth, and
honoured as her birthplace.  Still a brief halt in London was
necessary; and it was somewhat prolonged by the earnest
entreaties of Wayland Smith, who desired permission to take a
walk through the city.

"Take thy sword and buckler, and follow me, then," said
Tressilian; "I am about to walk myself, and we will go in
company."

This he said, because he was not altogether so secure of the
fidelity of his new retainer as to lose sight of him at this
interesting moment, when rival factions at the court of Elizabeth
were running so high.  Wayland Smith willingly acquiesced in the
precaution, of which he probably conjectured the motive, but only
stipulated that his master should enter the shops of such
chemists or apothecaries as he should point out, in walking
through Fleet Street, and permit him to make some necessary
purchases.  Tressilian agreed, and obeying the signal of his
attendant, walked successively into more than four or five shops,
where he observed that Wayland purchased in each only one single
drug, in various quantities.  The medicines which he first asked
for were readily furnished, each in succession, but those which
he afterwards required were less easily supplied; and Tressilian
observed that Wayland more than once, to the surprise of the
shopkeeper, returned the gum or herb that was offered to him, and
compelled him to exchange it for the right sort, or else went on
to seek it elsewhere.  But one ingredient, in particular, seemed
almost impossible to be found.  Some chemists plainly admitted
they had never seen it; others denied that such a drug existed,
excepting in the imagination of crazy alchemists; and most of
them attempted to satisfy their customer, by producing some
substitute, which, when rejected by Wayland, as not being what he
had asked for, they maintained possessed, in a superior degree,
the self-same qualities.  In general they all displayed some
curiosity concerning the purpose for which he wanted it.  One
old, meagre chemist, to whom the artist put the usual question,
in terms which Tressilian neither understood nor could recollect,
answered frankly, there was none of that drug in London, unless
Yoglan the Jew chanced to have some of it upon hand.

"I thought as much," said Wayland.  And as soon as they left the
shop, he said to Tressilian, "I crave your pardon, sir, but no
artist can work without his tools.  I must needs go to this
Yoglan's; and I promise you, that if this detains you longer than
your leisure seems to permit, you shall, nevertheless, be well
repaid by the use I will make of this rare drug.  Permit me," he
added, "to walk before you, for we are now to quit the broad
street and we will make double speed if I lead the way."

Tressilian acquiesced, and, following the smith down a lane which
turned to the left hand towards the river, he found that his
guide walked on with great speed, and apparently perfect
knowledge of the town, through a labyrinth of by-streets, courts,
and blind alleys, until at length Wayland paused in the midst of
a very narrow lane, the termination of which showed a peep of the
Thames looking misty and muddy, which background was crossed
saltierwise, as Mr. Mumblazen might have said, by the masts of
two lighters that lay waiting for the tide.  The shop under which
he halted had not, as in modern days, a glazed window, but a
paltry canvas screen surrounded such a stall as a cobbler now
occupies, having the front open, much in the manner of a
fishmonger's booth of the present day.  A little old smock-faced
man, the very reverse of a Jew in complexion, for he was very
soft-haired as well as beardless, appeared, and with many
courtesies asked Wayland what he pleased to want.  He had no
sooner named the drug, than the Jew started and looked surprised.
"And vat might your vorship vant vith that drug, which is not
named, mein God, in forty years as I have been chemist here?"

"These questions it is no part of my commission to answer," said
Wayland; "I only wish to know if you have what I want, and having
it, are willing to sell it?"

"Ay, mein God, for having it, that I have, and for selling it, I
am a chemist, and sell every drug."  So saying, he exhibited a
powder, and then continued, "But it will cost much moneys.  Vat I
ave cost its weight in gold--ay, gold well-refined--I vilI say
six times.  It comes from Mount Sinai, where we had our blessed
Law given forth, and the plant blossoms but once in one hundred
year."

"I do not know how often it is gathered on Mount Sinai," said
Wayland, after looking at the drug offered him with great
disdain, "but I will wager my sword and buckler against your
gaberdine, that this trash you offer me, instead of what I asked
for, may be had for gathering any day of the week in the castle
ditch of Aleppo."

"You are a rude man," said the Jew; "and, besides, I ave no
better than that--or if I ave, I will not sell it without order
of a physician, or without you tell me vat you make of it."

The artist made brief answer in a language of which Tressilian
could not understand a word, and which seemed to strike the Jew
with the utmost astonishment.  He stared upon Wayland like one
who has suddenly recognized some mighty hero or dreaded
potentate, in the person of an unknown and unmarked stranger.
"Holy Elias!"  he exclaimed, when he had recovered the first
stunning effects of his surprise; and then passing from his
former suspicious and surly manner to the very extremity of
obsequiousness, he cringed low to the artist, and besought him to
enter his poor house, to bless his miserable threshold by
crossing it.

"Vill you not taste a cup vith the poor Jew, Zacharias Yoglan?
--Vill you Tokay ave?--vill you Lachrymae taste?--vill you--"

"You offend in your proffers," said Wayland; "minister to me in
what I require of you, and forbear further discourse."

The rebuked Israelite took his bunch of keys, and opening with
circumspection a cabinet which seemed more strongly secured than
the other cases of drugs and medicines amongst which it stood, he
drew out a little secret drawer, having a glass lid, and
containing a small portion of a black powder.  This he offered to
Wayland, his manner conveying the deepest devotion towards him,
though an avaricious and jealous expression, which seemed to
grudge every grain of what his customer was about to possess
himself, disputed ground in his countenance with the obsequious
deference which he desired it should exhibit.

"Have you scales?"  said Wayland.

The Jew pointed to those which lay ready for common use in the
shop, but he did so with a puzzled expression of doubt and fear,
which did not escape the artist.

"They must be other than these," said Wayland sternly.  "Know you
not that holy things lose their virtue if weighed in an unjust
balance?"

The Jew hung his head, took from a steel-plated casket a pair of
scales beautifully mounted, and said, as he adjusted them for the
artist's use, "With these I do mine own experiment--one hair of
the high-priest's beard would turn them."

"It suffices," said the artist, and weighed out two drachms for
himself of the black powder, which he very carefully folded up,
and put into his pouch with the other drugs.  He then demanded
the price of the Jew, who answered, shaking his head and bowing,
--

"No price--no, nothing at all from such as you.  But you will see
the poor Jew again?  you will look into his laboratory, where,
God help him, he hath dried himself to the substance of the
withered gourd of Jonah, the holy prophet.  You will ave pity on
him, and show him one little step on the great road?"

"Hush!"  said Wayland, laying his finger mysteriously on his
mouth; "it may be we shall meet again.  Thou hast already the
SCHAHMAJM, as thine own Rabbis call it--the general creation;
watch, therefore, and pray, for thou must attain the knowledge of
Alchahest Elixir Samech ere I may commune further with thee."
Then returning with a slight nod the reverential congees of the
Jew, he walked gravely up the lane, followed by his master, whose
first observation on the scene he had just witnessed was, that
Wayland ought to have paid the man for his drug, whatever it was.

"I pay him?"  said the artist.  "May the foul fiend pay me if I
do!  Had it not been that I thought it might displease your
worship, I would have had an ounce or two of gold out of him, in
exchange of the same just weight of brick dust."

"I advise you to practise no such knavery while waiting upon me,"
said Tressilian.

"Did I not say," answered the artist, "that for that reason alone
I forbore him for the present?--Knavery, call you it?  Why,
yonder wretched skeleton hath wealth sufficient to pave the whole
lane he lives in with dollars, and scarce miss them out of his
own iron chest; yet he goes mad after the philosopher's stone.
And besides, he would have cheated a poor serving-man, as he
thought me at first, with trash that was not worth a penny.
Match for match, quoth the devil to the collier; if his false
medicine was worth my good crowns, my true brick dust is as well
worth his good gold."

"It may be so, for aught I know," said Tressilian, "in dealing
amongst Jews and apothecaries; but understand that to have such
tricks of legerdemain practised by one attending on me diminishes
my honour, and that I will not permit them.  I trust thou hast
made up thy purchases?"

"I have, sir," replied Wayland; "and with these drugs will I,
this very day, compound the true orvietan, that noble medicine
which is so seldom found genuine and effective within these
realms of Europe, for want of that most rare and precious drug
which I got but now from Yoglan."  [Orvietan, or Venice treacle,
as it was sometimes called, was understood to be a sovereign
remedy against poison; and the reader must be contented, for the
time he peruses these pages, to hold the same opinion, which was
once universally received by the learned as well as the vulgar.]

"But why not have made all your purchases at one shop?"  said his
master; "we have lost nearly an hour in running from one pounder
of simples to another."

"Content you, sir," said Wayland.  "No man shall learn my secret;
and it would not be mine long, were I to buy all my materials
from one chemist."

They now returned to their inn (the famous Bell-Savage); and
while the Lord Sussex's servant prepared the horses for their
journey, Wayland, obtaining from the cook the service of a
mortar, shut himself up in a private chamber, where he mixed,
pounded, and amalgamated the drugs which he had bought, each in
its due proportion, with a readiness and address that plainly
showed him well practised in all the manual operations of
pharmacy.

By the time Wayland's electuary was prepared the horses were
ready, and a short hour's riding brought them to the present
habitation of Lord Sussex, an ancient house, called Sayes Court,
near Deptford, which had long pertained to a family of that name,
but had for upwards of a century been possessed by the ancient
and honourable family of Evelyn.  The present representative of
that ancient house took a deep interest in the Earl of Sussex,
and had willingly accommodated both him and his numerous retinue
in his hospitable mansion.  Sayes Court was afterwards the
residence of the celebrated Mr. Evelyn, whose "Silva" is still
the manual of British planters; and whose life, manners, and
principles, as illustrated in his Memoirs, ought equally to be
the manual of English gentlemen.



CHAPTER XIV.

  This is rare news thou tell'st me, my good fellow;
  There are two bulls fierce battling on the green
  For one fair heifer--if the one goes down,
  The dale will be more peaceful, and the herd,
  Which have small interest in their brulziement,
  May pasture there in peace.--OLD PLAY.

Sayes Court was watched like a beleaguered fort; and so high rose
the suspicions of the time, that Tressilian and his attendants
were stopped and questioned repeatedly by sentinels, both on foot
and horseback, as they approached the abode of the sick Earl.  In
truth, the high rank which Sussex held in Queen Elizabeth's
favour, and his known and avowed rivalry of the Earl of
Leicester, caused the utmost importance to be attached to his
welfare; for, at the period we treat of, all men doubted whether
he or the Earl of Leicester might ultimately have the higher rank
in her regard.

Elizabeth, like many of her sex, was fond of governing by
factions, so as to balance two opposing interests, and reserve in
her own hand the power of making either predominate, as the
interest of the state, or perhaps as her own female caprice (for
to that foible even she was not superior), might finally
determine.  To finesse--to hold the cards--to oppose one interest
to another--to bridle him who thought himself highest in her
esteem, by the fears he must entertain of another equally
trusted, if not equally beloved, were arts which she used
throughout her reign, and which enabled her, though frequently
giving way to the weakness of favouritism, to prevent most of its
evil effects on her kingdom and government.

The two nobles who at present stood as rivals in her favour
possessed very different pretensions to share it; yet it might be
in general said that the Earl of Sussex had been most serviceable
to the Queen, while Leicester was most dear to the woman.  Sussex
was, according to the phrase of the times, a martialist--had done
good service in Ireland and in Scotland, and especially in the
great northern rebellion, in 1569, which was quelled, in a great
measure, by his military talents.  He was, therefore, naturally
surrounded and looked up to by those who wished to make arms
their road to distinction.  The Earl of Sussex, moreover, was of
more ancient and honourable descent than his rival, uniting in
his person the representation of the Fitz-Walters, as well as of
the Ratcliffes; while the scutcheon of Leicester was stained by
the degradation of his grandfather, the oppressive minister of
Henry VII., and scarce improved by that of his father, the
unhappy Dudley, Duke of Northumberland, executed on Tower Hill,
August 22, 1553.  But in person, features, and address, weapons
so formidable in the court of a female sovereign, Leicester had
advantages more than sufficient to counterbalance the military
services, high blood, and frank bearing of the Earl of Sussex;
and he bore, in the eye of the court and kingdom, the higher
share in Elizabeth's favour, though (for such was her uniform
policy) by no means so decidedly expressed as to warrant him
against the final preponderance of his rival's pretensions.  The
illness of Sussex therefore happened so opportunely for
Leicester, as to give rise to strange surmises among the public;
while the followers of the one Earl were filled with the deepest
apprehensions, and those of the other with the highest hopes of
its probable issue.  Meanwhile--for in that old time men never
forgot the probability that the matter might be determined by
length of sword--the retainers of each noble flocked around their
patron, appeared well armed in the vicinity of the court itself,
and disturbed the ear of the sovereign by their frequent and
alarming debates, held even within the precincts of her palace.
This preliminary statement is necessary, to render what follows
intelligible to the reader.  [See Note 3. Leicester and Sussex.]

On Tressilian's arrival at Sayes Court, he found the place filled
with the retainers of the Earl of Sussex, and of the gentlemen
who came to attend their patron in his illness.  Arms were in
every hand, and a deep gloom on every countenance, as if they had
apprehended an immediate and violent assault from the opposite
faction.  In the hall, however, to which Tressilian was ushered
by one of the Earl's attendants, while another went to inform
Sussex of his arrival, he found only two gentlemen in waiting.
There was a remarkable contrast in their dress, appearance, and
manners.  The attire of the elder gentleman, a person as it
seemed of quality and in the prime of life, was very plain and
soldierlike, his stature low, his limbs stout, his bearing
ungraceful, and his features of that kind which express sound
common sense, without a grain of vivacity or imagination.  The
younger, who seemed about twenty, or upwards, was clad in the
gayest habit used by persons of quality at the period, wearing a
crimson velvet cloak richly ornamented with lace and embroidery,
with a bonnet of the same, encircled with a gold chain turned
three times round it, and secured by a medal.  His hair was
adjusted very nearly like that of some fine gentlemen of our own
time--that is, it was combed upwards, and made to stand as it
were on end; and in his ears he wore a pair of silver earrings,
having each a pearl of considerable size.  The countenance of
this youth, besides being regularly handsome and accompanied by a
fine person, was animated and striking in a degree that seemed to
speak at once the firmness of a decided and the fire of an
enterprising character, the power of reflection, and the
promptitude of determination.

Both these gentlemen reclined nearly in the same posture on
benches near each other; but each seeming engaged in his own
meditations, looked straight upon the wall which was opposite to
them, without speaking to his companion.  The looks of the elder
were of that sort which convinced the beholder that, in looking
on the wall, he saw no more than the side of an old hall hung
around with cloaks, antlers, bucklers, old pieces of armour,
partisans, and the similar articles which were usually the
furniture of such a place.  The look of the younger gallant had
in it something imaginative; he was sunk in reverie, and it
seemed as if the empty space of air betwixt him and the wall were
the stage of a theatre on which his fancy was mustering his own
DRAMATIS PERSONAE, and treating him with sights far different
from those which his awakened and earthly vision could have
offered.

At the entrance of Tressilian both started from their musing, and
made him welcome--the younger, in particular, with great
appearance of animation and cordiality.

"Thou art welcome, Tressilian," said the youth.  "Thy philosophy
stole thee from us when this household had objects of ambition to
offer; it is an honest philosophy, since it returns thee to us
when there are only dangers to be shared."

"Is my lord, then, so greatly indisposed?"  said Tressilian.

"We fear the very worst," answered the elder gentleman, "and by
the worst practice."

"Fie," replied Tressilian, "my Lord of Leicester is honourable."

"What doth he with such attendants, then, as he hath about him?"
said the younger gallant.  "The man who raises the devil may be
honest, but he is answerable for the mischief which the fiend
does, for all that."

"And is this all of you, my mates," inquired Tressilian, "that
are about my lord in his utmost straits?"

"No, no," replied the elder gentleman, "there are Tracy, Markham,
and several more; but we keep watch here by two at once, and some
are weary and are sleeping in the gallery above."

"And some," said the young man," are gone down to the Dock yonder
at Deptford, to look out such a hull; as they may purchase by
clubbing their broken fortunes; and as soon as all is over, we
will lay our noble lord in a noble green grave, have a blow at
those who have hurried him thither, if opportunity suits, and
then sail for the Indies with heavy hearts and light purses."

"It may be," said Tressilian, "that I will embrace the same
purpose, so soon as I have settled some business at court."

"Thou business at court!"  they both exclaimed at once, "and thou
make the Indian voyage!"

"Why, Tressilian," said the younger man, "art thou not wedded,
and beyond these flaws of fortune, that drive folks out to sea
when their bark bears fairest for the haven?-- What has become of
the lovely Indamira that was to match my Amoret for truth and
beauty?"

"Speak not of her!"  said Tressilian, averting his face.

"Ay, stands it so with you?"  said the youth, taking his hand
very affectionately; "then, fear not I will again touch the green
wound.  But it is strange as well as sad news.  Are none of our
fair and merry fellowship to escape shipwreck of fortune and
happiness in this sudden tempest?  I had hoped thou wert in
harbour, at least, my dear Edmund.  But truly says another dear
friend of thy name,

  'What man that sees the ever whirling wheel
  Of Chance, the which all mortal things doth sway,
  But that thereby doth find and plainly feel,
  How Mutability in them doth play
  Her cruel sports to many men's decay.'"

The elder gentleman had risen from his bench, and was pacing the
hall with some impatience, while the youth, with much earnestness
and feeling, recited these lines.  When he had done, the other
wrapped himself in his cloak, and again stretched himself down,
saying, "I marvel, Tressilian, you will feed the lad in this
silly humour.  If there were ought to draw a judgment upon a
virtuous and honourable household like my lord's, renounce me if
I think not it were this piping, whining, childish trick of
poetry, that came among us with Master Walter Wittypate here and
his comrades, twisting into all manner of uncouth and
incomprehensible forms of speech, the honest plain English phrase
which God gave us to express our meaning withal."

"Blount believes," said his comrade, laughing, "the devil woo'd
Eve in rhyme, and that the mystic meaning of the Tree of
Knowledge refers solely to the art of clashing rhymes and meting
out hexameters."  [See Note 4. Sir Walter Raleigh.]

At this moment the Earl's chamberlain entered, and informed
Tressilian that his lord required to speak with him.

He found Lord Sussex dressed, but unbraced, and lying on his
couch, and was shocked at the alteration disease had made in his
person.  The Earl received him with the most friendly cordiality,
and inquired into the state of his courtship.  Tressilian evaded
his inquiries for a moment, and turning his discourse on the
Earl's own health, he discovered, to his surprise, that the
symptoms of his disorder corresponded minutely with those which
Wayland had predicated concerning it.  He hesitated not,
therefore, to communicate to Sussex the whole history of his
attendant, and the pretensions he set up to cure the disorder
under which he laboured.  The Earl listened with incredulous
attention until the name of Demetrius was mentioned, and then
suddenly called to his secretary to bring him a certain casket
which contained papers of importance.  "Take out from thence," he
said, "the declaration of the rascal cook whom we had under
examination, and look heedfully if the name of Demetrius be not
there mentioned."

The secretary turned to the passage at once, and read, "And said
declarant, being examined, saith, That he remembers having made
the sauce to the said sturgeon-fish, after eating of which the
said noble Lord was taken ill; "and he put the usual ingredients
and condiments therein, namely--"

"Pass over his trash," said the Earl, "and see whether he had not
been supplied with his materials by a herbalist called
Demetrius."

"It is even so," answered the secretary.  "And he adds, he has
not since seen the said Demetrius."

"This accords with thy fellow's story, Tressilian," said the
Earl; "call him hither."

On being summoned to the Earl's presence, Wayland Smith told his
former tale with firmness and consistency.

"It may be," said the Earl, "thou art sent by those who have
begun this work, to end it for them; but bethink, if I miscarry
under thy medicine, it may go hard with thee."

"That were severe measure," said Wayland, "since the issue of
medicine, and the end of life, are in God's disposal.  But I will
stand the risk.  I have not lived so long under ground to be
afraid of a grave."

"Nay, if thou be'st so confident," said the Earl of Sussex, "I
will take the risk too, for the learned can do nothing for me.
Tell me how this medicine is to be taken."

"That will I do presently," said Wayland; "but allow me to
condition that, since I incur all the risk of this treatment, no
other physician shall be permitted to interfere with it."

"That is but fair," replied the Earl; "and now prepare your
drug."

While Wayland obeyed the Earl's commands, his servants, by the
artist's direction, undressed their master, and placed him in
bed.

"I warn you," he said, "that the first operation of this medicine
will be to produce a heavy sleep, during which time the chamber
must be kept undisturbed, as the consequences may otherwise he
fatal.  I myself will watch by the Earl with any of the gentlemen
of his chamber."

"Let all leave the room, save Stanley and this good fellow," said
the Earl.

"And saving me also," said Tressilian.  "I too am deeply
interested in the effects of this potion."

"Be it so, good friend," said the Earl.  "And now for our
experiment; but first call my secretary and chamberlain."

"Bear witness," he continued, when these officers arrived--"bear
witness for me, gentlemen, that our honourable friend Tressilian
is in no way responsible for the effects which this medicine may
produce upon me, the taking it being my own free action and
choice, in regard I believe it to be a remedy which God has
furnished me by unexpected means to recover me of my present
malady.  Commend me to my noble and princely Mistress; and say
that I live and die her true servant, and wish to all about her
throne the same singleness of heart and will to serve her, with
more ability to do so than hath been assigned to poor Thomas
Ratcliffe."

He then folded his hands, and seemed for a second or two absorbed
in mental devotion, then took the potion in his hand, and,
pausing, regarded Wayland with a look that seemed designed to
penetrate his very soul, but which caused no anxiety or
hesitation in the countenance or manner of the artist.

"Here is nothing to be feared," said Sussex to Tressilian, and
swallowed the medicine without further hesitation

"I am now to pray your lordship," said Wayland, "to dispose
yourself to rest as commodiously as you can; and of you,
gentlemen, to remain as still and mute as if you waited at your
mother's deathbed."

The chamberlain and secretary then withdrew, giving orders that
all doors should be bolted, and all noise in the house strictly
prohibited.  Several gentlemen were voluntary watchers in the
hall, but none remained in the chamber of the sick Earl, save his
groom of the chamber, the artist, and Tressilian.--Wayland
Smith's predictions were speedily accomplished, and a sleep fell
upon the Earl, so deep and sound that they who watched his
bedside began to fear that, in his weakened state, he might pass
away without awakening from his lethargy.  Wayland Smith himself
appeared anxious, and felt the temples of the Earl slightly, from
time to time, attending particularly to the state of his
respiration, which was full and deep, but at the same time easy
and uninterrupted.



CHAPTER XV,

  You loggerheaded and unpolish'd grooms,
  What, no attendance, no regard, no duty?
  Where is the foolish knave I sent before?  TAMING OF THE SHREW.

There is no period at which men look worse in the eyes of each
other, or feel more uncomfortable, than when the first dawn of
daylight finds them watchers.  Even a beauty of the first order,
after the vigils of a ball are interrupted by the dawn, would do
wisely to withdraw herself from the gaze of her fondest and most
partial admirers.  Such was the pale, inauspicious, and
ungrateful light which began to beam upon those who kept watch
all night in the hall at Sayes Court, and which mingled its cold,
pale, blue diffusion with the red, yellow, and smoky beams of
expiring lamps and torches.  The young gallant, whom we noticed
in our last chapter, had left the room for a few minutes, to
learn the cause of a knocking at the outward gate, and on his
return was so struck with the forlorn and ghastly aspects of his
companions of the watch that he exclaimed, "Pity of my heart, my
masters, how like owls you look!  Methinks, when the sun rises, I
shall see you flutter off with your eyes dazzled, to stick
yourselves into the next ivy-tod or ruined steeple."

"Hold thy peace, thou gibing fool," said Blount; "hold thy peace.

Is this a time for jeering, when the manhood of England is
perchance dying within a wall's breadth of thee?"

"There thou liest," replied the gallant.

"How, lie!"  exclaimed Blount, starting up, "lie!  and to me?"

"Why, so thou didst, thou peevish fool," answered the youth;
"thou didst lie on that bench even now, didst thou not?  But art
thou not a hasty coxcomb to pick up a wry word so wrathfully?
Nevertheless, loving and, honouring my lord as truly as thou, or
any one, I do say that, should Heaven take him from us, all
England's manhood dies not with him."

"Ay," replied Blount, "a good portion will survive with thee,
doubtless."

"And a good portion with thyself, Blount, and with stout Markham
here, and Tracy, and all of us.  But I am he will best employ the
talent Heaven has given to us all."

"As how, I prithee?"  said Blount; "tell us your mystery of
multiplying."

"Why, sirs," answered the youth, "ye are like goodly land, which
bears no crop because it is not quickened by manure; but I have
that rising spirit in me which will make my poor faculties labour
to keep pace with it.  My ambition will keep my brain at work, I
warrant thee."

"I pray to God it does not drive thee mad," said Blount; "for my
part, if we lose our noble lord, I bid adieu to the court and to
the camp both.  I have five hundred foul acres in Norfolk, and
thither will I, and change the court pantoufle for the country
hobnail."

"O base transmutation!"  exclaimed his antagonist; "thou hast
already got the true rustic slouch--thy shoulders stoop, as if
thine hands were at the stilts of the plough; and thou hast a
kind of earthy smell about thee, instead of being perfumed with
essence, as a gallant and courtier should.  On my soul, thou hast
stolen out to roll thyself on a hay mow!  Thy only excuse will be
to swear by thy hilts that the farmer had a fair daughter."

"I pray thee, Walter," said another of the company, "cease thy
raillery, which suits neither time nor place, and tell us who was
at the gate just now."

"Doctor Masters, physician to her Grace in ordinary, sent by her
especial orders to inquire after the Earl's health," answered
Walter.

"Ha!  what?"  exclaimed Tracy; "that was no slight mark of
favour. If the Earl can but come through, he will match with
Leicester yet.  Is Masters with my lord at present?"

"Nay," replied Walter, "he is half way back to Greenwich by this
time, and in high dudgeon."

"Thou didst not refuse him admittance?"  exclaimed Tracy.

"Thou wert not, surely, so mad?"  ejaculated Blount.

"I refused him admittance as flatly, Blount, as you would refuse
a penny to a blind beggar--as obstinately, Tracy, as thou didst
ever deny access to a dun."

"Why, in the fiend's name, didst thou trust him to go to the
gate?"  said Blount to Tracy.

"It suited his years better than mine," answered Tracy; "but he
has undone us all now thoroughly.  My lord may live or die, he
will never have a look of favour from her Majesty again."

"Nor the means of making fortunes for his followers," said the
young gallant, smiling contemptuously;--"there lies the sore
point that will brook no handling.  My good sirs, I sounded my
lamentations over my lord somewhat less loudly than some of you;
but when the point comes of doing him service, I will yield to
none of you.  Had this learned leech entered, think'st thou not
there had been such a coil betwixt him and Tressilian's
mediciner, that not the sleeper only, but the very dead might
have awakened?  I know what larurm belongs to the discord of
doctors."

"And who is to take the blame of opposing the Queen's orders?"
said Tracy; "for, undeniably, Doctor Masters came with her
Grace's positive commands to cure the Earl."

"I, who have done the wrong, will bear the blame," said Walter.

"Thus, then, off fly the dreams of court favour thou hast
nourished," said Blount, "and despite all thy boasted art and
ambition, Devonshire will see thee shine a true younger brother,
fit to sit low at the board, carve turn about with the chaplain,
look that the hounds be fed, and see the squire's girths drawn
when he goes a-hunting."

"Not so," said the young man, colouring, "not while Ireland and
the Netherlands have wars, and not while the sea hath pathless
waves.  The rich West hath lands undreamed of, and Britain
contains bold hearts to venture on the quest of them.  Adieu for
a space, my masters.  I go to walk in the court and look to the
sentinels."

"The lad hath quicksilver in his veins, that is certain," said
Blount, looking at Markham.

"He hath that both in brain and blood," said Markham, "which may
either make or mar him.  But in closing the door against Masters,
he hath done a daring and loving piece of service; for
Tressilian's fellow hath ever averred that to wake the Earl were
death, and Masters would wake the Seven Sleepers themselves, if
he thought they slept not by the regular ordinance of medicine."

Morning was well advanced when Tressilian, fatigued and over-
watched, came down to the hall with the joyful intelligence that
the Earl had awakened of himself, that he found his internal
complaints much mitigated, and spoke with a cheerfulness, and
looked round with a vivacity, which of themselves showed a
material and favourable change had taken place.  Tressilian at
the same time commanded the attendance of one or two of his
followers, to report what had passed during the night, and to
relieve the watchers in the Earl's chamber.

When the message of the Queen was communicated to the Earl of
Sussex, he at first smiled at the repulse which the physician had
received from his zealous young follower; but instantly
recollecting himself, he commanded Blount, his master of the
horse, instantly to take boat, and go down the river to the
Palace of Greenwich, taking young Walter and Tracy with him, and
make a suitable compliment, expressing his grateful thanks to his
Sovereign, and mentioning the cause why he had not been enabled
to profit by the assistance of the wise and learned Doctor
Masters.

"A plague on it!"  said Blount, as he descended the stairs; "had
he sent me with a cartel to Leicester I think I should have done
his errand indifferently well.  But to go to our gracious
Sovereign, before whom all words must be lacquered over either
with gilding or with sugar, is such a confectionary matter as
clean baffles my poor old English brain.--Come with me, Tracy,
and come you too, Master Walter Wittypate, that art the cause of
our having all this ado.  Let us see if thy neat brain, that
frames so many flashy fireworks, can help out a plain fellow at
need with some of thy shrewd devices."

"Never fear, never fear," exclaimed the youth, "it is I will help
you through; let me but fetch my cloak."

"Why, thou hast it on thy shoulders," said Blount,--"the lad is
mazed,"

"No, No, this is Tracy's old mantle," answered Walter.  "I go not
with thee to court unless as a gentleman should."

"Why," Said Blount, "thy braveries are like to dazzle the eyes of
none but some poor groom or porter."

"I know that," said the youth; "but I am resolved I will have my
own cloak, ay, and brush my doublet to boot, ere I stir forth
with you."

"Well, well," said Blount, "here is a coil about a doublet and a
cloak.  Get thyself ready, a God's name!"

They were soon launched on the princely bosom of the broad
Thames, upon which the sun now shone forth in all its splendour.

"There are two things scarce matched in the universe," said
Walter to Blount--"the sun in heaven, and the Thames on the
earth."

"The one will light us to Greenwich well enough," said Blount,
"and the other would take us there a little faster if it were
ebb-tide."

"And this is all thou thinkest--all thou carest--all thou deemest
the use of the King of Elements and the King of Rivers--to guide
three such poor caitiffs as thyself, and me, and Tracy, upon an
idle journey of courtly ceremony!"

"It is no errand of my seeking, faith," replied Blount, "and I
could excuse both the sun and the Thames the trouble of carrying
me where I have no great mind to go, and where I expect but dog's
wages for my trouble--and by my honour," he added, looking out
from the head of the boat, "it seems to me as if our message were
a sort of labour in vain, for, see, the Queen's barge lies at the
stairs as if her Majesty were about to take water."

It was even so.  The royal barge, manned with the Queen's
watermen richly attired in the regal liveries, and having the
Banner of England displayed, did indeed lie at the great stairs
which ascended from the river, and along with it two or three
other boats for transporting such part of her retinue as were not
in immediate attendance on the royal person.  The yeomen of the
guard, the tallest and most handsome men whom England could
produce, guarded with their halberds the passage from the palace-
gate to the river side, and all seemed in readiness for the
Queen's coming forth, although the day was yet so early.

"By my faith, this bodes us no good," said Blount; "it must be
some perilous cause puts her Grace in motion thus untimeously, By
my counsel, we were best put back again, and tell the Earl what
we have seen."

"Tell the Earl what we have seen!"  said Walter; "why what have
we seen but a boat, and men with scarlet jerkins, and halberds in
their hands?  Let us do his errand, and tell him what the Queen
says in reply."

So saying, he caused the boat to be pulled towards a landing-
place at some distance from the principal one, which it would
not, at that moment, have been thought respectful to approach,
and jumped on shore, followed, though with reluctance, by his
cautious and timid companions.  As they approached the gate of
the palace, one of the sergeant porters told them they could not
at present enter, as her Majesty was in the act of coming forth.
The gentlemen used the name of the Earl of Sussex; but it proved
no charm to subdue the officer, who alleged, in reply, that it
was as much as his post was worth to disobey in the least tittle
the commands which he had received.

"Nay, I told you as much before," said Blount; "do, I pray you,
my dear Walter, let us take boat and return."

"Not till I see the Queen come forth," returned the youth
composedly.

"Thou art mad, stark mad, by the Mass!"  answered Blount.

"And thou," said Walter, "art turned coward of the sudden.  I
have seen thee face half a score of shag-headed Irish kerns to
thy own share of them; and now thou wouldst blink and go back to
shun the frown of a fair lady!"

At this moment the gates opened, and ushers began to issue forth
in array, preceded and flanked by the band of Gentlemen
Pensioners.  After this, amid a crowd of lords and ladies, yet so
disposed around her that she could see and be seen on all sides,
came Elizabeth herself, then in the prime of womanhood, and in
the full glow of what in a Sovereign was called beauty, and who
would in the lowest rank of life have been truly judged a noble
figure, joined to a striking and commanding physiognomy.  She
leant on the arm of Lord Hunsdon, whose relation to her by her
mother's side often procured him such distinguished marks of
Elizabeth's intimacy.

The young cavalier we have so often mentioned had probably never
yet approached so near the person of his Sovereign, and he
pressed forward as far as the line of warders permitted, in order
to avail himself of the present opportunity.  His companion, on
the contrary, cursing his imprudence, kept pulling him backwards,
till Walter shook him off impatiently, and letting his rich cloak
drop carelessly from one shoulder; a natural action, which
served, however, to display to the best advantage his well-
proportioned person.  Unbonneting at the same time, he fixed his
eager gaze on the Queen's approach, with a mixture of respectful
curiosity and modest yet ardent admiration, which suited so well
with his fine features that the warders, struck with his rich
attire and noble countenance, suffered him to approach the ground
over which the Queen was to pass, somewhat closer than was
permitted to ordinary spectators.  Thus the adventurous youth
stood full in Elizabeth's eye--an eye never indifferent to the
admiration which she deservedly excited among her subjects, or to
the fair proportions of external form which chanced to
distinguish any of her courtiers.

Accordingly, she fixed her keen glance on the youth, as she
approached the place where he stood, with a look in which
surprise at his boldness seemed to be unmingled with resentment,
while a trifling accident happened which attracted her attention
towards him yet more strongly.  The night had been rainy, and
just where the young gentleman stood a small quantity of mud
interrupted the Queen's passage.  As she hesitated to pass on,
the gallant, throwing his cloak from his shoulders, laid it on
the miry spot, so as to ensure her stepping over it dry-shod.
Elizabeth looked at the young man, who accompanied this act of
devoted courtesy with a profound reverence, and a blush that
overspread his whole countenance.  The Queen was confused, and
blushed in her turn, nodded her head, hastily passed on, and
embarked in her barge without saying a word.

"Come along, Sir Coxcomb," said Blount; "your gay cloak will need
the brush to-day, I wot.  Nay, if you had meant to make a
footcloth of your mantle, better have kept Tracy's old drab-de-
bure, which despises all colours."

"This cloak," said the youth, taking it up and folding it, "shall
never be brushed while in my possession."

"And that will not be long, if you learn not a little more
economy; we shall have you in CUERPO soon, as the Spaniard says."

Their discourse was here interrupted by one of the band of
Pensioners.

"I was sent," said he, after looking at them attentively, "to a
gentleman who hath no cloak, or a muddy one.--You, sir, I think,"
addressing the younger cavalier, "are the man; you will please to
follow me."

"He is in attendance on me," said Blount--"on me, the noble Earl
of Sussex's master of horse."

"I have nothing to say to that," answered the messenger; "my
orders are directly from her Majesty, and concern this gentleman
only."

So saying, he walked away, followed by Walter, leaving the others
behind, Blount's eyes almost starting from his head with the
excess of his astonishment.  At length he gave vent to it in an
exclamation, "Who the good jere would have thought this!"  And
shaking his head with a mysterious air, he walked to his own
boat, embarked, and returned to Deptford.

The young cavalier was in the meanwhile guided to the water-side
by the Pensioner, who showed him considerable respect; a
circumstance which, to persons in his situation, may be
considered as an augury of no small consequence.  He ushered him
into one of the wherries which lay ready to attend the Queen's
barge, which was already proceeding; up the river, with the
advantage of that flood-tide of which, in the course of their
descent, Blount had complained to his associates.

The two rowers used their oars with such expedition at the signal
of the Gentleman Pensioner, that they very soon brought their
little skiff under the stern of the Queen's boat, where she sat
beneath an awning, attended by two or three ladies, and the
nobles of her household.  She looked more than once at the wherry
in which the young adventurer was seated, spoke to those around
her, and seemed to laugh.  At length one of the attendants, by
the Queen's order apparently, made a sign for the wherry to come
alongside, and the young man was desired to step from his own
skiff into the Queen's barge, which he performed with graceful
agility at the fore part of the boat, and was brought aft to the
Queen's presence, the wherry at the same time dropping into the
rear.  The youth underwent the gaze of Majesty, not the less
gracefully that his self-possession was mingled with
embarrassment.  The muddled cloak still hung upon his arm, and
formed the natural topic with which the Queen introduced the
conversation.

"You have this day spoiled a gay mantle in our behalf, young man.
We thank you for your service, though the manner of offering it
was unusual, and something bold."

"In a sovereign's need," answered the youth, "it is each liege-
man's duty to be bold."

"God's pity!  that was well said, my lord," said the Queen,
turning to a grave person who sat by her, and answered with a
grave inclination of the head, and something of a mumbled
assent.--"Well, young man, your gallantry shall not go
unrewarded.  Go to the wardrobe keeper, and he shall have orders
to supply the suit which you have cast away in our service.  Thou
shalt have a suit, and that of the newest cut, I promise thee, on
the word of a princess."

"May it please your Grace," said Walter, hesitating, "it is not
for so humble a servant of your Majesty to measure out your
bounties; but if it became me to choose--"

"Thou wouldst have gold, I warrant me," said the Queen,
interrupting him.  "Fie, young man!  I take shame to say that in
our capital such and so various are the means of thriftless
folly, that to give gold to youth is giving fuel to fire, and
furnishing them with the means of self-destruction.  If I live
and reign, these means of unchristian excess shall be abridged.
Yet thou mayest be poor," she added, "or thy parents may be.  It
shall be gold, if thou wilt, but thou shalt answer to me for the
use on't."

Walter waited patiently until the Queen had done, and then
modestly assured her that gold was still less in his wish than
the raiment her Majesty had before offered.

"How, boy!"  said the Queen, "neither gold nor garment?  What is
it thou wouldst have of me, then?"

"Only permission, madam--if it is not asking too high an honour
--permission to wear the cloak which did you this trifling
service."

"Permission to wear thine own cloak, thou silly boy!"  said the
Queen.

"It is no longer mine," said Walter; "when your Majesty's foot
touched it, it became a fit mantle for a prince, but far too rich
a one for its former owner."

The Queen again blushed, and endeavoured to cover, by laughing, a
slight degree of not unpleasing surprise and confusion.

"Heard you ever the like, my lords?  The youth's head is turned
with reading romances.  I must know something of him, that I may
send him safe to his friends.--What art thou?"

"A gentleman of the household of the Earl of Sussex, so please
your Grace, sent hither with his master of horse upon message to
your Majesty."

In a moment the gracious expression which Elizabeth's face had
hitherto maintained, gave way to an expression of haughtiness and
severity.

"My Lord of Sussex," she said, "has taught us how to regard his
messages by the value he places upon ours.  We sent but this
morning the physician in ordinary of our chamber, and that at no
usual time, understanding his lordship's illness to be more
dangerous than we had before apprehended.  There is at no court
in Europe a man more skilled in this holy and most useful science
than Doctor Masters, and he came from Us to our subject.
Nevertheless, he found the gate of Sayes Court defended by men
with culverins, as if it had been on the borders of Scotland, not
in the vicinity of our court; and when he demanded admittance in
our name, it was stubbornly refused.  For this slight of a
kindness, which had but too much of condescension in it, we will
receive, at present at least, no excuse; and some such we suppose
to have been the purport of my Lord of Sussex's message."

This was uttered in a tone and with a gesture which made Lord
Sussex's friends who were within hearing tremble.  He to whom the
speech was addressed, however, trembled not; but with great
deference and humility, as soon as the Queen's passion gave him
an opportunity, he replied, "So please your most gracious
Majesty, I was charged with no apology from the Earl of Sussex."

"With what were you then charged, sir?"  said the Queen, with the
impetuosity which, amid nobler qualities, strongly marked her
character.  "Was it with a justification?--or, God's death!  with
a defiance?"

"Madam," said the young man, "my Lord of Sussex knew the offence
approached towards treason, and could think of nothing save of
securing the offender, and placing him in your Majesty's hands,
and at your mercy.  The noble Earl was fast asleep when your most
gracious message reached him, a potion having been administered
to that purpose by his physician; and his Lordship knew not of
the ungracious repulse your Majesty's royal and most comfortable
message had received, until after he awoke this morning."

"And which of his domestics, then, in the name of Heaven,
presumed to reject my message, without even admitting my own
physician to the presence of him whom I sent him to attend?"
said the Queen, much surprised.

"The offender, madam, is before you," replied Walter, bowing very
low; "the full and sole blame is mine; and my lord has most
justly sent me to abye the consequences of a fault, of which he
is as innocent as a sleeping man's dreams can be of a waking
man's actions."

"What!  was it thou?--thou thyself, that repelled my messenger
and my physician from Sayes Court?"  said the Queen.  "What could
occasion such boldness in one who seems devoted--that is, whose
exterior bearing shows devotion--to his Sovereign?"

"Madam," said the youth--who, notwithstanding an assumed
appearance of severity, thought that he saw something in the
Queen's face that resembled not implacability--"we say in our
country, that the physician is for the time the liege sovereign
of his patient.  Now, my noble master was then under dominion of
a leech, by whose advice he hath greatly profited, who had issued
his commands that his patient should not that night be disturbed,
on the very peril of his life."

"Thy master hath trusted some false varlet of an empiric," said
the Queen.

"I know not, madam, but by the fact that he is now--this very
morning--awakened much refreshed and strengthened from the only
sleep he hath had for many hours."

The nobles looked at each other, but more with the purpose to see
what each thought of this news, than to exchange any remarks on
what had happened.  The Queen answered hastily, and without
affecting to disguise her satisfaction, "By my word, I am glad he
is better.  But thou wert over-bold to deny the access of my
Doctor Masters.  Knowest thou not the Holy Writ saith, 'In the
multitude of counsel there is safety'?"

"Ay, madam," said Walter; "but I have heard learned men say that
the safety spoken of is for the physicians, not for the patient."

"By my faith, child, thou hast pushed me home," said the Queen,
laughing; "for my Hebrew learning does not come quite at a call.
--How say you, my Lord of Lincoln?  Hath the lad given a just
interpretation of the text?"

"The word SAFETY, most gracious madam," said the Bishop of
Lincoln, "for so hath been translated, it may be somewhat
hastily, the Hebrew word, being--"

"My lord," said the Queen, interrupting him, "we said we had
forgotten our Hebrew.--But for thee, young man, what is thy name
and birth?"

"Raleigh is my name, most gracious Queen, the youngest son of a
large but honourable family of Devonshire."

"Raleigh?"  said Elizabeth, after a moment's recollection.  "Have
we not heard of your service in Ireland?"

"I have been so fortunate as to do some service there, madam,"
replied Raleigh; "scarce, however, of consequence sufficient to
reach your Grace's ears."

"They hear farther than you think of," said the Queen graciously,
"and have heard of a youth who defended a ford in Shannon against
a whole band of wild Irish rebels, until the stream ran purple
with their blood and his own."

"Some blood I may have lost," said the youth, looking down, "but
it was where my best is due, and that is in your Majesty's
service."

The Queen paused, and then said hastily, "You are very young to
have fought so well, and to speak so well.  But you must not
escape your penance for turning back Masters.  The poor man hath
caught cold on the river for our order reached him when he was
just returned from certain visits in London, and he held it
matter of loyalty and conscience instantly to set forth again.
So hark ye, Master Raleigh, see thou fail not to wear thy muddy
cloak, in token of penitence, till our pleasure be further known.
And here," she added, giving him a jewel of gold, in the form of
a chess-man, "I give thee this to wear at the collar."

Raleigh, to whom nature had taught intuitively, as it were, those
courtly arts which many scarce acquire from long experience,
knelt, and, as he took from her hand the jewel, kissed the
fingers which gave it.  He knew, perhaps, better than almost any
of the courtiers who surrounded her, how to mingle the devotion
claimed by the Queen with the gallantry due to her personal
beauty; and in this, his first attempt to unite them, he
succeeded so well as at once to gratify Elizabeth's personal
vanity and her love of power.  [See Note 5. Court favour of Sir
Walter Raleigh.]

His master, the Earl of Sussex, had the full advantage of the
satisfaction which Raleigh had afforded Elizabeth, on their first
interview.

"My lords and ladies," said the Queen, looking around to the
retinue by whom she was attended, "methinks, since we are upon
the river, it were well to renounce our present purpose of going
to the city, and surprise this poor Earl of Sussex with a visit.
He is ill, and suffering doubtless under the fear of our
displeasure, from which he hath been honestly cleared by the
frank avowal of this malapert boy.  What think ye?  were it not
an act of charity to give him such consolation as the thanks of a
Queen, much bound to him for his loyal service, may perchance
best minister?"

It may be readily supposed that none to whom this speech was
addressed ventured to oppose its purport.

"Your Grace," said the Bishop of Lincoln, "is the breath of our
nostrils."  The men of war averred that the face of the Sovereign
was a whetstone to the soldier's sword; while the men of state
were not less of opinion that the light of the Queen's
countenance was a lamp to the paths of her councillors; and the
ladies agreed, with one voice, that no noble in England so well
deserved the regard of England's Royal Mistress as the Earl of
Sussex--the Earl of Leicester's right being reserved entire, so
some of the more politic worded their assent, an exception to
which Elizabeth paid no apparent attention.  The barge had,
therefore, orders to deposit its royal freight at Deptford, at
the nearest and most convenient point of communication with Sayes
Court, in order that the Queen might satisfy her royal and
maternal solicitude, by making personal inquiries after the
health of the Earl of Sussex.

Raleigh, whose acute spirit foresaw and anticipated important
consequences from the most trifling events, hastened to ask the
Queen's permission to go in the skiff; and announce the royal
visit to his master; ingeniously suggesting that the joyful
surprise might prove prejudicial to his health, since the richest
and most generous cordials may sometimes be fatal to those who
have been long in a languishing state.

But whether the Queen deemed it too presumptuous in so young a
courtier to interpose his opinion unasked, or whether she was
moved by a recurrence of the feeling of jealousy which had been
instilled into her by reports that the Earl kept armed men about
his person, she desired Raleigh, sharply, to reserve his counsel
till it was required of him, and repeated her former orders to be
landed at Deptford, adding, "We will ourselves see what sort of
household my Lord of Sussex keeps about him."

"Now the Lord have pity on us!"  said the young courtier to
himself.  "Good hearts, the Earl hath many a one round him; but
good heads are scarce with us--and he himself is too ill to give
direction.  And Blount will be at his morning meal of Yarmouth
herrings and ale, and Tracy will have his beastly black puddings
and Rhenish; those thorough-paced Welshmen, Thomas ap Rice and
Evan Evans, will be at work on their leek porridge and toasted
cheese;--and she detests, they say, all coarse meats, evil
smells, and strong wines.  Could they but think of burning some
rosemary in the great hall!  but VOGUE LA GALERE, all must now be
trusted to chance.  Luck hath done indifferent well for me this
morning; for I trust I have spoiled a cloak, and made a court
fortune.  May she do as much for my gallant patron!"

The royal barge soon stopped at Deptford, and, amid the loud
shouts of the populace, which her presence never failed to
excite, the Queen, with a canopy borne over her head, walked,
accompanied by her retinue, towards Sayes Court, where the
distant acclamations of the people gave the first notice of her
arrival.  Sussex, who was in the act of advising with Tressilian
how he should make up the supposed breach in the Queen's favour,
was infinitely surprised at learning her immediate approach.  Not
that the Queen's custom of visiting her more distinguished
nobility, whether in health or sickness, could be unknown to him;
but the suddenness of the communication left no time for those
preparations with which he well knew Elizabeth loved to be
greeted, and the rudeness and confusion of his military
household, much increased by his late illness, rendered him
altogether unprepared for her reception.

Cursing internally the chance which thus brought her gracious
visitation on him unaware, he hastened down with Tressilian, to
whose eventful and interesting story he had just given an
attentive ear.

"My worthy friend," he said, "such support as I can give your
accusation of Varney, you have a right to expect, alike from
justice and gratitude.  Chance will presently show whether I can
do aught with our Sovereign, or whether, in very deed, my
meddling in your affair may not rather prejudice than serve you."

Thus spoke Sussex while hastily casting around him a loose robe
of sables, and adjusting his person in the best manner he could
to meet the eye of his Sovereign.  But no hurried attention
bestowed on his apparel could remove the ghastly effects of long
illness on a countenance which nature had marked with features
rather strong than pleasing.  Besides, he was low of stature,
and, though broad-shouldered, athletic, and fit for martial
achievements, his presence in a peaceful hall was not such as
ladies love to look upon; a personal disadvantage, which was
supposed to give Sussex, though esteemed and honoured by his
Sovereign, considerable disadvantage when compared with
Leicester, who was alike remarkable for elegance of manners and
for beauty of person.

The Earl's utmost dispatch only enabled him to meet the Queen as
she entered the great hall, and he at once perceived there was a
cloud on her brow.  Her jealous eye had noticed the martial array
of armed gentlemen and retainers with which the mansion-house was
filled, and her first words expressed her disapprobation.  "Is
this a royal garrison, my Lord of Sussex, that it holds so many
pikes and calivers?  or have we by accident overshot Sayes Court,
and landed at Our Tower of London?"

Lord Sussex hastened to offer some apology.

"It needs not," she said.  "My lord, we intend speedily to take
up a certain quarrel between your lordship and another great lord
of our household, and at the same time to reprehend this
uncivilized and dangerous practice of surrounding yourselves with
armed, and even with ruffianly followers, as if, in the
neighbourhood of our capital, nay in the very verge of our royal
residence, you were preparing to wage civil war with each other.
--We are glad to see you so well recovered, my lord, though
without the assistance of the learned physician whom we sent to
you.  Urge no excuse; we know how that matter fell out, and we
have corrected for it the wild slip, young Raleigh.  By the way,
my lord, we will speedily relieve your household of him, and take
him into our own.  Something there is about him which merits to
be better nurtured than he is like to be amongst your very
military followers."

To this proposal Sussex, though scarce understanding how the
Queen came to make it could only bow and express his
acquiescence.  He then entreated her to remain till refreshment
could be offered, but in this he could not prevail.  And after a
few compliments of a much colder and more commonplace character
than might have been expected from a step so decidedly favourable
as a personal visit, the Queen took her leave of Sayes Court,
having brought confusion thither along with her, and leaving
doubt and apprehension behind.



CHAPTER XVI.

  Then call them to our presence.  Face to face,
  And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear
  The accuser and accused freely speak;--
  High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire,
  In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.         RICHARD II.

"I am ordered to attend court to-morrow," said Leicester,
speaking to Varney, "to meet, as they surmise, my Lord of Sussex.
The Queen intends to take up matters betwixt us.  This comes of
her visit to Sayes Court, of which you must needs speak so
lightly."

"I maintain it was nothing," said Varney; "nay, I know from a
sure intelligencer, who was within earshot of much that was said,
that Sussex has lost rather than gained by that visit.  The Queen
said, when she stepped into the boat, that Sayes Court looked
like a guard-house, and smelt like an hospital.  'Like a cook's
shop in Ram's Alley, rather,' said the Countess of Rutland, who
is ever your lordship's good friend.  And then my Lord of Lincoln
must needs put in his holy oar, and say that my Lord of Sussex
must be excused for his rude and old-world housekeeping, since he
had as yet no wife."

"And what said the Queen?"  asked Leicester hastily.

"She took him up roundly," said Varney, "and asked what my Lord
Sussex had to do with a wife, or my Lord Bishop to speak on such
a subject.  'If marriage is permitted,' she said, 'I nowhere read
that it is enjoined.'"

"She likes not marriages, or speech of marriage, among
churchmen," said Leicester.

"Nor among courtiers neither," said Varney; but, observing that
Leicester changed countenance, he instantly added, "that all the
ladies who were present had joined in ridiculing Lord Sussex's
housekeeping, and in contrasting it with the reception her Grace
would have assuredly received at my Lord of Leicester's."

"You have gathered much tidings," said Leicester, "but you have
forgotten or omitted the most important of all.  She hath added
another to those dangling satellites whom it is her pleasure to
keep revolving around her."

"Your lordship meaneth that Raleigh, the Devonshire youth," said
Varney--"the Knight of the Cloak, as they call him at court?"

"He may be Knight of the Garter one day, for aught I know," said
Leicester, "for he advances rapidly--she hath capped verses with
him, and such fooleries.  I would gladly abandon, of my own free
will, the part--I have in her fickle favour; but I will not be
elbowed out of it by the clown Sussex, or this new upstart.  I
hear Tressilian is with Sussex also, and high in his favour.  I
would spare him for considerations, but he will thrust himself on
his fate.  Sussex, too, is almost as well as ever in his health."

"My lord," replied Varney, "there will be rubs in the smoothest
road, specially when it leads uphill.  Sussex's illness was to us
a godsend, from which I hoped much.  He has recovered, indeed,
but he is not now more formidable than ere he fell ill, when he
received more than one foil in wrestling with your lordship.  Let
not your heart fail you, my lord, and all shall be well."

"My heart never failed me, sir," replied Leicester.

"No, my lord," said Varney; "but it has betrayed you right often.
He that would climb a tree, my lord, must grasp by the branches,
not by the blossom."

"Well, well, well!"  said Leicester impatiently; "I understand
thy meaning--my heart shall neither fail me nor seduce me.  Have
my retinue in order--see that their array be so splendid as to
put down, not only the rude companions of Ratcliffe, but the
retainers of every other nobleman and courtier.  Let them be well
armed withal, but without any outward display of their weapons,
wearing them as if more for fashion's sake than for use.  Do thou
thyself keep close to me, I may have business for you."

The preparations of Sussex and his party were not less anxious
than those of Leicester.

"Thy Supplication, impeaching Varney of seduction," said the Earl
to Tressilian, "is by this time in the Queen's hand--I have sent
it through a sure channel.  Methinks your suit should succeed,
being, as it is, founded in justice and honour, and Elizabeth
being the very muster of both.  But--I wot not how--the gipsy"
(so Sussex was wont to call his rival on account of his dark
complexion) "hath much to say with her in these holyday times of
peace.  Were war at the gates, I should be one of her white boys;
but soldiers, like their bucklers and Bilboa blades, get out of
fashion in peace time, and satin sleeves and walking rapiers bear
the bell.  Well, we must be gay, since such is the fashion.--
Blount, hast thou seen our household put into their new
braveries?  "But thou knowest as little of these toys as I do;
thou wouldst be ready enow at disposing a stand of pikes."

"My good lord," answered Blount, "Raleigh hath been here, and
taken that charge upon him--your train will glitter like a May
morning.  Marry, the cost is another question.  One might keep an
hospital of old soldiers at the charge of ten modern lackeys."

"He must not count cost to-day, Nicholas," said the Earl in
reply.  "I am beholden to Raleigh for his care.  I trust, though,
he has remembered that I am an old soldier, and would have no
more of these follies than needs must."

"Nay, I understand nought about it," said Blount; "but here are
your honourable lordship's brave kinsmen and friends coming in by
scores to wait upon you to court, where, methinks, we shall bear
as brave a front as Leicester, let him ruffle it as he will."

"Give them the strictest charges," said Sussex, "that they suffer
no provocation short of actual violence to provoke them into
quarrel.  They have hot bloods, and I would not give Leicester
the advantage over me by any imprudence of theirs."

The Earl of Sussex ran so hastily through these directions, that
it was with difficulty Tressilian at length found opportunity to
express his surprise that he should have proceeded so far in the
affair of Sir Hugh Robsart as to lay his petition at once before
the Queen.  "It was the opinion of the young lady's friends," he
said, "that Leicester's sense of justice should be first appealed
to, as the offence had been committed by his officer, and so he
had expressly told to Sussex."

"This could have been done without applying to me," said Sussex,
somewhat haughtily.  "I at least, ought not to have been a
counsellor when the object was a humiliating reference to
Leicester; and I am suprised that you, Tressilian, a man of
honour, and my friend, would assume such a mean course.  If you
said so, I certainly understood you not in a matter which sounded
so unlike yourself."

"My lord," said Tressilian, "the course I would prefer, for my
own sake, is that you have adopted; but the friends of this most
unhappy lady--"

"Oh, the friends--the friends," said Sussex, interrupting him;
"they must let us manage this cause in the way which seems best.
This is the time and the hour to accumulate every charge against
Leicester and his household, and yours the Queen will hold a
heavy one.  But at all events she hath the complaint before her."

Tressilian could not help suspecting that, in his eagerness to
strengthen himself against his rival, Sussex had purposely
adopted the course most likely to throw odium on Leicester,
without considering minutely whether it were the mode of
proceeding most likely to be attended with success.  But the step
was irrevocable, and Sussex escaped from further discussing it by
dismissing his company, with the command, "Let all be in order at
eleven o'clock; I must be at court and in the presence by high
noon precisely."

While the rival statesmen were thus anxiously preparing for their
approaching meeting in the Queen's presence, even Elizabeth
herself was not without apprehension of what might chance from
the collision of two such fiery spirits, each backed by a strong
and numerous body of followers, and dividing betwixt them, either
openly or in secret, the hopes and wishes of most of her court.
The band of Gentlemen Pensioners were all under arms, and a
reinforcement of the yeomen of the guard was brought down the
Thames from London.  A royal proclamation was sent forth,
strictly prohibiting nobles of whatever degree to approach the
Palace with retainers or followers armed with shot or with long
weapons; and it was even whispered that the High Sheriff of Kent
had secret instructions to have a part of the array of the county
ready on the shortest notice.

The eventful hour, thus anxiously prepared for on all sides, at
length approached, and, each followed by his long and glittering
train of friends and followers, the rival Earls entered the
Palace Yard of Greenwich at noon precisely.

As if by previous arrangement, or perhaps by intimation that such
was the Queen's pleasure, Sussex and his retinue came to the
Palace from Deptford by water while Leicester arrived by land;
and thus they entered the courtyard from opposite sides.  This
trifling circumstance gave Leicester a ascendency in the opinion
of the vulgar, the appearance of his cavalcade of mounted
followers showing more numerous and more imposing than those of
Sussex's party, who were necessarily upon foot.  No show or sign
of greeting passed between the Earls, though each looked full at
the other, both expecting perhaps an exchange of courtesies,
which neither was willing to commence.  Almost in the minute of
their arrival the castle-bell tolled, the gates of the Palace
were opened, and the Earls entered, each numerously attended by
such gentlemen of their train whose rank gave them that
privilege.  The yeomen and inferior attendants remained in the
courtyard, where the opposite parties eyed each other with looks
of eager hatred and scorn, as if waiting with impatience for some
cause of tumult, or some apology for mutual aggression.  But they
were restrained by the strict commands of their leaders, and
overawed, perhaps, by the presence of an armed guard of unusual
strength.

In the meanwhile, the more distinguished persons of each train
followed their patrons into the lofty halls and ante-chambers of
the royal Palace, flowing on in the same current, like two
streams which are compelled into the same channel, yet shun to
mix their waters.  The parties arranged themselves, as it were
instinctively, on the different sides of the lofty apartments,
and seemed eager to escape from the transient union which the
narrowness of the crowded entrance had for an instant compelled
them to submit to.  The folding doors at the upper end of the
long gallery were immediately afterwards opened, and it was
announced in a whisper that the Queen was in her presence-
chamber, to which these gave access.  Both Earls moved slowly and
stately towards the entrance--Sussex followed by Tressilian,
Blount, and Raleigh, and Leicester by Varney.  The pride of
Leicester was obliged to give way to court-forms, and with a
grave and formal inclination of the head, he paused until his
rival, a peer of older creation than his own, passed before him.
Sussex returned the reverence with the same formal civility, and
entered the presence-room.  Tressilian and Blount offered to
follow him, but were not permitted, the Usher of the Black Rod
alleging in excuse that he had precise orders to look to all
admissions that day.  To Raleigh, who stood back on the repulse
of his companions, he said, "You, sir, may enter," and he entered
accordingly.

"Follow me close, Varney," said the Earl of Leicester, who had
stood aloof for a moment to mark the reception of Sussex; and
advancing to the entrance, he was about to pass on, when Varney,
who was close behind him, dressed out in the utmost bravery of
the day, was stopped by the usher, as Tressilian and Blount had
been before him, "How is this, Master Bowyer?"  said the Earl of
Leicester.  "Know you who I am, and that this is my friend and
follower?"

"Your lordship will pardon me," replied Bowyer stoutly; "my
orders are precise, and limit me to a strict discharge of my
duty."

"Thou art a partial knave," said Leicester, the blood mounting to
his face, "to do me this dishonour, when you but now admitted a
follower of my Lord of Sussex."

"My lord," said Bowyer, "Master Raleigh is newly admitted a sworn
servant of her Grace, and to him my orders did not apply."

"Thou art a knave--an ungrateful knave," said Leicester; "but he
that hath done can undo--thou shalt not prank thee in thy
authority long!"

This threat he uttered aloud, with less than his usual policy and
discretion; and having done so, he entered the presence-chamber,
and made his reverence to the Queen, who, attired with even more
than her usual splendour, and surrounded by those nobles and
statesmen whose courage and wisdom have rendered her reign
immortal, stood ready to receive the hommage of her subjects.
She graciously returned the obeisance of the favourite Earl, and
looked alternately at him and at Sussex, as if about to speak,
when Bowyer, a man whose spirit could not brook the insult he had
so openly received from Leicester, in the discharge of his
office, advanced with his black rad in his hand, and knelt down
before her.

"Why, how now, Bowyer?"  said Elizabeth, "thy courtesy seems
strangely timed!"

"My Liege Sovereign," he said, while every courtier around
trembled at his audacity, "I come but to ask whether, in the
discharge of mine office, I am to obey your Highness's commands,
or those of the Earl of Leicester, who has publicly menaced me
with his displeasure, and treated me with disparaging terms,
because I denied entry to one of his followers, in obedience to
your Grace's precise orders?"

The spirit of Henry VIII.  was instantly aroused in the bosom of
his daughter, and she turned on Leicester with a severity which
appalled him, as well as all his followers.

"God's death!  my lord."  such was her emphatic phrase, "what
means this?  We have thought well of you, and brought you near to
our person; but it was not that you might hide the sun from our
other faithful subjects.  Who gave you license to contradict our
orders, or control our officers?  I will have in this court, ay,
and in this realm, but one mistress, and no master.  Look to it
that Master Bowyer sustains no harm for his duty to me faithfully
discharged; for, as I am Christian woman and crowned Queen, I
will hold you dearly answerable.--Go, Bowyer, you have done the
part of an honest man and a true subject.  We will brook no mayor
of the palace here.

Bowyer kissed the hand which she extended towards him, and
withdrew to his post!  astonished at the success of his own
audacity.  A smile of triumph pervaded the faction of Sussex;
that of Leicester seemed proportionally dismayed, and the
favourite himself, assuming an aspect of the deepest humility,
did not even attempt a word in his own esculpation.

He acted wisely; for it was the policy of Elizabeth to humble,
not to disgrace him, and it was prudent to suffer her, without
opposition or reply, to glory in the exertion of her authority.
The dignity of the Queen was gratified, and the woman began soon
to feel for the mortification which she had imposed on her
favourite.  Her keen eye also observed the secret looks of
congratulation exchanged amongst those who favoured Sussex, and
it was no part of her policy to give either party a decisive
triumph.

"What I say to my Lord of Leicester," she said, after a moment's
pause, "I say also to you, my Lord of Sussex.  You also must
needs ruffle in the court of England, at the head of a faction of
your own?"

"My followers, gracious Princess," said Sussex, "have indeed
ruffled in your cause in Ireland, in Scotland, and against yonder
rebellious Earls in the north.  I am ignorant that--"

"Do you bandy looks and words with me, my lord?"  said the Queen,
interrupting him; "methinks you might learn of my Lord of
Leicester the modesty to be silent, at least, under our censure.
I say, my lord, that my grandfather and my father, in their
wisdom, debarred the nobles of this civilized land from
travelling with such disorderly retinues; and think you, that
because I wear a coif, their sceptre has in my hand been changed
into a distaff?  I tell you, no king in Christendom will less
brook his court to be cumbered, his people oppressed, and his
kingdom's peace disturbed, by the arrogance of overgrown power,
than she who now speaks with you.--My Lord of Leicester, and you,
my Lord of Sussex, I command you both to be friends with each
other; or by the crown I wear, you shall find an enemy who will
be too strong for both of you!"

"Madam," said the Earl of Leicester, "you who are yourself the
fountain of honour know best what is due to mine.  I place it at
your disposal, and only say that the terms on which I have stood
with my Lord of Sussex have not been of my seeking; nor had he
cause to think me his enemy, until he had done me gross wrong."

"For me, madam," said the Earl of Sussex, "I cannot appeal from
your sovereign pleasure; but I were well content my Lord of
Leicester should say in what I have, as he terms it, wronged him,
since my tongue never spoke the word that I would not willingly
justify either on foot or horseback.

"And for me," said Leicester, "always under my gracious
Sovereign's pleasure, my hand shall be as ready to make good my
words as that of any man who ever wrote himself Ratcliffe."

"My lords," said the Queen, "these are no terms for this
presence; and if you cannot keep your temper, we will find means
to keep both that and you close enough.  Let me see you join
hands, my lords, and forget your idle animosities."

The two rivals looked at each other with reluctant eyes, each
unwilling to make the first advance to execute the Queen's will.

"Sussex," said Elizabeth,"I entreat--Leicester, I command you."

Yet, so were her words accented, that the entreaty sounded like
command, and the command like entreaty.  They remained still and
stubborn, until she raised her voice to a height which argued at
once impatience and absolute command.

"Sir Henry Lee," she said, to an officer in attendance, "have a
guard in present readiness, and man a barge instantly.--My Lords
of Sussex and Leicester, I bid you once more to join hands; and,
God's death!  he that refuses shall taste of our Tower fare ere
he sees our face again.  I will lower your proud hearts ere we
part, and that I promise, on the word of a Queen!"

"The prison?"  said Leicester, "might be borne, but to lose your
Grace's presence were to lose light and life at once.--Here,
Sussex, is my hand."

"And here," said Sussex, "is mine in truth and honesty; but--"

"Nay, under favour, you shall add no more," said the Queen.
"Why, this is as it should be," she added, looking on them more
favourably; "and when you the shepherds of the people, unite to
protect them, it shall be well with the flock we rule over.  For,
my lords, I tell you plainly, your follies and your brawls lead
to strange disorders among your servants.--My Lord of Leicester,
you have a gentleman in your household called Varney?"

"Yes, gracious madam," replied Leicester; "I presented him to
kiss your royal hand when you were last at Nonsuch."

"His outside was well enough," said the Queen, "but scarce so
fair, I should have thought, as to have caused a maiden of
honourable birth and hopes to barter her fame for his good looks,
and become his paramour.  Yet so it is; this fellow of yours hath
seduced the daughter of a good old Devonshire knight, Sir Hugh
Robsart of Lidcote Hall, and she hath fled with him from her
father's house like a castaway.--My Lord of Leicester, are you
ill, that you look so deadly pale?"

"No, gracious madam," said Leicester; and it required every
effort he could make to bring forth these few words.

"You are surely ill, my lord?"  said Elizabeth, going towards him
with hasty speech and hurried step, which indicated the deepest
concern.  "Call Masters--call our surgeon in ordinary.--Where be
these loitering fools?--we lose the pride of our court through
their negligence.--Or is it possible, Leicester," she continued,
looking on him with a very gentle aspect, "can fear of my
displeasure have wrought so deeply on thee?  Doubt not for a
moment, noble Dudley, that we could blame THEE for the folly of
thy retainer--thee, whose thoughts we know to be far otherwise
employed.  He that would climb the eagle's nest, my lord, cares
not who are catching linnets at the foot of the precipice."

"Mark you that?"  said Sussex aside to Raleigh.  "The devil aids
him surely; for all that would sink another ten fathom deep seems
but to make him float the more easily.  Had a follower of mine
acted thus--"

"Peace, my good lord," said Raleigh, "for God's sake, peace!
Wait the change of the tide; it is even now on the turn."

The acute observation of Raleigh, perhaps, did not deceive him;
for Leicester's confusion was so great, and, indeed, for the
moment, so irresistibly overwhelming, that Elizabeth, after
looking at him with a wondering eye, and receiving no
intelligible answer to the unusual expressions of grace and
affection which had escaped from her, shot her quick glance
around the circle of courtiers, and reading, perhaps, in their
faces something that accorded with her own awakened suspicions,
she said suddenly, "Or is there more in this than we see--or than
you, my lord, wish that we should see?  Where is this Varney?
Who saw him?"

"An it please your Grace," said Bowyer, "it is the same against
whom I this instant closed the door of the presence-room."

"An it please me?"  repeated Elizabeth sharply, not at that
moment in the humour of being pleased with anything.--"It does
NOT please me that he should pass saucily into my presence, or
that you should exclude from it one who came to justify himself
from an accusation."

"May it please you," answered the perplexed usher, "if I knew, in
such case, how to bear myself, I would take heed--"

"You should have reported the fellow's desire to us, Master
Usher, and taken our directions.  You think yourself a great man,
because but now we chid a nobleman on your account; yet, after
all, we hold you but as the lead-weight that keeps the door fast.
Call this Varney hither instantly.  There is one Tressilian also
mentioned in this petition.  Let them both come before us."

She was obeyed, and Tressilian and Varney appeared accordingly.
Varney's first glance was at Leicester, his second at the Queen.
In the looks of the latter there appeared an approaching storm,
and in the downcast countenance of his patron he could read no
directions in what way he was to trim his vessel for the
encounter.  He then saw Tressilian, and at once perceived the
peril of the situation in which he was placed.  But Varney was as
bold-faced and ready-witted as he was cunning and unscrupulous--a
skilful pilot in extremity, and fully conscious of the advantages
which he would obtain could he extricate Leicester from his
present peril, and of the ruin that yawned for himself should he
fail in doing so.

"Is it true, sirrah," said the Queen, with one of those searching
looks which few had the audacity to resist, "that you have
seduced to infamy a young lady of birth and breeding, the
daughter of Sir Hugh Robsart of Lidcote Hall?"

Varney kneeled down, and replied, with a look of the most
profound contrition, "There had been some love passages betwixt
him and Mistress Amy Robsart."

Leicester's flesh quivered with indignation as he heard his
dependant make this avowal, and for one moment he manned himself
to step forward, and, bidding farewell to the court and the royal
favour, confess the whole mystery of the secret marriage.  But he
looked at Sussex, and the idea of the triumphant smile which
would clothe his cheek upon hearing the avowal sealed his lips.
"Not now, at least," he thought, "or in this presence, will I
afford him so rich a triumph."  And pressing his lips close
together, he stood firm and collected, attentive to each word
which Varney uttered, and determined to hide to the last the
secret on which his court-favour seemed to depend.  Meanwhile,
the Queen proceeded in her examination of Varney.

"Love passages!"  said she, echoing his last words; "what
passages, thou knave?  and why not ask the wench's hand from her
father, if thou hadst any honesty in thy love for her?"

"An it please your Grace," said Varney, still on his knees, "I
dared not do so, for her father had promised her hand to a
gentleman of birth and honour--I will do him justice, though I
know he bears me ill-will--one Master Edmund Tressilian, whom I
now see in the presence."

"Soh!"  replied the Queen.  "And what was your right to make the
simple fool break her worthy father's contract, through your love
PASSAGES, as your conceit and assurance terms them?"

"Madam," replied Varney, "it is in vain to plead the cause of
human frailty before a judge to whom it is unknown, or that of
love to one who never yields to the passion"--he paused an
instant, and then added, in a very low and timid tone--"which she
inflicts upon all others."

Elizabeth tried to frown, but smiled in her own despite, as she
answered, "Thou art a marvellously impudent knave.  Art thou
married to the girl?"

Leicester's feelings became so complicated and so painfully
intense, that it seemed to him as if his life was to depend on
the answer made by Varney, who, after a moment's real hesitation,
answered, "Yes."

"Thou false villain!"  said Leicester, bursting forth into rage,
yet unable to add another word to the sentence which he had begun
with such emphatic passion.

"Nay, my lord," said the Queen, "we will, by your leave, stand
between this fellow and your anger.  We have not yet done with
him.--Knew your master, my Lord of Leicester, of this fair work
of yours?  Speak truth, I command thee, and I will be thy warrant
from danger on every quarter."

"Gracious madam," said Varney, "to speak Heaven's truth, my lord
was the cause of the whole matter."

"Thou villain, wouldst thou betray me?"  said Leicester.

"Speak on," said the Queen hastily, her cheek colouring, and her
eyes sparkling, as she addressed Varney--"speak on.  Here no
commands are heard but mine."

"They are omnipotent, gracious madam," replied Varney; "and to
you there can be no secrets.--Yet I would not," he added, looking
around him, "speak of my master's concerns to other ears."

"Fall back, my lords," said the Queen to those who surrounded
her, "and do you speak on.  What hath the Earl to do with this
guilty intrigue of thine?  See, fellow, that thou beliest him
not!"

"Far be it from me to traduce my noble patron," replied Varney;
"yet I am compelled to own that some deep, overwhelming, yet
secret feeling hath of late dwelt in my lord's mind, hath
abstracted him from the cares of the household which he was wont
to govern with such religious strictness, and hath left us
opportunities to do follies, of which the shame, as in this case,
partly falls upon our patron.  Without this, I had not had means
or leisure to commit the folly which has drawn on me his
displeasure--the heaviest to endure by me which I could by any
means incur, saving always the yet more dreaded resentment of
your Grace."

"And in this sense, and no other, hath he been accessory to thy
fault?"  said Elizabeth.

"Surely, madam, in no other," replied Varney; "but since somewhat
hath chanced to him, he can scarce be called his own man.  Look
at him, madam, how pale and trembling he stands!  how unlike his
usual majesty of manner!--yet what has he to fear from aught I
can say to your Highness?  Ah!  madam, since he received that
fatal packet!"

"What packet, and from whence?"  said the Queen eagerly.

"From whence, madam, I cannot guess; but I am so near to his
person that I know he has ever since worn, suspended around his
neck and next to his heart, that lock of hair which sustains a
small golden jewel shaped like a heart.  He speaks to it when
alone--he parts not from it when he sleeps--no heathen ever
worshipped an idol with such devotion."

"Thou art a prying knave to watch thy master so closely," said
Elizabeth, blushing, but not with anger; "and a tattling knave to
tell over again his fooleries.--What colour might the braid of
hair be that thou pratest of?"

Varney replied, "A poet, madam, might call it a thread from the
golden web wrought by Minerva; but to my thinking it was paler
than even the purest gold--more like the last parting sunbeam of
the softest day of spring."

"Why, you are a poet yourself, Master Varney," said the Queen,
smiling.  "But I have not genius quick enough to follow your rare
metaphors.  Look round these ladies--is there"--(she hesitated,
and endeavoured to assume an air of great indifference)--"is
there here, in this presence, any lady, the colour of whose hair
reminds thee of that braid?  Methinks, without prying into my
Lord of Leicester's amorous secrets, I would fain know what kind
of locks are like the thread of Minerva's web, or the--what was
it?--the last rays of the May-day sun."

Varney looked round the presence-chamber, his eye travelling from
one lady to another, until at length it rested upon the Queen
herself, but with an aspect of the deepest veneration.  "I see no
tresses," he said, "in this presence, worthy of such similies,
unless where I dare not look on them."

"How, sir knave?"  said the Queen; "dare you intimate--"

"Nay, madam," replied Varney, shading his eyes with his hand, "it
was the beams of the May-day sun that dazzled my weak eyes."

"Go to--go to," said the Queen; "thou art a foolish fellow"--and
turning quickly from him she walked up to Leicester.

Intense curiosity, mingled with all the various hopes, fears, and
passions which influence court faction, had occupied the
presence-chamber during the Queen's conference with Varney, as if
with the strength of an Eastern talisman.  Men suspended every,
even the slightest external motion, and would have ceased to
breathe, had Nature permitted such an intermission of her
functions.  The atmosphere was contagious, and Leicester, who saw
all around wishing or fearing his advancement or his fall forgot
all that love had previously dictated, and saw nothing for the
instant but the favour or disgrace which depended on the nod of
Elizabeth and the fidelity of Varney.  He summoned himself
hastily, and prepared to play his part in the scene which was
like to ensue, when, as he judged from the glances which the
Queen threw towards him, Varney's communications, be they what
they might, were operating in his favour.  Elizabeth did not long
leave him in doubt; for the more than favour with which she
accosted him decided his triumph in the eyes of his rival, and of
the assembled court of England.  "Thou hast a prating servant of
this same Varney, my lord," she said; "it is lucky you trust him
with nothing that can hurt you in our opinion, for believe me, he
would keep no counsel."

"From your Highness," said Leicester, dropping gracefully on one
knee, "it were treason he should.  I would that my heart itself
lay before you, barer than the tongue of any servant could strip
it."

"What, my lord," said Elizabeth, looking kindly upon him, "is
there no one little corner over which you would wish to spread a
veil?  Ah!  I see you are confused at the question, and your
Queen knows she should not look too deeply into her servants'
motives for their faithful duty, lest she see what might, or at
least ought to, displease her."

Relieved by these last words, Leicester broke out into a torrent
of expressions of deep and passionate attachment, which perhaps,
at that moment, were not altogether fictitious.  The mingled
emotions which had at first overcome him had now given way to the
energetic vigour with which he had determined to support his
place in the Queen's favour; and never did he seem to Elizabeth
more eloquent, more handsome, more interesting, than while,
kneeling at her feet, he conjured her to strip him of all his
dower, but to leave him the name of her servant.--"Take from the
poor Dudley," he exclaimed, "all that your bounty has made him,
and bid him be the poor gentleman he was when your Grace first
shone on him; leave him no more than his cloak and his sword, but
let him still boast he has--what in word or deed he never
forfeited--the regard of his adored Queen and mistress!"

"No, Dudley!"  said Elizabeth, raising him with one hand, while
she extended the other that he might kiss it.  "Elizabeth hath
not forgotten that, whilst you were a poor gentleman, despoiled
of your hereditary rank, she was as poor a princess, and that in
her cause you then ventured all that oppression had left you--
your life and honour.  Rise, my lord, and let my hand go--rise,
and be what you have ever been, the grace of our court and the
support of our throne!  Your mistress may be forced to chide your
misdemeanours, but never without owning your merits.--And so help
me God," she added, turning to the audience, who, with various
feelings, witnessed this interesting scene--"so help me God,
gentlemen, as I think never sovereign had a truer servant than I
have in this noble Earl!"

A murmur of assent rose from the Leicestrian faction, which the
friends of Sussex dared not oppose.  They remained with their
eyes fixed on the ground, dismayed as well as mortified by the
public and absolute triumph of their opponents.  Leicester's
first use of the familiarity to which the Queen had so publicly
restored him was to ask her commands concerning Varney's offence.
"although," he said, "the fellow deserves nothing from me but
displeasure, yet, might I presume to intercede--"

"In truth, we had forgotten his matter," said the Queen; "and it
was ill done of us, who owe justice to our meanest as well as to
our highest subject.  We are pleased, my lord, that you were the
first to recall the matter to our memory.--Where is Tressilian,
the accuser?--let him come before us."

Tressilian appeared, and made a low and beseeming reference.  His
person, as we have elsewhere observed, had an air of grace and
even of nobleness, which did not escape Queen Elizabeth's
critical observation.  She looked at him with, attention as he
stood before her unabashed, but with an air of the deepest
dejection.

"I cannot but grieve for this gentleman," she said to Leicester.
"I have inquired concerning him, and his presence confirms what I
heard, that he is a scholar and a soldier, well accomplished both
in arts and arms.  We women, my lord, are fanciful in our choice
--I had said now, to judge by the eye, there was no comparison to
be held betwixt your follower and this gentleman.  But Varney is
a well-spoken fellow, and, to say truth, that goes far with us of
the weaker sex.--look you, Master Tressilian, a bolt lost is not
a bow broken.  Your true affection, as I will hold it to be, hath
been, it seems, but ill requited; but you have scholarship, and
you know there have been false Cressidas to be found, from the
Trojan war downwards.  Forget, good sir, this Lady Light o' Love
--teach your affection to see with a wiser eye.  This we say to
you, more from the writings of learned men than our own
knowledge, being, as we are, far removed by station and will from
the enlargement of experience in such idle toys of humorous
passion.  For this dame's father, we can make his grief the less
by advancing his son-in-law to such station as may enable him to
give an honourable support to his bride.  Thou shalt not be
forgotten thyself, Tressilian--follow our court, and thou shalt
see that a true Troilus hath some claim on our grace.  Think of
what that arch-knave Shakespeare says--a plague on him, his toys
come into my head when I should think of other matters.  Stay,
how goes it?

 'Cressid was yours, tied with the bonds of heaven ;
  These bonds of heaven are slipt, dissolved, and loosed,
  And with another knot five fingers tied,
  The fragments of her faith are bound to Diomed.'

You smile, my Lord of Southampton--perchance I make your player's
verse halt through my bad memory.  But let it suffice let there
be no more of this mad matter."

And as Tressilian kept the posture of one who would willingly be
heard, though, at the same time, expressive of the deepest
reverence, the Queen added with some impatience, "What would the
man have?  The wench cannot wed both of you?  She has made her
election--not a wise one perchance--but she is Varney's wedded
wife."

"My suit should sleep there, most gracious Sovereign," said
Tressilian, "and with my suit my revenge.  But I hold this
Varney's word no good warrant for the truth."

"Had that doubt been elsewhere urged," answered Varney, "my
sword--"

"THY sword!"  interrupted Tressilian scornfully; "with her
Grace's leave, my sword shall show--"

"Peace, you knaves, both!"  said the Queen; "know you where you
are?--This comes of your feuds, my lords," she added, looking
towards Leicester and Sussex; "your followers catch your own
humour, and must bandy and brawl in my court and in my very
presence, like so many Matamoros.--Look you, sirs, he that speaks
of drawing swords in any other quarrel than mine or England's, by
mine honour, I'll bracelet him with iron both on wrist and
ankle!"  She then paused a minute, and resumed in a milder tone,
"I must do justice betwixt the bold and mutinous knaves
notwithstanding.--My Lord of Leicester, will you warrant with
your honour--that is, to the best of your belief--that your
servant speaks truth in saying he hath married this Amy Robsart?"

This was a home-thrust, and had nearly staggered Leicester.  But
he had now gone too far to recede, and answered, after a moment's
hesitation, "To the best of my belief--indeed on my certain
knowledge--she is a wedded wife."

"Gracious madam," said Tressilian, "may I yet request to know,
when and under what circumstances this alleged marriage--"

"Out, sirrah," answered the Queen; "ALLEGED marriage!  Have you
not the word of this illustrious Earl to warrant the truth of
what his servant says?  But thou art a loser--thinkest thyself
such at least--and thou shalt have indulgence; we will look into
the matter ourself more at leisure.--My Lord of Leicester, I
trust you remember we mean to taste the good cheer of your Castle
of Kenilworth on this week ensuing.  We will pray you to bid our
good and valued friend, the Earl of Sussex, to hold company with
us there."

"If the noble Earl of Sussex," said Leicester, bowing to his
rival with the easiest and with the most graceful courtesy, "will
so far honour my poor house, I will hold it an additional proof
of the amicable regard it is your Grace's desire we should
entertain towards each other."

Sussex was more embarrassed.  "I should," said he, "madam, be but
a clog on your gayer hours, since my late severe illness."

"And have you been indeed so very ill?"  said Elizabeth, looking
on him with more attention than before; "you are, in faith,
strangely altered, and deeply am I grieved to see it.  But be of
good cheer--we will ourselves look after the health of so valued
a servant, and to whom we owe so much.  Masters shall order your
diet; and that we ourselves may see that he is obeyed, you must
attend us in this progress to Kenilworth."

This was said so peremptorily, and at the same time with so much
kindness, that Sussex, however unwilling to become the guest of
his rival, had no resource but to bow low to the Queen in
obedience to her commands, and to express to Leicester, with
blunt courtesy, though mingled with embarrassment, his acceptance
of his invitation.  As the Earls exchanged compliments on the
occasion, the Queen said to her High Treasurer, "Methinks, my
lord, the countenances of these our two noble peers resemble
those of the two famed classic streams, the one so dark and sad,
the other so fair and noble.  My old Master Ascham would have
chid me for forgetting the author.  It is Caesar, as I think.
See what majestic calmness sits on the brow of the noble
Leicester, while Sussex seems to greet him as if he did our will
indeed, but not willingly."

"The doubt of your Majesty's favour," answered the Lord
Treasurer, "may perchance occasion the difference, which does
not--as what does?--escape your Grace's eye."

"Such doubt were injurious to us, my lord," replied the Queen.
"We hold both to be near and dear to us, and will with
impartiality employ both in honourable service for the weal of
our kingdom.  But we will break their further conference at
present.--My Lords of Sussex and Leicester, we have a word more
with you.  'Tressilian and Varney are near your persons--you will
see that they attend you at Kenilworth.  And as we shall then
have both Paris and Menelaus within our call, so we will have the
same fair Helen also, whose fickleness has caused this broil.--
Varney, thy wife must be at Kenilworth, and forthcoming at my
order.--My Lord of Leicester, we expect you will look to this."

The Earl and his follower bowed low and raised their heads,
without daring to look at the Queen, or at each other, for both
felt at the instant as if the nets and toils which their own
falsehood had woven were in the act of closing around them.  The
Queen, however, observed not their confusion, but proceeded to
say, "My Lords of Sussex and Leicester, we require your presence
at the privy-council to be presently held, where matters of
importance are to be debated.  We will then take the water for
our divertisement, and you, my lords, will attend us.--And that
reminds us of a circumstance.--Do you, Sir Squire of the Soiled
Cassock" (distinguishing Raleigh by a smile), "fail not to
observe that you are to attend us on our progress.  You shall be
supplied with suitable means to reform your wardrobe."

And so terminated this celebrated audience, in which, as
throughout her life, Elizabeth united the occasional caprice of
her sex with that sense and sound policy in which neither man nor
woman ever excelled her.



CHAPTER XVII.

  Well, then--our course is chosen--spread the sail--
  Heave oft the lead, and mark the soundings well--
  Look to the helm, good master--many a shoal
  Marks this stern coast, and rocks, where sits the Siren,
  Who, like ambition, lures men to their ruin.     THE SHIPWRECK.

During the brief interval that took place betwixt the dismissal
of the audience and the sitting of the privy-council, Leicester
had time to reflect that he had that morning sealed his own fate.
"It was impossible for him now," he thought, "after having, in
the face of all that was honourable in England, pledged his truth
(though in an ambiguous phrase) for the statement of Varney, to
contradict or disavow it, without exposing himself, not merely to
the loss of court-favour, but to the highest displeasure of the
Queen, his deceived mistress, and to the scorn and contempt at
once of his rival and of all his compeers."  This certainty
rushed at once on his mind, together with all the difficulties
which he would necessarily be exposed to in preserving a secret
which seemed now equally essential to his safety, to his power,
and to his honour.  He was situated like one who walks upon ice
ready to give way around him, and whose only safety consists in
moving onwards, by firm and unvacillating steps.  The Queen's
favour, to preserve which he had made such sacrifices, must now
be secured by all means and at all hazards; it was the only plank
which he could cling to in the tempest.  He must settle himself,
therefore, to the task of not only preserving, but augmenting the
Queen's partiality--he must be the favourite of Elizabeth, or a
man utterly shipwrecked in fortune and in honour.  All other
considerations must be laid aside for the moment, and he repelled
the intrusive thoughts which forced on his mind the image of,
Amy, by saying to himself there would be time to think hereafter
how he was to escape from the labyrinth ultimately, since the
pilot who sees a Scylla under his bows must not for the time
think of the more distant dangers of Charybdis.

In this mood the Earl of Leicester that day assumed his chair at
the council table of Elizabeth; and when the hours of business
were over, in this same mood did he occupy an honoured place near
her during her pleasure excursion on the Thames.  And never did
he display to more advantage his powers as a politician of the
first rank, or his parts as an accomplished courtier.

It chanced that in that day's council matters were agitated
touching the affairs of the unfortunate Mary, the seventh year of
whose captivity in England was now in doleful currency.  There
had been opinions in favour of this unhappy princess laid before
Elizabeth's council, and supported with much strength of argument
by Sussex and others, who dwelt more upon the law of nations and
the breach of hospitality than, however softened or qualified,
was agreeable to the Queen's ear.  Leicester adopted the contrary
opinion with great animation and eloquence, and described the
necessity of continuing the severe restraint of the Queen of
Scots, as a measure essential to the safety of the kingdom, and
particularly of Elizabeth's sacred person, the lightest hair of
whose head, he maintained, ought, in their lordships' estimation,
to be matter of more deep and anxious concern than the life and
fortunes of a rival, who, after setting up a vain and unjust
pretence to the throne of England, was now, even while in the
bosom of her country, the constant hope and theme of
encouragement to all enemies to Elizabeth, whether at home or
abroad.  He ended by craving pardon of their lordships, if in the
zeal of speech he had given any offence, but the Queen's safety
was a theme which hurried him beyond his usual moderation of
debate.

Elizabeth chid him, but not severely, for the weight which he
attached unduly to her personal interests; yet she owned that,
since it had been the pleasure of Heaven to combine those
interests with the weal of her subjects, she did only her duty
when she adopted such measures of self-preservation as
circumstances forced upon her; and if the council in their wisdom
should be of opinion that it was needful to continue some
restraint on the person of her unhappy sister of Scotland, she
trusted they would not blame her if she requested of the Countess
of Shrewsbury to use her with as much kindness as might be
consistent with her safe keeping.  And with this intimation of
her pleasure the council was dismissed.

Never was more anxious and ready way made for "my Lord of
Leicester," than as he passed through the crowded anterooms to go
towards the river-side, in order to attend her Majesty to her
barge--never was the voice of the ushers louder, to "make room,
make room for the noble Earl"--never were these signals more
promptly and reverently obeyed--never were more anxious eyes
turned on him to obtain a glance of favour, or even of mere
recognition, while the heart of many a humble follower throbbed
betwixt the desire to offer his congratulations, and the fear of
intruding himself on the notice of one so infinitely above him.
The whole court considered the issue of this day's audience,
expected with so much doubt and anxiety, as a decisive triumph on
the part of Leicester, and felt assured that the orb of his rival
satellite, if not altogether obscured by his lustre, must revolve
hereafter in a dimmer and more distant sphere.  So thought the
court and courtiers, from high to low; and they acted
accordingly.

On the other hand, never did Leicester return the general
greeting with such ready and condescending courtesy, or endeavour
more successfully to gather (in the words of one who at that
moment stood at no great distance from him) "golden opinions from
all sorts of men."

For all the favourite Earl had a bow a smile at least, and often
a kind word.  Most of these were addressed to courtiers, whose
names have long gone down the tide of oblivion; but some, to such
as sound strangely in our ears, when connected with the ordinary
matters of human life, above which the gratitude of posterity has
long elevated them.  A few of Leicester's interlocutory sentences
ran as follows:--

"Poynings, good morrow; and how does your wife and fair daughter?
Why come they not to court?--Adams, your suit is naught; the
Queen will grant no more monopolies.  But I may serve you in
another matter.--My good Alderman Aylford, the suit of the City,
affecting Queenhithe, shall be forwarded as far as my poor
interest can serve.--Master Edmund Spenser, touching your Irish
petition, I would willingly aid you, from my love to the Muses;
but thou hast nettled the Lord Treasurer."

"My lord, " said the poet, "were I permitted to explain--"

"Come to my lodging, Edmund," answered the Earl "not to-morrow,
or next day, but soon.--Ha, Will Shakespeare--wild Will!--thou
hast given my nephew Philip Sidney, love-powder; he cannot sleep
without thy Venus and Adonis under his pillow!  We will have thee
hanged for the veriest wizard in Europe.  Hark thee, mad wag, I
have not forgotten thy matter of the patent, and of the bears."

The PLAYER bowed, and the Earl nodded and passed on--so that age
would have told the tale; in ours, perhaps, we might say the
immortal had done homage to the mortal.  The next whom the
favourite accosted was one of his own zealous dependants.

"How now, Sir Francis Denning," he whispered, in answer to his
exulting salutation, "that smile hath made thy face shorter by
one-third than when I first saw it this morning.--What, Master
Bowyer, stand you back, and think you I bear malice?  You did but
your duty this morning; and if I remember aught of the passage
betwixt us, it shall be in thy favour."

Then the Earl was approached, with several fantastic congees, by
a person quaintly dressed in a doublet of black velvet, curiously
slashed and pinked with crimson satin.  A long cock's feather in
the velvet bonnet, which he held in his hand, and an enormous
ruff; stiffened to the extremity of the absurd taste of the
times, joined with a sharp, lively, conceited expression of
countenance, seemed to body forth a vain, harebrained coxcomb,
and small wit; while the rod he held, and an assumption of formal
authority, appeared to express some sense of official
consequence, which qualified the natural pertness of his manner.
A perpetual blush, which occupied rather the sharp nose than the
thin cheek of this personage, seemed to speak more of "good
life," as it was called, than of modesty; and the manner in which
he approached to the Earl confirmed that suspicion.

"Good even to you, Master Robert Laneham," said Leicester, and
seemed desirous to pass forward, without further speech.

"I have a suit to your noble lordship," said the figure, boldly
following him.

"And what is it, good master keeper of the council-chamber door?"

"CLERK of the council-chamber door," said Master Robert Laneham,
with emphasis, by way of reply, and of correction.

"Well, qualify thine office as thou wilt, man," replied the Earl;
"what wouldst thou have with me?"

"Simply," answered Laneham, "that your lordship would be, as
heretofore, my good lord, and procure me license to attend the
Summer Progress unto your lordship's most beautiful and all-to-
be-unmatched Castle of Kenilworth."

"To what purpose, good Master Laneham?"  replied the Earl;
"bethink you, my guests must needs be many."

"Not so many," replied the petitioner, "but that your nobleness
will willingly spare your old servitor his crib and his mess.
Bethink you, my lord, how necessary is this rod of mine to fright
away all those listeners, who else would play at bo-peep with the
honourable council, and be searching for keyholes and crannies in
the door of the chamber, so as to render my staff as needful as a
fly-flap in a butcher's shop."

"Methinks you have found out a fly-blown comparison for the
honourable council, Master Laneham," said the Earl; "but seek not
about to justify it.  Come to Kenilworth, if you list; there will
be store of fools there besides, and so you will be fitted."

"Nay, an there be fools, my lord," replied Laneham, with much
glee, "I warrant I will make sport among them, for no greyhound
loves to cote a hare as I to turn and course a fool.  But I have
another singular favour to beseech of your honour."

"Speak it, and let me go," said the Earl; "I think the Queen
comes forth instantly."

"My very good lord, I would fain bring a bed-fellow with me."

"How, you irreverent rascal!"  said Leicester.

"Nay, my lord, my meaning is within the canons," answered his
unblushing, or rather his ever-blushing petitioner.  "I have a
wife as curious as her grandmother who ate the apple.  Now, take
her with me I may not, her Highness's orders being so strict
against the officers bringing with them their wives in a
progress, and so lumbering the court with womankind.  But what I
would crave of your lordship is to find room for her in some
mummery, or pretty pageant, in disguise, as it were; so that, not
being known for my wife, there may be no offence."

"The foul fiend seize ye both!"  said Leicester, stung into
uncontrollable passion by the recollections which this speech
excited--"why stop you me with such follies?"

The terrified clerk of the chamber-door, astonished at the burst
of resentment he had so unconsciously produced, dropped his staff
of office from his hand, and gazed on the incensed Earl with a
foolish face of wonder and terror, which instantly recalled
Leicester to himself.

"I meant but to try if thou hadst the audacity which befits thine
office," said he hastily.  "Come to Kenilworth, and bring the
devil with thee, if thou wilt."

"My wife, sir, hath played the devil ere now, in a Mystery, in
Queen Mary's time; but me shall want a trifle for properties."

"Here is a crown for thee," said the Earl,--"make me rid of thee
--the great bell rings."

Master Robert Laneham stared a moment at the agitation which he
had excited, and then said to himself, as he stooped to pick up
his staff of office, "The noble Earl runs wild humours to-day.
But they who give crowns expect us witty fellows to wink at their
unsettled starts; and, by my faith, if they paid not for mercy,
we would finger them tightly!"  [See Note 6.  Robert Laneham.]

Leicester moved hastily on, neglecting the courtesies he had
hitherto dispensed so liberally, and hurrying through the courtly
crowd, until he paused in a small withdrawing-room, into which he
plunged to draw a moment's breath unobserved, and in seclusion.

"What am I now," he said to himself, "that am thus jaded by the
words of a mean, weather-beaten, goose-brained gull!  Conscience,
thou art a bloodhound, whose growl wakes us readily at the paltry
stir of a rat or mouse as at the step of a lion.  Can I not quit
myself, by one bold stroke, of a state so irksome, so unhonoured?
What if I kneel to Elizabeth, and, owning the whole, throw myself
on her mercy?"

As he pursued this train of thought, the door of the apartment
opened, and Varney rushed in.

"Thank God, my lord, that I have found you!"  was his
exclamation.

"Thank the devil, whose agent thou art," was the Earl's reply.

"Thank whom you will, my lord," replied Varney; "but hasten to
the water-side.  The Queen is on board, and asks for you."

"Go, say I am taken suddenly ill," replied Leicester; "for, by
Heaven, my brain can sustain this no longer!"

"I may well say so," said Varney, with bitterness of expression,
"for your place, ay, and mine, who, as your master of the horse,
was to have attended your lordship, is already filled up in the
Queen's barge.  The new minion, Walter Raleigh, and our old
acquaintance Tressilian were called for to fill our places just
as I hastened away to seek you."

"Thou art a devil, Varney," said Leicester hastily; "but thou
hast the mastery for the present--I follow thee."

Varney replied not, but led the way out of the palace, and
towards the river, while his master followed him, as if
mechanically; until, looking back, he said in a tone which
savoured of familiarity at least, if not of authority, "How is
this, my lord?  Your cloak hangs on one side--your hose are
unbraced--permit me--"

"Thou art a fool, Varney, as well as a knave," said Leicester,
shaking him off, and rejecting his officious assistance.  "We are
best thus, sir; when we require you to order our person, it is
well, but now we want you not."

So saying, the Earl resumed at once his air of command, and with
it his self-possession--shook his dress into yet wilder disorder
--passed before Varney with the air of a superior and master, and
in his turn led the way to the river-side.

The Queen's barge was on the very point of putting off, the seat
allotted to Leicester in the stern, and that to his master of the
horse on the bow of the boat, being already filled up.  But on
Leicester's approach there was a pause, as if the bargemen
anticipated some alteration in their company.  The angry spot
was, however, on the Queen's cheek, as, in that cold tone with
which superiors endeavour to veil their internal agitation, while
speaking to those before whom it would be derogation to express
it, she pronounced the chilling words, "We have waited, my Lord
of Leicester."

"Madam, and most gracious Princess," said Leicester, "you, who
can pardon so many weaknesses which your own heart never knows,
can best bestow your commiseration on the agitations of the
bosom, which, for a moment, affect both head and limbs.  I came
to your presence a doubting and an accused subject; your goodness
penetrated the clouds of defamation, and restored me to my
honour, and, what is yet dearer, to your favour--is it wonderful,
though for me it is most unhappy, that my master of the horse
should have found me in a state which scarce permitted me to make
the exertion necessary to follow him to this place, when one
glance of your Highness, although, alas!  an angry one, has had
power to do that for me in which Esculapius might have failed?"

"How is this?"  said Elizabeth hastily, looking at Varney; "hath
your lord been ill?"

"Something of a fainting fit," answered the ready-witted Varney,
"as your Grace may observe from his present condition.  My lord's
haste would not permit me leisure even to bring his dress into
order."

"It matters not," said Elizabeth, as she gazed on the noble face
and form of Leicester, to which even the strange mixture of
passions by which he had been so lately agitated gave additional
interest; "make room for my noble lord.  Your place, Master
Varney, has been filled up; you must find a seat in another
barge."

Varney bowed, and withdrew.

"And you, too, our young Squire of the Cloak," added she, looking
at Raleigh, "must, for the time, go to the barge of our ladies of
honour.  As for Tressilian, he hath already suffered too much by
the caprice of women that I should aggrieve him by my change of
plan, so far as he is concerned."

Leicester seated himself in his place in the barge, and close to
the Sovereign.  Raleigh rose to retire, and Tressilian would have
been so ill-timed in his courtesy as to offer to relinquish his
own place to his friend, had not the acute glance of Raleigh
himself, who seemed no in his native element, made him sensible
that so ready a disclamation of the royal favour might be
misinterpreted.  He sat silent, therefore, whilst Raleigh, with a
profound bow, and a look of the deepest humiliation, was about to
quit his place.

A noble courtier, the gallant Lord Willoughby, read, as he
thought, something in the Queen's face which seemed to pity
Raleigh's real or assumed semblance of mortification.

"It is not for us old courtiers," he said, "to hide the sunshine
from the young ones.  I will, with her Majesty's leave,
relinquish for an hour that which her subjects hold dearest, the
delight of her Highness's presence, and mortify myself by walking
in starlight, while I forsake for a brief season the glory of
Diana's own beams.  I will take place in the boat which the
ladies occupy, and permit this young cavalier his hour of
promised felicity."

The Queen replied, with an expression betwixt mirth and earnest,
"If you are so willing to leave us, my lord, we cannot help the
mortification.  But, under favour, we do not trust you--old and
experienced as you may deem yourself--with the care of our young
ladies of honour.  Your venerable age, my lord," she continued,
smiling, "may be better assorted with that of my Lord Treasurer,
who follows in the third boat, and by whose experience even my
Lord Willoughby's may be improved."

Lord Willoughby hid his disappointment under a smile--laughed,
was confused, bowed, and left the Queen's barge to go on board my
Lord Burleigh's.  Leicester, who endeavoured to divert his
thoughts from all internal reflection, by fixing them on what was
passing around, watched this circumstance among others.  But when
the boat put off from the shore--when the music sounded from a
barge which accompanied them--when the shouts of the populace
were heard from the shore, and all reminded him of the situation
in which he was placed, he abstracted his thoughts and feelings
by a strong effort from everything but the necessity of
maintaining himself in the favour of his patroness, and exerted
his talents of pleasing captivation with such success, that the
Queen, alternately delighted with his conversation, and alarmed
for his health, at length imposed a temporary silence on him,
with playful yet anxious care, lest his flow of spirits should
exhaust him.

"My lords," she said, "having passed for a time our edict of
silence upon our good Leicester, we will call you to counsel on a
gamesome matter, more fitted to be now treated of, amidst mirth
and music, than in the gravity of our ordinary deliberations.
Which of you, my lords," said she, smiling, "know aught of a
petition from Orson Pinnit, the keeper, as he qualifies himself,
of our royal bears?  Who stands godfather to his request?"

"Marry, with Your Grace's good permission, that do I," said the
Earl of Sussex.  "Orson Pinnit was a stout soldier before he was
so mangled by the skenes of the Irish clan MacDonough; and I
trust your Grace will be, as you always have been, good mistress
to your good and trusty servants."

"Surely," said the Queen, "it is our purpose to be so, and in
especial to our poor soldiers and sailors, who hazard their lives
for little pay.  We would give," she said, with her eyes
sparkling, "yonder royal palace of ours to be an hospital for
their use, rather than they should call their mistress
ungrateful.  But this is not the question," she said, her voice,
which had been awakened by her patriotic feelings, once more
subsiding into the tone of gay and easy conversation; "for this
Orson Pinnit's request goes something further.  He complains
that, amidst the extreme delight with which men haunt the play-
houses, and in especial their eager desire for seeing the
exhibitions of one Will Shakespeare (whom I think, my lords, we
have all heard something of), the manly amusement of bear-baiting
is falling into comparative neglect, since men will rather throng
to see these roguish players kill each other in jest, than to see
our royal dogs and bears worry each other in bloody earnest.--
What say you to this, my Lord of Sussex?"

"Why, truly, gracious madam," said Sussex, "you must expect
little from an old soldier like me in favour of battles in sport,
when they are compared with battles in earnest; and yet, by my
faith, I wish Will Shakespeare no harm.  He is a stout man at
quarter-staff, and single falchion, though, as I am told, a
halting fellow; and he stood, they say, a tough fight with the
rangers of old Sir Thomas Lucy of Charlecot, when he broke his
deer-park and kissed his keeper's daughter."

"I cry you mercy, my Lord of Sussex," said Queen Elizabeth,
interrupting him; "that matter was heard in council, and we will
not have this fellow's offence exaggerated--there was no kissing
in the matter, and the defendant hath put the denial on record.
But what say you to his present practice, my lord, on the stage?
for there lies the point, and not in any ways touching his former
errors, in breaking parks, or the other follies you speak of."

"Why, truly, madam," replied Sussex, "as I said before, I wish
the gamesome mad fellow no injury.  Some of his whoreson poetry
(I crave your Grace's pardon for such a phrase) has rung in mine
ears as if the lines sounded to boot and saddle.  But then it is
all froth and folly--no substance or seriousness in it, as your
Grace has already well touched.  What are half a dozen knaves,
with rusty foils and tattered targets, making but a mere mockery
of a stout fight, to compare to the royal game of bear-baiting,
which hath been graced by your Highness's countenance, and that
of your royal predecessors, in this your princely kingdom, famous
for matchless mastiffs and bold bearwards over all Christendom?
Greatly is it to be doubted that the race of both will decay, if
men should throng to hear the lungs of an idle player belch forth
nonsensical bombast, instead of bestowing their pence in
encouraging the bravest image of war that can be shown in peace,
and that is the sports of the Bear-garden.  There you may see the
bear lying at guard, with his red, pinky eyes watching the onset
of the mastiff, like a wily captain who maintains his defence
that an assailant may be tempted to venture within his danger.
And then comes Sir Mastiff, like a worthy champion, in full
career at the throat of his adversary; and then shall Sir Bruin
teach him the reward for those who, in their over-courage,
neglect the policies of war, and, catching him in his arms,
strain him to his breast like a lusty wrestler, until rib after
rib crack like the shot of a pistolet.  And then another mastiff;
as bold, but with better aim and sounder judgment, catches Sir
Bruin by the nether lip, and hangs fast, while he tosses about
his blood and slaver, and tries in vain to shake Sir Talbot from
his hold.  And then--"

"Nay, by my honour, my lord," said the Queen, laughing, "you have
described the whole so admirably that, had we never seen a bear-
baiting, as we have beheld many, and hope, with Heaven's
allowance, to see many more, your words were sufficient to put
the whole Bear-garden before our eyes.--But come, who speaks next
in this case?--My Lord of Leicester, what say you?"

"Am I then to consider myself as unmuzzled, please your Grace?"
replied Leicester.

"Surely, my lord--that is, if you feel hearty enough to take part
in our game," answered Elizabeth; "and yet, when I think of your
cognizance of the bear and ragged staff, methinks we had better
hear some less partial orator."

"Nay, on my word, gracious Princess," said the Earl, "though my
brother Ambrose of Warwick and I do carry the ancient cognizance
your Highness deigns to remember, I nevertheless desire nothing
but fair play on all sides; or, as they say, 'fight dog, fight
bear.'  And in behalf of the players, I must needs say that they
are witty knaves, whose rants and jests keep the minds of the
commons from busying themselves with state affairs, and listening
to traitorous speeches, idle rumours, and disloyal insinuations.
When men are agape to see how Marlow, Shakespeare, and other play
artificers work out their fanciful plots, as they call them, the
mind of the spectators is withdrawn from the conduct of their
rulers."

"We would not have the mind of our subjects withdrawn from the
consideration of our own conduct, my lord," answered Elizabeth;
"because the more closely it is examined, the true motives by
which we are guided will appear the more manifest."

"I have heard, however, madam," said the Dean of St. Asaph's, an
eminent Puritan, "that these players are wont, in their plays,
not only to introduce profane and lewd expressions, tending to
foster sin and harlotry; but even to bellow out such reflections
on government, its origin and its object, as tend to render the
subject discontented, and shake the solid foundations of civil
society.  And it seems to be, under your Grace's favour, far less
than safe to permit these naughty foul-mouthed knaves to ridicule
the godly for their decent gravity, and, in blaspheming heaven
and slandering its earthly rulers, to set at defiance the laws
both of God and man."

"If we could think this were true, my lord," said Elizabeth, "we
should give sharp correction for such offences.  But it is ill
arguing against the use of anything from its abuse.  And touching
this Shakespeare, we think there is that in his plays that is
worth twenty Bear-gardens; and that this new undertaking of his
Chronicles, as he calls them, may entertain, with honest mirth,
mingled with useful instruction, not only our subjects, but even
the generation which may succeed to us."

"Your Majesty's reign will need no such feeble aid to make it
remembered to the latest posterity," said Leicester.  "And yet,
in his way, Shakespeare hath so touched some incidents of your
Majesty's happy government as may countervail what has been
spoken by his reverence the Dean of St. Asaph's.  There are some
lines, for example--I would my nephew, Philip Sidney, were here;
they are scarce ever out of his mouth--they are spoken in a mad
tale of fairies, love-charms, and I wot not what besides; but
beautiful they are, however short they may and must fall of the
subject to which they bear a bold relation--and Philip murmurs
them, I think, even in his dreams."

"You tantalize us, my lord," said the Queen--"Master Philip
Sidney is, we know, a minion of the Muses, and we are pleased it
should be so.  Valour never shines to more advantage than when
united with the true taste and love of letters.  But surely there
are some others among our young courtiers who can recollect what
your lordship has forgotten amid weightier affairs.--Master
Tressilian, you are described to me as a worshipper of Minerva--
remember you aught of these lines?"

Tressilian's heart was too heavy, his prospects in life too
fatally blighted, to profit by the opportunity which the Queen
thus offered to him of attracting her attention; but he
determined to transfer the advantage to his more ambitious young
friend, and excusing himself on the score of want of
recollection, he added that he believed the beautiful verses of
which my Lord of Leicester had spoken were in the remembrance of
Master Walter Raleigh.

At the command of the Queen, that cavalier repeated, with accent
and manner which even added to their exquisite delicacy of tact
and beauty of description, the celebrated vision of Oberon:--

  "That very time I saw (but thou couldst not),
  Flying between the cold moon and the earth,
  Cupid, allarm'd:  a certain aim he took
  At a fair vestal, throned by the west;
  And loos'd his love-shaft smartly from his bow,
  As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts:
  But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft
  Quench'd in the chaste beams of the watery moon;
  And the imperial vot'ress passed on,
  In maiden meditation, fancy free."

The voice of Raleigh, as he repeated the last lines, became a
little tremulous, as if diffident how the Sovereign to whom the
homage was addressed might receive it, exquisite as it was.  If
this diffidence was affected, it was good policy; but if real,
there was little occasion for it.  The verses were not probably
new to the Queen, for when was ever such elegant flattery long in
reaching the royal ear to which it was addressed?  But they were
not the less welcome when repeated by such a speaker as Raleigh.
Alike delighted with the matter, the manner, and the graceful
form and animated countenance of the gallant young reciter,
Elizabeth kept time to every cadence with look and with finger.
When the speaker had ceased, she murmured over the last lines as
if scarce conscious that she was overheard, and as she uttered
the words,

"In maiden meditation, fancy free," she dropped into the Thames
the supplication of Orson Pinnit, keeper of the royal bears, to
find more favourable acceptance at Sheerness, or wherever the
tide might waft it.

Leicester was spurred to emulation by the success of the young
courtier's exhibition, as the veteran racer is roused when a
high-mettled colt passes him on the way.  He turned the discourse
on shows, banquets, pageants, and on the character of those by
whom these gay scenes were then frequented.  He mixed acute
observation with light satire, in that just proportion which was
free alike from malignant slander and insipid praise.  He
mimicked with ready accent the manners of the affected or the
clownish, and made his own graceful tone and manner seem doubly
such when he resumed it.  Foreign countries--their customs, their
manners, the rules of their courts---the fashions, and even the
dress of their ladies-were equally his theme; and seldom did he
conclude without conveying some compliment, always couched in
delicacy, and expressed with propriety, to the Virgin Queen, her
court, and her government.  Thus passed the conversation during
this pleasure voyage, seconded by the rest of the attendants upon
the royal person, in gay discourse, varied by remarks upon
ancient classics and modern authors, and enriched by maxims of
deep policy and sound morality, by the statesmen and sages who
sat around and mixed wisdom with the lighter talk of a female
court.

When they returned to the Palace, Elizabeth accepted, or rather
selected, the arm of Leicester to support her from the stairs
where they landed to the great gate.  It even seemed to him
(though that might arise from the flattery of his own
imagination) that during this short passage she leaned on him
somewhat more than the slippiness of the way necessarily
demanded.  Certainly her actions and words combined to express a
degree of favour which, even in his proudest day he had not till
then attained.  His rival, indeed, was repeatedly graced by the
Queen's notice; but it was in manner that seemed to flow less
from spontaneous inclination than as extorted by a sense of his
merit.  And in the opinion of many experienced courtiers, all the
favour she showed him was overbalanced by her whispering in the
ear of the Lady Derby that "now she saw sickness was a better
alchemist than she before wotted of, seeing it had changed my
Lord of Sussex's copper nose into a golden one."

The jest transpired, and the Earl of Leicester enjoyed his
triumph, as one to whom court-favour had been both the primary
and the ultimate motive of life, while he forgot, in the
intoxication of the moment, the perplexities and dangers of his
own situation.  Indeed, strange as it may appear, he thought less
at that moment of the perils arising from his secret union, than
of the marks of grace which Elizabeth from time to time showed to
young Raleigh.  They were indeed transient, but they were
conferred on one accomplished in mind and body, with grace,
gallantry, literature, and valour.  An accident occurred in the
course of the evening which riveted Leicester's attention to this
object.

The nobles and courtiers who had attended the Queen on her
pleasure expedition were invited, with royal hospitality, to a
splendid banquet in the hall of the Palace.  The table was not,
indeed, graced by the presence of the Sovereign; for, agreeable
to her idea of what was at once modest and dignified, the Maiden
Queen on such occasions was wont to take in private, or with one
or two favourite ladies, her light and temperate meal.  After a
moderate interval, the court again met in the splendid gardens of
the Palace; and it was while thus engaged that the Queen suddenly
asked a lady, who was near to her both in place and favour, what
had become of the young Squire Lack-Cloak.

The Lady Paget answered, "She had seen Master Raleigh but two or
three minutes since standing at the window of a small pavilion or
pleasure-house, which looked out on the Thames, and writing on
the glass with a diamond ring."

"That ring," said the Queen, "was a small token I gave him to
make amends for his spoiled mantle.  Come, Paget, let us see what
use he has made of it, for I can see through him already.  He is
a marvellously sharp-witted spirit."  They went to the spot,
within sight of which, but at some distance, the young cavalier
still lingered, as the fowler watches the net which he has set.
The Queen approached the window, on which Raleigh had used her
gift, to inscribe the following line:--

  "Fain would I climb, but that I fear to fall."

The Queen smiled, read it twice over, once with deliberation to
Lady Paget, and once again to herself.  "It is a pretty
beginning," she said, after the consideration of a moment or two;
"but methinks the muse hath deserted the young wit at the very
outset of his task.  It were good-natured--were it not, Lady
Paget?--to complete it for him.  Try your rhyming faculties."

Lady Paget, prosaic from her cradle upwards as ever any lady of
the bedchamber before or after her, disclaimed all possibility of
assisting the young poet.

"Nay, then, we must sacrifice to the Muses ourselves," said
Elizabeth.

"The incense of no one can be more acceptable," said Lady Paget;
"and your Highness will impose such obligation on the ladies of
Parnassus--"

"Hush, Paget," said the Queen, "you speak sacrilege against the
immortal Nine--yet, virgins themselves, they should be exorable
to a Virgin Queen--and therefore--let me see how runs his verse--

  'Fain would I climb, but that I fear to fall.'

Might not the answer (for fault of a better) run thus?--

  'If thy mind fail thee, do not climb at all.'"

The dame of honour uttered an exclamation of joy and surprise at
so happy a termination; and certainly a worse has been applauded,
even when coming from a less distinguished author.

The Queen, thus encouraged, took off a diamond ring, and saying,
"We will give this gallant some cause of marvel when he finds his
couplet perfected without his own interference," she wrote her
own line beneath that of Raleigh.

The Queen left the pavilion; but retiring slowly, and often
looking back, she could see the young cavalier steal, with the
flight of a lapwing, towards the place where he had seen her make
a pause.  "She stayed but to observe," as she said, "that her
train had taken;" and then, laughing at the circumstance with the
Lady Paget, she took the way slowly towards the Palace.
Elizabeth, as they returned, cautioned her companion not to
mention to any one the aid which she had given to the young poet,
and Lady Paget promised scrupulous secrecy.  It is to be supposed
that she made a mental reservation in favour of Leicester, to
whom her ladyship transmitted without delay an anecdote so little
calculated to give him pleasure.

Raleigh, in the meanwhile, stole back to the window, and read,
with a feeling of intoxication, the encouragement thus given him
by the Queen in person to follow out his ambitious career, and
returned to Sussex and his retinue, then on the point of
embarking to go up the river, his heart beating high with
gratified pride, and with hope of future distinction.

The reverence due to the person of the Earl prevented any notice
being taken of the reception he had met with at court, until they
had landed, and the household were assembled in the great hall at
Sayes Court; while that lord, exhausted by his late illness and
the fatigues of the day, had retired to his chamber, demanding
the attendance of Wayland, his successful physician.  Wayland,
however, was nowhere to be found; and while some of the party
were, with military impatience, seeking him and cursing his
absence, the rest flocked around Raleigh to congratulate him on
his prospects of court-favour.

He had the good taste and judgment to conceal the decisive
circumstance of the couplet to which Elizabeth had deigned to
find a rhyme; but other indications had transpired, which plainly
intimated that he had made some progress in the Queen's favour.
All hastened to wish him joy on the mended appearance of his
fortune--some from real regard, some, perhaps, from hopes that
his preferment might hasten their own, and most from a mixture of
these motives, and a sense that the countenance shown to any one
of Sussex's household was, in fact, a triumph to the whole.
Raleigh returned the kindest thanks to them all, disowning, with
becoming modesty, that one day's fair reception made a favourite,
any more than one swallow a summer.  But he observed that Blount
did not join in the general congratulation, and, somewhat hurt at
his apparent unkindness, he plainly asked him the reason.

Blount replied with equal sincerity--"My good Walter, I wish thee
as well as do any of these chattering gulls, who are whistling
and whooping gratulations in thine ear because it seems fair
weather with thee.  But I fear for thee, "Walter" (and he wiped
his honest eye), "I fear for thee with all my heart.  These
court-tricks, and gambols, and flashes of fine women's favour are
the tricks and trinkets that bring fair fortunes to farthings,
and fine faces and witty coxcombs to the acquaintance of dull
block and sharp axes."

So saying, Blount arose and left the hall, while Raleigh looked
after him with an expression that blanked for a moment his bold
and animated countenance.

Stanley just then entered the hall, and said to Tressilian, "My
lord is calling for your fellow Wayland, and your fellow Wayland
is just come hither in a sculler, and is calling for you, nor
will he go to my lord till he sees you.  The fellow looks as he
were mazed, methinks; I would you would see him immediately."

Tressilian instantly left the hall, and causing Wayland Smith to
be shown into a withdrawing apartment, and lights placed, he
conducted the artist thither, and was surprised when he observed
the emotion of his countenance.

"What is the matter with you, Smith?"  said Tressilian; "have you
seen the devil?"

"Worse, sir, worse," replied Wayland; "I have seen a basilisk.
Thank God, I saw him first; for being so seen, and seeing not me,
he will do the less harm."

"In God's name, speak sense," said Tressilian, "and say what you
mean."

"I have seen my old master," said the artist.  "Last night a
friend whom I had acquired took me to see the Palace clock,
judging me to be curious in such works of art.  At the window of
a turret next to the clock-house I saw my old master."

"Thou must needs have been mistaken," said Tressilian.

"I was not mistaken," said Wayland; "he that once hath his
features by heart would know him amongst a million.  He was
anticly habited; but he cannot disguise himself from me, God be
praised!  as I can from him.  I will not, however, tempt
Providence by remaining within his ken.  Tarleton the player
himself could not so disguise himself but that, sooner or later,
Doboobie would find him out.  I must away to-morrow; for, as we
stand together, it were death to me to remain within reach of
him."

"But the Earl of Sussex?"  said Tressilian.

"He is in little danger from what he has hitherto taken, provided
he swallow the matter of a bean's size of the orvietan every
morning fasting; but let him beware of a relapse."

"And how is that to be guarded against?"  said Tressilian.

"Only by such caution as you would use against the devil,"
answered Wayland.  "Let my lord's clerk of the kitchen kill his
lord's meat himself, and dress it himself, using no spice but
what he procures from the surest hands.  Let the sewer serve it
up himself, and let the master of my lord's household see that
both clerk and sewer taste the dishes which the one dresses and
the other serves.  Let my lord use no perfumes which come not
from well accredited persons; no unguents--no pomades.  Let him,
on no account, drink with strangers, or eat fruit with them,
either in the way of nooning or otherwise.  Especially, let him
observe such caution if he goes to Kenilworth--the excuse of his
illness, and his being under diet, will, and must, cover the
strangeness of such practice."

"And thou," said Tressilian, "what dost thou think to make of
thyself?"

"France, Spain, either India, East or West, shall be my refuge,"
said Wayland, "ere I venture my life by residing within ken of
Doboobie, Demetrius, or whatever else he calls himself for the
time."

"Well," said Tressilian, "this happens not inopportunely.  I had
business for you in Berkshire, but in the opposite extremity to
the place where thou art known; and ere thou hadst found out this
new reason for living private, I had settled to send thee thither
upon a secret embassage."

The artist expressed himself willing to receive his commands, and
Tressilian, knowing he was well acquainted with the outline of
his business at court, frankly explained to him the whole,
mentioned the agreement which subsisted betwixt Giles Gosling and
him, and told what had that day been averred in the presence-
chamber by Varney, and supported by Leicester.

"Thou seest," he added, "that, in the circumstances in which I am
placed, it behoves me to keep a narrow watch on the motions of
these unprincipled men, Varney and his complices, Foster and
Lambourne, as well as on those of my Lord Leicester himself, who,
I suspect, is partly a deceiver, and not altogether the deceived
in that matter.  Here is my ring, as a pledge to Giles Gosling.
Here is besides gold, which shall be trebled if thou serve me
faithfully.  Away down to Cumnor, and see what happens there."

"I go with double good-will," said the artist, "first, because I
serve your honour, who has been so kind to me; and then, that I
may escape my old master, who, if not an absolute incarnation of
the devil, has, at least, as much of the demon about him, in
will, word, and action; as ever polluted humanity.  And yet let
him take care of me.  I fly him now, as heretofore; but if, like
the Scottish wild cattle, I am vexed by frequent pursuit, I may
turn on him in hate and desperation.  [A remnant of the wild
cattle of Scotland are preserved at Chillingham Castle, near
Wooler, in Northumberland, the seat of Lord Tankerville.  They
fly before strangers; but if disturbed and followed, they turn
with fury on those who persist in annoying them.]  Will your
honour command my nag to be saddled?  I will but give the
medicine to my lord, divided in its proper proportions, with a
few instructions.  His safety will then depend on the care of his
friends and domestics; for the past he is guarded, but let him
beware of the future."

Wayland Smith accordingly made his farewell visit to the Earl of
Sussex, dictated instructions as to his regimen, and precautions
concerning his diet, and left Sayes Court without waiting for
morning.



CHAPTER XVIII.

        The moment comes--
  It is already come--when thou must write
  The absolute total of thy life's vast sum.
  The constellations stand victorious o'er thee,
  The planets shoot good fortune in fair junctions,
  And tell thee, "Now's the time."
                          SCHILLER'S WALLENSTEIN, BY COLERIDGE.

When Leicester returned to his lodging, alter a day so important
and so harassing, in which, after riding out more than one gale,
and touching on more than one shoal, his bark had finally gained
the harbour with banner displayed, he seemed to experience as
much fatigue as a mariner after a perilous storm.  He spoke not a
word while his chamberlain exchanged his rich court-mantle for a
furred night-robe, and when this officer signified that Master
Varney desired to speak with his lordship, he replied only by a
sullen nod.  Varney, however, entered, accepting this signal as a
permission, and the chamberlain withdrew.

The Earl remained silent and almost motionless in his chair, his
head reclined on his hand, and his elbow resting upon the table
which stood beside him, without seeming to be conscious of the
entrance or of the presence of his confidant.  Varney waited for
some minutes until he should speak, desirous to know what was the
finally predominant mood of a mind through which so many powerful
emotions had that day taken their course.  But he waited in vain,
for Leicester continued still silent, and the confidant saw
himself under the necessity of being the first to speak.  "May I
congratulate your lordship," he said, "on the deserved
superiority you have this day attained over your most formidable
rival?"

Leicester raised his head, and answered sadly, but without anger,
"Thou, Varney, whose ready invention has involved me in a web of
most mean and perilous falsehood, knowest best what small reason
there is for gratulation on the subject."

"Do you blame me, my lord," said Varney, "for not betraying, on
the first push, the secret on which your fortunes depended, and
which you have so oft and so earnestly recommended to my safe
keeping?  Your lordship was present in person, and might have
contradicted me and ruined yourself by an avowal of the truth;
but surely it was no part of a faithful servant to have done so
without your commands."

"I cannot deny it, Varney," said the Earl, rising and walking
across the room; "my own ambition has been traitor to my love."

"Say rather, my lord, that your love has been traitor to your
greatness, and barred you from such a prospect of honour and
power as the world cannot offer to any other.  To make my
honoured lady a countess, you have missed the chance of being
yourself--"

He paused, and seemed unwilling to complete the sentence.

"Of being myself what?"  demanded Leicester; "speak out thy
meaning, Varney."

"Of being yourself a KING, my lord," replied Varney; "and King of
England to boot!  It is no treason to our Queen to say so.  It
would have chanced by her obtaining that which all true subjects
wish her--a lusty, noble, and gallant husband."

"Thou ravest, Varney," answered Leicester.  "Besides, our times
have seen enough to make men loathe the Crown Matrimonial which
men take from their wives' lap.  There was Darnley of Scotland."

"He!"  said Varney; "a, gull, a fool, a thrice-sodden ass, who
suffered himself to be fired off into the air like a rocket on a
rejoicing day.  Had Mary had the hap to have wedded the noble
Earl ONCE destined to share her throne, she had experienced a
husband of different metal; and her husband had found in her a
wife as complying and loving as the mate of the meanest squire
who follows the hounds a-horseback, and holds her husband's
bridle as he mounts."

"It might have been as thou sayest, Varney," said Leicester, a
brief smile of self-satisfaction passing over his anxious
countenance.  "Henry Darnley knew little of women--with Mary, a
man who knew her sex might have had some chance of holding his
own.  But not with Elizabeth, Varney for I thank God, when he
gave her the heart of a woman, gave her the head of a man to
control its follies.  No, I know her.  She will accept love-
tokens, ay, and requite them with the like--put sugared sonnets
in her bosom, ay, and answer them too--push gallantry to the very
verge where it becomes exchange of affection; but she writes NIL
ULTRA to all which is to follow, and would not barter one iota of
her own supreme power for all the alphabet of both Cupid and
Hymen."

"The better for you, my lord," said Varney--"that is, in the case
supposed, if such be her disposition; since you think you cannot
aspire to become her husband.  Her favourite you are, and may
remain, if the lady at Cumnor place continues in her present
obscurity."

"Poor Amy!"  said Leicester, with a deep sigh; "she desires so
earnestly to be acknowledged in presence of God and man!"

"Ay, but, my lord," said Varney, "is her desire reasonable?  That
is the question.  Her religious scruples are solved; she is an
honoured and beloved wife, enjoying the society of her husband at
such times as his weightier duties permit him to afford her his
company.  What would she more?  I am right sure that a lady so
gentle and so loving would consent to live her life through in a
certain obscurity--which is, after all, not dimmer than when she
was at Lidcote Hall--rather than diminish the least jot of her
lord's honours and greatness by a premature attempt to share
them."

"There is something in what thou sayest," said Leicester, "and
her appearance here were fatal.  Yet she must be seen at
Kenilworth; Elizabeth will not forget that she has so appointed."

"Let me sleep on that hard point," said Varney; "I cannot else
perfect the device I have on the stithy, which I trust will
satisfy the Queen and please my honoured lady, yet leave this
fatal secret where it is now buried.  Has your lordship further
commands for the night?"

"I would be alone," said Leicester.  "Leave me, and place my
steel casket on the table.  Be within summons."

Varney retired, and the Earl, opening the window of his
apartment, looked out long and anxiously upon the brilliant host
of stars which glimmered in the splendour of a summer firmament.
The words burst from him as at unawares, "I had never more need
that the heavenly bodies should befriend me, for my earthly path
is darkened and confused."

It is well known that the age reposed a deep confidence in the
vain predictions of judicial astrology, and Leicester, though
exempt from the general control of superstition, was not in this
respect superior to his time, but, on the contrary, was
remarkable for the encouragement which he gave to the professors
of this pretended science.  Indeed, the wish to pry into
futurity, so general among the human race, is peculiarly to be
found amongst those who trade in state mysteries and the
dangerous intrigues and cabals of courts.  With heedful
precaution to see that it had not been opened, or its locks
tampered with, Leicester applied a key to the steel casket, and
drew from it, first, a parcel of gold pieces, which he put into a
silk purse; then a parchment inscribed with planetary signs, and
the lines and calculations used in framing horoscopes, on which
he gazed intently for a few moments; and, lastly, took forth a
large key, which, lifting aside the tapestry, he applied to a
little, concealed door in the corner of the apartment, and
opening it, disclosed a stair constructed in the thickness of the
wall.

"Alasco," said the Earl, with a voice raised, yet no higher
raised than to be heard by the inhabitant of the small turret to
which the stair conducted--"Alasco, I say, descend."

"I come, my lord," answered a voice from above.  The foot of an
aged man was heard slowly descending the narrow stair, and Alasco
entered the Earl's apartment.  The astrologer was a little man,
and seemed much advanced in age, for his heard was long and
white, and reached over his black doublet down to his silken
girdle.  His hair was of the same venerable hue.  But his
eyebrows were as dark as the keen and piercing black eyes which
they shaded, and this peculiarity gave a wild and singular cast
to the physiognomy of the old man.  His cheek was still fresh and
ruddy, and the eyes we have mentioned resembled those of a rat in
acuteness and even fierceness of expression.  His manner was not
without a sort of dignity; and the interpreter of the stars,
though respectful, seemed altogether at his ease, and even
assumed a tone of instruction and command in conversing with the
prime favourite of Elizabeth.

"Your prognostications have failed, Alasco," said the Earl, when
they had exchanged salutations--"he is recovering."

"My son," replied the astrologer, "let me remind you I warranted
not his death; nor is there any prognostication that can be
derived from the heavenly bodies, their aspects and their
conjunctions, which is not liable to be controlled by the will of
Heaven.  ASTRA REGUNT HOMINES, SED REGIT ASTRA DEUS."

"Of what avail, then, is your mystery?"  inquired the Earl.

"Of much, my son," replied the old man, "since it can show the
natural and probable course of events, although that course moves
in subordination to an Higher Power.  Thus, in reviewing the
horoscope which your Lordship subjected to my skill, you will
observe that Saturn, being in the sixth House in opposition to
Mars, retrograde in the House of Life, cannot but denote long and
dangerous sickness, the issue whereof is in the will of Heaven,
though death may probably be inferred.  Yet if I knew the name of
the party I would erect another scheme."

"His name is a secret," said the Earl; "yet, I must own, thy
prognostication hath not been unfaithful.  He has been sick, and
dangerously so, not, however, to death.  But hast thou again cast
my horoscope as Varney directed thee, and art thou prepared to
say what the stars tell of my present fortune?"

"My art stands at your command," said the old man; "and here, my
son, is the map of thy fortunes, brilliant in aspect as ever
beamed from those blessed signs whereby our life is influenced,
yet not unchequered with fears, difficulties, and dangers."

"My lot were more than mortal were it otherwise," said the Earl.
"Proceed, father, and believe you speak with one ready to undergo
his destiny in action and in passion as may beseem a noble of
England."

"Thy courage to do and to suffer must be wound up yet a strain
higher," said the old man.  "The stars intimate yet a prouder
title, yet an higher rank.  It is for thee to guess their
meaning, not for me to name it."

"Name it, I conjure you--name it, I command you!"  said the Earl,
his eyes brightening as he spoke.

"I may not, and I will not," replied the old man.  "The ire of
princes Is as the wrath of the lion.  But mark, and judge for
thyself.  Here Venus, ascendant in the House of Life, and
conjoined with Sol, showers down that flood of silver light,
blent with gold, which promises power, wealth, dignity, all that
the proud heart of man desires, and in such abundance that never
the future Augustus of that old and mighty Rome heard from his
HARUSPICES such a tale of glory, as from this rich text my lore
might read to my favourite son."

"Thou dost but jest with me, father," said the Earl, astonished
at the strain of enthusiasm in which the astrologer delivered his
prediction.

"Is it for him to jest who hath his eye on heaven, who hath his
foot in the grave?"  returned the old man solemnly.

The Earl made two or three strides through the apartment, with
his hand outstretched, as one who follows the beckoning signal of
some phantom, waving him on to deeds of high import.  As he
turned, however, he caught the eye of the astrologer fixed on
him, while an observing glance of the most shrewd penetration
shot from under the penthouse of his shaggy, dark eyebrows.
Leicester's haughty and suspicious soul at once caught fire.  He
darted towards the old man from the farther end of the lofty
apartment, only standing still when his extended hand was within
a foot of the astrologer's body.

"Wretch!"  he said, "if you dare to palter with me, I will have
your skin stripped from your living flesh!  Confess thou hast
been hired to deceive and to betray me--that thou art a cheat,
and I thy silly prey and booty!"

The old man exhibited some symptoms of emotion, but not more than
the furious deportment of his patron might have extorted from
innocence itself.

"What means this violence, my lord?"  he answered, "or in what
can I have deserved it at your hand?"

"Give me proof," said the Earl vehemently, "that you have not
tampered with mine enemies."

"My lord," replied the old man, with dignity, "you can have no
better proof than that which you yourself elected.  In that
turret I have spent the last twenty-four hours under the key
which has been in your own custody.  The hours of darkness I have
spent in gazing on the heavenly bodies with these dim eyes, and
during those of light I have toiled this aged brain to complete
the calculation arising from their combinations.  Earthly food I
have not tasted--earthly voice I have not heard.  You are
yourself aware I had no means of doing so; and yet I tell you--I
who have been thus shut up in solitude and study--that within
these twenty-four hours your star has become predominant in the
horizon, and either the bright book of heaven speaks false, or
there must have been a proportionate revolution in your fortunes
upon earth.  If nothing has happened within that space to secure
your power, or advance your favour, then am I indeed a cheat, and
the divine art, which was first devised in the plains of Chaldea,
is a foul imposture."

"It is true," said Leicester, after a moment's reflection, "thou
wert closely immured; and it is also true that the change has
taken place in my situation which thou sayest the horoscope
indicates."

"Wherefore this distrust then, my son?"  said the astrologer,
assuming a tone of admonition; "the celestial intelligences brook
not diffidence, even in their favourites."

"Peace, father," answered Leicester, "I have erred in doubting
thee.  Not to mortal man, nor to celestial intelligence--under
that which is supreme--will Dudley's lips say more in
condescension or apology.  Speak rather to the present purpose.
Amid these bright promises thou hast said there was a threatening
aspect.  Can thy skill tell whence, or by whose means, such
danger seems to impend?"

"Thus far only," answered the astrologer, "does my art enable me
to answer your query.  The infortune is threatened by the
malignant and adverse aspect, through means of a youth, and, as I
think, a rival; but whether in love or in prince's favour, I know
not nor can I give further indication respecting him, save that
he comes from the western quarter."

"The western--ha!"  replied Leicester, "it is enough--the tempest
does indeed brew in that quarter!  Cornwall and Devon--Raleigh
and Tressilian--one of them is indicated-I must beware of both.
Father, if I have done thy skill injustice, I will make thee a
lordly recompense."

He took a purse of gold from the strong casket which stood before
him.  "Have thou double the recompense which Varney promised.  Be
faithful--be secret--obey the directions thou shalt receive from
my master of the horse, and grudge not a little seclusion or
restraint in my cause--it shall be richly considered.--Here,
Varney--conduct this venerable man to thine own lodging; tend him
heedfully in all things, but see that he holds communication with
no one.

Varney bowed, and the astrologer kissed the Earl's hand in token
of adieu, and followed the master of the horse to another
apartment, in which were placed wine and refreshments for his
use.

The astrologer sat down to his repast, while Varney shut two
doors with great precaution, examined the tapestry, lest any
listener lurked behind it, and then sitting down opposite to the
sage, began to question him.

"Saw you my signal from the court beneath?"

"I did," said Alasco, for by such name he was at present called,
"and shaped the horoscope accordingly."

"And it passed upon the patron without challenge?"  continued
Varney.

"Not without challenge," replied the old man, "but it did pass;
and I added, as before agreed, danger from a discovered secret,
and a western youth."

"My lord's fear will stand sponsor to the one, and his conscience
to the other, of these prognostications," replied Varney.  "Sure
never man chose to run such a race as his, yet continued to
retain those silly scruples!  I am fain to cheat him to his own
profit.  But touching your matters, sage interpreter of the
stars, I can tell you more of your own fortune than plan or
figure can show.  You must be gone from hence forthwith."

"I will not," said Alasco peevishly.  "I have been too much
hurried up and down of late--immured for day and night in a
desolate turret-chamber.  I must enjoy my liberty, and pursue my
studies, which are of more import than the fate of fifty
statesmen and favourites that rise and burst like bubbles in the
atmosphere of a court."

"At your pleasure," said Varney, with a sneer that habit had
rendered familiar to his features, and which forms the principal
characteristic which painters have assigned to that of Satan--"at
your pleasure," he said; "you may enjoy your liberty and your
studies until the daggers of Sussex's followers are clashing
within your doublet and against your ribs."  The old man turned
pale, and Varney proceeded.  "Wot you not he hath offered a
reward for the arch-quack and poison-vender, Demetrius, who sold
certain precious spices to his lordship's cook?  What!  turn you
pale, old friend?  Does Hali already see an infortune in the
House of Life?  Why, hark thee, we will have thee down to an old
house of mine in the country, where thou shalt live with a
hobnailed slave, whom thy alchemy may convert into ducats, for to
such conversion alone is thy art serviceable."

"It is false, thou foul-mouthed railer," said Alasco, shaking
with impotent anger; "it is well known that I have approached
more nearly to projection than any hermetic artist who now lives.
There are not six chemists in the world who possess so near an
approximation to the grand arcanum--"

"Come, come," said Varney, interrupting him, "what means this, in
the name of Heaven?  Do we not know one another?  I believe thee
to be so perfect--so very perfect--in the mystery of cheating,
that, having imposed upon all mankind, thou hast at length in
some measure imposed upon thyself, and without ceasing to dupe
others, hast become a species of dupe to thine own imagination.
Blush not for it, man--thou art learned, and shalt have classical
comfort:

  'Ne quisquam Ajacem possit superare nisi Ajax.'

No one but thyself could have gulled thee; and thou hast gulled
the whole brotherhood of the Rosy Cross besides--none so deep in
the mystery as thou.  But hark thee in thine ear:  had the
seasoning which spiced Sussex's broth wrought more surely, I
would have thought better of the chemical science thou dost boast
so highly."

"Thou art an hardened villain, Varney," replied Alasco; "many
will do those things who dare not speak of them."

"And many speak of them who dare not do them," answered Varney.
"But be not wroth--I will not quarrel with thee.  If I did, I
were fain to live on eggs for a month, that I might feed without
fear.  Tell me at once, how came thine art to fail thee at this
great emergency?"

"The Earl of Sussex's horoscope intimates," replied the
astrologer, "that the sign of the ascendant being in combustion
--"

"Away with your gibberish," replied Varney; "thinkest thou it is
the patron thou speakest with?"

"I crave your pardon," replied the old man, "and swear to you I
know but one medicine that could have saved the Earl's life; and
as no man living in England knows that antidote save myself--
moreover, as the ingredients, one of them in particular, are
scarce possible to be come by, I must needs suppose his escape
was owing to such a constitution of lungs and vital parts as was
never before bound up in a body of clay."

"There was some talk of a quack who waited on him," said Varney,
after a moment's reflection.  "Are you sure there is no one in
England who has this secret of thine?"

"One man there was," said the doctor, "once my servant, who might
have stolen this of me, with one or two other secrets of art.
But content you, Master Varney, it is no part of my policy to
suffer such interlopers to interfere in my trade.  He pries into
no mysteries more, I warrant you, for, as I well believe, he hath
been wafted to heaven on the wing of a fiery dragon--peace be
with him!  But in this retreat of mine shall I have the use of
mine elaboratory?"

"Of a whole workshop, man," said Varney; "for a reverend father
abbot, who was fain to give place to bluff King Hal and some of
his courtiers, a score of years since, had a chemist's complete
apparatus, which he was obliged to leave behind him to his
successors.  Thou shalt there occupy, and melt, and puff, and
blaze, and multiply, until the Green Dragon become a golden
goose, or whatever the newer phrase of the brotherhood may
testify."

"Thou art right, Master Varney," said the alchemist setting his
teeth close and grinding them together--"thou art right even in
thy very contempt of right and reason.  For what thou sayest in
mockery may in sober verity chance to happen ere we meet again.
If the most venerable sages of ancient days have spoken the
truth--if the most learned of our own have rightly received it;
if I have been accepted wherever I travelled in Germany, in
Poland, in Italy, and in the farther Tartary, as one to whom
nature has unveiled her darkest secrets; if I have acquired the
most secret signs and passwords of the Jewish Cabala, so that the
greyest beard in the synagogue would brush the steps to make them
clean for me;--if all this is so, and if there remains but one
step--one little step--betwixt my long, deep, and dark, and
subterranean progress, and that blaze of light which shall show
Nature watching her richest and her most glorious productions in
the very cradle--one step betwixt dependence and the power of
sovereignty--one step betwixt poverty and such a sum of wealth as
earth, without that noble secret, cannot minister from all her
mines in the old or the new-found world; if this be all so, is it
not reasonable that to this I dedicate my future life, secure,
for a brief period of studious patience, to rise above the mean
dependence upon favourites, and THEIR favourites, by which I am
now enthralled!"

"Now, bravo!  bravo!  my good father," said Varney, with the
usual sardonic expression of ridicule on his countenance; "yet
all this approximation to the philosopher's stone wringeth not
one single crown out of my Lord Leicester's pouch, and far less
out of Richard Varney's.  WE must have earthly and substantial
services, man, and care not whom else thou canst delude with thy
philosophical charlatanry."

"My son Varney," said the alchemist, "the unbelief, gathered
around thee like a frost-fog, hath dimmed thine acute perception
to that which is a stumbling-block to the wise, and which yet, to
him who seeketh knowledge with humility, extends a lesson so
clear that he who runs may read.  Hath not Art, thinkest thou,
the means of completing Nature's imperfect concoctions in her
attempts to form the precious metals, even as by art we can
perfect those other operations of incubation, distillation,
fermentation, and similar processes of an ordinary description,
by which we extract life itself out of a senseless egg, summon
purity and vitality out of muddy dregs, or call into vivacity the
inert substance of a sluggish liquid?"

"I have heard all this before," said Varney, "and my heart is
proof against such cant ever since I sent twenty good gold pieces
(marry, it was in the nonage of my wit) to advance the grand
magisterium, all which, God help the while, vanished IN FUMO.
Since that moment, when I paid for my freedom, I defy chemistry,
astrology, palmistry, and every other occult art, were it as
secret as hell itself, to unloose the stricture of my purse-
strings.  Marry, I neither defy the manna of Saint Nicholas, nor
can I dispense with it.  The first task must be to prepare some
when thou gett'st down to my little sequestered retreat yonder,
and then make as much gold as thou wilt."

"I will make no more of that dose," said the alchemist,
resolutely.

"Then," said the master of the horse, "thou shalt be hanged for
what thou hast made already, and so were the great secret for
ever lost to mankind.  Do not humanity this injustice, good
father, but e'en bend to thy destiny, and make us an ounce or two
of this same stuff; which cannot prejudice above one or two
individuals, in order to gain lifetime to discover the universal
medicine, which shall clear away all mortal diseases at once.
But cheer up, thou grave, learned, and most melancholy jackanape!
Hast thou not told me that a moderate portion of thy drug hath
mild effects, no ways ultimately dangerous to the human frame,
but which produces depression of spirits, nausea, headache, an
unwillingness to change of place--even such a state of temper as
would keep a bird from flying out of a cage were the door left
open?"

"I have said so, and it is true," said the alchemist.  "This
effect will it produce, and the bird who partakes of it in such
proportion shall sit for a season drooping on her perch, without
thinking either of the free blue sky, or of the fair greenwood,
though the one be lighted by the rays of the rising sun, and the
other ringing with the newly-awakened song of all the feathered
inhabitants of the forest."

"And this without danger to life?"  said Varney, somewhat
anxiously.

"Ay, so that proportion and measure be not exceeded; and so that
one who knows the nature of the manna be ever near to watch the
symptoms, and succour in case of need."

"Thou shalt regulate the whole," said Varney.  "Thy reward shall
be princely, if thou keepest time and touch, and exceedest not
the due proportion, to the prejudice of her health; otherwise thy
punishment shall be as signal."

"The prejudice of HER health!"  repeated Alasco; "it is, then, a
woman I am to use my skill upon?"

"No, thou fool," replied Varney, "said I not it was a bird--a
reclaimed linnet, whose pipe might soothe a hawk when in mid
stoop?  I see thine eye sparkle, and I know thy beard is not
altogether so white as art has made it--THAT, at least, thou hast
been able to transmute to silver.  But mark me, this is no mate
for thee.  This caged bird is dear to one who brooks no rivalry,
and far less such rivalry as thine, and her health must over all
things be cared for.  But she is in the case of being commanded
down to yonder Kenilworth revels, and it is most expedient--most
needful--most necessary that she fly not thither.  Of these
necessities and their causes, it is not needful that she should
know aught; and it is to be thought that her own wish may lead
her to combat all ordinary reasons which can be urged for her
remaining a housekeeper."

"That is but natural," said the alchemist with a strange smile,
which yet bore a greater reference to the human character than
the uninterested and abstracted gaze which his physiognomy had
hitherto expressed, where all seemed to refer to some world
distant from that which was existing around him.

"It is so," answered Varney; "you understand women well, though
it may have been long since you were conversant amongst them.
Well, then, she is not to be contradicted; yet she is not to be
humoured.  Understand me--a slight illness, sufficient to take
away the desire of removing from thence, and to make such of your
wise fraternity as may be called in to aid, recommend a quiet
residence at home, will, in one word, be esteemed good service,
and remunerated as such."

"I am not to be asked to affect the House of Life?"  said the
chemist.

"On the contrary, we will have thee hanged if thou dost," replied
Varney.

"And I must," added Alasco, "have opportunity to do my turn, and
all facilities for concealment or escape, should there be
detection?"

"All, all, and everything, thou infidel in all but the
impossibilities of alchemy.  Why, man, for what dost thou take
me?"

The old man rose, and taking a light walked towards the end of
the apartment, where was a door that led to the small sleeping-
room destined for his reception during the night.  At the door he
turned round, and slowly repeated Varney's question ere he
answered it.  "For what do I take thee, Richard Varney?  Why, for
a worse devil than I have been myself.  But I am in your toils,
and I must serve you till my term be out."

"Well, well," answered Varney hastily, "be stirring with grey
light.  It may be we shall not need thy medicine--do nought till
I myself come down.  Michael Lambourne shall guide you to the
place of your destination."  [See Note 7.  Dr. Julio.]

When Varney heard the adept's door shut and carefully bolted
within, he stepped towards it, and with similar precaution
carefully locked it on the outside, and took the key from the
lock, muttering to himself, "Worse than THEE, thou poisoning
quacksalver and witch-monger, who, if thou art not a bounden
slave to the devil, it is only because he disdains such an
apprentice!  I am a mortal man, and seek by mortal means the
gratification of my passions and advancement of my prospects;
thou art a vassal of hell itself--So ho, Lambourne!"  he called
at another door, and Michael made his appearance with a flushed
cheek and an unsteady step.

"Thou art drunk, thou villain!"  said Varney to him.

"Doubtless, noble sir," replied the unabashed Michael; "We have
been drinking all even to the glories of the day, and to my noble
Lord of Leicester and his valiant master of the horse.  Drunk!
odds blades and poniards, he that would refuse to swallow a dozen
healths on such an evening is a base besognio, and a puckfoist,
and shall swallow six inches of my dagger!"

"Hark ye, scoundrel," said Varney, "be sober on the instant--I
command thee.  I know thou canst throw off thy drunken folly,
like a fool's coat, at pleasure; and if not, it were the worse
for thee."

Lambourne drooped his head, left the apartment, and returned in
two or three minutes with his face composed, his hair adjusted,
his dress in order, and exhibiting as great a difference from his
former self as if the whole man had been changed.

"Art thou sober now, and dost thou comprehend me?"  said Varney
sternly.

Lambourne bowed in acquiescence.

"Thou must presently down to Cumnor Place with the reverend man
of art who sleeps yonder in the little vaulted chamber.  Here is
the key, that thou mayest call him by times.  Take another trusty
fellow with you.  Use him well on the journey, but let him not
escape you--pistol him if he attempt it, and I will be your
warrant.  I will give thee letters to Foster.  The doctor is to
occupy the lower apartments of the eastern quadrangle, with
freedom to use the old elaboratory and its implements.  He is to
have no access to the lady, but such as I shall point out--only
she may be amused to see his philosophical jugglery.  Thou wilt
await at Cumnor Place my further orders; and, as thou livest,
beware of the ale-bench and the aqua vitae flask.  Each breath
drawn in Cumnor Place must be kept severed from common air."

"Enough, my lord--I mean my worshipful master, soon, I trust, to
be my worshipful knightly master.  You have given me my lesson
and my license; I will execute the one, and not abuse the other.
I will be in the saddle by daybreak."

"Do so, and deserve favour.  Stay--ere thou goest fill me a cup
of wine--not out of that flask, sirrah," as Lambourne was pouring
out from that which Alasco had left half finished, "fetch me a
fresh one."

Lambourne obeyed, and Varney, after rinsing his mouth with the
liquor, drank a full cup, and said, as he took up a lamp to
retreat to his sleeping apartment, "It is strange--I am as little
the slave of fancy as any one, yet I never speak for a few
minutes with this fellow Alasco, but my mouth and lungs feel as
if soiled with the fumes of calcined arsenic--pah!"

So saying, he left the apartment.  Lambourne lingered, to drink a
cup of the freshly-opened flask.  "It is from Saint John's-Berg,"
he said, as he paused on the draught to enjoy its flavour, "and
has the true relish of the violet.  But I must forbear it now,
that I may one day drink it at my own pleasure."  And he quaffed
a goblet of water to quench the fumes of the Rhenish wine,
retired slowly towards the door, made a pause, and then, finding
the temptation irresistible, walked hastily back, and took
another long pull at the wine flask, without the formality of a
cup.

"Were it not for this accursed custom," he said, "I might climb
as high as Varney himself.  But who can climb when the room turns
round with him like a parish-top?  I would the distance were
greater, or the road rougher, betwixt my hand and mouth!  But I
will drink nothing to-morrow save water--nothing save fair
water."



CHAPTER XIX.

 PISTOL.  And tidings do I bring, and lucky joys,
    And happy news of price.
 FALSTAFF.  I prithee now deliver them like to men of this world.
 PISTOL.  A foutra for the world, and worldlings base!
    I speak of Africa, and golden joys.        HENRY IV. PART II.

The public room of the Black Bear at Cumnor, to which the scene
of our story now returns, boasted, on the evening which we treat
of, no ordinary assemblage of guests.  There had been a fair in
the neighbourhood, and the cutting mercer of Abingdon, with some
of the other personages whom the reader has already been made
acquainted with, as friends and customers of Giles Gosling, had
already formed their wonted circle around the evening fire, and
were talking over the news of the day.

A lively, bustling, arch fellow, whose pack, and oaken ellwand
studded duly with brass points, denoted him to be of Autolycus's
profession, occupied a good deal of the attention, and furnished
much of the amusement, of the evening.  The pedlars of those
days, it must be remembered, were men of far greater importance
than the degenerate and degraded hawkers of our modern times.  It
was by means of these peripatetic venders that the country trade,
in the finer manufactures used in female dress particularly, was
almost entirely carried on; and if a merchant of this description
arrived at the dignity of travelling with a pack-horse, he was a
person of no small consequence, and company for the most
substantial yeoman or franklin whom he might meet in his
wanderings.

The pedlar of whom we speak bore, accordingly, an active and
unrebuked share in the merriment to which the rafters of the
bonny Black Bear of Cumnor resounded.  He had his smile with
pretty Mistress Cicely, his broad laugh with mine host, and his
jest upon dashing Master Goldthred, who, though indeed without
any such benevolent intention on his own part, was the general
butt of the evening.  The pedlar and he were closely engaged in a
dispute upon the preference due to the Spanish nether-stock over
the black Gascoigne hose, and mine host had just winked to the
guests around him, as who should say, "You will have mirth
presently, my masters," when the trampling of horses was heard in
the courtyard, and the hostler was loudly summoned, with a few of
the newest oaths then in vogue to add force to the invocation.
Out tumbled Will Hostler, John Tapster, and all the militia of
the inn, who had slunk from their posts in order to collect some
scattered crumbs of the mirth which was flying about among the
customers.  Out into the yard sallied mine host himself also, to
do fitting salutation to his new guests; and presently returned,
ushering into the apartment his own worthy nephew, Michael
Lambourne, pretty tolerably drunk, and having under his escort
the astrologer.  Alasco, though still a little old man, had, by
altering his gown to a riding-dress, trimming his beard and
eyebrows, and so forth, struck at least a score of years from his
apparent age, and might now seem an active man of sixty, or
little upwards.  He appeared at present exceedingly anxious, and
had insisted much with Lambourne that they should not enter the
inn, but go straight forward to the place of their destination.
But Lambourne would not be controlled.  "By Cancer and
Capricorn," he vociferated, "and the whole heavenly host, besides
all the stars that these blessed eyes of mine have seen sparkle
in the southern heavens, to which these northern blinkers are but
farthing candles, I will be unkindly for no one's humour--I will
stay and salute my worthy uncle here.  Chesu!  that good blood
should ever be forgotten betwixt friends!--A gallon of your best,
uncle, and let it go round to the health of the noble Earl of
Leicester!  What!  shall we not collogue together, and warm the
cockles of our ancient kindness?--shall we not collogue, I say?"

"With all my heart, kinsman," said mine host, who obviously
wished to be rid of him; "but are you to stand shot to all this
good liquor?"

This is a question has quelled many a jovial toper, but it moved
not the purpose of Lambourne's soul, "Question my means, nuncle?"
he said, producing a handful of mixed gold and silver pieces;
"question Mexico and Peru--question the Queen's exchequer--God
save her Majesty!--she is my good Lord's good mistress."

"Well, kinsman," said mine host, "it is my business to sell wine
to those who can buy it--so, Jack Tapster, do me thine office.
But I would I knew how to come by money as lightly as thou dost,
Mike."

"Why, uncle," said Lambourne, "I will tell thee a secret.  Dost
see this little old fellow here?  as old and withered a chip as
ever the devil put into his porridge--and yet, uncle, between you
and me--he hath Potosi in that brain of his--'sblood!  he can
coin ducats faster than I can vent oaths."

"I will have none of his coinage in my purse, though, Michael,"
said mine host; "I know what belongs to falsifying the Queen's
coin."

"Thou art an ass, uncle, for as old as thou art.--Pull me not by
the skirts, doctor, thou art an ass thyself to boot--so, being
both asses, I tell ye I spoke but metaphorically."

"Are you mad?' said the old man; "is the devil in you?  Can you
not let us begone without drawing all men's eyes on us?"

"Sayest thou?"  said Lambourne.  "Thou art deceived now--no man
shall see you, an I give the word.--By heavens, masters, an any
one dare to look on this old gentleman, I will slash the eyes out
of his head with my poniard!--So sit down, old friend, and be
merry; these are mine ingles--mine ancient inmates, and will
betray no man."

"Had you not better withdraw to a private apartment, nephew?"
said Giles Gosling.  "You speak strange matter," he added, "and
there be intelligencers everywhere."

"I care not for them," said the magnanimous Michael--
"intelligencers?  pshaw!  I serve the noble Earl of Leicester.
--Here comes the wine.--Fill round, Master Skinker, a carouse to
the health of the flower of England, the noble Earl of Leicester!
I say, the noble Earl of Leicester!  He that does me not reason
is a swine of Sussex, and I'll make him kneel to the pledge, if I
should cut his hams and smoke them for bacon."

None disputed a pledge given under such formidable penalties; and
Michael Lambourne, whose drunken humour was not of course
diminished by this new potation, went on in the same wild way,
renewing his acquaintance with such of the guests as he had
formerly known, and experiencing a reception in which there was
now something of deference mingled with a good deal of fear; for
the least servitor of the favourite Earl, especially such a man
as Lambourne, was, for very sufficient reasons, an object both of
the one and of the other.

In the meanwhile, the old man, seeing his guide in this
uncontrollable humour, ceased to remonstrate with him, and
sitting down in the most obscure corner of the room, called for a
small measure of sack, over which he seemed, as it were, to
slumber, withdrawing himself as much as possible from general
observation, and doing nothing which could recall his existence
to the recollection of his fellow-traveller, who by this time had
got into close intimacy with his ancient comrade, Goldthred of
Abingdon.

"Never believe me, bully Mike," said the mercer, "if I am not as
glad to see thee as ever I was to see a customer's money!  Why,
thou canst give a friend a sly place at a mask or a revel now,
Mike; ay, or, I warrant thee, thou canst say in my lord's ear,
when my honourable lord is down in these parts, and wants a
Spanish ruff or the like--thou canst say in his ear, There is
mine old friend, young Lawrence Goldthred of Abingdon, has as
good wares, lawn, tiffany, cambric, and so forth--ay, and is as
pretty a piece of man's flesh, too, as is in Berkshire, and will
ruffle it for your lordship with any man of his inches; and thou
mayest say--"

"I can say a hundred d--d lies besides, mercer," answered
Lambourne; "what, one must not stand upon a good word for a
friend!"

"Here is to thee, Mike, with all my heart," said the mercer; "and
thou canst tell one the reality of the new fashions too.  Here
was a rogue pedlar but now was crying up the old-fashioned
Spanish nether-stock over the Gascoigne hose, although thou seest
how well the French hose set off the leg and knee, being adorned
with parti-coloured garters and garniture in conformity."

"Excellent, excellent," replied Lambourne; "why, thy limber bit
of a thigh, thrust through that bunch of slashed buckram and
tiffany, shows like a housewife's distaff when the flax is half
spun off!"

"Said I not so?"  said the mercer, whose shallow brain was now
overflowed in his turn; "where, then, where be this rascal
pedlar?--there was a pedlar here but now, methinks.--Mine host,
where the foul fiend is this pedlar?"

"Where wise men should be, Master Goldthred," replied Giles
Gosling; "even shut up in his private chamber, telling over the
sales of to-day, and preparing for the custom of to-morrow."

"Hang him, a mechanical chuff!"  said the mercer; "but for shame,
it were a good deed to ease him of his wares--a set of peddling
knaves, who stroll through the land, and hurt the established
trader.  There are good fellows in Berkshire yet, mine host--your
pedlar may be met withal on Maiden Castle."

"Ay," replied mine host, laughing, "and he who meets him may meet
his match--the pedlar is a tall man."

"Is he?"  said Goldthred.

"Is he?"  replied the host; "ay, by cock and pie is he--the very
pedlar he who raddled Robin Hood so tightly, as the song says,--

'Now Robin Hood drew his sword so good,
 The pedlar drew his brand,
And he hath raddled him, Robin Hood,
 Till he neither could see nor stand.'"

"Hang him, foul scroyle, let him pass," said the mercer; "if he
be such a one, there were small worship to be won upon him.--And
now tell me, Mike--my honest Mike, how wears the Hollands you won
of me?"

"Why, well, as you may see, Master Goldthred," answered Mike; "I
will bestow a pot on thee for the handsel.--Fill the flagon,
Master Tapster."

"Thou wilt win no more Hollands, think, on such wager, friend
Mike," said the mercer; "for the sulky swain, Tony Foster, rails
at thee all to nought, and swears you shall ne'er darken his
doors again, for that your oaths are enough to blow the roof off
a Christian man's dwelling."

"Doth he say so, the mincing, hypocritical miser?"  vociferated
Lambourne.  "Why, then, he shall come down and receive my
commands here, this blessed night, under my uncle's roof!  And I
will ring him such a black sanctus, that he shall think the devil
hath him by the skirts for a month to come, for barely hearing
me."

"Nay, now the pottle-pot is uppermost, with a witness!"  said the
mercer.  "Tony Foster obey thy whistle!  Alas!  good Mike, go
sleep--go sleep."

"I tell thee what, thou thin-faced gull," said Michael Lambourne,
in high chafe, "I will wager thee fifty angels against the first
five shelves of thy shop, numbering upward from the false light,
with all that is on them, that I make Tony Foster come down to
this public-house before we have finished three rounds."

"I will lay no bet to that amount," said the mercer, something
sobered by an offer which intimated rather too private a
knowledge on Lambourne's part of the secret recesses of his shop.
"I will lay no such wager," he said; "but I will stake five
angels against thy five, if thou wilt, that Tony Foster will not
leave his own roof, or come to ale-house after prayer time, for
thee, or any man."

"Content," said Lambourne.--"Here, uncle, hold stakes, and let
one of your young bleed-barrels there--one of your infant
tapsters--trip presently up to The Place, and give this letter to
Master Foster, and say that I, his ingle, Michael Lambourne, pray
to speak with him at mine uncle's castle here, upon business of
grave import.--Away with thee, child, for it is now sundown, and
the wretch goeth to bed with the birds to save mutton-suet--
faugh!"

Shortly after this messenger was dispatched--an interval which
was spent in drinking and buffoonery--he returned with the answer
that Master Foster was coming presently.

"Won, won!"  said Lambourne, darting on the stakes.

"Not till he comes, if you please," said the mercer, interfering.

"Why, 'sblood, he is at the threshold," replied Michael.--"What
said he, boy?"

"If it please your worship," answered the messenger, "he looked
out of window, with a musquetoon in his hand, and when I
delivered your errand, which I did with fear and trembling, he
said, with a vinegar aspect, that your worship might be gone to
the infernal regions."

"Or to hell, I suppose," said Lambourne--"it is there he disposes
of all that are not of the congregation."

"Even so," said the boy; "I used the other phrase as being the
more poetical."

"An ingenious youth," said Michael; "shalt have a drop to whet
thy poetical whistle.  And what said Foster next?"

"He called me back," answered the boy, "and bid me say you might
come to him if you had aught to say to him."

"And what next?"  said Lambourne.

"He read the letter, and seemed in a fluster, and asked if your
worship was in drink; and I said you were speaking a little
Spanish, as one who had been in the Canaries."

"Out, you diminutive pint-pot, whelped of an overgrown
reckoning!"  replied Lambourne--"out!  But what said he then?"

"Why," said the boy, "he muttered that if he came not your
worship would bolt out what were better kept in; and so he took
his old flat cap, and threadbare blue cloak, and, as I said
before, he will be here incontinent."

"There is truth in what he said," replied Lambourne, as if
speaking to himself--"my brain has played me its old dog's trick.
But corragio--let him approach!--I have not rolled about in the
world for many a day to fear Tony Foster, be I drunk or sober.--
Bring me a flagon of cold water to christen my sack withal."

While Lambourne, whom the approach of Foster seemed to have
recalled to a sense of his own condition, was busied in preparing
to receive him, Giles Gosling stole up to the apartment of the
pedlar, whom he found traversing the room in much agitation.

"You withdrew yourself suddenly from the company," said the
landlord to the guest.

"It was time, when the devil became one among you," replied the
pedlar.

"It is not courteous in you to term my nephew by such a name,"
said Gosling, "nor is it kindly in me to reply to it; and yet, in
some sort, Mike may be considered as a limb of Satan."

"Pooh--I talk not of the swaggering ruffian," replied the pedlar;
"it is of the other, who, for aught I know--But when go they?  or
wherefore come they?"

"Marry, these are questions I cannot answer," replied the host.
"But look you, sir, you have brought me a token from worthy
Master Tressilian--a pretty stone it is."  He took out the ring,
and looked at it, adding, as he put it into his purse again, that
it was too rich a guerdon for anything he could do for the worthy
donor.  He was, he said, in the public line, and it ill became
him to be too inquisitive into other folk's concerns.  He had
already said that he could hear nothing but that the lady lived
still at Cumnor Place in the closest seclusion, and, to such as
by chance had a view of her, seemed pensive and discontented with
her solitude.  "But here," he said, "if you are desirous to
gratify your master, is the rarest chance that hath occurred for
this many a day.  Tony Foster is coming down hither, and it is
but letting Mike Lambourne smell another wine-flask, and the
Queen's command would not move him from the ale-bench.  So they
are fast for an hour or so.  Now, if you will don your pack,
which will be your best excuse, you may, perchance, win the ear
of the old servant, being assured of the master's absence, to let
you try to get some custom of the lady; and then you may learn
more of her condition than I or any other can tell you."

"True--very true," answered Wayland, for he it was; "an excellent
device, but methinks something dangerous--for, say Foster should
return?"

"Very possible indeed," replied the host.

"Or say," continued Way]and, "the lady should render me cold
thanks for my exertions?"

"As is not unlikely," replied Giles Gosling.  "I marvel Master
Tressilian will take such heed of her that cares not for him."

"In either case I were foully sped," said Wayland, "and therefore
I do not, on the whole, much relish your device."

"Nay, but take me with you, good master serving-man," replied
mine host.  "This is your master's business, and not mine:, you
best know the risk to be encountered, or how far you are willing
to brave it.  But that which you will not yourself hazard, you
cannot expect others to risk."

"Hold, hold," said Wayland; "tell me but one thing--goes yonder
old man up to Cumnor?"

"Surely, I think so?"  said the landlord; "their servant said he
was to take their baggage thither.  But the ale-tap has been as
potent for him as the sack-spigot has been for Michael."

"It is enough," said Wayland, assuming an air of resolution.  "I
will thwart that old villain's projects; my affright at his
baleful aspect begins to abate, and my hatred to arise.  Help me
on with my pack, good mine host.--And look to thyself, old
Albumazar; there is a malignant influence in thy horoscope, and
it gleams from the constellation Ursa Major."

So saying, he assumed his burden, and, guided by the landlord
through the postern gate of the Black Bear, took the most private
way from thence up to Cumnor Place.



CHAPTER XX.

  CLOWN. You have of these pedlars, that have more in'em than
         you'd think, sister.--WINTER'S TALE, ACT IV., SCENE 3.

In his anxiety to obey the Earl's repeated charges of secrecy, as
well as from his own unsocial and miserly habits, Anthony Foster
was more desirous, by his mode of housekeeping, to escape
observation than to resist intrusive curiosity.  Thus, instead of
a numerous household, to secure his charge, and defend his house,
he studied as much as possible to elude notice by diminishing his
attendants; so that, unless when there were followers of the
Earl, or of Varney, in the mansion, one old male domestic, and
two aged crones, who assisted in keeping the Countess's
apartments in order, were the only servants of the family.

It was one of these old women who opened the door when Wayland
knocked, and answered his petition, to be admitted to exhibit his
wares to the ladies of the family, with a volley of vituperation,
couched in what is there called the JOWRING dialect.  The pedlar
found the means of checking this vociferation by slipping a
silver groat into her hand, and intimating the present of some
stuff for a coif, if the lady would buy of his wares.

"God ield thee, for mine is aw in littocks.  Slocket with thy
pack into gharn, mon--her walks in gharn."  Into the garden she
ushered the pedlar accordingly, and pointing to an old, ruinous
garden house, said, "Yonder be's her, mon--yonder be's her.  Zhe
will buy changes an zhe loikes stuffs."

"She has left me to come off as I may," thought Wayland, as he
heard the hag shut the garden-door behind him.  "But they shall
not beat me, and they dare not murder me, for so little trespass,
and by this fair twilight.  Hang it, I will on--a brave general
never thought of his retreat till he was defeated.  I see two
females in the old garden-house yonder--but how to address them?
Stay--Will Shakespeare, be my friend in need.  I will give them a
taste of Autolycus."  He then sung, with a good voice, and
becoming audacity, the popular playhouse ditty,--

  "Lawn as white as driven snow,
  Cyprus black as e'er was crow,
  Gloves as sweet as damask roses,
  Masks for faces and for noses."

"What hath fortune sent us here for an unwonted sight, Janet?"
said the lady.

"One of those merchants of vanity, called pedlars," answered
Janet, demurely, "who utters his light wares in lighter measures.
I marvel old Dorcas let him pass."

"It is a lucky chance, girl," said the Countess; "we lead a heavy
life here, and this may while off a weary hour."

"Ay, my gracious lady," said Janet; "but my father?"

"He is not my father, Janet, nor I hope my master," answered the
lady.  "I say, call the man hither--I want some things."

"Nay," replied Janet, "your ladyship has but to say so in the
next packet, and if England can furnish them they will be sent.
There will come mischief on't--pray, dearest lady, let me bid the
man begone!"

"I will have thee bid him come hither," said the Countess;--"or
stay, thou terrified fool, I will bid him myself, and spare thee
a chiding."

"Ah!  well-a-day, dearest lady, if that were the worst," said
Janet sadly; while the lady called to the pedlar, "Good fellow,
step forward--undo thy pack; if thou hast good wares, chance has
sent thee hither for my convenience and thy profit."

"What may your ladyship please to lack?"  said Wayland,
unstrapping his pack, and displaying its contents with as much
dexterity as if he had been bred to the trade.  Indeed he had
occasionally pursued it in the course of his roving life, and now
commended his wares with all the volubility of a trader, and
showed some skill in the main art of placing prices upon them.

"What do I please to lack?"  said the lady, "why, considering I
have not for six long months bought one yard of lawn or cambric,
or one trinket, the most inconsiderable, for my own use, and at
my own choice, the better question is, What hast thou got to
sell?  Lay aside for me that cambric partlet and pair of sleeves
--and those roundells of gold fringe, drawn out with cyprus--and
that short cloak of cherry-coloured fine cloth, garnished with
gold buttons and loops;--is it not of an absolute fancy, Janet?"

"Nay, my lady," replied Janet, "if you consult my poor judgment,
it is, methinks, over-gaudy for a graceful habit."

"Now, out upon thy judgment, if it be no brighter, wench," said
the Countess.  "Thou shalt wear it thyself for penance' sake; and
I promise thee the gold buttons, being somewhat massive, will
comfort thy father, and reconcile him to the cherry-coloured
body.  See that he snap them not away, Janet, and send them to
bear company with the imprisoned angels which he keeps captive in
his strong-box."

"May I pray your ladyship to spare my poor father?"  said Janet.

"Nay, but why should any one spare him that is so sparing of his
own nature?"  replied the lady.--"Well, but to our gear.  That
head garniture for myself, and that silver bodkin mounted with
pearl; and take off two gowns of that russet cloth for Dorcas and
Alison, Janet, to keep the old wretches warm against winter
comes.--And stay--hast thou no perfumes and sweet bags, or any
handsome casting bottles of the newest mode?"

"Were I a pedlar in earnest, I were a made merchant," thought
Wayland, as he busied himself to answer the demands which she
thronged one on another, with the eagerness of a young lady who
has been long secluded from such a pleasing occupation.  "But how
to bring her to a moment's serious reflection?"  Then as he
exhibited his choicest collection of essences and perfumes, he at
once arrested her attention by observing that these articles had
almost risen to double value since the magnificent preparations
made by the Earl of Leicester to entertain the Queen and court at
his princely Castle of Kenilworth.

"Ha!"  said the Countess hastily; "that rumour, then, is true,
Janet."

"Surely, madam," answered Wayland; "and I marvel it hath not
reached your noble ladyship's ears.  The Queen of England feasts
with the noble Earl for a week during the Summer's Progress; and
there are many who will tell you England will have a king, and
England's Elizabeth--God save her!--a husband, ere the Progress
be over."

"They lie like villains!"  said the Countess, bursting forth
impatiently.

"For God's sake, madam, consider," said Janet, trembling with
apprehension; "who would cumber themselves about pedlar's
tidings?"

"Yes, Janet!"  exclaimed the Countess; "right, thou hast
corrected me justly.  Such reports, blighting the reputation of
England's brightest and noblest peer, can only find currency
amongst the mean, the abject, and the infamous!"

"May I perish, lady," said Wayland Smith, observing that her
violence directed itself towards him, "if I have done anything to
merit this strange passion!  I have said but what many men say."

By this time the Countess had recovered her composure, and
endeavoured, alarmed by the anxious hints of Janet, to suppress
all appearance of displeasure.  "I were loath," she said, "good
fellow, that our Queen should change the virgin style so dear to
us her people--think not of it."  And then, as if desirous to
change the subject, she added, "And what is this paste, so
carefully put up in the silver box?"  as she examined the
contents of a casket in which drugs and perfumes were contained
in separate drawers.

"It is a remedy, Madam, for a disorder of which I trust your
ladyship will never have reason to complain.  The amount of a
small turkey-bean, swallowed daily for a week, fortifies the
heart against those black vapours which arise from solitude,
melancholy, unrequited affection, disappointed hope--"

"Are you a fool, friend?"  said the Countess sharply; "or do you
think, because I have good-naturedly purchased your trumpery
goods at your roguish prices, that you may put any gullery you
will on me?  Who ever heard that affections of the heart were
cured by medicines given to the body?"

"Under your honourable favour," said Wayland, "I am an honest
man, and I have sold my goods at an honest price.  As to this
most precious medicine, when I told its qualities, I asked you
not to purchase it, so why should I lie to you?  I say not it
will cure a rooted affection of the mind, which only God and time
can do; but I say that this restorative relieves the black
vapours which are engendered in the body of that melancholy which
broodeth on the mind.  I have relieved many with it, both in
court and city, and of late one Master Edmund Tressilian, a
worshipful gentleman in Cornwall, who, on some slight received,
it was told me, where he had set his affections, was brought into
that state of melancholy which made his friends alarmed for his
life."

He paused, and the lady remained silent for some time, and then
asked, with a voice which she strove in vain to render firm and
indifferent in its tone, "Is the gentleman you have mentioned
perfectly recovered?"

"Passably, madam," answered Wayland; "he hath at least no bodily
complaint."

"I will take some of the medicine, Janet," said the Countess.  "I
too have sometimes that dark melancholy which overclouds the
brain."

"You shall not do so, madam," said Janet; "who shall answer that
this fellow vends what is wholesome?"

"I will myself warrant my good faith," said Wayland; and taking a
part of the medicine, he swallowed it before them.  The Countess
now bought what remained, a step to which Janet, by further
objections, only determined her the more obstinately.  She even
took the first dose upon the instant, and professed to feel her
heart lightened and her spirits augmented--a consequence which,
in all probability, existed only in her own imagination.  The
lady then piled the purchases she had made together, flung her
purse to Janet, and desired her to compute the amount, and to pay
the pedlar; while she herself, as if tired of the amusement she
at first found in conversing with him, wished him good evening,
and walked carelessly into the house, thus depriving Wayland of
every opportunity to speak with her in private.  He hastened,
however, to attempt an explanation with Janet.

"Maiden," he said, "thou hast the face of one who should love her
mistress.  She hath much need of faithful service."

"And well deserves it at my hands," replied Janet; "but
what of that?"

"Maiden, I am not altogether what I seem," said the pedlar,
lowering his voice.

"The less like to be an honest man," said Janet.

"The more so," answered Wayland, "since I am no pedlar."

"Get thee gone then instantly, or I will call for assistance,"
said Janet; "my father must ere this be returned."

"Do not be so rash," said Wayland; "you will do what you may
repent of.  I am one of your mistress's friends; and she had need
of more, not that thou shouldst ruin those she hath."

"How shall I know that?"  said Janet.

"Look me in the face," said Wayland Smith, "and see if thou dost
not read honesty in my looks."

And in truth, though by no means handsome, there was in his
physiognomy the sharp, keen expression of inventive genius and
prompt intellect, which, joined to quick and brilliant eyes, a
well-formed mouth, and an intelligent smile, often gives grace
and interest to features which are both homely and irregular.
Janet looked at him with the sly simplicity of her sect, and
replied, "Notwithstanding thy boasted honesty, friend, and
although I am not accustomed to read and pass judgment on such
volumes as thou hast submitted to my perusal, I think I see in
thy countenance something of the pedlar-something of the
picaroon."

"On a small scale, perhaps," said Wayland Smith, laughing.  "But
this evening, or to-morrow, will an old man come hither with thy
father, who has the stealthy step of the cat, the shrewd and
vindictive eye of the rat, the fawning wile of the spaniel, the
determined snatch of the mastiff--of him beware, for your own
sake and that of your distress.  See you, fair Janet, he brings
the venom of the aspic under the assumed innocence of the dove.
What precise mischief he meditates towards you I cannot guess,
but death and disease have ever dogged his footsteps.  Say nought
of this to thy mistress; my art suggests to me that in her state
the fear of evil may be as dangerous as its operation.  But see
that she take my specific, for" (he lowered his voice, and spoke
low but impressively in her ear) "it is an antidote against
poison.--Hark, they enter the garden!"

In effect, a sound of noisy mirth and loud talking approached the
garden door, alarmed by which Wayland Smith sprung into the midst
of a thicket of overgrown shrubs, while Janet withdrew to the
garden-house that she might not incur observation, and that she
might at the same time conceal, at least for the present, the
purchases made from the supposed pedlar, which lay scattered on
the floor of the summer-house.

Janet, however, had no occasion for anxiety.  Her father, his old
attendant, Lord Leicester's domestic, and the astrologer, entered
the garden in tumult and in extreme perplexity, endeavouring to
quiet Lambourne, whose brain had now become completely fired with
liquor, and who was one of those unfortunate persons who, being
once stirred with the vinous stimulus, do not fall asleep like
other drunkards, but remain partially influenced by it for many
hours, until at length, by successive draughts, they are elevated
into a state of uncontrollable frenzy.  Like many men in this
state also, Lambourne neither lost the power of motion, speech,
or expression; but, on the contrary, spoke with unwonted emphasis
and readiness, and told all that at another time he would have
been most desirous to keep secret.

"What!"  ejaculated Michael, at the full extent of his voice, "am
I to have no welcome, no carouse, when I have brought fortune to
your old, ruinous dog-house in the shape of a devil's ally, that
can change slate-shivers into Spanish dollars?--Here, you, Tony
Fire-the-Fagot, Papist, Puritan, hypocrite, miser, profligate,
devil, compounded of all men's sins, bow down and reverence him
who has brought into thy house the very mammon thou worshippest."

"For God's sake," said Foster, "speak low--come into the house--
thou shalt have wine, or whatever thou wilt."

"No, old puckfoist, I will have it here," thundered the
inebriated ruffian--"here, AL FRESCO, as the Italian hath it. No,
no, I will not drink with that poisoning devil within doors, to
be choked with the fumes of arsenic and quick-silver; I learned
from villain Varney to beware of that."

"Fetch him wine, in the name of all the fiends!"  said the
alchemist.

"Aha!  and thou wouldst spice it for me, old Truepenny, wouldst
thou not?  Ay, I should have copperas, and hellebore, and
vitriol, and aqua fortis, and twenty devilish materials bubbling
in my brain-pan like a charm to raise the devil in a witch's
cauldron. Hand me the flask thyself, old Tony Fire-the-Fagot--and
let it be cool--I will have no wine mulled at the pile of the old
burnt bishops.  Or stay, let Leicester be king if he will--good--
and Varney, villain Varney, grand vizier--why, excellent!--and
what shall I be, then?--why, emperor--Emperor Lambourne!  I will
see this choice piece of beauty that they have walled up here for
their private pleasures; I will have her this very night to serve
my wine-cup and put on my nightcap.  What should a fellow do with
two wives, were he twenty times an Earl?  Answer me that, Tony
boy, you old reprobate, hypocritical dog, whom God struck out of
the book of life, but tormented with the constant wish to be
restored to it--you old bishop-burning, blasphemous fanatic,
answer me that."

"I will stick my knife to the haft in him," said Foster, in a low
tone, which trembled with passion.

"For the love of Heaven, no violence!"  said the astrologer.  "It
cannot but be looked closely into.--Here, honest Lambourne, wilt
thou pledge me to the health of the noble Earl of Leicester and
Master Richard Varney?"

"I will, mine old Albumazar--I will, my trusty vender of
ratsbane.  I would kiss thee, mine honest infractor of the Lex
Julia (as they said at Leyden), didst thou not flavour so
damnably of sulphur, and such fiendish apothecary's stuff.--Here
goes it, up seyes--to Varney and Leicester two more noble
mounting spirits--and more dark-seeking, deep-diving, high-
flying, malicious, ambitious miscreants--well, I say no more, but
I will whet my dagger on his heart-spone that refuses to pledge
me!  And so, my masters--"

Thus speaking, Lambourne exhausted the cup which the astrologer
had handed to him, and which contained not wine, but distilled
spirits.  He swore half an oath, dropped the empty cup from his
grasp, laid his hand on his sword without being able to draw it,
reeled, and fell without sense or motion into the arms of the
domestic, who dragged him off to his chamber, and put him to bed.

In the general confusion, Janet regained her lady's chamber
unobserved, trembling like an aspen leaf, but determined to keep
secret from the Countess the dreadful surmises which she could
not help entertaining from the drunken ravings of Lambourne.  Her
fears, however, though they assumed no certain shape, kept pace
with the advice of the pedlar; and she confirmed her mistress in
her purpose of taking the medicine which he had recommended, from
which it is probable she would otherwise have dissuaded her.
Neither had these intimations escaped the ears of Wayland, who
knew much better how to interpret them.  He felt much compassion
at beholding so lovely a creature as the Countess, and whom he
had first seen in the bosom of domestic happiness, exposed to the
machinations of such a gang of villains.  His indignation, too,
had been highly excited by hearing the voice of his old master,
against whom he felt, in equal degree, the passions of hatred and
fear.  He nourished also a pride in his own art and resources;
and, dangerous as the task was, he that night formed a
determination to attain the bottom of the mystery, and to aid the
distressed lady, if it were yet possible.  From some words which
Lambourne had dropped among his ravings, Wayland now, for the
first time, felt inclined to doubt that Varney had acted entirely
on his own account in wooing and winning the affections of this
beautiful creature.  Fame asserted of this zealous retainer that
he had accommodated his lord in former love intrigues; and it
occurred to Wayland Smith that Leicester himself might be the
party chiefly interested.  Her marriage with the Earl he could
not suspect; but even the discovery of such a passing intrigue
with a lady of Mistress Amy Robsart's rank was a secret of the
deepest importance to the stability of the favourite's power over
Elizabeth.  "If Leicester himself should hesitate to stifle such
a rumour by very strange means," said he to himself, "he has
those about him who would do him that favour without waiting for
his consent.  If I would meddle in this business, it must be in
such guise as my old master uses when he compounds his manna of
Satan, and that is with a close mask on my face.  So I will quit
Giles Gosling to-morrow, and change my course and place of
residence as often as a hunted fox.  I should like to see this
little Puritan, too, once more.  She looks both pretty and
intelligent to have come of such a caitiff as Anthony Fire-the-
Fagot."

Giles Gosling received the adieus of Wayland rather joyfully than
otherwise.  The honest publican saw so much peril in crossing the
course of the Earl of Leicester's favourite that his virtue was
scarce able to support him in the task, and he was well pleased
when it was likely to be removed from his shoulders still,
however, professing his good-will, and readiness, in case of
need, to do Mr. Tressilian or his emissary any service, in so far
as consisted with his character of a publican.



CHAPTER XXI.

  Vaulting ambition, that o'erleaps itself,
  And falls on t'other side.                MACBETH.

The splendour of the approaching revels at Kenilworth was now the
conversation through all England; and everything was collected at
home, or from abroad, which could add to the gaiety or glory of
the prepared reception of Elizabeth at the house of her most
distinguished favourite, Meantime Leicester appeared daily to
advance in the Queen's favour.  He was perpetually by her side in
council--willingly listened to in the moments of courtly
recreation--favoured with approaches even to familiar intimacy--
looked up to by all who had aught to hope at court--courted by
foreign ministers with the most flattering testimonies of respect
from their sovereigns,--the ALTER EGO, as it seemed, of the
stately Elizabeth, who was now very generally supposed to be
studying the time and opportunity for associating him, by
marriage, into her sovereign power.

Amid such a tide of prosperity, this minion of fortune and of the
Queen's favour was probably the most unhappy man in the realm
which seemed at his devotion.  He had the Fairy King's
superiority over his friends and dependants, and saw much which
they could not.  The character of his mistress was intimately
known to him.  It was his minute and studied acquaintance with
her humours, as well as her noble faculties, which, joined to his
powerful mental qualities, and his eminent external
accomplishments, had raised him so high in her favour; and it was
that very knowledge of her disposition which led him to apprehend
at every turn some sudden and overwhelming disgrace.  Leicester
was like a pilot possessed of a chart which points out to him all
the peculiarities of his navigation, but which exhibits so many
shoals, breakers, and reefs of rocks, that his anxious eye reaps
little more from observing them than to be convinced that his
final escape can be little else than miraculous.

In fact, Queen Elizabeth had a character strangely compounded of
the strongest masculine sense, with those foibles which are
chiefly supposed proper to the female sex.  Her subjects had the
full benefit of her virtues, which far predominated over her
weaknesses; but her courtiers, and those about her person, had
often to sustain sudden and embarrassing turns of caprice, and
the sallies of a temper which was both jealous and despotic.  She
was the nursing-mother of her people, but she was also the true
daughter of Henry VIII.; and though early sufferings and an
excellent education had repressed and modified, they had not
altogether destroyed, the hereditary temper of that "hard-ruled
king."  "Her mind," says her witty godson, Sir John Harrington,
who had experienced both the smiles and the frowns which he
describes, "was ofttime like the gentle air that cometh from the
western point in a summer's morn--'twas sweet and refreshing to
all around her.  Her speech did win all affections.  And again,
she could put forth such alterations, when obedience was lacking,
as left no doubting WHOSE daughter she was.  When she smiled, it
was a pure sunshine, that every one did choose to bask in, if
they could; but anon came a storm from a sudden gathering of
clouds, and the thunder fell in a wondrous manner on all alike."
[Nugae Antiquae, vol.i., pp.355, 356-362.]

This variability of disposition, as Leicester well knew, was
chiefly formidable to those who had a share in the Queen's
affections, and who depended rather on her personal regard than
on the indispensable services which they could render to her
councils and her crown.  The favour of Burleigh or of Walsingham,
of a description far less striking than that by which he was
himself upheld, was founded, as Leicester was well aware, on
Elizabeth's solid judgment, not on her partiality, and was,
therefore, free from all those principles of change and decay
necessarily incident to that which chiefly arose from personal
accomplishments and female predilection.  These great and sage
statesmen were judged of by the Queen only with reference to the
measures they suggested, and the reasons by which they supported
their opinions in council; whereas the success of Leicester's
course depended on all those light and changeable gales of
caprice and humour which thwart or favour the progress of a lover
in the favour of his mistress, and she, too, a mistress who was
ever and anon becoming fearful lest she should forget the
dignity, or compromise the authority, of the Queen, while she
indulged the affections of the woman.  Of the difficulties which
surrounded his power, "too great to keep or to resign," Leicester
was fully sensible; and as he looked anxiously round for the
means of maintaining himself in his precarious situation, and
sometimes contemplated those of descending from it in safety, he
saw but little hope of either.  At such moments his thoughts
turned to dwell upon his secret marriage and its consequences;
and it was in bitterness against himself, if not against his
unfortunate Countess, that he ascribed to that hasty measure,
adopted in the ardour of what he now called inconsiderate
passion, at once the impossibility of placing his power on a
solid basis, and the immediate prospect of its precipitate
downfall.

"Men say," thus ran his thoughts, in these anxious and repentant
moments, "that I might marry Elizabeth, and become King of
England.  All things suggest this.  The match is carolled in
ballads, while the rabble throw their caps up.  It has been
touched upon in the schools--whispered in the presence-chamber--
recommended from the pulpit--prayed for in the Calvinistic
churches abroad--touched on by statists in the very council at
home.  These bold insinuations have been rebutted by no rebuke,
no resentment, no chiding, scarce even by the usual female
protestation that she would live and die a virgin princess.  Her
words have been more courteous than ever, though she knows such
rumours are abroad--her actions more gracious, her looks more
kind--nought seems wanting to make me King of England, and place
me beyond the storms of court-favour, excepting the putting forth
of mine own hand to take that crown imperial which is the glory
of the universe!  And when I might stretch that hand out most
boldly, it is fettered down by a secret and inextricable bond!
And here I have letters from Amy," he would say, catching them up
with a movement of peevishness, "persecuting me to acknowledge
her openly--to do justice to her and to myself--and I wot not
what.  Methinks I have done less than justice to myself already.
And she speaks as if Elizabeth were to receive the knowledge of
this matter with the glee of a mother hearing of the happy
marriage of a hopeful son!  She, the daughter of Henry, who
spared neither man in his anger nor woman in his desire--she to
find herself tricked, drawn on with toys of passion to the verge
of acknowledging her love to a subject, and he discovered to be a
married man!--Elizabeth to learn that she had been dallied with
in such fashion, as a gay courtier might trifle with a country
wench--we should then see, to our ruin, FURENS QUID FAEMINA!"

He would then pause, and call for Varney, whose advice was now
more frequently resorted to than ever, because the Earl
remembered the remonstrances which he had made against his secret
contract.  And their consultation usually terminated in anxious
deliberation how, or in what manner, the Countess was to be
produced at Kenilworth.  These communings had for some time ended
always in a resolution to delay the Progress from day to day.
But at length a peremptory decision became necessary.

"Elizabeth will not be satisfied without her presence," said the
Earl.  "Whether any suspicion hath entered her mind, as my own
apprehensions suggest, or whether the petition of Tressilian is
kept in her memory by Sussex or some other secret enemy, I know
not; but amongst all the favourable expressions which she uses to
me, she often recurs to the story of Amy Robsart.  I think that
Amy is the slave in the chariot, who is placed there by my evil
fortune to dash and to confound my triumph, even when at the
highest.  Show me thy device, Varney, for solving the
inextricable difficulty.  I have thrown every such impediment in
the way of these accursed revels as I could propound even with a
shade of decency, but to-day's interview has put all to a hazard.
She said to me kindly, but peremptorily, 'We will give you no
further time for preparations, my lord, lest you should
altogether ruin yourself.  On Saturday, the 9th of July, we will
be with you at Kenilworth.  We pray you to forget none of our
appointed guests and suitors, and in especial this light-o'-love,
Amy Robsart.  We would wish to see the woman who could postpone
yonder poetical gentleman, Master Tressilian, to your man,
Richard Varney.'--Now, Varney, ply thine invention, whose forge
hath availed us so often for sure as my name is Dudley, the
danger menaced by my horoscope is now darkening around me."

"Can my lady be by no means persuaded to bear for a brief space
the obscure character which circumstances impose on her?"  Said
Varney after some hesitation.

"How, sirrah?  my Countess term herself thy wife!--that may
neither stand with my honour nor with hers."

"Alas!  my lord," answered Varney, "and yet such is the quality
in which Elizabeth now holds her; and to contradict this opinion
is to discover all."

"Think of something else, Varney," said the Earl, in great
agitation; "this invention is nought.  If I could give way to it,
she would not; for I tell thee, Varney, if thou knowest it not,
that not Elizabeth on the throne has more pride than the daughter
of this obscure gentleman of Devon.  She is flexible in many
things, but where she holds her honour brought in question she
hath a spirit and temper as apprehensive as lightning, and as
swift in execution."

"We have experienced that, my lord, else had we not been thus
circumstanced," said Varney.  "But what else to suggest I know
not.  Methinks she whose good fortune in becoming your lordship's
bride, and who gives rise to the danger, should do somewhat
towards parrying it."

"It is impossible," said the Earl, waving his hand; "I know
neither authority nor entreaties would make her endure thy name
for an hour.

"It is somewhat hard, though," said Varney, in a dry tone; and,
without pausing on that topic, he added, "Suppose some one were
found to represent her?  Such feats have been performed in the
courts of as sharp-eyed monarchs as Queen Elizabeth."

"Utter madness, Varney," answered the Earl; "the counterfeit
would be confronted with Tressilian, and discovery become
inevitable,"

"Tressilian might be removed from court," said the unhesitating
Varney.

"And by what means?"

"There are many," said Varney, "by which a statesman in your
situation, my lord, may remove from the scene one who pries into
your affairs, and places himself in perilous opposition to you."

"Speak not to me of such policy, Varney," said the Earl hastily,
"which, besides, would avail nothing in the present case.  Many
others there be at court to whom Amy may be known; and besides,
on the absence of Tressilian, her father or some of her friends
would be instantly summoned hither.  Urge thine invention once
more."

"My lord, I know not what to say," answered Varney; "but were I
myself in such perplexity, I would ride post down to Cumnor
Place, and compel my wife to give her consent to such measures as
her safety and mine required."

"Varney," said Leicester, "I cannot urge her to aught so
repugnant to her noble nature as a share in this stratagem; it
would be a base requital to the love she bears me."

"Well, my lord," said Varney, "your lordship is a wise and an
honourable man, and skilled in those high points of romantic
scruple which are current in Arcadia perhaps, as your nephew,
Philip Sidney, writes.  I am your humble servitor--a man of this
world, and only happy that my knowledge of it, and its ways, is
such as your lordship has not scorned to avail yourself of.  Now
I would fain know whether the obligation lies on my lady or on
you in this fortunate union, and which has most reason to show
complaisance to the other, and to consider that other's wishes,
conveniences, and safety?"

"I tell thee, Varney," said the Earl, "that all it was in my
power to bestow upon her was not merely deserved, but a thousand
times overpaid, by her own virtue and beauty; for never did
greatness descend upon a creature so formed by nature to grace
and adorn it."

"It is well, my lord, you are so satisfied," answered Varney,
with his usual sardonic smile, which even respect to his patron
could not at all times subdue; "you will have time enough to
enjoy undisturbed the society of one so gracious and beautiful--
that is, so soon as such confinement in the Tower be over as may
correspond to the crime of deceiving the affections of Elizabeth
Tudor.  A cheaper penalty, I presume, you do not expect."

"Malicious fiend!"  answered Leicester, "do you mock me in my
misfortune?--Manage it as thou wilt."

"If you are serious, my lord," said Varney, "you must set forth
instantly and post for Cumnor Place."

"Do thou go thyself, Varney; the devil has given thee that sort
of eloquence which is most powerful in the worst cause.  I should
stand self-convicted of villainy, were I to urge such a deceit.
Begone, I tell thee; must I entreat thee to mine own dishonour?"

"No, my lord," said Varney; "but if you are serious in entrusting
me with the task of urging this most necessary measure, you must
give me a letter to my lady, as my credentials, and trust to me
for backing the advice it contains with all the force in my
power.  And such is my opinion of my lady's love for your
lordship, and of her willingness to do that which is at once to
contribute to your pleasure and your safety, that I am sure she
will condescend to bear for a few brief days the name of so
humble a man as myself, especially since it is not inferior in
antiquity to that of her own paternal house."

Leicester seized on writing materials, and twice or thrice
commenced a letter to the Countess, which he afterwards tore into
fragments.  At length he finished a few distracted lines, in
which he conjured her, for reasons nearly concerning his life and
honour, to consent to bear the name of Varney for a few days,
during the revels at Kenilworth.  He added that Varney would
communicate all the reasons which rendered this deception
indispensable; and having signed and sealed these credentials, he
flung them over the table to Varney with a motion that he should
depart, which his adviser was not slow to comprehend and to obey.

Leicester remained like one stupefied, till he heard the
trampling of the horses, as Varney, who took no time even to
change his dress, threw himself into the saddle, and, followed by
a single servant, set off for Berkshire.  At the sound the Earl
started from his seat, and ran to the window, with the momentary
purpose of recalling the unworthy commission with which he had
entrusted one of whom he used to say he knew no virtuous property
save affection to his patron.  But Varney was already beyond
call; and the bright, starry firmament, which the age considered
as the Book of Fate, lying spread before Leicester when he opened
the casement, diverted him from his better and more manly
purpose.

"There they roll, on their silent but potential course," said the
Earl, looking around him, "without a voice which speaks to our
ear, but not without influences which affect, at every change,
the indwellers of this vile, earthly planet.  This, if
astrologers fable not, is the very crisis of my fate!  The hour
approaches of which I was taught to beware--the hour, too, which
I was encouraged to hope for.  A King was the word--but how?--the
crown matrimonial.  All hopes of that are gone--let them go.  The
rich Netherlands have demanded me for their leader, and, would
Elizabeth consent, would yield to me THEIR crown.  And have I not
such a claim even in this kingdom?  That of York, descending from
George of Clarence to the House of Huntingdon, which, this lady
failing, may have a fair chance--Huntingdon is of my house.--But
I will plunge no deeper in these high mysteries.  Let me hold my
course in silence for a while, and in obscurity, like a
subterranean river; the time shall come that I will burst forth
in my strength, and bear all opposition before me."

While Leicester was thus stupefying the remonstrances of his own
conscience, by appealing to political necessity for his apology,
or losing himself amidst the wild dreams of ambition, his agent
left town and tower behind him on his hasty journey to Berkshire.
HE also nourished high hope.  He had brought Lord Leicester to
the point which he had desired, of committing to him the most
intimate recesses of his breast, and of using him as the channel
of his most confidential intercourse with his lady.  Henceforward
it would, he foresaw, be difficult for his patron either to
dispense with his services, or refuse his requests, however
unreasonable.  And if this disdainful dame, as he termed the
Countess, should comply with the request of her husband, Varney,
her pretended husband, must needs become so situated with respect
to her, that there was no knowing where his audacity might be
bounded perhaps not till circumstances enabled him to obtain a
triumph, which he thought of with a mixture of fiendish feelings,
in which revenge for her previous scorn was foremost and
predominant.  Again he contemplated the possibility of her being
totally intractable, and refusing obstinately to play the part
assigned to her in the drama at Kenilworth.

"Alasco must then do his part," he said.  "Sickness must serve
her Majesty as an excuse for not receiving the homage of Mrs.
Varney--ay, and a sore and wasting sickness it may prove, should
Elizabeth continue to cast so favourable an eye on my Lord of
Leicester.  I will not forego the chance of being favourite of a
monarch for want of determined measures, should these be
necessary.  Forward, good horse, forward--ambition and haughty
hope of power, pleasure, and revenge strike their stings as deep
through my bosom as I plunge the rowels in thy flanks.  On, good
horse, on--the devil urges us both forward!"



CHAPTER XXII.

  Say that my beauty was but small,
   Among court ladies all despised,
  Why didst thou rend it from that hall
   Where, scornful Earl, 'twas dearly prized?

  No more thou com'st with wonted speed,
   Thy once beloved bride to see;
  But be she alive, or be she dead,
   I fear, stern Earl, 's the same to thee.
                       CUMNOR HALL, by WILLIAM JULIUS MICKLE.

The ladies of fashion of the present, or of any other period,
must have allowed that the young and lovely Countess of Leicester
had, besides her youth and beauty, two qualities which entitled
her to a place amongst women of rank and distinction.  She
displayed, as we have seen in her interview with the pedlar, a
liberal promptitude to make unnecessary purchases, solely for the
pleasure of acquiring useless and showy trifles which ceased to
please as soon as they were possessed; and she was, besides, apt
to spend a considerable space of time every day in adorning her
person, although the varied splendour of her attire could only
attract the half satirical praise of the precise Janet, or an
approving glance from the bright eyes which witnessed their own
beams of triumph reflected from the mirror.

The Countess Amy had, indeed, to plead for indulgence in those
frivolous tastes, that the education of the times had done little
or nothing for a mind naturally gay and averse to study.  If she
had not loved to collect finery and to wear it, she might have
woven tapestry or sewed embroidery, till her labours spread in
gay profusion all over the walls and seats at Lidcote Hall; or
she might have varied Minerva's labours with the task of
preparing a mighty pudding against the time that Sir Hugh Robsart
returned from the greenwood.  But Amy had no natural genius
either for the loom, the needle, or the receipt-book.  Her mother
had died in infancy; her father contradicted her in nothing; and
Tressilian, the only one that approached her who was able or
desirous to attend to the cultivation of her mind, had much hurt
his interest with her by assuming too eagerly the task of a
preceptor, so that he was regarded by the lively, indulged, and
idle girl with some fear and much respect, but with little or
nothing of that softer emotion which it had been his hope and his
ambition to inspire.  And thus her heart lay readily open, and
her fancy became easily captivated by the noble exterior and
graceful deportment and complacent flattery of Leicester, even
before he was known to her as the dazzling minion of wealth and
power.

The frequent visits of Leicester at Cumnor, during the earlier
part of their union, had reconciled the Countess to the solitude
and privacy to which she was condemned; but when these visits
became rarer and more rare, and when the void was filled up with
letters of excuse, not always very warmly expressed, and
generally extremely brief, discontent and suspicion began to
haunt those splendid apartments which love had fitted up for
beauty.  Her answers to Leicester conveyed these feelings too
bluntly, and pressed more naturally than prudently that she might
be relieved from this obscure and secluded residence, by the
Earl's acknowledgment of their marriage; and in arranging her
arguments with all the skill she was mistress of, she trusted
chiefly to the warmth of the entreaties with which she urged
them.  Sometimes she even ventured to mingle reproaches, of which
Leicester conceived he had good reason to complain.

"I have made her Countess," he said to Varney; "surely she might
wait till it consisted with my pleasure that she should put on
the coronet?"

The Countess Amy viewed the subject in directly an opposite
light.

"What signifies," she said, "that I have rank and honour in
reality, if I am to live an obscure prisoner, without either
society or observance, and suffering in my character, as one of
dubious or disgraced reputation?  I care not for all those
strings of pearl, which you fret me by warping into my tresses,
Janet.  I tell you that at Lidcote Hall, if I put but a fresh
rosebud among my hair, my good father would call me to him, that
he might see it more closely; and the kind old curate would
smile, and Master Mumblazen would say something about roses
gules.  And now I sit here, decked out like an image with gold
and gems, and no one to see my finery but you, Janet.  There was
the poor Tressilian, too--but it avails not speaking of him."

"It doth not indeed, madam," said her prudent attendant; "and
verily you make me sometimes wish you would not speak of him so
often, or so rashly."

"It signifies nothing to warn me, Janet," said the impatient and
incorrigible Countess; "I was born free, though I am now mewed up
like some fine foreign slave, rather than the wife of an English
noble.  I bore it all with pleasure while I was sure he loved me;
but now my tongue and heart shall be free, let them fetter these
limbs as they will.  I tell thee, Janet, I love my husband--I
will love him till my latest breath--I cannot cease to love him,
even if I would, or if he--which, God knows, may chance--should
cease to love me.  But I will say, and loudly, I would have been
happier than I now am to have remained in Lidcote Hall, even
although I must have married poor Tressilian, with his melancholy
look and his head full of learning, which I cared not for.  He
said, if I would read his favourite volumes, there would come a
time that I should be glad of having done so.  I think it is come
now."

"I bought you some books, madam," said Janet, "from a lame fellow
who sold them in the Market-place--and who stared something
boldly, at me, I promise you."

"Let me see them, Janet," said the Countess; "but let them not be
of your own precise cast,--How is this, most righteous damsel?--
'A PAIR OF SNUFFERS FOR THE GOLDEN CANDLESTICK'--'HANDFULL OF
MYRRH AND HYSSOP TO PUT A SICK SOUL TO PURGATION'--'A DRAUGHT OF
WATER FROM THE VALLEY OF BACA'--'FOXES AND FIREBRANDS'--what gear
call you this, maiden?"

"Nay, madam," said Janet, "it was but fitting and seemly to put
grace in your ladyship's way; but an you will none of it, there
are play-books, and poet-books, I trow."

The Countess proceeded carelessly in her examination, turning
over such rare volumes as would now make the fortune of twenty
retail booksellers.  Here was a "BOKE OF COOKERY, IMPRINTED BY
RICHARD LANT," and "SKELTON'S BOOKS"--"THE PASSTIME OF THE
PEOPLE"--"THE CASTLE OF KNOWLEDGE," etc.  But neither to this
lore did the Countess's heart incline, and joyfully did she start
up from the listless task of turning over the leaves of the
pamphlets, and hastily did she scatter them through the floor,
when the hasty clatter of horses' feet, heard in the courtyard,
called her to the window, exclaiming, "It is Leicester!--it is my
noble Earl!--it is my Dudley!--every stroke of his horse's hoof
sounds like a note of lordly music!"

There was a brief bustle in the mansion, and Foster, with his
downward look and sullen manner, entered the apartment to say,
"That Master Richard Varney was arrived from my lord, having
ridden all night, and craved to speak with her ladyship
instantly."

"Varney?"  said the disappointed Countess; "and to speak with me?
--pshaw!  But he comes with news from Leicester, so admit him
instantly."

Varney entered her dressing apartment, where she sat arrayed in
her native loveliness, adorned with all that Janet's art and a
rich and tasteful undress could bestow.  But the most beautiful
part of her attire was her profuse and luxuriant light-brown
locks, which floated in such rich abundance around a neck that
resembled a swan's, and over a bosom heaving with anxious
expectation, which communicated a hurried tinge of red to her
whole countenance.

Varney entered the room in the dress in which he had waited on
his master that morning to court, the splendour of which made a
strange contrast with the disorder arising from hasty riding
during a dark night and foul ways.  His brow bore an anxious and
hurried expression, as one who has that to say of which he doubts
the reception, and who hath yet posted on from the necessity of
communicating his tidings.  The Countess's anxious eye at once
caught the alarm, as she exclaimed, "You bring news from my lord,
Master Varney--Gracious Heaven!  is he ill?"

"No, madam, thank Heaven!"  said Varney.  "Compose yourself, and
permit me to take breath ere I communicate my tidings."

"No breath, sir," replied the lady impatiently; "I know your
theatrical arts.  Since your breath hath sufficed to bring you
hither, it may suffice to tell your tale--at least briefly, and
in the gross."

"Madam," answered Varney, "we are not alone, and my lord's
message was for your ear only."

"Leave us, Janet, and Master Foster," said the lady; "but remain
in the next apartment, and within call."

Foster and his daughter retired, agreeably to the Lady
Leicester's commands, into the next apartment, which was the
withdrawing-room.  The door which led from the sleeping-chamber
was then carefully shut and bolted, and the father and daughter
remained both in a posture of anxious attention, the first with a
stern, suspicious, anxious cast of countenance, and Janet with
folded hands, and looks which seemed divided betwixt her desire
to know the fortunes of her mistress, and her prayers to Heaven
for her safety.  Anthony Foster seemed himself to have some idea
of what was passing through his daughter's mind, for he crossed
the apartment and took her anxiously by the hand, saying, "That
is right--pray, Janet, pray; we have all need of prayers, and
some of us more than others.  Pray, Janet--I would pray myself,
but I must listen to what goes on within--evil has been brewing,
love--evil has been brewing.  God forgive our sins, but Varney's
sudden and strange arrival bodes us no good."

Janet had never before heard her father excite or even permit her
attention to anything which passed in their mysterious family;
and now that he did so, his voice sounded in her ear--she knew
not why--like that of a screech-owl denouncing some deed of
terror and of woe.  She turned her eyes fearfully towards the
door, almost as if she expected some sounds of horror to be
heard, or some sight of fear to display itself.

All, however, was as still as death, and the voices of those who
spoke in the inner chamber were, if they spoke at all, carefully
subdued to a tone which could not be heard in the next.  At once,
however, they were heard to speak fast, thick, and hastily; and
presently after the voice of the Countess was heard exclaiming,
at the highest pitch to which indignation could raise it, "Undo
the door, sir, I command you!--undo the door!--I will have no
other reply!"  she continued, drowning with her vehement accents
the low and muttered sounds which Varney was heard to utter
betwixt whiles.  "What ho!  without there!"  she persisted,
accompanying her words with shrieks, "Janet, alarm the house!--
Foster, break open the door--I am detained here by a traitor!
Use axe and lever, Master Foster--I will be your warrant!"

"It shall not need, madam," Varney was at length distinctly heard
to say.  "If you please to expose my lord's important concerns
and your own to the general ear, I will not be your hindrance."

The door was unlocked and thrown open, and Janet and her father
rushed in, anxious to learn the cause of these reiterated
exclamations.

When they entered the apartment Varney stood by the door grinding
his teeth, with an expression in which rage, and shame, and fear
had each their share.  The Countess stood in the midst of her
apartment like a juvenile Pythoness under the influence of the
prophetic fury.  The veins in her beautiful forehead started into
swoln blue lines through the hurried impulse of her articulation
--her cheek and neck glowed like scarlet--her eyes were like
those of an imprisoned eagle, flashing red lightning on the foes
which it cannot reach with its talons.  Were it possible for one
of the Graces to have been animated by a Fury, the countenance
could not have united such beauty with so much hatred, scorn,
defiance, and resentment.  The gesture and attitude corresponded
with the voice and looks, and altogether presented a spectacle
which was at once beautiful and fearful; so much of the sublime
had the energy of passion united with the Countess Amy's natural
loveliness.  Janet, as soon as the door was open, ran to her
mistress; and more slowly, yet with more haste than he was wont,
Anthony Foster went to Richard Varney.

"In the Truth's name, what ails your ladyship?"  said the former.

"What, in the name of Satan, have you done to her?"  said Foster
to his friend.

"Who, I?--nothing," answered Varney, but with sunken head and
sullen voice; "nothing but communicated to her her lord's
commands, which, if the lady list not to obey, she knows better
how to answer it than I may pretend to do."

"Now, by Heaven, Janet!"  said the Countess, "the false traitor
lies in his throat!  He must needs lie, for he speaks to the
dishonour of my noble lord; he must needs lie doubly, for he
speaks to gain ends of his own, equally execrable and
unattainable."

"You have misapprehended me, lady," said Varney, with a sulky
species of submission and apology; "let this matter rest till
your passion be abated, and I will explain all."

"Thou shalt never have an opportunity to do so," said the
Countess.--"Look at him, Janet.  He is fairly dressed, hath the
outside of a gentleman, and hither he came to persuade me it was
my lord's pleasure--nay, more, my wedded lord's commands--that I
should go with him to Kenilworth, and before the Queen and
nobles, and in presence of my own wedded lord, that I should
acknowledge him--HIM there--that very cloak-brushing, shoe-
cleaning fellow--HIM there, my lord's lackey, for my liege lord
and husband; furnishing against myself, Great God!  whenever I
was to vindicate my right and my rank, such weapons as would hew
my just claim from the root, and destroy my character to be
regarded as an honourable matron of the English nobility!"

"You hear her, Foster, and you, young maiden, hear this lady,"
answered Varney, taking advantage of the pause which the Countess
had made in her charge, more for lack of breath than for lack of
matter--"you hear that her heat only objects to me the course
which our good lord, for the purpose to keep certain matters
secret, suggests in the very letter which she holds in her
hands."

Foster here attempted to interfere with a face of authority,
which he thought became the charge entrusted to him, "Nay, lady,
I must needs say you are over-hasty in this.  Such deceit is not
utterly to be condemned when practised for a righteous end I and
thus even the patriarch Abraham feigned Sarah to be his sister
when they went down to Egypt."

"Ay, sir," answered the Countess; "but God rebuked that deceit
even in the father of His chosen people, by the mouth of the
heathen Pharaoh.  Out upon you, that will read Scripture only to
copy those things which are held out to us as warnings, not as
examples!"

"But Sarah disputed not the will of her husband, an it be your
pleasure," said Foster, in reply, "but did as Abraham commanded,
calling herself his sister, that it might be well with her
husband for her sake, and that his soul might live because of her
beauty."

"Now, so Heaven pardon me my useless anger," answered the
Countess, "thou art as daring a hypocrite as yonder fellow is an
impudent deceiver!  Never will I believe that the noble Dudley
gave countenance to so dastardly, so dishonourable a plan.  Thus
I tread on his infamy, if indeed it be, and thus destroy its
remembrance for ever!"

So saying, she tore in pieces Leicester's letter, and stamped, in
the extremity of impatience, as if she would have annihilated the
minute fragments into which she had rent it.

"Bear witness," said Varney, collecting himself, "she hath torn
my lord's letter, in order to burden me with the scheme of his
devising; and although it promises nought but danger and trouble
to me, she would lay it to my charge, as if I had any purpose of
mine own in it."

"Thou liest, thou treacherous slave!"  said the Countess in spite
of Janet's attempts to keep her silent, in the sad foresight that
her vehemence might only furnish arms against herself--"thou
liest," she continued.--"Let me go, Janet--were it the last word
I have to speak, he lies.  He had his own foul ends to seek; and
broader he would have displayed them had my passion permitted me
to preserve the silence which at first encouraged him to unfold
his vile projects."

"Madam," said Varney, overwhelmed in spite of his effrontery, "I
entreat you to believe yourself mistaken."

"As soon will I believe light darkness," said the enraged
Countess.  "Have I drunk of oblivion?  Do I not remember former
passages, which, known to Leicester, had given thee the
preferment of a gallows, instead of the honour of his intimacy.
I would I were a man but for five minutes!  It were space enough
to make a craven like thee confess his villainy.  But go--begone!
Tell thy master that when I take the foul course to which such
scandalous deceits as thou hast recommended on his behalf must
necessarily lead me, I will give him a rival something worthy of
the name.  He shall not be supplanted by an ignominious lackey,
whose best fortune is to catch a gift of his master's last suit
of clothes ere it is threadbare, and who is only fit to seduce a
suburb-wench by the bravery of new roses in his master's old
pantoufles.  Go, begone, sir!  I scorn thee so much that I am
ashamed to have been angry with thee."

Varney left the room with a mute expression of rage, and was
followed by Foster, whose apprehension, naturally slow, was
overpowered by the eager and abundant discharge of indignation
which, for the first time, he had heard burst from the lips of a
being who had seemed, till that moment, too languid and too
gentle to nurse an angry thought or utter an intemperate
expression.  Foster, therefore, pursued Varney from place to
place, persecuting him with interrogatories, to which the other
replied not, until they were in the opposite side of the
quadrangle, and in the old library, with which the reader has
already been made acquainted.  Here he turned round on his
persevering follower, and thus addressed him, in a tone tolerably
equal, that brief walk having been sufficient to give one so
habituated to command his temper time to rally and recover his
presence of mind.

"Tony," he said, with his usual sneering laugh, "it avails not to
deny it.  The Woman and the Devil, who, as thine oracle Holdforth
will confirm to thee, cheated man at the beginning, have this day
proved more powerful than my discretion.  Yon termagant looked so
tempting, and had the art to preserve her countenance so
naturally, while I communicated my lord's message, that, by my
faith, I thought I might say some little thing for myself.  She
thinks she hath my head under her girdle now, but she is
deceived.  Where is Doctor Alasco?"

"In his laboratory," answered Foster.  "It is the hour he is
spoken not withal.  We must wait till noon is past, or spoil his
important--what said I?  important!--I would say interrupt his
divine studies."

"Ay, he studies the devil's divinity," said Varney; "but when I
want him, one hour must suffice as well as another.  Lead the way
to his pandemonium."

So spoke Varney, and with hasty and perturbed steps followed
Foster, who conducted him through private passages, many of which
were well-nigh ruinous, to the opposite side of the quadrangle,
where, in a subterranean apartment, now occupied by the chemist
Alasco, one of the Abbots of Abingdon, who had a turn for the
occult sciences, had, much to the scandal of his convent,
established a laboratory, in which, like other fools of the
period, he spent much precious time, and money besides, in the
pursuit of the grand arcanum.

Anthony Foster paused before the door, which was scrupulously
secured within, and again showed a marked hesitation to disturb
the sage in his operations.  But Varney, less scrupulous, roused
him by knocking and voice, until at length, slowly and
reluctantly, the inmate of the apartment undid the door.  The
chemist appeared, with his eyes bleared with the heat and vapours
of the stove or alembic over which he brooded and the interior of
his cell displayed the confused assemblage of heterogeneous
substances and extraordinary implements belonging to his
profession.  The old man was muttering, with spiteful impatience,
"Am I for ever to be recalled to the affairs of earth from those
of heaven?"

"To the affairs of hell," answered Varney, "for that is thy
proper element.--Foster, we need thee at our conference."

"Foster slowly entered the room.  Varney, following, barred the
door, and they betook themselves to secret council.

In the meanwhile, the Countess traversed the apartment, with
shame and anger contending on her lovely cheek.

"The villain," she said--"the cold-blooded, calculating slave!--
But I unmasked him, Janet--I made the snake uncoil all his folds
before me, and crawl abroad in his naked deformity; I suspended
my resentment, at the danger of suffocating under the effort,
until he had let me see the very bottom of a heart more foul than
hell's darkest corner.--And thou, Leicester, is it possible thou
couldst bid me for a moment deny my wedded right in thee, or
thyself yield it to another?--But it is impossible--the villain
has lied in all.--Janet, I will not remain here longer--I fear
him--I fear thy father.  I grieve to say it, Janet--but I fear
thy father, and, worst of all, this odious Varney, I will escape
from Cumnor."

"Alas!  madam, whither would you fly, or by what means will you
escape from these walls?"

"I know not, Janet," said the unfortunate young lady, looking
upwards!  and clasping her hands together, "I know not where I
shall fly, or by what means; but I am certain the God I have
served will not abandon me in this dreadful crisis, for I am in
the hands of wicked men."

"Do not think so, dear lady," said Janet; "my father is stern and
strict in his temper, and severely true to his trust--but yet--"

At this moment Anthony Foster entered the apartment, bearing in
his hand a glass cup and a small flask.  His manner was singular;
for, while approaching the Countess with the respect due to her
rank, he had till this time suffered to become visible, or had
been unable to suppress, the obdurate sulkiness of his natural
disposition, which, as is usual with those of his unhappy temper,
was chiefly exerted towards those over whom circumstances gave
him control.  But at present he showed nothing of that sullen
consciousness of authority which he was wont to conceal under a
clumsy affectation of civility and deference, as a ruffian hides
his pistols and bludgeon under his ill-fashioned gaberdine.  And
yet it seemed as if his smile was more in fear than courtesy, and
as if, while he pressed the Countess to taste of the choice
cordial, which should refresh her spirits after her late alarm,
he was conscious of meditating some further injury.  His hand
trembled also, his voice faltered, and his whole outward
behaviour exhibited so much that was suspicious, that his
daughter Janet, after she had stood looking at him in
astonishment for some seconds, seemed at once to collect herself
to execute some hardy resolution, raised her head, assumed an
attitude and gait of determination and authority, and walking
slowly betwixt her father and her mistress, took the salver from
the hand of the former, and said in a low but marked and decided
tone, "Father, I will fill for my noble mistress, when such is
her pleasure."

"Thou, my child?"  said Foster, eagerly and apprehensively; "no,
my child--it is not THOU shalt render the lady this service."

"And why, I pray you," said Janet, "if it be fitting that the
noble lady should partake of the cup at all?"

"Why--why?"  said the seneschal, hesitating, and then bursting
into passion as the readiest mode of supplying the lack of all
other reason--"why, because it is my pleasure, minion, that you
should not!  Get you gone to the evening lecture."

"Now, as I hope to hear lecture again," replied Janet, "I will
not go thither this night, unless I am better assured of my
mistress's safety.  Give me that flask, father"--and she took it
from his reluctant hand, while he resigned it as if conscience-
struck.  "And now," she said, "father, that which shall benefit
my mistress, cannot do ME prejudice.  Father, I drink to you."

Foster, without speaking a word, rushed on his daughter and
wrested the flask from her hand; then, as if embarrassed by what
he had done, and totally unable to resolve what he should do
next, he stood with it in his hand, one foot advanced and the
other drawn back, glaring on his daughter with a countenance in
which rage, fear, and convicted villainy formed a hideous
combination.

"This is strange, my father," said Janet, keeping her eye fixed
on his, in the manner in which those who have the charge of
lunatics are said to overawe their unhappy patients; "will you
neither let me serve my lady, nor drink to her myself?"

The courage of the Countess sustained her through this dreadful
scene, of which the import was not the less obvious that it was
not even hinted at.  She preserved even the rash carelessness of
her temper, and though her cheek had grown pale at the first
alarm, her eye was calm and almost scornful.  "Will YOU taste
this rare cordial, Master Foster?  Perhaps you will not yourself
refuse to pledge us, though you permit not Janet to do so.
Drink, sir, I pray you."

"I will not," answered Foster.

"And for whom, then, is the precious beverage reserved, sir?"
said the Countess.

"For the devil, who brewed it!"  answered Foster; and, turning on
his heel, he left the chamber.

Janet looked at her mistress with a countenance expressive in the
highest degree of shame, dismay, and sorrow.

"Do not weep for me, Janet," said the Countess kindly.

"No, madam," replied her attendant, in a voice broken by sobs,
"it is not for you I weep; it is for myself--it is for that
unhappy man.  Those who are dishonoured before man--those who are
condemned by God--have cause to mourn; not those who are
innocent!  Farewell, madam!"  she said hastily assuming the
mantle in which she was wont to go abroad.

"Do you leave me, Janet?"  said her mistress--"desert me in such
an evil strait?"

"Desert you, madam!"  exclaimed Janet; and running back to her
mistress, she imprinted a thousand kisses on her hand--"desert
you I--may the Hope of my trust desert me when I do so!  No,
madam; well you said the God you serve will open you a path for
deliverance.  There is a way of escape.  I have prayed night and
day for light, that I might see how to act betwixt my duty to
yonder unhappy man and that which I owe to you.  Sternly and
fearfully that light has now dawned, and I must not shut the door
which God opens.  Ask me no more.  I will return in brief space."

So speaking, she wrapped herself in her mantle, and saying to the
old woman whom she passed in the outer room that she was going to
evening prayer, she left the house.

Meanwhile her father had reached once more the laboratory, where
he found the accomplices of his intended guilt.  "Has the sweet
bird sipped?"  said Varney, with half a smile; while the
astrologer put the same question with his eyes, but spoke not a
word.

"She has not, nor she shall not from my hands," replied Foster;
"would you have me do murder in my daughter's presence?"

"Wert thou not told, thou sullen and yet faint-hearted slave,"
answered Varney, with bitterness, "that no MURDER as thou callest
it, with that staring look and stammering tone, is designed in
the matter?  Wert thou not told that a brief illness, such as
woman puts on in very wantonness, that she may wear her night-
gear at noon, and lie on a settle when she should mind her
domestic business, is all here aimed at?  Here is a learned man
will swear it to thee by the key of the Castle of Wisdom."

"I swear it," said Alasco, "that the elixir thou hast there in
the flask will not prejudice life!  I swear it by that immortal
and indestructible quintessence of gold, which pervades every
substance in nature, though its secret existence can be traced by
him only to whom Trismegistus renders the key of the Cabala."

"An oath of force," said Varney.  "Foster, thou wert worse than a
pagan to disbelieve it.  Believe me, moreover, who swear by
nothing but by my own word, that if you be not conformable, there
is no hope, no, not a glimpse of hope, that this thy leasehold
may be transmuted into a copyhold.  Thus, Alasco will leave your
pewter artillery untransmigrated, and I, honest Anthony, will
still have thee for my tenant."

"I know not, gentlemen," said Foster, "where your designs tend
to; but in one thing I am bound up,--that, fall back fall edge, I
will have one in this place that may pray for me, and that one
shall be my daughter.  I have lived ill, and the world has been
too weighty with me; but she is as innocent as ever she was when
on her mother's lap, and she, at least, shall have her portion in
that happy City, whose walls are of pure gold, and the
foundations garnished with all manner of precious stones."

"Ay, Tony," said Varney, "that were a paradise to thy heart's
content.--Debate the matter with him, Doctor Alasco; I will be
with you anon."

So speaking, Varney arose, and taking the flask from the table,
he left the room.

"I tell thee, my son," said Alasco to Foster, as soon as Varney
had left them, "that whatever this bold and profligate railer may
say of the mighty science, in which, by Heaven's blessing, I have
advanced so far that I would not call the wisest of living
artists my better or my teacher--I say, howsoever yonder
reprobate may scoff at things too holy to be apprehended by men
merely of carnal and evil thoughts, yet believe that the city
beheld by St. John, in that bright vision of the Christian
Apocalypse, that new Jerusalem, of which all Christian men hope
to partake, sets forth typically the discovery of the GRAND
SECRET, whereby the most precious and perfect of nature's works
are elicited out of her basest and most crude productions; just
as the light and gaudy butterfly, the most beautiful child of the
summer's breeze, breaks forth from the dungeon of a sordid
chrysalis."

"Master Holdforth said nought of this exposition," said Foster
doubtfully; "and moreover, Doctor Alasco, the Holy Writ says that
the gold and precious stones of the Holy City are in no sort for
those who work abomination, or who frame lies."

"Well, my son," said the Doctor, "and what is your inference from
thence?"

"That those," said Foster, "who distil poisons, and administer
them in secrecy, can have no portion in those unspeakable
riches."

"You are to distinguish, my son," replied the alchemist, "betwixt
that which is necessarily evil in its progress and in its end
also, and that which, being evil, is, nevertheless, capable of
working forth good.  If, by the death of one person, the happy
period shall be brought nearer to us, in which all that is good
shall be attained, by wishing its presence--all that is evil
escaped, by desiring its absence--in which sickness, and pain,
and sorrow shall be the obedient servants of human wisdom, and
made to fly at the slightest signal of a sage--in which that
which is now richest and rarest shall be within the compass of
every one who shall be obedient to the voice of wisdom--when the
art of healing shall be lost and absorbed in the one universal
medicine when sages shall become monarchs of the earth, and death
itself retreat before their frown,--if this blessed consummation
of all things can be hastened by the slight circumstance that a
frail, earthly body, which must needs partake corruption, shall
be consigned to the grave a short space earlier than in the
course of nature, what is such a sacrifice to the advancement of
the holy Millennium?"

"Millennium is the reign of the Saints," said Foster, somewhat
doubtfully.

"Say it is the reign of the Sages, my son," answered Alasco; "or
rather the reign of Wisdom itself."

"I touched on the question with Master Holdforth last exercising
night," said Foster; "but he says your doctrine is heterodox, and
a damnable and false exposition."

"He is in the bonds of ignorance, my son," answered Alasco, "and
as yet burning bricks in Egypt; or, at best, wandering in the dry
desert of Sinai.  Thou didst ill to speak to such a man of such
matters.  I will, however, give thee proof, and that shortly,
which I will defy that peevish divine to confute, though he
should strive with me as the magicians strove with Moses before
King Pharaoh.  I will do projection in thy presence, my son,--in
thy very presence--and thine eyes shall witness the truth."

"Stick to that, learned sage," said Varney, who at this moment
entered the apartment; "if he refuse the testimony of thy tongue,
yet how shall he deny that of his own eyes?"

"Varney!"  said the adept--"Varney already returned!  Hast thou
--" he stopped short.

"Have I done mine errand, thou wouldst say?"  replied Varney.  "I
have!  And thou," he added, showing more symptoms of interest
than he had hitherto exhibited, "art thou sure thou hast poured
forth neither more nor less than the just measure?"

"Ay," replied the alchemist, "as sure as men can be in these nice
proportions, for there is diversity of constitutions."

"Nay, then," said Varney, "I fear nothing.  I know thou wilt not
go a step farther to the devil than thou art justly considered
for--thou wert paid to create illness, and wouldst esteem it
thriftless prodigality to do murder at the same price.  Come, let
us each to our chamber we shall see the event to-morrow."

"What didst thou do to make her swallow it?"  said Foster,
shuddering.

"Nothing," answered Varney, "but looked on her with that aspect
which governs madmen, women, and children.  They told me in St.
Luke's Hospital that I have the right look for overpowering a
refractory patient.  The keepers made me their compliments on't;
so I know how to win my bread when my court-favour fails me."

"And art thou not afraid," said Foster, "lest the dose be
disproportioned?"

"If so," replied Varney, "she will but sleep the sounder, and the
fear of that shall not break my rest.  Good night, my masters."

Anthony Foster groaned heavily, and lifted up his hands and eyes.
The alchemist intimated his purpose to continue some experiment
of high import during the greater part of the night, and the
others separated to their places of repose.



CHAPTER XXIII.

  Now God be good to me in this wild pilgrimage!
  All hope in human aid I cast behind me.
  Oh, who would be a woman?--who that fool,
  A weeping, pining, faithful, loving woman?
  She hath hard measure still where she hopes kindest,
  And all her bounties only make ingrates.     LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE.

The summer evening was closed, and Janet, just when her longer
stay might have occasioned suspicion and inquiry in that zealous
household, returned to Cumnor Place, and hastened to the
apartment in which she had left her lady.  She found her with her
head resting on her arms, and these crossed upon a table which
stood before her.  As Janet came in, she neither looked up nor
stirred.

Her faithful attendant ran to her mistress with the speed of
lightning, and rousing her at the same time with her hand,
conjured the Countess, in the most earnest manner, to look up and
say what thus affected her.  The unhappy lady raised her head
accordingly, and looking on her attendant with a ghastly eye, and
cheek as pale as clay--"Janet," she said, "I have drunk it."

"God be praised!"  said Janet hastily--"I mean, God be praised
that it is no worse; the potion will not harm you.  Rise, shake
this lethargy from your limbs, and this despair from your mind."

"Janet," repeated the Countess again, "disturb me not--leave me
at peace--let life pass quietly.  I am poisoned."

"You are not, my dearest lady," answered the maiden eagerly.
"What you have swallowed cannot injure you, for the antidote has
been taken before it, and I hastened hither to tell you that the
means of escape are open to you."

"Escape!"  exclaimed the lady, as she raised herself hastily in
her chair, while light returned to her eye and life to her cheek;
"but ah!  Janet, it comes too late."

"Not so, dearest lady.  Rise, take mine arm, walk through the
apartment; let not fancy do the work of poison!  So; feel you not
now that you are possessed of the full use of your limbs?"

"The torpor seems to diminish," said the Countess, as, supported
by Janet, she walked to and fro in the apartment; "but is it then
so, and have I not swallowed a deadly draught?  Varney was here
since thou wert gone, and commanded me, with eyes in which I read
my fate, to swallow yon horrible drug.  O Janet!  it must be
fatal; never was harmless draught served by such a cup-bearer!"

"He did not deem it harmless, I fear," replied the maiden; "but
God confounds the devices of the wicked.  Believe me, as I swear
by the dear Gospel in which we trust, your life is safe from his
practice.  Did you not debate with him?"

"The house was silent," answered the lady--"thou gone--no other
but he in the chamber--and he capable of every crime.  I did but
stipulate he would remove his hateful presence, and I drank
whatever he offered.--But you spoke of escape, Janet; can I be so
happy?"

"Are you strong enough to bear the tidings, and make the effort?"
said the maiden.

"Strong!"  answered the Countess.  "Ask the hind, when the fangs
of the deerhound are stretched to gripe her, if she is strong
enough to spring over a chasm.  I am equal to every effort that
may relieve me from this place."

"Hear me, then," said Janet.  "One whom I deem an assured friend
of yours has shown himself to me in various disguises, and sought
speech of me, which--for my mind was not clear on the matter
until this evening--I have ever declined.  He was the pedlar who
brought you goods--the itinerant hawker who sold me books;
whenever I stirred abroad I was sure to see him.  The event of
this night determined me to speak with him.  He awaits even now
at the postern gate of the park with means for your flight.--But
have you strength of body?--have you courage of mind?--can you
undertake the enterprise?"

"She that flies from death," said the lady, "finds strength of
body--she that would escape from shame lacks no strength of mind.
The thoughts of leaving behind me the villain who menaces both my
life and honour would give me strength to rise from my deathbed."

"In God's name, then, lady," said Janet, "I must bid you adieu,
and to God's charge I must commit you!"

"Will you not fly with me, then, Janet?"  said the Countess,
anxiously.  "Am I to lose thee?  Is this thy faithful service?"

"Lady, I would fly with you as willingly as bird ever fled from
cage, but my doing so would occasion instant discovery and
pursuit.  I must remain, and use means to disguise the truth for
some time.  May Heaven pardon the falsehood, because of the
necessity!"

"And am I then to travel alone with this stranger?"  said the
lady.  "Bethink thee, Janet, may not this prove some deeper and
darker scheme to separate me perhaps from you, who are my only
friend?"

"No, madam, do not suppose it," answered Janet readily; "the
youth is an honest youth in his purpose to you, and a friend to
Master Tressilian, under whose direction he is come hither."

"If he be a friend of Tressilian," said the Countess, "I will
commit myself to his charge as to that of an angel sent from
heaven; for than Tressilian never breathed mortal man more free
of whatever was base, false, or selfish.  He forgot himself
whenever he could be of use to others.  Alas!  and how was he
requited?"

With eager haste they collected the few necessaries which it was
thought proper the Countess should take with her, and which
Janet, with speed and dexterity, formed into a small bundle, not
forgetting to add such ornaments of intrinsic value as came most
readily in her way, and particularly a casket of jewels, which
she wisely judged might prove of service in some future
emergency.  The Countess of Leicester next changed her dress for
one which Janet usually wore upon any brief journey, for they
judged it necessary to avoid every external distinction which
might attract attention.  Ere these preparations were fully made,
the moon had arisen in the summer heaven, and all in the mansion
had betaken themselves to rest, or at least to the silence and
retirement of their chambers.

There was no difficulty anticipated in escaping, whether from the
house or garden, provided only they could elude observation.
Anthony Foster had accustomed himself to consider his daughter as
a conscious sinner might regard a visible guardian angel, which,
notwithstanding his guilt, continued to hover around him; and
therefore his trust in her knew no bounds.  Janet commanded her
own motions during the daytime, and had a master-key which opened
the postern door of the park, so that she could go to the village
at pleasure, either upon the household affairs, which were
entirely confided to her management, or to attend her devotions
at the meeting-house of her sect.  It is true the daughter of
Foster was thus liberally entrusted under the solemn condition
that she should not avail herself of these privileges to do
anything inconsistent with the safe-keeping of the Countess; for
so her residence at Cumnor Place had been termed, since she began
of late to exhibit impatience of the restrictions to which she
was subjected.  Nor is there reason to suppose that anything
short of the dreadful suspicions which the scene of that evening
had excited could have induced Janet to violate her word or
deceive her father's confidence.  But from what she had
witnessed, she now conceived herself not only justified, but
imperatively called upon, to make her lady's safety the principal
object of her care, setting all other considerations aside.

The fugitive Countess with her guide traversed with hasty steps
the broken and interrupted path, which had once been an avenue,
now totally darkened by the boughs of spreading trees which met
above their head, and now receiving a doubtful and deceiving
light from the beams of the moon, which penetrated where the axe
had made openings in the wood.  Their path was repeatedly
interrupted by felled trees, or the large boughs which had been
left on the ground till time served to make them into fagots and
billets.  The inconvenience and difficulty attending these
interruptions, the breathless haste of the first part of their
route, the exhausting sensations of hope and fear, so much
affected the Countess's strength, that Janet was forced to
propose that they should pause for a few minutes to recover
breath and spirits.  Both therefore stood still beneath the
shadow of a huge old gnarled oak-tree, and both naturally looked
back to the mansion which they had left behind them, whose long,
dark front was seen in the gloomy distance, with its huge stacks
of chimneys, turrets, and clock-house, rising above the line of
the roof, and definedly visible against the pure azure blue of
the summer sky.  One light only twinkled from the extended and
shadowy mass, and it was placed so low that it rather seemed to
glimmer from the ground in front of the mansion than from one of
the windows.  The Countess's terror was awakened.  "They follow
us!"  she said, pointing out to Janet the light which thus
alarmed her.

Less agitated than her mistress, Janet perceived that the gleam
was stationary, and informed the Countess, in a whisper, that the
light proceeded from the solitary cell in which the alchemist
pursued his occult experiments.  "He is of those," she added,
"who sit up and watch by night that they may commit iniquity.
Evil was the chance which sent hither a man whose mixed speech of
earthly wealth and unearthly or superhuman knowledge hath in it
what does so especially captivate my poor father.  Well spoke the
good Master Holdforth--and, methought, not without meaning that
those of our household should find therein a practical use.
'There be those,' he said, 'and their number is legion, who will
rather, like the wicked Ahab, listen to the dreams of the false
prophet Zedekiah, than to the words of him by whom the Lord has
spoken.' And he further insisted--'Ah, my brethren, there be many
Zedekiahs among you--men that promise you the light of their
carnal knowledge, so you will surrender to them that of your
heavenly understanding.  What are they better than the tyrant
Naas, who demanded the right eye of those who were subjected to
him?' And further he insisted--"

It is uncertain how long the fair Puritan's memory might have
supported her in the recapitulation of Master Holdforth's
discourse; but the Countess now interrupted her, and assured her
she was so much recovered that she could now reach the postern
without the necessity of a second delay.

They set out accordingly, and performed the second part of their
journey with more deliberation, and of course more easily, than
the first hasty commencement.  This gave them leisure for
reflection; and Janet now, for the first time, ventured to ask
her lady which way she proposed to direct her flight.  Receiving
no immediate answer--for, perhaps, in the confusion of her mind
this very obvious subject of deliberation had not occurred to the
Countess---Janet ventured to add, "Probably to your father's
house, where you are sure of safety and protection?"

"No, Janet," said the lady mournfully; "I left Lidcote Hall while
my heart was light and my name was honourable, and I will not
return thither till my lord's permission and public
acknowledgment of our marriage restore me to my native home with
all the rank and honour which he has bestowed on me."

"And whither will you, then, madam?"  said Janet.

"To Kenilworth, girl," said the Countess, boldly and freely.  "I
will see these revels--these princely revels--the preparation for
which makes the land ring from side to side.  Methinks, when the
Queen of England feasts within my husband's halls, the Countess
of Leicester should be no unbeseeming guest."

"I pray God you may be a welcome one!"  said Janet hastily.

"You abuse my situation, Janet," said the Countess, angrily, "and
you forget your own."

"I do neither, dearest madam," said the sorrowful maiden; "but
have you forgotten that the noble Earl has given such strict
charges to keep your marriage secret, that he may preserve his
court-favour?  and can you think that your sudden appearance at
his castle, at such a juncture, and in such a presence, will be
acceptable to him?"

"Thou thinkest I would disgrace him," said the Countess; "nay,
let go my arm, I can walk without aid and work without counsel."

"Be not angry with me, lady," said Janet meekly, "and let me
still support you; the road is rough, and you are little
accustomed to walk in darkness."

"If you deem me not so mean as may disgrace my husband," said the
Countess, in the same resentful tone, "you suppose my Lord of
Leicester capable of abetting, perhaps of giving aim and
authority to, the base proceedings of your father and Varney,
whose errand I will do to the good Earl."

"For God's sake, madam, spare my father in your report," said
Janet; "let my services, however poor, be some atonement for his
errors!"

"I were most unjust, dearest Janet, were it otherwise," said the
Countess, resuming at once the fondness and confidence of her
manner towards her faithful attendant, "No, Janet, not a word of
mine shall do your father prejudice.  But thou seest, my love, I
have no desire but to throw my self on my husband's protection.
I have left the abode he assigned for me, because of the villainy
of the persons by whom I was surrounded; but I will disobey his
commands in no other particular.  I will appeal to him alone--I
will be protected by him alone; to no other, than at his
pleasure, have I or will I communicate the secret union which
combines our hearts and our destinies.  I will see him, and
receive from his own lips the directions for my future conduct.
Do not argue against my resolution, Janet; you will only confirm
me in it.  And to own the truth, I am resolved to know my fate at
once, and from my husband's own mouth; and to seek him at
Kenilworth is the surest way to attain my purpose."

While Janet hastily revolved in her mind the difficulties and
uncertainties attendant on the unfortunate lady's situation, she
was inclined to alter her first opinion, and to think, upon the
whole, that since the Countess had withdrawn herself from the
retreat in which she had been placed by her husband, it was her
first duty to repair to his presence, and possess him with the
reasons for such conduct.  She knew what importance the Earl
attached to the concealment of their marriage, and could not but
own, that by taking any step to make it public without his
permission, the Countess would incur, in a high degree, the
indignation of her husband.  If she retired to her father's house
without an explicit avowal of her rank, her situation was likely
greatly to prejudice her character; and if she made such an
avowal, it might occasion an irreconcilable breach with her
husband.  At Kenilworth, again, she might plead her cause with
her husband himself, whom Janet, though distrusting him more than
the Countess did, believed incapable of being accessory to the
base and desperate means which his dependants, from whose power
the lady was now escaping, might resort to, in order to stifle
her complaints of the treatment she had received at their hands.
But at the worst, and were the Earl himself to deny her justice
and protection, still at Kenilworth, if she chose to make her
wrongs public, the Countess might have Tressilian for her
advocate, and the Queen for her judge; for so much Janet had
learned in her short conference with Wayland.  She was,
therefore, on the whole, reconciled to her lady's proposal of
going towards Kenilworth, and so expressed herself; recommending,
however, to the Countess the utmost caution in making her arrival
known to her husband,

"Hast thou thyself been cautious, Janet?"  said the Countess;
"this guide, in whom I must put my confidence, hast thou not
entrusted to him the secret of my condition?"

"From me he has learned nothing," said Janet; "nor do I think
that he knows more than what the public in general believe of
your situation."

"And what is that?"  said the lady.

"That you left your father's house--but I shall offend you again
if I go on," said Janet, interrupting herself.

"Nay, go on," said the Countess; "I must learn to endure the evil
report which my folly has brought upon me.  They think, I
suppose, that I have left my father's house to follow lawless
pleasure.  It is an error which will soon be removed--indeed it
shall, for I will live with spotless fame, or I shall cease to
live.--I am accounted, then, the paramour of my Leicester?"

"Most men say of Varney," said Janet; "yet some call him only the
convenient cloak of his master's pleasures; for reports of the
profuse expense in garnishing yonder apartments have secretly
gone abroad, and such doings far surpass the means of Varney.
But this latter opinion is little prevalent; for men dare hardly
even hint suspicion when so high a name is concerned, lest the
Star Chamber should punish them for scandal of the nobility."

"They do well to speak low," said the Countess, "who would
mention the illustrious Dudley as the accomplice of such a wretch
as Varney.--We have reached the postern.  Ah!  Janet, I must bid
thee farewell!  Weep not, my good girl," said she, endeavouring
to cover her own reluctance to part with her faithful attendant
under an attempt at playfulness; "and against we meet again,
reform me, Janet, that precise ruff of thine for an open rabatine
of lace and cut work, that will let men see thou hast a fair
neck; and that kirtle of Philippine chency, with that bugle lace
which befits only a chambermaid, into three-piled velvet and
cloth of gold--thou wilt find plenty of stuffs in my chamber, and
I freely bestow them on you.  Thou must be brave, Janet; for
though thou art now but the attendant of a distressed and errant
lady, who is both nameless and fameless, yet, when we meet again,
thou must be dressed as becomes the gentlewoman nearest in love
and in service to the first Countess in England."

"Now, may God grant it, dear lady!"  said Janet--"not that I may
go with gayer apparel, but that we may both wear our kirtles over
lighter hearts."

By this time the lock of the postern door had, after some hard
wrenching, yielded to the master-key; and the Countess, not
without internal shuddering, saw herself beyond the walls which
her husband's strict commands had assigned to her as the boundary
of her walks.  Waiting with much anxiety for their appearance,
Wayland Smith stood at some distance, shrouding himself behind a
hedge which bordered the high-road.

"Is all safe?"  said Janet to him anxiously, as he approached
them with caution.

"All," he replied; "but I have been unable to procure a horse for
the lady.  Giles Gosling, the cowardly hilding, refused me one on
any terms whatever, lest, forsooth, he should suffer.  But no
matter; she must ride on my palfrey, and I must walk by her side
until I come by another horse.  There will be no pursuit, if you,
pretty Mistress Janet, forget not thy lesson."

"No more than the wise widow of Tekoa forgot the words which Joab
put into her mouth," answered Janet.  "Tomorrow, I say that my
lady is unable to rise."

"Ay; and that she hath aching and heaviness of the head a
throbbing at the heart, and lists not to be disturbed.  Fear not;
they will take the hint, and trouble thee with few questions--
they understand the disease,"

"But," said the lady, "My absence must be soon discovered, and
they will murder her in revenge.  I will rather return than
expose her to such danger."

"Be at ease on my account, madam," said Janet; "I would you were
as sure of receiving the favour you desire from those to whom you
must make appeal, as I am that my father, however angry, will
suffer no harm to befall me."

The Countess was now placed by Wayland upon his horse, around the
saddle of which he had placed his cloak, so folded as to make her
a commodious seat.

"Adieu, and may the blessing of God wend with you!"  said Janet,
again kissing her mistress's hand, who returned her benediction
with a mute caress.  They then tore themselves asunder, and
Janet, addressing Wayland, exclaimed, "May Heaven deal with you
at your need, as you are true or false to this most injured and
most helpless lady!"

"Amen!  dearest Janet," replied Way]and; "and believe me, I will
so acquit myself of my trust as may tempt even your pretty eyes,
saintlike as they are, to look less scornfully on me when we next
meet."

The latter part of this adieu was whispered into Janet's ear and
although she made no reply to it directly, yet her manner,
influenced, no doubt, by her desire to leave every motive in
force which could operate towards her mistress's safety, did not
discourage the hope which Wayland's words expressed.  She
re-entered the postern door, and locked it behind her; while,
Wayland taking the horse's bridle in his hand, and walking close
by its head, they began in silence their dubious and moonlight
journey.

Although Wayland Smith used the utmost dispatch which he could
make, yet this mode of travelling was so slow, that when morning
began to dawn through the eastern mist, he found himself no
farther than about ten miles distant from Cumnor.  "Now, a plague
upon all smooth-spoken hosts!"  said Wayland, unable longer to
suppress his mortification and uneasiness.  "Had the false loon,
Giles Gosling, but told me plainly two days since that I was to
reckon nought upon him, I had shifted better for myself.  But
your hosts have such a custom of promising whatever is called for
that it is not till the steed is to be shod you find they are out
of iron.  Had I but known, I could have made twenty shifts; nay,
for that matter, and in so good a cause, I would have thought
little to have prigged a prancer from the next common--it had but
been sending back the brute to the headborough.  The farcy and
the founders confound every horse in the stables of the Black
Bear!"

The lady endeavoured to comfort her guide, observing that the
dawn would enable him to make more speed.

"True, madam," he replied; "but then it will enable other folk to
take note of us, and that may prove an ill beginning of our
journey.  I had not cared a spark from anvil about the matter had
we been further advanced on our way.  But this Berkshire has been
notoriously haunted, ever since I knew the country, with that
sort of malicious elves who sit up late and rise early for no
other purpose than to pry into other folk's affairs.  I have been
endangered by them ere now.  But do not fear," he added, "good
madam; for wit, meeting with opportunity, will not miss to find a
salve for every sore."

The alarms of her guide made more impression on the Countess's
mind than the comfort which he judged fit to administer along
with it.  She looked anxiously around her.  and as the shadows
withdrew from the landscape, and the heightening glow of the
eastern sky promised the speedy rise of the sun, expected at
every turn that the increasing light would expose them to the
view of the vengeful pursuers, or present some dangerous and
insurmountable obstacle to the prosecution of their journey.
Wayland Smith perceived her uneasiness, and, displeased with
himself for having given her cause of alarm, strode on with
affected alacrity, now talking to the horse as one expert in the
language of the stable, now whistling to himself low and
interrupted snatches of tunes, and now assuring the lady there
was no danger, while at the same time he looked sharply around to
see that there was nothing in sight which might give the lie to
his words while they were issuing from his mouth.  Thus did they
journey on, until an unexpected incident gave them the means of
continuing their pilgrimage with more speed and convenience.



CHAPTER XXIV.

  RICHARD. A horse!--A horse!--my kingdom for a horse!
  CATESBY. .....My lord, I'll help you to a horse.   RICHARD III.


Our travellers were in the act of passing a small thicket of
trees close by the roadside, when the first living being
presented himself whom they had seen since their departure from
Cumnor Place.  This was a stupid lout, seemingly a farmer's boy,
in a grey jerkin, with his head bare, his hose about his heels,
and huge startups upon his feet.  He held by the bridle what of
all things they most wanted--a palfrey, namely, with a side-
saddle, and all other garniture for a woman's mounting; and he
hailed Wayland Smith with, "Zur, be ye zure the party?"

"Ay, that I be, my lad," answered Wayland, without an instant's
hesitation; and it must be owned that consciences trained in a
stricter school of morality might have given way to an occasion
so tempting.  While he spoke, he caught the rein out of the boy's
hand, and almost at the same time helped down the Countess from
his own horse, and aided her to mount on that which chance had
thus presented for her acceptance.  Indeed, so naturally did the
whole take place, that the Countess, as it afterwards appeared,
never suspected but that the horse had been placed there to meet
them by the precaution of the guide or some of his friends.

The lad, however, who was thus hastily dispossessed of his
charge, began to stare hard, and scratch his head, as if seized
with some qualms of conscience for delivering up the animal on
such brief explanation.  "I be right zure thou be'st the party,"
said he, muttering to himself, "but thou shouldst ha zaid BEANS,
thou knawest."

"Ay, ay," said Wayland, speaking at a venture; "and thou BACON,
thou knowest."

"Noa, noa," said the lad; "bide ye--bide ye--it was PEAS a should
ha said."

"Well, well," answered Wayland, "Peas be it, a God's name!
though Bacon were the better password."

And being by this time mounted on his own horse, he caught the
rein of the palfrey from the uncertain hold of the hesitating
young boor, flung him a small piece of money, and made amends for
lost time by riding briskly off without further parley.  The lad
was still visible from the hill up which they were riding, and
Wayland, as he looked back, beheld him standing with his fingers
in his hair as immovable as a guide-post, and his head turned in
the direction in which they were escaping from him.  At length,
just as they topped the hill, he saw the clown stoop to lift up
the silver groat which his benevolence had imparted.  "Now this
is what I call a Godsend," said Wayland; "this is a bonny, well-
ridden bit of a going thing, and it will carry us so far till we
get you as well mounted, and then we will send it back time
enough to satisfy the Hue and Cry."

But he was deceived in his expectations; and fate, which seemed
at first to promise so fairly, soon threatened to turn the
incident which he thus gloried in into the cause of their utter
ruin.

They had not ridden a short mile from the place where they left
the lad before they heard a man's voice shouting on the wind
behind them, "Robbery!  robbery!--Stop thief!"  and similar
exclamations, which Wayland's conscience readily assured him must
arise out of the transaction to which he had been just accessory.

"I had better have gone barefoot all my life," he said; "it is
the Hue and Cry, and I am a lost man.  Ah!  Wayland, Wayland,
many a time thy father said horse-flesh would be the death of
thee. Were I once safe among the horse-coursers in Smithfield, or
Turnbull Street, they should have leave to hang me as high as St.
Paul's if I e'er meddled more with nobles, knights, or
gentlewomen."

Amidst these dismal reflections, he turned his head repeatedly to
see by whom he was chased, and was much comforted when he could
only discover a single rider, who was, however, well mounted, and
came after them at a speed which left them no chance of escaping,
even had the lady's strength permitted her to ride as fast as her
palfrey might have been able to gallop.

"There may be fair play betwixt us, sure," thought Wayland,
"where there is but one man on each side, and yonder fellow sits
on his horse more like a monkey than a cavalier.  Pshaw!  if it
come to the worse, it will be easy unhorsing him.  Nay, 'snails!
I think his horse will take the matter in his own hand, for he
has the bridle betwixt his teeth.  Oons, what care I for him?"
said he, as the pursuer drew yet nearer; "it is but the little
animal of a mercer from Abingdon, when all is over."

Even so it was, as the experienced eye of Wayland had descried at
a distance.  For the valiant mercer's horse, which was a beast of
mettle, feeling himself put to his speed, and discerning a couple
of horses riding fast at some hundred yards' distance before him,
betook himself to the road with such alacrity as totally deranged
the seat of his rider, who not only came up with, but passed at
full gallop, those whom he had been pursuing, pulling the reins
with all his might, and ejaculating, "Stop!  stop!"  an
interjection which seemed rather to regard his own palfrey than
what seamen call "the chase."  With the same involuntary speed,
he shot ahead (to use another nautical phrase) about a furlong
ere he was able to stop and turn his horse, and then rode back
towards our travellers, adjusting, as well as he could, his
disordered dress, resettling himself in the saddle, and
endeavouring to substitute a bold and martial frown for the
confusion and dismay which sat upon his visage during his
involuntary career.

Wayland had just time to caution the lady not to be alarmed,
adding, "This fellow is a gull, and I will use him as such."

When the mercer had recovered breath and audacity enough to
confront them, he ordered Wayland, in a menacing tone, to deliver
up his palfrey.

"How?"  said the smith, in King Cambyses' vein, "are we commanded
to stand and deliver on the king's highway?  Then out, Excalibur,
and tell this knight of prowess that dire blows must decide
between us!"

"Haro and help, and hue and cry, every true man!"  said the
mercer.  "I am withstood in seeking to recover mine own."

"Thou swearest thy gods in vain, foul paynim," said Wayland, "for
I will through with mine purpose were death at the end on't.
Nevertheless, know, thou false man of frail cambric and
ferrateen, that I am he, even the pedlar, whom thou didst boast
to meet on Maiden Castle moor, and despoil of his pack;
wherefore betake thee to thy weapons presently."

"I spoke but in jest, man," said Goldthred; "I am an honest
shopkeeper and citizen, who scorns to leap forth on any man from
behind a hedge."

"Then, by my faith, most puissant mercer," answered Wayland, "I
am sorry for my vow, which was, that wherever I met thee I would
despoil thee of thy palfrey, and bestow it upon my leman, unless
thou couldst defend it by blows of force.  But the vow is passed
and registered, and all I can do for thee is to leave the horse
at Donnington, in the nearest hostelry."

"But I tell thee, friend," said the mercer, "it is the very horse
on which I was this day to carry Jane Thackham, of Shottesbrok,
as far as the parish church yonder, to become Dame Goldthred.
She hath jumped out of the shot-window of old Gaffer Thackham's
grange; and lo ye, yonder she stands at the place where she
should have met the palfrey, with her camlet riding-cloak and
ivory-handled whip, like a picture of Lot's wife.  I pray you, in
good terms, let me have back the palfrey."

"Grieved am I," said Wayland, "as much for the fair damsel as for
thee, most noble imp of muslin.  But vows must have their course;
thou wilt find the palfrey at the Angel yonder at Donnington.  It
is all I may do for thee with a safe conscience."

"To the devil with thy conscience!"  said the dismayed mercer.
"Wouldst thou have a bride walk to church on foot?"

"Thou mayest take her on thy crupper, Sir Goldthred," answered
Wayland; "it will take down thy steed's mettle."

"And how if you--if you forget to leave my horse, as you
propose?"  said Goldthred, not without hesitation, for his soul
was afraid within him.

"My pack shall be pledged for it--yonder it lies with Giles
Gosling, in his chamber with the damasked leathern hangings,
stuffed full with velvet, single, double, treble-piled--rash-
taffeta, and parapa--shag, damask, and mocado, plush, and
grogram--"

"Hold!  hold!"  exclaimed the mercer; "nay, if there be, in truth
and sincerity, but the half of these wares--but if ever I trust
bumpkin with bonny Bayard again!"

"As you list for that, good Master Goldthred, and so good morrow
to you--and well parted," he added, riding on cheerfully with the
lady, while the discountenanced mercer rode back much slower than
he came, pondering what excuse he should make to the disappointed
bride, who stood waiting for her gallant groom in the midst of
the king's highway.

"Methought," said the lady, as they rode on, "yonder fool stared
at me as if he had some remembrance of me; yet I kept my muffler
as high as I might."

"If I thought so," said Wayland, "I would ride back and cut him
over the pate; there would be no fear of harming his brains, for
he never had so much as would make pap to a sucking gosling.  We
must now push on, however, and at Donnington we will leave the
oaf's horse, that he may have no further temptation to pursue us,
and endeavour to assume such a change of shape as may baffle his
pursuit if he should persevere in it."

The travellers reached Donnington without further alarm, where it
became matter of necessity that the Countess should enjoy two or
three hours' repose, during which Wayland disposed himself, with
equal address and alacrity, to carry through those measures on
which the safety of their future journey seemed to depend.

Exchanging his pedlar's gaberdine for a smock-frock, he carried
the palfrey of Goldthred to the Angel Inn, which was at the other
end of the village from that where our travellers had taken up
their quarters.  In the progress of the morning, as he travelled
about his other business, he saw the steed brought forth and
delivered to the cutting mercer himself, who, at the head of a
valorous posse of the Hue and Cry, came to rescue, by force of
arms, what was delivered to him without any other ransom than the
price of a huge quantity of ale, drunk out by his assistants,
thirsty, it would seem, with their walk, and concerning the price
of which Master Goldthred had a fierce dispute with the
headborough, whom he had summoned to aid him in raising the
country.

Having made this act of prudent as well as just restitution,
Wayland procured such change of apparel for the lady, as well as
himself, as gave them both the appearance of country people of
the better class; it being further resolved, that in order to
attract the less observation, she should pass upon the road for
the sister of her guide.  A good but not a gay horse, fit to keep
pace with his own, and gentle enough for a lady's use, completed
the preparations for the journey; for making which, and for other
expenses, he had been furnished with sufficient funds by
Tressilian.  And thus, about noon, after the Countess had been
refreshed by the sound repose of several hours, they resumed
their journey, with the purpose of making the best of their way
to Kenilworth, by Coventry and Warwick.  They were not, however,
destined to travel far without meeting some cause of
apprehension.

It is necessary to premise that the landlord of the inn had
informed them that a jovial party, intended, as he understood, to
present some of the masques or mummeries which made a part of the
entertainment with which the Queen was usually welcomed on the
royal Progresses, had left the village of Donnington an hour or
two before them in order to proceed to Kenilworth.  Now it had
occurred to Wayland that, by attaching themselves in some sort to
this group as soon as they should overtake them on the road, they
would be less likely to attract notice than if they continued to
travel entirely by themselves.  He communicated his idea to the
Countess, who, only anxious to arrive at Kenilworth without
interruption, left him free to choose the manner in which this
was to be accomplished.  They pressed forward their horses,
therefore, with the purpose of overtaking the party of intended
revellers, and making the journey in their company; and had just
seen the little party, consisting partly of riders, partly of
people on foot, crossing the summit of a gentle hill, at about
half a mile's distance, and disappearing on the other side, when
Wayland, who maintained the most circumspect observation of all
that met his eye in every direction, was aware that a rider was
coming up behind them on a horse of uncommon action, accompanied
by a serving-man, whose utmost efforts were unable to keep up
with his master's trotting hackney, and who, therefore, was fain
to follow him at a hand gallop.  Wayland looked anxiously back at
these horsemen, became considerably disturbed in his manner,
looked back again, and became pale, as he said to the lady, "That
is Richard Varney's trotting gelding; I would know him among a
thousand nags.  This is a worse business than meeting the
mercer."

"Draw your sword," answered the lady, "and pierce my bosom with
it, rather than I should fall into his hands!"

"I would rather by a thousand times," answered Wayland, "pass it
through his body, or even mine own.  But to say truth, fighting
is not my best point, though I can look on cold iron like another
when needs must be.  And indeed, as for my sword--(put on, I pray
you)--it is a poor Provant rapier, and I warrant you he has a
special Toledo.  He has a serving-man, too, and I think it is the
drunken ruffian Lambourne!  upon the horse on which men say--(I
pray you heartily to put on)--he did the great robbery of the
west country grazier.  It is not that I fear either Varney or
Lambourne in a good cause--(your palfrey will go yet faster if
you urge him)--but yet--(nay, I pray you let him not break off
into a gallop, lest they should see we fear them, and give chase
--keep him only at the full trot)--but yet, though I fear them
not, I would we were well rid of them, and that rather by policy
than by violence.  Could we once reach the party before us, we
may herd among them, and pass unobserved, unless Varney be really
come in express pursuit of us, and then, happy man be his dole!"

While he thus spoke, he alternately urged and restrained his
horse, desirous to maintain the fleetest pace that was consistent
with the idea of an ordinary journey on the road, but to avoid
such rapidity of movement as might give rise to suspicion that
they were flying.

At such a pace they ascended the gentle hill we have mentioned,
and looking from the top, had the pleasure to see that the party
which had left Donnington before them were in the little valley
or bottom on the other side, where the road was traversed by a
rivulet, beside which was a cottage or two.  In this place they
seemed to have made a pause, which gave Wayland the hope of
joining them, and becoming a part of their company, ere Varney
should overtake them.  He was the more anxious, as his companion,
though she made no complaints, and expressed no fear, began to
look so deadly pale that he was afraid she might drop from her
horse.  Notwithstanding this symptom of decaying strength, she
pushed on her palfrey so briskly that they joined the party in
the bottom of the valley ere Varney appeared on the top of the
gentle eminence which they had descended.

They found the company to which they meant to associate
themselves in great disorder.  The women with dishevelled locks,
and looks of great importance, ran in and out of one of the
cottages, and the men stood around holding the horses, and
looking silly enough, as is usual in cases where their assistance
is not wanted.

Wayland and his charge paused, as if out of curiosity, and then
gradually, without making any inquiries, or being asked any
questions, they mingled with the group, as if they had always
made part of it.

They had not stood there above five minutes, anxiously keeping as
much to the side of the road as possible, so as to place the
other travellers betwixt them and Varney, when Lord Leicester's
master of the horse, followed by Lambourne, came riding fiercely
down the hill, their horses' flanks and the rowels of their spurs
showing bloody tokens of the rate at which they travelled.  The
appearance of the stationary group around the cottages, wearing
their buckram suits in order to protect their masking dresses,
having their light cart for transporting their scenery, and
carrying various fantastic properties in their hands for the more
easy conveyance, let the riders at once into the character and
purpose of the company.

"You are revelIers," said Varney, "designing for Kenilworth?"

"RECTE QUIDEM, DOMINE SPECTATISSIME," answered one of the party.

"And why the devil stand you here?"  said Varney, "when your
utmost dispatch will but bring you to Kenilworth in time?  The
Queen dines at Warwick to-morrow, and you loiter here, ye
knaves."

"I very truth, sir," said a little, diminutive urchin, wearing a
vizard with a couple of sprouting horns of an elegant scarlet
hue, having, moreover, a black serge jerkin drawn close to his
body by lacing, garnished with red stockings, and shoes so shaped
as to resemble cloven feet--"in very truth, sir, and you are in
the right on't.  It is my father the Devil, who, being taken in
labour, has delayed our present purpose, by increasing our
company with an imp too many,"

"The devil he has!"  answered Varney, whose laugh, however, never
exceeded a sarcastic smile.

"It is even as the juvenal hath said," added the masker who spoke
first; "Our major devil--for this is but our minor one--is even
now at LUCINA, FER OPEM, within that very TUGURIUM."

"By Saint George, or rather by the Dragon, who may be a kinsman
of the fiend in the straw, a most comical chance!"  said Varney.
"How sayest thou, Lambourne, wilt thou stand godfather for the
nonce?  If the devil were to choose a gossip, I know no one more
fit for the office."

"Saving always when my betters are in presence," said Lambourne,
with the civil impudence of a servant who knows his services to
be so indispensable that his jest will be permitted to pass
muster.

"And what is the name of this devil, or devil's dam, who has
timed her turns so strangely?"  said Varney.  "We can ill afford
to spare any of our actors."

"GAUDET NOMINE SIBYLLAE," said the first speaker; "she is called
Sibyl Laneham, wife of Master Robert Laneham--"

"Clerk to the Council-chamber door," said Varney; "why, she is
inexcusable, having had experience how to have ordered her
matters better.  But who were those, a man and a woman, I think,
who rode so hastily up the hill before me even now?  Do they
belong to your company?"

Wayland was about to hazard a reply to this alarming inquiry,
when the little diablotin again thrust in his oar.

"So please you," he said, coming close up to Varney, and speaking
so as not to be overheard by his companions, "the man was our
devil major, who has tricks enough to supply the lack of a
hundred such as Dame Laneham; and the woman, if you please, is
the sage person whose assistance is most particularly necessary
to our distressed comrade."

"Oh, what!  you have got the wise woman, then?"  said Varney.
"Why, truly, she rode like one bound to a place where she was
needed.  And you have a spare limb of Satan, besides, to supply
the place of Mistress Laneham?"

"Ay, sir," said the boy; "they are not so scarce in this world as
your honour's virtuous eminence would suppose.  This master-fiend
shall spit a few flashes of fire, and eruct a volume or two of
smoke on the spot, if it will do you pleasure--you would think he
had AEtna in his abdomen."

"I lack time just now, most hopeful imp of darkness, to witness
his performance," said Varney; "but here is something for you all
to drink the lucky hour--and so, as the play says, 'God be with
Your labour!'"

Thus speaking, he struck his horse with the spurs, and rode on
his way.

Lambourne tarried a moment or two behind his master, and rummaged
his pouch for a piece of silver, which he bestowed on the
communicative imp, as he said, for his encouragement on his path
to the infernal regions, some sparks of whose fire, he said, he
could discover flashing from him already.  Then having received
the boy's thanks for his generosity he also spurred his horse,
and rode after his master as fast as the fire flashes from flint.

"And now," said the wily imp, sidling close up to Wayland's
horse, and cutting a gambol in the air which seemed to vindicate
his title to relationship with the prince of that element, "I
have told them who YOU are, do you in return tell me who I am?"

"Either Flibbertigibbet," answered Wayland Smith, "or else an imp
of the devil in good earnest."

"Thou hast hit it," answered Dickie Sludge.  "I am thine own
Flibbertigibbet, man; and I have broken forth of bounds, along
with my learned preceptor, as I told thee I would do, whether he
would or not.  But what lady hast thou got with thee?  I saw thou
wert at fault the first question was asked, and so I drew up for
thy assistance.  But I must know all who she is, dear Wayland."

"Thou shalt know fifty finer things, my dear ingle," said
Wayland; "but a truce to thine inquiries just now.  And since you
are bound for Kenilworth, thither will I too, even for the love
of thy sweet face and waggish company."

"Thou shouldst have said my waggish face and sweet company," said
Dickie;" but how wilt thou travel with us--I mean in what
character?"

"E'en in that thou hast assigned me, to be sure--as a juggler;
thou knowest I am used to the craft," answered Wayland.

"Ay, but the lady?"  answered Flibbertigibbet.  "Credit me, I
think she IS one and thou art in a sea of troubles about her at
this moment, as I can perceive by thy fidgeting."

"Oh, she, man!--she is a poor sister of mine," said Wayland; "she
can sing and play o' the lute would win the fish out o' the
stream."

"Let me hear her instantly," said the boy, "I love the lute
rarely; I love it of all things, though I never heard it."

"Then how canst thou love it, Flibbertigibbet?"  said Wayland.

"As knights love ladies in old tales," answered Dickie--"on
hearsay."

"Then love it on hearsay a little longer, till my sister is
recovered from the fatigue of her journey," said Wayland;
muttering afterwards betwixt his teeth, "The devil take the imp's
curiosity!  I must keep fair weather with him, or we shall fare
the worse."

He then proceeded to state to Master Holiday his own talents as a
juggler, with those of his sister as a musician.  Some proof of
his dexterity was demanded, which he gave in such a style of
excellence, that, delighted at obtaining such an accession to
their party, they readily acquiesced in the apology which he
offered when a display of his sister's talents was required.  The
new-comers were invited to partake of the refreshments with which
the party were provided; and it was with some difficulty that
Wayland Smith obtained an opportunity of being apart with his
supposed sister during the meal, of which interval he availed
himself to entreat her to forget for the present both her rank
and her sorrows, and condescend, as the most probable chance of
remaining concealed, to mix in the society of those with whom she
was to travel.

The Countess allowed the necessity of the case, and when they
resumed their journey, endeavoured to comply with her guide's
advice, by addressing herself to a female near her, and
expressing her concern for the woman whom they were thus obliged
to leave behind them.

"Oh, she is well attended, madam," replied the dame whom she
addressed, who, from her jolly and laughter-loving demeanour,
might have been the very emblem of the Wife of Bath; "and my
gossip Laneham thinks as little of these matters as any one.  By
the ninth day, an the revels last so long, we shall have her with
us at Kenilworth, even if she should travel with her bantling on
her back."

There was something in this speech which took away all desire on
the Countess of Leicester's part to continue the conversation.
But having broken the charm by speaking to her fellow-traveller
first, the good dame, who was to play Rare Gillian of Croydon in
one of the interludes, took care that silence did not again
settle on the journey, but entertained her mute companion with a
thousand anecdotes of revels, from the days of King Harry
downwards, with the reception given them by the great folk, and
all the names of those who played the principal characters; but
ever concluding with "they would be nothing to the princely
pleasures of Kenilworth."

"And when shall we reach Kenilworth?  said the Countess, with an
agitation which she in vain attempted to conceal.

"We that have horses may, with late riding, get to Warwick to-
night, and Kenilworth may be distant some four or five miles.
But then we must wait till the foot-people come up; although it
is like my good Lord of Leicester will have horses or light
carriages to meet them, and bring them up without being travel-
toiled, which last is no good preparation, as you may suppose,
for dancing before your betters.  And yet, Lord help me, I have
seen the day I would have tramped five leagues of lea-land, and
turned an my toe the whole evening after, as a juggler spins a
pewter platter on the point of a needle.  But age has clawed me
somewhat in his clutch, as the song says; though, if I like the
tune and like my partner, I'll dance the hays yet with any merry
lass in Warwickshire that writes that unhappy figure four with a
round O after it."

If the Countess was overwhelmed with the garrulity of this good
dame, Wayland Smith, on his part, had enough to do to sustain and
parry,the constant attacks made upon him by the indefatigable
curiosity of his old acquaintance Richard Sludge.  Nature had
given that arch youngster a prying cast of disposition, which
matched admirably with his sharp wit; the former inducing him to
plant himself as a spy on other people's affairs, and the latter
quality leading him perpetually to interfere, after he had made
himself master of that which concerned him not.  He spent the
livelong day in attempting to peer under the Countess's muffler,
and apparently what he could there discern greatly sharpened his
curiosity.

"That sister of thine, Wayland," he said, "has a fair neck to
have been born in a smithy, and a pretty taper hand to have been
used for twirling a spindle--faith, I'll believe in your
relationship when the crow's egg is hatched into a cygnet."

"Go to," said Wayland, "thou art a prating boy, and should be
breeched for thine assurance."

"Well," said the imp, drawing off, "all I say is--remember you
have kept a secret from me, and if I give thee not a Roland for
thine Oliver, my name is not Dickon Sludge!"

This threat, and the distance at which Hobgoblin kept from him
for the rest of the way, alarmed Wayland very much, and he
suggested to his pretended sister that, on pretext of weariness,
she should express a desire to stop two or three miles short of
the fair town of Warwick, promising to rejoin the troop in the
morning.  A small village inn afforded them a resting-place, and
it was with secret pleasure that Wayland saw the whole party,
including Dickon, pass on, after a courteous farewell, and leave
them behind.

"To-morrow, madam," he said to his charge, "we will, with your
leave, again start early, and reach Kenilworth before the rout
which are to assemble there."

The Countess gave assent to the proposal of her faithful guide;
but, somewhat to his surprise, said nothing further on the
subject, which left Wayland under the disagreeable uncertainty
whether or no she had formed any plan for her own future
proceedings, as he knew her situation demanded circumspection,
although he was but imperfectly acquainted with all its
peculiarities.  Concluding, however, that she must have friends
within the castle, whose advice and assistance she could safely
trust, he supposed his task would be best accomplished by
conducting her thither in safety, agreeably to her repeated
commands.



CHAPTER XXV.

  Hark, the bells summon, and the bugle calls,
  But she the fairest answers not--the tide
  Of nobles and of ladies throngs the halls,
  But she the loveliest must in secret hide.
  What eyes were thine, proud Prince, which in the gleam
  Of yon gay meteors lost that better sense,
  That o'er the glow-worm doth the star esteem,
  And merit's modest blush o'er courtly insolence?
                                         THE GLASS SLIPPER.

The unfortunate Countess of Leicester had, from her infancy
upwards, been treated by those around her with indulgence as
unbounded as injudicious.  The natural sweetness of her
disposition had saved her from becoming insolent and ill-
humoured; but the caprice which preferred the handsome and
insinuating Leicester before Tressilian, of whose high honour and
unalterable affection she herself entertained so firm an opinion
--that fatal error, which ruined the happiness of her life, had
its origin in the mistaken kindness; that had spared her
childhood the painful but most necessary lesson of submission and
self-command.  From the same indulgence it followed that she had
only been accustomed to form and to express her wishes, leaving
to others the task of fulfilling them; and thus, at the most
momentous period of her life, she was alike destitute of presence
of mind, and of ability to form for herself any reasonable or
prudent plan of conduct.

These difficulties pressed on the unfortunate lady with
overwhelming force on the morning which seemed to be the crisis
of her fate.  Overlooking every intermediate consideration, she
had only desired to be at Kenilworth, and to approach her
husband's presence; and now, when she was in the vicinity of
both, a thousand considerations arose at once upon her mind,
startling her with accumulated doubts and dangers, some real,
some imaginary, and all exalted and exaggerated by a situation
alike helpless and destitute of aid and counsel.

A sleepless night rendered her so weak in the morning that she
was altogether unable to attend Wayland's early summons.  The
trusty guide became extremely distressed on the lady's account,
and somewhat alarmed on his own, and was on the point of going
alone to Kenilworth, in the hope of discovering Tressilian, and
intimating to him the lady's approach, when about nine in the
morning he was summoned to attend her.  He found her dressed, and
ready for resuming her journey, but with a paleness of
countenance which alarmed him for her health.  She intimated her
desire that the horses might be got instantly ready, and resisted
with impatience her guide's request that she would take some
refreshment before setting forward.  "I have had," she said, "a
cup of water--the wretch who is dragged to execution needs no
stronger cordial, and that may serve me which suffices for him.
Do as I command you."   Wayland Smith still hesitated.  "What
would you have?"  said she.  "Have I not spoken plainly?"

"Yes, madam," answered Wayland; "but may I ask what is your
further purpose? I only wish to know, that I may guide myself by
your wishes.  The whole country is afloat, and streaming towards
the Castle of Kenilworth.  It will be difficult travelling
thither, even if we had the necessary passports for safe-conduct
and free admittance; unknown and unfriended, we may come by
mishap.  Your ladyship will forgive my speaking my poor mind--
were we not better try to find out the maskers, and again join
ourselves with them?"  The Countess shook her head, and her guide
proceeded, "Then I see but one other remedy."

"Speak out, then," said the lady, not displeased, perhaps, that
he should thus offer the advice which she was ashamed to ask; "I
believe thee faithful--what wouldst thou counsel?"

"That I should warn Master Tressilian," said Wayland, "that you
are in this place.  I am right certain he would get to horse with
a few of Lord Sussex's followers, and ensure your personal
safety."

"And is it to ME you advise," said the Countess, "to put myself
under the protection of Sussex, the unworthy rival of the noble
Leicester?"  Then, seeing the surprise with which Wayland stared
upon her, and afraid of having too strongly intimated her
interest in Leicester, she added, "And for Tressilian, it must
not be--mention not to him, I charge you, my unhappy name; it
would but double MY misfortunes, and involve HIM in dangers
beyond the power of rescue."  She paused; but when she observed
that Wayland continued to look on her with that anxious and
uncertain gaze which indicated a doubt whether her brain was
settled, she assumed an air of composure, and added, "Do thou but
guide me to Kenilworth Castle, good fellow, and thy task is
ended, since I will then judge what further is to be done.  Thou
hast yet been true to me--here is something that will make thee
rich amends."

She offered the artist a ring containing a valuable stone.
Wayland looked at it, hesitated a moment, and then returned it.
"Not," he said, "that I am above your kindness, madam, being but
a poor fellow, who have been forced, God help me!  to live by
worse shifts than the bounty of such a person as you.  But, as my
old master the farrier used to say to his customers, 'No cure, no
pay.' We are not yet in Kenilworth Castle, and it is time enough
to discharge your guide, as they say, when you take your boots
off.  I trust in God your ladyship is as well assured of fitting
reception when you arrive, as you may hold yourself certain of my
best endeavours to conduct you thither safely.  I go to get the
horses; meantime, let me pray you once more, as your poor
physician as well as guide, to take some sustenance."

"I will--I will," said the lady hastily.  "Begone, begone
instantly!--It is in vain I assume audacity," said she, when he
left the room; "even this poor groom sees through my affectation
of courage, and fathoms the very ground of my fears."

She then attempted to follow her guide's advice by taking some
food, but was compelled to desist, as the effort to swallow even
a single morsel gave her so much uneasiness as amounted well-nigh
to suffocation.  A moment afterwards the horses appeared at the
latticed window.  The lady mounted, and found that relief from
the free air and change of place which is frequently experienced
in similar circumstances.

It chanced well for the Countess's purpose that Wayland Smith,
whose previous wandering and unsettled life had made him
acquainted with almost all England, was intimate with all the by-
roads, as well as direct communications, through the beautiful
county of Warwick.  For such and so great was the throng which
flocked in all directions towards Kenilworth, to see the entry of
Elizabeth into that splendid mansion of her prime favourite, that
the principal roads were actually blocked up and interrupted, and
it was only by circuitous by-paths that the travellers could
proceed on their journey.

The Queen's purveyors had been abroad, sweeping the farms and
villages of those articles usually exacted during a royal
Progress, and for which the owners were afterwards to obtain a
tardy payment from the Board of Green Cloth.  The Earl of
Leicester's household officers had been scouring the country for
the same purpose; and many of his friends and allies, both near
and remote, took this opportunity of ingratiating themselves by
sending large quantities of provisions and delicacies of all
kinds, with game in huge numbers, and whole tuns of the best
liquors, foreign and domestic.  Thus the highroads were filled
with droves of bullocks, sheep, calves, and hogs, and choked with
loaded wains, whose axle-trees cracked under their burdens of
wine-casks and hogsheads of ale, and huge hampers of grocery
goods, and slaughtered game, and salted provisions, and sacks of
flour.  Perpetual stoppages took place as these wains became
entangled; and their rude drivers, swearing and brawling till
their wild passions were fully raised, began to debate precedence
with their wagon-whips and quarterstaves, which occasional riots
were usually quieted by a purveyor, deputy-marshal's man, or some
other person in authority, breaking the heads of both parties.

Here were, besides, players and mummers, jugglers and showmen, of
every description, traversing in joyous bands the paths which led
to the Palace of Princely Pleasure; for so the travelling
minstrels had termed Kenilworth in the songs which already had
come forth in anticipation of the revels which were there
expected.  In the midst of this motley show, mendicants were
exhibiting their real or pretended miseries, forming a strange
though common contrast betwixt the vanities and the sorrows of
human existence.  All these floated along with the immense tide
of population whom mere curiosity had drawn together; and where
the mechanic, in his leathern apron, elbowed the dink and dainty
dame, his city mistress; where clowns, with hobnailed shoes, were
treading on the kibes of substantial burghers and gentlemen of
worship; and where Joan of the dairy, with robust pace, and red,
sturdy arms, rowed her way unward, amongst those prim and pretty
moppets whose sires were knights and squires.

The throng and confusion was, however, of a gay and cheerful
character.  All came forth to see and to enjoy, and all laughed
at the trifling inconveniences which at another time might have
chafed their temper.  Excepting the occasional brawls which we
have mentioned among that irritable race the carmen, the mingled
sounds which arose from the multitude were those of light-hearted
mirth and tiptoe jollity.  The musicians preluded on their
instruments--the minstrels hummed their songs--the licensed
jester whooped betwixt mirth and madness, as he brandished his
bauble--the morrice-dancers jangled their bells--the rustics
hallooed and whistled-men laughed loud, and maidens giggled
shrill; while many a broad jest flew like a shuttlecock from one
party, to be caught in the air and returned from the opposite
side of the road by another, at which it was aimed.

No infliction can be so distressing to a mind absorbed in
melancholy, as being plunged into a scene of mirth and revelry,
forming an accompaniment so dissonant from its own feelings.
Yet, in the case of the Countess of Leicester, the noise and
tumult of this giddy scene distracted her thoughts, and rendered
her this sad service, that it became impossible for her to brood
on her own misery, or to form terrible anticipations of her
approaching fate.  She travelled on like one in a dream,
following implicitly the guidance of Wayland, who, with great
address, now threaded his way through the general throng of
passengers, now stood still until a favourable opportunity
occurred of again moving forward, and frequently turning
altogether out of the direct road, followed some circuitous by-
path, which brought them into the highway again, after having
given them the opportunity of traversing a considerable way with
greater ease and rapidity.

It was thus he avoided Warwick, within whose Castle (that fairest
monument of ancient and chivalrous splendour which yet remains
uninjured by time) Elizabeth had passed the previous night, and
where she was to tarry until past noon, at that time the general
hour of dinner throughout England, after which repast she was to
proceed to Kenilworth, In the meanwhile, each passing group had
something to say in the Sovereign's praise, though not absolutely
without the usual mixture of satire which qualifies more or less
our estimate of our neighbours, especially if they chance to be
also our betters.

"Heard you," said.  one, "how graciously she spoke to Master
Bailiff and the Recorder, and to good Master Griffin the
preacher, as they kneeled down at her coach-window?"

"Ay, and how she said to little Aglionby, 'Master Recorder, men
would have persuaded me that you were afraid of me, but truly I
think, so well did you reckon up to me the virtues of a
sovereign, that I have more reason to be afraid of you.' and then
with what grace she took the fair-wrought purse with the twenty
gold sovereigns, seeming as though she would not willingly handle
it, and yet taking it withal."

"Ay, ay," said another, "her fingers closed on it pretty
willingly methought, when all was done; and methought, too, she
weighed them for a second in her hand, as she would say, I hope
they be avoirdupois."

"She needed not, neighbour," said a third; "it is only when the
corporation pay the accounts of a poor handicraft like me, that
they put him off with clipped coin.  Well, there is a God above
all--little Master Recorder, since that is the word, will be
greater now than ever."

"Come, good neighbour," said the first speaker "be not envious.
She is a good Queen, and a generous; she gave the purse to the
Earl of Leicester."

"I envious?--beshrew thy heart for the word!"  replied the
handicraft.  "But she will give all to the Earl of Leicester
anon, methinks."

"You are turning ill, lady," said Wayland Smith to the Countess
of Leicester, and proposed that she should draw off from the
road, and halt till she recovered.  But, subduing her feelings at
this and different speeches to the same purpose, which caught her
ear as they passed on, she insisted that her guide should proceed
to Kenilworth with all the haste which the numerous impediments
of their journey permitted.  Meanwhile, Wayland's anxiety at her
repeated fits of indisposition, and her obvious distraction of
mind, was hourly increasing, and he became extremely desirous
that, according to her reiterated requests, she should be safely
introduced into the Castle, where, he doubted not, she was secure
of a kind reception, though she seemed unwilling to reveal on
whom she reposed her hopes.

"An I were once rid of this peril," thought he, "and if any man
shall find me playing squire of the body to a damosel-errant, he
shall have leave to beat my brains out with my own sledge-
hammer!"

At length the princely Castle appeared, upon improving which, and
the domains around, the Earl of Leicester had, it is said,
expended sixty thousand pounds sterling, a sum equal to half a
million of our present money.

The outer wall of this splendid and gigantic structure enclosed
seven acres, a part of which was occupied by extensive stables,
and by a pleasure garden, with its trim arbours and parterres,
and the rest formed the large base-court or outer yard of the
noble Castle.  The lordly structure itself, which rose near the
centre of this spacious enclosure, was composed of a huge pile of
magnificent castellated buildings, apparently of different ages,
surrounding an inner court, and bearing in the names attached to
each portion of the magnificent mass, and in the armorial
bearings which were there blazoned, the emblems of mighty chiefs
who had long passed away, and whose history, could Ambition have
lent ear to it, might have read a lesson to the haughty favourite
who had now acquired and was augmenting the fair domain.  A large
and massive Keep, which formed the citadel of the Castle, was of
uncertain though great antiquity.  It bore the name of Caesar,
perhaps from its resemblance to that in the Tower of London so
called.  Some antiquaries ascribe its foundation to the time of
Kenelph, from whom the Castle had its name, a Saxon King of
Mercia, and others to an early era after the Norman Conquest.  On
the exterior walls frowned the scutcheon of the Clintons, by whom
they were founded in the reign of Henry I.; and of the yet more
redoubted Simon de Montfort, by whom, during the Barons' wars,
Kenilworth was long held out against Henry III.  Here Mortimer,
Earl of March, famous alike for his rise and his fall, had once
gaily revelled in Kenilworth, while his dethroned sovereign,
Edward II., languished in its dungeons.  Old John of Gaunt,
"time-honoured Lancaster," had widely extended the Castle,
erecting that noble and massive pile which yet bears the name of
Lancaster's Buildings; and Leicester himself had outdone the
former possessors, princely and powerful as they were, by
erecting another immense structure, which now lies crushed under
its own ruins, the monument of its owner's ambition.  The
external wall of this royal Castle was, on the south and west
sides, adorned and defended by a lake partly artificial, across
which Leicester had constructed a stately bridge, that Elizabeth
might enter the Castle by a path hitherto untrodden, instead of
the usual entrance to the northward, over which he had erected a
gatehouse or barbican, which still exists, and is equal in
extent, and superior in architecture, to the baronial castle of
many a northern chief.

Beyond the lake lay an extensive chase, full of red deer, fallow
deer, roes, and every species of game, and abounding with lofty
trees, from amongst which the extended front and massive towers
of the Castle were seen to rise in majesty and beauty.  We cannot
but add, that of this lordly palace, where princes feasted and
heroes fought, now in the bloody earnest of storm and siege, and
now in the games of chivalry, where beauty dealt the prize which
valour won, all is now desolate.  The bed of the lake is but a
rushy swamp; and the massive ruins of the Castle only serve to
show what their splendour once was, and to impress on the musing
visitor the transitory value of human possessions, and the
happiness of those who enjoy a humble lot in virtuous
contentment.

It was with far different feelings that the unfortunate Countess
of Leicester viewed those grey and massive towers, when she first
beheld them rise above the embowering and richly-shaded woods,
over which they seemed to preside.  She, the undoubted wife of
the great Earl, of Elizabeth's minion, and England's mighty
favourite, was approaching the presence of her husband, and that
husband's sovereign, under the protection, rather than the
guidance, of a poor juggler; and though unquestioned Mistress of
that proud Castle, whose lightest word ought to have had force
sufficient to make its gates leap from their massive hinges to
receive her, yet she could not conceal from herself the
difficulty and peril which she must experience in gaining
admission into her own halls.

The risk and difficulty, indeed, seemed to increase every moment,
and at length threatened altogether to put a stop to her further
progress at the great gate leading to a broad and fair road,
which, traversing the breadth of the chase for the space of two
miles, and commanding several most beautiful views of the Castle
and lake, terminated at the newly constructed bridge, to which it
was an appendage, and which was destined to form the Queen's
approach to the Castle on that memorable occasion.

Here the Countess and Wayland found the gate at the end of this
avenue, which opened on the Warwick road, guarded by a body of
the Queen's mounted yeomen of the guard, armed in corselets
richly carved and gilded, and wearing morions instead of bonnets,
having their carabines resting with the butt-end on their thighs.
These guards, distinguished for strength and stature, who did
duty wherever the Queen went in person, were here stationed under
the direction of a pursuivant, graced with the Bear and Ragged
Staff on his arm, as belonging to the Earl of Leicester, and
peremptorily refused all admittance, excepting to such as were
guests invited to the festival, or persons who were to perform
some part in the mirthful exhibitions which were proposed.

The press was of consequence great around the entrance, and
persons of all kinds presented every sort of plea for admittance;
to which the guards turned an inexorable ear, pleading, in return
to fair words, and even to fair offers, the strictness of their
orders, founded on the Queen's well-known dislike to the rude
pressing of a multitude.  With those whom such reasons did not
serve,they dealt more rudely, repelling them without ceremony by
the pressure of their powerful, barbed horses, and good round
blows from the stock of their carabines.  These last manoeuvres
produced undulations amongst the crowd, which rendered Wayland
much afraid that he might perforce be separated from his charge
in the throng.  Neither did he know what excuse to make in order
to obtain admittance, and he was debating the matter in his head
with great uncertainty, when the Earl's pursuivant, having cast
an eye upon him, exclaimed, to his no small surprise, "Yeomen,
make room for the fellow in the orange-tawny cloak.--Come
forward, Sir Coxcomb, and make haste.  What, in the fiend's name,
has kept you waiting? Come forward with your bale of woman's
gear."

While the pursuivant gave Wayland this pressing yet uncourteous
invitation, which, for a minute or two, he could not imagine was
applied to him, the yeomen speedily made a free passage for him,
while, only cautioning his companion to keep the muffler close
around her face, he entered the gate leading her palfrey, but
with such a drooping crest, and such a look of conscious fear and
anxiety, that the crowd, not greatly pleased at any rate with the
preference bestowed upon them, accompanied their admission with
hooting and a loud laugh of derision.

Admitted thus within the chase, though with no very flattering
notice or distinction, Wayland and his charge rode forward,
musing what difficulties it would be next their lot to encounter,
through the broad avenue, which was sentinelled on either side by
a long line of retainers, armed with swords, and partisans richly
dressed in the Earl of Leicester's liveries, and bearing his
cognizance of the Bear and Ragged Staff, each placed within three
paces of each other, so as to line the whole road from the
entrance into the park to the bridge.  And, indeed, when the lady
obtained the first commanding view of the Castle, with its
stately towers rising from within a long, sweeping line of
outward walls, ornamented with battlements and turrets and
platforms at every point of defence, with many a banner streaming
from its walls, and such a bustle of gay crests and waving plumes
disposed on the terraces and battlements, and all the gay and
gorgeous scene, her heart, unaccustomed to such splendour, sank
as if it died within her, and for a moment she asked herself what
she had offered up to Leicester to deserve to become the partner
of this princely splendour.  But her pride and generous spirit
resisted the whisper which bade her despair.

"I have given him," she said, "all that woman has to give.  Name
and fame, heart and hand, have I given the lord of all this
magnificence at the altar, and England's Queen could give him no
more.  He is my husband--I am his wife--whom God hath joined, man
cannot sunder.  I will be bold in claiming my right; even the
bolder, that I come thus unexpected, and thus forlorn.  I know my
noble Dudley well!  He will be something impatient at my
disobeying him, but Amy will weep, and Dudley will forgive her."

These meditations were interrupted by a cry of surprise from her
guide Wayland, who suddenly felt himself grasped firmly round the
body by a pair of long, thin black arms, belonging to some one
who had dropped himself out of an oak tree upon the croup of his
horse, amidst the shouts of laughter which burst from the
sentinels.

"This must be the devil, or Flibbertigibbet again!"  said
Wayland, after a vain struggle to disengage himself, and unhorse
the urchin who clung to him; "do Kenilworth oaks bear such
acorns?"

"In sooth do they, Master Wayland," said his unexpected adjunct,
"and many others, too hard for you to crack, for as old as you
are, without my teaching you.  How would you have passed the
pursuivant at the upper gate yonder, had not I warned him our
principal juggler was to follow us? And here have I waited for
you, having clambered up into the tree from the top of the wain;
and I suppose they are all mad for want of me by this time,"

"Nay, then, thou art a limb of the devil in good earnest," said
Wayland.  "I give thee way, good imp, and will walk by thy
counsel; only, as thou art powerful be merciful."

As he spoke, they approached a strong tower, at the south
extremity of the long bridge we have mentioned, which served to
protect the outer gateway of the Castle of Kenilworth.

Under such disastrous circumstances, and in such singular
company, did the unfortunate Countess of Leicester approach, for
the first time, the magnificent abode of her almost princely
husband.



CHAPTER XXVI.

SNUG.   Have you the lion's part written?  pray, if it be, give
        it me, for I am slow of study.
QUINCE. You may do it extempore, for it is nothing but roaring.
                                 MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM.

When the Countess of Leicester arrived at the outer gate of the
Castle of Kenilworth, she found the tower, beneath which its
ample portal arch opened, guarded in a singular manner.  Upon the
battlements were placed gigantic warders, with clubs, battle-
axes, and other implements of ancient warfare, designed to
represent the soldiers of King Arthur; those primitive Britons,
by whom, according to romantic tradition, the Castle had been
first tenanted, though history carried back its antiquity only to
the times of the Heptarchy.

Some of these tremendous figures were real men, dressed up with
vizards and buskins; others were mere pageants composed of
pasteboard and buckram, which, viewed from beneath, and mingled
with those that were real, formed a sufficiently striking
representation of what was intended.  But the gigantic porter who
waited at the gate beneath, and actually discharged the duties of
warder, owed none of his terrors to fictitious means.  We was a
man whose huge stature, thews, sinews, and bulk in proportion,
would have enabled him to enact Colbrand, Ascapart, or any other
giant of romance, without raising himself nearer to heaven even
by the altitude of a chopin.  The legs and knees of this son of
Anak were bare, as were his arms from a span below the shoulder;
but his feet were defended with sandals, fastened with cross
straps of scarlet leather studded with brazen knobs.  A close
jerkin of scarlet velvet looped with gold, with short breeches of
the same, covered his body and a part of his limbs; and he wore
on his shoulders, instead of a cloak, the skin of a black bear.
The head of this formidable person was uncovered, except by his
shaggy, black hair, which descended on either side around
features of that huge, lumpish, and heavy cast which are often
annexed to men of very uncommon size, and which, notwithstanding
some distinguished exceptions, have created a general prejudice
against giants, as being a dull and sullen kind of persons.  This
tremendous warder was appropriately armed with a heavy club
spiked with steel.  In fine, he represented excellently one of
those giants of popular romance, who figure in every fairy tale
or legend of knight-errantry.

The demeanour of this modern Titan, when Wayland Smith bent his
attention to him, had in it something arguing much mental
embarrassment and vexation; for sometimes he sat down for an
instant on a massive stone bench, which seemed placed for his
accommodation beside the gateway, and then ever and anon he
started up, scratching his huge head, and striding to and fro on
his post, like one under a fit of impatience and anxiety.  It was
while the porter was pacing before the gate in this agitated
manner, that Wayland, modestly, yet as a matter of course (not,
however, without some mental misgiving), was about to pass him,
and enter the portal arch.  The porter, however, stopped his
progress, bidding him, in a thundering voice, "Stand back!"  and
enforcing his injunction by heaving up his steel-shod mace, and
dashing it on the ground before Wayland's horse's nose with such
vehemence that the pavement flashed fire, and the archway rang to
the clamour.  Wayland, availing himself of Dickie's hints, began
to state that he belonged to a band of performers to which his
presence was indispensable, that he had been accidentally
detained behind, and much to the same purpose.  But the warder
was inexorable, and kept muttering and murmuring something
betwixt his teeth, which Wayland could make little of; and
addressing betwixt whiles a refusal of admittance, couched in
language which was but too intelligible.  A specimen of his
speech might run thus:--"What, how now, my masters?"  (to
himself)--"Here's a stir--here's a coil."--(Then to Wayland)--
"You are a loitering knave, and shall have no entrance."--(Again
to himself)--"Here's a throng--here's a thrusting.--I shall ne'er
get through with it--Here's a--humph--ha."--(To Wayland)--"Back
from the gate, or I'll break the pate of thee."--(Once more to
himself)--"Here's a--no--I shall never get through it."

"Stand still," whispered Flibbertigibbet into Wayland's ear, "I
know where the shoe pinches, and will tame him in an instant."

He dropped down from the horse, and skipping up to the porter,
plucked him by the tail of the bearskin, so as to induce him to
decline his huge head, and whispered something in his ear.  Not
at the command of the lord of some Eastern talisman did ever
Afrite change his horrid frown into a look of smooth submission
more suddenly than the gigantic porter of Kenilworth relaxed the
terrors of his looks at the instant Flibbertigibbet's whisper
reached his ears.  He flung his club upon the ground, and caught
up Dickie Sludge, raising him to such a distance from the earth
as might have proved perilous had he chanced to let him slip.

"It is even so," he said, with a thundering sound of exultation
--"it is even so, my little dandieprat.  But who the devil could
teach it thee?"

"Do not thou care about that," said Flibbertigibbet--"but--" he
looked at Wayland and the lady, and then sunk what he had to say
in a whisper, which needed not be a loud one, as the giant held
him for his convenience close to his ear.  The porter then gave
Dickie a warm caress, and set him on the ground with the same
care which a careful housewife uses in replacing a cracked china
cup upon her mantelpiece, calling out at the same time to Wayland
and the lady, "In with you--in with you!  and take heed how you
come too late another day when I chance to be porter."

"Ay, ay, in with you," added Flibbertigibbet; "I must stay a
short space with mine honest Philistine, my Goliath of Gath here;
but I will be with you anon, and at the bottom of all your
secrets, were they as deep and dark as the Castle dungeon."

"I do believe thou wouldst," said Wayland; "but I trust the
secret will be soon out of my keeping, and then I shall care the
less whether thou or any one knows it."

They now crossed the entrance tower, which obtained the name of
the Gallery-tower, from the following circumstance: The whole
bridge, extending from the entrance to another tower on the
opposite side of the lake, called Mortimer's Tower, was so
disposed as to make a spacious tilt-yard, about one hundred and
thirty yards in length, and ten in breadth, strewed with the
finest sand, and defended on either side by strong and high
palisades.  The broad and fair gallery, destined for the ladies
who were to witness the feats of chivalry presented on this area,
was erected on the northern side of the outer tower, to which it
gave name.  Our travellers passed slowly along the bridge or
tilt-yard, and arrived at Mortimer's Tower, at its farthest
extremity, through which the approach led into the outer or base-
court of the Castle.  Mortimer's Tower bore on its front the
scutcheon of the Earl of March, whose daring ambition overthrew
the throne of Edward II., and aspired to share his power with the
"She-wolf of France," to whom the unhappy monarch was wedded.
The gate, which opened under this ominous memorial, was guarded
by many warders in rich liveries; but they offered no opposition
to the entrance of the Countess and her guide, who, having passed
by license of the principal porter at the Gallery-tower, were
not, it may be supposed, liable to interruption from his
deputies.  They entered accordingly, in silence, the great
outward court of the Castle, having then full before them that
vast and lordly pile, with all its stately towers, each gate
open, as if in sign of unlimited hospitality, and the apartments
filled with noble guests of every degree, besides dependants,
retainers, domestics of every description, and all the appendages
and promoters of mirth and revelry.

Amid this stately and busy scene Wayland halted his horse, and
looked upon the lady, as if waiting her commands what was next to
be done, since they had safely reached the place of destination.
As she remained silent, Wayland, after waiting a minute or two,
ventured to ask her, in direct terms, what were her next
commands.  She raised her hand to her forehead, as if in the act
of collecting her thoughts and resolution, while she answered him
in a low and suppressed voice, like the murmurs of one who speaks
in a dream--"Commands?  I may indeed claim right to command, but
who is there will obey me!"

Then suddenly raising her head, like one who has formed a
decisive resolution, she addressed a gaily-dressed domestic, who
was crossing the court with importance and bustle in his
countenance, "Stop, sir," she said; "I desire to speak with, the
Earl of Leicester."

"With whom, an it please you?"  said the man, surprised at the
demand; and then looking upon the mean equipage of her who used
towards him such a tone of authority, he added, with insolence,
"Why, what Bess of Bedlam is this would ask to see my lord on
such a day as the present?"

"Friend," said the Countess, "be not insolent--my business with
the Earl is most urgent."

"You must get some one else to do it, were it thrice as urgent,"
said the fellow.  "I should summon my lord from the Queen's royal
presence to do YOUR business, should I?--I were like to be
thanked with a horse-whip.  I marvel our old porter took not
measure of such ware with his club, instead of giving them
passage; but his brain is addled with getting his speech by
heart."

Two or three persons stopped, attracted by the fleering way in
which the serving-man expressed himself; and Wayland, alarmed
both for himself and the lady, hastily addressed himself to one
who appeared the most civil, and thrusting a piece of money into
his hand, held a moment's counsel with him on the subject of
finding a place of temporary retreat for the lady.  The person to
whom he spoke, being one in some authority, rebuked the others
for their incivility, and commanding one fellow to take care of
the strangers' horses, he desired them to follow him.  The
Countess retained presence of mind sufficient to see that it was
absolutely necessary she should comply with his request; and
leaving the rude lackeys and grooms to crack their brutal jests
about light heads, light heels, and so forth, Wayland and she
followed in silence the deputy-usher, who undertook to be their
conductor.

They entered the inner court of the Castle by the great gateway,
which extended betwixt the principal Keep, or Donjon, called
Caesar's Tower, and a stately building which passed by the name
of King Henry's Lodging, and were thus placed in the centre of
the noble pile, which presented on its different fronts
magnificent specimens of every species of castellated
architecture, from the Conquest to the reign of Elizabeth, with
the appropriate style and ornaments of each.

Across this inner court also they were conducted by their guide
to a small but strong tower, occupying the north-east angle of
the building, adjacent to the great hall, and filling up a space
betwixt the immense range of kitchens and the end of the great
hall itself.  The lower part of this tower was occupied by some
of the household officers of Leicester, owing to its convenient
vicinity to the places where their duty lay; but in the upper
story, which was reached by a narrow, winding stair, was a small
octangular chamber, which, in the great demand for lodgings, had
been on the present occasion fitted up for the reception of
guests, though generally said to have been used as a place of
confinement for some unhappy person who had been there murdered.
Tradition called this prisoner Mervyn, and transferred his name
to the tower.  That it had been used as a prison was not
improbable; for the floor of each story was arched, the walls of
tremendous thickness, while the space of the chamber did not
exceed fifteen feet in diameter.  The window, however, was
pleasant, though narrow, and commanded a delightful view of what
was called the Pleasance; a space of ground enclosed and
decorated with arches, trophies, statues, fountains, and other
architectural monuments, which formed one access from the Castle
itself into the garden.  There was a bed in the apartment, and
other preparations for the reception of a guest, to which the
Countess paid but slight attention, her notice being instantly
arrested by the sight of writing materials placed on the table
(not very commonly to be found in the bedrooms of those days),
which instantly suggested the idea of writing to Leicester, and
remaining private until she had received his answer.

The deputy-usher having introduced them into this commodious
apartment, courteously asked Wayland, whose generosity he had
experienced, whether he could do anything further for his
service.  Upon receiving a gentle hint that some refreshment
would not be unacceptable, he presently conveyed the smith to the
buttery-hatch, where dressed provisions of all sorts were
distributed, with hospitable profusion, to all who asked for
them.  Wayland was readily supplied with some light provisions,
such as he thought would best suit the faded appetite of the
lady, and did not omit the opportunity of himself making a hasty
but hearty meal on more substantial fare.  He then returned to
the apartment in the turret, where he found the Countess, who had
finished her letter to Leicester, and in lieu of a seal and
silken thread, had secured it with a braid of her own beautiful
tresses, fastened by what is called a true-love knot.

"Good friend," said she to Wayland, "whom God hath sent to aid me
at my utmost need, I do beseech thee, as the last trouble you
shall take for an unfortunate lady, to deliver this letter to the
noble Earl of Leicester.  Be it received as it may," she said,
with features agitated betwixt hope and fear, "thou, good fellow,
shalt have no more cumber with me.  But I hope the best; and if
ever lady made a poor man rich, thou hast surely deserved it at
my hand, should my happy days ever come round again.  Give it, I
pray you, into Lord Leicester's own hand, and mark how he looks
on receiving it."

Wayland, on his part, readily undertook the commission, but
anxiously prayed the lady, in his turn, to partake of some
refreshment; in which he at length prevailed, more through
importunity and her desire to see him begone on his errand than
from any inclination the Countess felt to comply with his
request.  He then left her, advising her to lock her door on the
inside, and not to stir from her little apartment; and went to
seek an opportunity of discharging her errand, as well as of
carrying into effect a purpose of his own, which circumstances
had induced him to form.

In fact, from the conduct of the lady during the journey--her
long fits of profound silence, the irresolution and uncertainty
which seemed to pervade all her movements, and the obvious
incapacity of thinking and acting for herself under which she
seemed to labour--Wayland had formed the not improbable opinion
that the difficulties of her situation had in some degree
affected her understanding.

When she had escaped from the seclusion of Cumnor Place, and the
dangers to which she was there exposed, it would have seemed her
most rational course to retire to her father's, or elsewhere at a
distance from the power of those by whom these dangers had been
created.  When, instead of doing so, she demanded to be conveyed
to Kenilworth, Wayland had been only able to account for her
conduct by supposing that she meant to put herself under the
tutelage of Tressilian, and to appeal to the protection of the
Queen.  But now, instead of following this natural course, she
entrusted him with a letter to Leicester, the patron of Varney,
and within whose jurisdiction at least, if not under his express
authority, all the evils she had already suffered were inflicted
upon her.  This seemed an unsafe and even a desperate measure,
and Wayland felt anxiety for his own safety, as well as that of
the lady, should he execute her commission before he had secured
the advice and countenance of a protector.

He therefore resolved, before delivering the letter to Leicester,
that he would seek out Tressilian, and communicate to him the
arrival of the lady at Kenilworth, and thus at once rid himself
of all further responsibility, and devolve the task of guiding
and protecting this unfortunate lady upon the patron who had at
first employed him in her service.

"He will be a better judge than I am," said Wayland, "whether she
is to be gratified in this humour of appeal to my Lord of
Leicester, which seems like an act of insanity; and, therefore, I
will turn the matter over on his hands, deliver him the letter,
receive what they list to give me by way of guerdon, and then
show the Castle of Kenilworth a pair of light heels; for, after
the work I have been engaged in, it will be, I fear, neither a
safe nor wholesome place of residence, and I would rather shoe
colts an the coldest common in England than share in their gayest
revels."



CHAPTER XXVII.

In my time I have seen a boy do wonders.
Robin, the red tinker, had a boy
Would ha run through a cat-hole.    THE COXCOMB.

Amid the universal bustle which filled the Castle and its
environs, it was no easy matter to find out any individual; and
Wayland was still less likely to light upon Tressilian, whom he
sought so anxiously, because, sensible of the danger of
attracting attention in the circumstances in which he was placed,
he dared not make general inquiries among the retainers or
domestics of Leicester.  He learned, however, by indirect
questions, that in all probability Tressilian must have been one
of a large party of gentlemen in attendance on the Earl of
Sussex, who had accompanied their patron that morning to
Kenilworth, when Leicester had received them with marks of the
most formal respect and distinction.  He further learned that
both Earls, with their followers, and many other nobles, knights,
and gentlemen, had taken horse, and gone towards Warwick several
hours since, for the purpose of escorting the Queen to
Kenilworth.

Her Majesty's arrival, like other great events, was delayed from
hour to hour; and it was now announced by a breathless post that
her Majesty, being detained by her gracious desire to receive the
homage of her lieges who had thronged to wait upon her at
Warwick, it would be the hour of twilight ere she entered the
Castle.  The intelligence released for a time those who were upon
duty, in the immediate expectation of the Queen's appearance, and
ready to play their part in the solemnities with which it was to
be accompanied; and Wayland, seeing several horsemen enter the
Castle, was not without hopes that Tressilian might be of the
number.  That he might not lose an opportunity of meeting his
patron in the event of this being the case, Wayland placed
himself in the base-court of the Castle, near Mortimer's Tower,
and watched every one who went or came by the bridge, the
extremity of which was protected by that building.  Thus
stationed, nobody could enter or leave the Castle without his
observation, and most anxiously did he study the garb and
countenance of every horseman, as, passing from under the
opposite Gallery-tower, they paced slowly, or curveted, along the
tilt-yard, and approached the entrance of the base-court.

But while Wayland gazed thus eagerly to discover him whom he saw
not, he was pulled by the sleeve by one by whom he himself would
not willingly have been seen.

This was Dickie Sludge, or Flibbertigibbet, who, like the imp
whose name he bore, and whom he had been accoutred in order to
resemble, seemed to be ever at the ear of those who thought least
of him.  Whatever were Wayland's internal feelings, he judged it
necessary to express pleasure at their unexpected meeting.

"Ha!  is it thou, my minikin--my miller's thumb--my prince of
cacodemons--my little mouse?"

"Ay," said Dickie, "the mouse which gnawed asunder the toils,
just when the lion who was caught in them began to look
wonderfully like an ass."

"Thy, thou little hop-the-gutter, thou art as sharp as vinegar
this afternoon!  But tell me, how didst thou come off with yonder
jolterheaded giant whom I left thee with?  I was afraid he would
have stripped thy clothes, and so swallowed thee, as men peel and
eat a roasted chestnut."

"Had he done so," replied the boy, "he would have had more brains
in his guts than ever he had in his noddle.  But the giant is a
courteous monster, and more grateful than many other folk whom I
have helped at a pinch, Master Wayland Smith."

"Beshrew me, Flibbertigibbet," replied Wayland, "but thou art
sharper than a Sheffield whittle!  I would I knew by what charm
you muzzled yonder old bear."

"Ay, that is in your own manner," answered Dickie; "you think
fine speeches will pass muster instead of good-will.  However, as
to this honest porter, you must know that when we presented
ourselves at the gate yonder, his brain was over-burdened with a
speech that had been penned for him, and which proved rather an
overmatch for his gigantic faculties.  Now this same pithy
oration had been indited, like sundry others, by my learned
magister, Erasmus Holiday, so I had heard it often enough to
remember every line.  As soon as I heard him blundering and
floundering like a fish upon dry land, through the first verse,
and perceived him at a stand, I knew where the shoe pinched, and
helped him to the next word, when he caught me up in an ecstasy,
even as you saw but now.  I promised, as the price of your
admission, to hide me under his bearish gaberdine, and prompt him
in the hour of need.  I have just now been getting some food in
the Castle, and am about to return to him."

"That's right--that's right, my dear Dickie," replied Wayland;
"haste thee, for Heaven's sake!  else the poor giant will be
utterly disconsolate for want of his dwarfish auxiliary.  Away
with thee, Dickie!"

"Ay, ay!"  answered the boy--"away with Dickie, when we have got
what good of him we can.  You will not let me know the story of
this lady, then, who is as much sister of thine as I am?"

"Why, what good would it do thee, thou silly elf?"  said Wayland.

"Oh, stand ye on these terms?"  said the boy.  "Well, I care not
greatly about the matter--only, I never smell out a secret but I
try to be either at the right or the wrong end of it, and so good
evening to ye."

"Nay, but, Dickie," said Wayland, who knew the boy's restless and
intriguing disposition too well not to fear his enmity--"stay, my
dear Dickie--part not with old friends so shortly!  Thou shalt
know all I know of the lady one day."

"Ay!"  said Dickie; "and that day may prove a nigh one.  Fare
thee well, Wayland--I will to my large-limbed friend, who, if he
have not so sharp a wit as some folk, is at least more grateful
for the service which other folk render him.  And so again, good
evening to ye."

So saying, he cast a somerset through the gateway, and lighting
on the bridge, ran with the extraordinary agility which was one
of his distinguishing attributes towards the Gallery-tower, and
was out of sight in an instant.

"I would to God I were safe out of this Castle again!"  prayed
Wayland internally; "for now that this mischievous imp has put
his finger in the pie, it cannot but prove a mess fit for the
devil's eating.  I would to Heaven Master Tressilian would
appear!"

Tressilian, whom he was thus anxiously expecting in one
direction, had returned to Kenilworth by another access.  It was
indeed true, as Wayland had conjectured, that in the earlier part
of the day he had accompanied the Earls on their cavalcade
towards Warwick, not without hope that he might in that town hear
some tidings of his emissary.  Being disappointed in this
expectation, and observing Varney amongst Leicester's attendants,
seeming as if he had some purpose of advancing to and addressing
him, he conceived, in the present circumstances, it was wisest to
avoid the interview.  He, therefore, left the presence-chamber
when the High-Sheriff of the county was in the very midst of his
dutiful address to her Majesty; and mounting his horse, rode back
to Kenilworth by a remote and circuitous road, and entered the
Castle by a small sallyport in the western wall, at which he was
readily admitted as one of the followers of the Earl of Sussex,
towards whom Leicester had commanded the utmost courtesy to be
exercised.  It was thus that he met not Wayland, who was
impatiently watching his arrival, and whom he himself would have
been at least equally desirous to see.

Having delivered his horse to the charge of his attendant, he
walked for a space in the Pleasance and in the garden, rather to
indulge in comparative solitude his own reflections, than to
admire those singular beauties of nature and art which the
magnificence of Leicester had there assembled.  The greater part
of the persons of condition had left the Castle for the present,
to form part of the Earl's cavalcade; others, who remained
behind, were on the battlements, outer walls, and towers, eager
to view the splendid spectacle of the royal entry.  The garden,
therefore, while every other part of the Castle resounded with
the human voice, was silent but for the whispering of the leaves,
the emulous warbling of the tenants of a large aviary with their
happier companions who remained denizens of the free air, and the
plashing of the fountains, which, forced into the air from
sculptures of fatastic and grotesque forms, fell down with
ceaseless sound into the great basins of Italian marble.

The melancholy thoughts of Tressilian cast a gloomy shade on all
the objects with which he was surrounded.  He compared the
magnificent scenes which he here traversed with the deep woodland
and wild moorland which surrounded Lidcote Hall, and the image of
Amy Robsart glided like a phantom through every landscape which
his imagination summoned up.  Nothing is perhaps more dangerous
to the future happiness of men of deep thought and retired habits
than the entertaining an early, long, and unfortunate attachment.
It frequently sinks so deep into the mind that it becomes their
dream by night and their vision by day--mixes itself with every
source of interest and enjoyment; and when blighted and withered
by final disappointment, it seems as if the springs of the heart
were dried up along with it.  This aching of the heart, this
languishing after a shadow which has lost all the gaiety of its
colouring, this dwelling on the remembrance of a dream from which
we have been long roughly awakened, is the weakness of a gentle
and generous heart, and it was that of Tressilian.

He himself at length became sensible of the necessity of forcing
other objects upon his mind; and for this purpose he left the
Pleasance, in order to mingle with the noisy crowd upon the
walls, and view the preparation for the pageants.  But as he left
the garden, and heard the busy hum, mixed with music and
laughter, which floated around him, he felt an uncontrollable
reluctance to mix with society whose feelings were in a tone so
different from his own, and resolved, instead of doing so, to
retire to the chamber assigned him, and employ himself in study
until the tolling of the great Castle bell should announce the
arrival of Elizabeth.

Tressilian crossed accordingly by the passage betwixt the immense
range of kitchens and the great hall, and ascended to the third
story of Mervyn's Tower, and applying himself to the door of the
small apartment which had been allotted to him, was surprised to
find it was locked.  He then recollected that the deputy-
chamberlain had given him a master-key, advising him, in the
present confused state of the Castle, to keep his door as much
shut as possible.  He applied this key to the lock, the bolt
revolved, he entered, and in the same instant saw a female form
seated in the apartment, and recognized that form to be, Amy
Robsart.  His first idea was that a heated imagination had raised
the image on which it doted into visible existence; his second,
that he beheld an apparition; the third and abiding conviction,
that it was Amy herself, paler, indeed, and thinner, than in the
days of heedless happiness, when she possessed the form and hue
of a wood-nymph, with the beauty of a sylph--but still Amy,
unequalled in loveliness by aught which had ever visited his
eyes.

The astonishment of the Countess was scarce less than that of
Tressilian, although it was of shorter duration, because she had
heard from Wayland that he was in the Castle.  She had started up
at his first entrance, and now stood facing him, the paleness of
her cheeks having given way to a deep blush.

"Tressilian," she said, at length, "why come you here?"

"Nay, why come you here, Amy," returned Tressilian, "unless it be
at length to claim that aid, which, as far as one man's heart and
arm can extend, shall instantly be rendered to you?"

She was silent a moment, and then answered in a sorrowful rather
than an angry tone, "I require no aid, Tressilian, and would
rather be injured than benefited by any which your kindness can
offer me.  Believe me, I am near one whom law and love oblige to
protect me."

"The villain, then, hath done you the poor justice which remained
in his power," said Tressilian, "and I behold before me the wife
of Varney!"

"The wife of Varney!"  she replied, with all the emphasis of
scorn.  "With what base name, sir, does your boldness stigmatize
the--the--the--" She hesitated, dropped her tone of scorn, looked
down, and was confused and silent; for she recollected what fatal
consequences might attend her completing the sentence with "the
Countess of Leicester," which were the words that had naturally
suggested themselves.  It would have been a betrayal of the
secret, on which her husband had assured her that his fortunes
depended, to Tressilian, to Sussex, to the Queen, and to the
whole assembled court.  "Never," she thought, "will I break my
promised silence.  I will submit to every suspicion rather than
that."

The tears rose to her eyes, as she stood silent before
Tressilian; while, looking on her with mingled grief and pity, he
said, "Alas!  Amy, your eyes contradict your tongue.  That
speaks of a protector, willing and able to watch over you; but
these tell me you are ruined, and deserted by the wretch to whom
you have attached yourself."

She looked on him with eyes in which anger sparkled through her
tears, but only repeated the word "wretch!"  with a scornful
emphasis.

"Yes, WRETCH!"  said Tressilian; "for were he aught better, why
are you here, and alone, in my apartment?  why was not fitting
provision made for your honourable reception?"

"In your apartment?"  repeated Amy--"in YOUR apartment?  It shall
instantly be relieved of my presence."  She hastened towards the
door; but the sad recollection of her deserted state at once
pressed on her mind, and pausing on the threshold, she added, in
a tone unutterably pathetic, "Alas!  I had forgot--I know not
where to go--"

"I see--I see it all," said Tressilian, springing to her side,
and leading her back to the seat, on which she sunk down.  "You
DO need aid--you do need protection, though you will not own it;
and you shall not need it long.  Leaning on my arm, as the
representative of your excellent and broken-hearted father, on
the very threshold of the Castle gate, you shall meet Elizabeth;
and the first deed she shall do in the halls of Kenilworth shall
be an act of justice to her sex and her subjects.  Strong in my
good cause, and in the Queen's justice, the power of her minion
shall not shake my resolution.  I will instantly seek Sussex."

"Not for all that is under heaven!"  said the Countess, much
alarmed, and feeling the absolute necessity of obtaining time, at
least, for consideration.  "Tressilian, you were wont to be
generous.  Grant me one request, and believe, if it be your wish
to save me from misery and from madness, you will do more by
making me the promise I ask of you, than Elizabeth can do for me
with all her power."

"Ask me anything for which you can allege reason," said
Tressilian; "but demand not of me--"

"Oh, limit not your boon, dear Edmund!"  exclaimed the Countess
--"you once loved that I should call you so--limit not your boon
to reason; for my case is all madness, and frenzy must guide the
counsels which alone can aid me."

"If you speak thus wildly," said Tressilian, astonishment again
overpowering both his grief and his resolution, "I must believe
you indeed incapable of thinking or acting for yourself."

"Oh, no!"  she exclaimed, sinking on one knee before him, "I am
not mad--I am but a creature unutterably miserable, and, from
circumstances the most singular, dragged on to a precipice by the
arm of him who thinks he is keeping me from it--even by yours,
Tressilian--by yours, whom I have honoured, respected--all but
loved--and yet loved, too--loved, too, Tressilian--though not as
you wished to be."

There was an energy, a self-possession, an abandonment in her
voice and manner, a total resignation of herself to his
generosity, which, together with the kindness of her expressions
to himself, moved him deeply.  He raised her, and, in broken
accents, entreated her to be comforted.

"I cannot," she said, "I will not be comforted, till you grant me
my request!  I will speak as plainly as I dare.  I am now
awaiting the commands of one who has a right to issue them.  The
interference of a third person--of you in especial, Tressilian--
will be ruin--utter ruin to me.  Wait but four-and-twenty hours,
and it may be that the poor Amy may have the means to show that
she values, and can reward, your disinterested friendship--that
she is happy herself, and has the means to make you so.  It is
surely worth your patience, for so short a space?"

Tressilian paused, and weighing in his mind the various
probabilities which might render a violent interference on his
part more prejudicial than advantageous, both to the happiness
and reputation of Amy; considering also that she was within the
walls of Kenilworth, and could suffer no injury in a castle
honoured with the Queen's residence, and filled with her guards
and attendants--he conceived, upon the whole, that he might
render her more evil than good service by intruding upon her his
appeal to Elizabeth in her behalf.  He expressed his resolution
cautiously, however, doubting naturally whether Amy's hopes of
extricating herself from her difficulties rested on anything
stronger than a blinded attachment to Varney, whom he supposed to
be her seducer.

"Amy," he said, while he fixed his sad and expressive eyes on
hers, which, in her ecstasy of doubt, terror, and perplexity, she
cast up towards him, "I have ever remarked that when others
called thee girlish and wilful, there lay under that external
semblance of youthful and self-willed folly deep feeling and
strong sense.  In this I will confide, trusting your own fate in
your own hands for the space of twenty-four hours, without my
interference by word or act."

"Do you promise me this, Tressilian?"  said the Countess.  "Is it
possible you can yet repose so much confidence in me?  Do you
promise, as you are a gentleman and a man of honour, to intrude
in my matters neither by speech nor action, whatever you may see
or hear that seems to you to demand your interference?  Will you
so far trust me?"

"I will upon my honour," said Tressilian; "but when that space is
expired--"

"Then that space is expired," she said, interrupting him, "you
are free to act as your judgment shall determine."

"Is there nought besides which I can do for you, Amy?"  said
Tressilian.

"Nothing," said she, "save to leave me,--that is, if--I blush to
acknowledge my helplessness by asking it--if you can spare me the
use of this apartment for the next twenty-four hours."

"This is most wonderful!"  said Tressilian; "what hope or
interest can you have in a Castle where you cannot command even
an apartment?"

"Argue not, but leave me," she said; and added, as he slowly and
unwillingly retired, "Generous Edmund!  the time may come when
Amy may show she deserved thy noble attachment."



CHAPTER XXVIII.

  What, man, ne'er lack a draught, when the full can
  Stands at thine elbow, and craves emptying!--
  Nay, fear not me, for I have no delight
  To watch men's vices, since I have myself
  Of virtue nought to boast of--I'm a striker,
  Would have the world strike with me, pell-mell, all.
                                            PANDEMONIUM.

Tressilian, in strange agitation of mind, had hardly stepped down
the first two or three steps of the winding staircase, when,
greatly to his surprise and displeasure, he met Michael
Lambourne, wearing an impudent familiarity of visage, for which
Tressilian felt much disposed to throw him down-stairs; until he
remembered the prejudice which Amy, the only object of his
solicitude, was likely to receive from his engaging in any act of
violence at that time and in that place.

He therefore contented himself with looking sternly upon
Lambourne, as upon one whom he deemed unworthy of notice, and
attempted to pass him in his way downstairs, without any symptom
of recognition.  But Lambourne, who, amidst the profusion of that
day's hospitality, had not failed to take a deep though not an
overpowering cup of sack, was not in the humour of humbling
himself before any man's looks.  He stopped Tressilian upon the
staircase without the least bashfulness or embarrassment, and
addressed him as if he had been on kind and intimate terms:--
"What, no grudge between us, I hope, upon old scores, Master
Tressilian?--nay, I am one who remembers former kindness rather
than latter feud.  I'll convince you that I meant honestly and
kindly, ay, and comfortably by you."

"I desire none of your intimacy," said Tressilian--"keep company
with your mates."

"Now, see how hasty he is!"  said Lambourne; "and how these
gentles, that are made questionless out of the porcelain clay of
the earth, look down upon poor Michael Lambourne!  You would take
Master Tressilian now for the most maid-like, modest, simpering
squire of dames that ever made love when candles were long i' the
stuff--snuff; call you it?  Why, you would play the saint on us,
Master Tressilian, and forget that even now thou hast a commodity
in thy very bedchamber, to the shame of my lord's castle, ha!
ha!  ha!  Have I touched you, Master Tressilian?"

"I know not what you mean," said Tressilian, inferring, however,
too surely, that this licentious ruffian must have been sensible
of Amy's presence in his apartment; 'i but if," he continued,
"thou art varlet of the chambers, and lackest a fee, there is one
to leave mine unmolested."

Lambourne looked at the piece of gold, and put it in his pocket
saying, "Now, I know not but you might have done more with me by
a kind word than by this chiming rogue.  But after all he pays
well that pays with gold; and Mike Lambourne was never a
makebate, or a spoil-sport, or the like.  E'en live, and let
others live, that is my motto-only, I would not let some folks
cock their beaver at me neither, as if they were made of silver
ore, and I of Dutch pewter.  So if I keep your secret, Master
Tressilian, you may look sweet on me at least; and were I to want
a little backing or countenance, being caught, as you see the
best of us may be, in a sort of peccadillo--why, you owe it me--
and so e'en make your chamber serve you and that same bird in
bower beside--it's all one to Mike Lambourne."

"Make way, sir," said Tressilian, unable to bridle his
indignation, "you have had your fee."

"Um!"  said Lambourne, giving place, however, while he sulkily
muttered between his teeth, repeating Tressilian's words, "Make
way--and you have had your fee; but it matters not, I will spoil
no sport, as I said before.  I am no dog in the manger--mind
that."

He spoke louder and louder, as Tressilian, by whom he felt
himself overawed, got farther and farther out of hearing.

"I am no dog in the manger; but I will not carry coals neither--
mind that, Master Tressilian; and I will have a peep at this
wench whom you have quartered so commodiously in your old haunted
room--afraid of ghosts, belike, and not too willing to sleep
alone.  If I had done this now in a strange lord's castle, the
word had been, The porter's lodge for the knave!  and, have him
flogged--trundle him downstairs like a turnip!  Ay, but your
virtuous gentlemen take strange privileges over us, who are
downright servants of our senses.  Well--I have my Master
Tressilian's head under my belt by this lucky discovery, that is
one thing certain; and I will try to get a sight of this
Lindabrides of his, that is another."



CHAPTER XXIX.

  Now fare thee well, my master--if true service
  Be guerdon'd with hard looks, e'en cut the tow-line,
  And let our barks across the pathless flood
  Hold different courses--        THE SHIPWRECK.

Tressilian walked into the outer yard of the Castle scarce
knowing what to think of his late strange and most unexpected
interview with Amy Robsart, and dubious if he had done well,
being entrusted with the delegated authority of her father, to
pass his word so solemnly to leave her to her own guidance for so
many hours.  Yet how could he have denied her request--dependent
as she had too probably rendered herself upon Varney?  Such was
his natural reasoning.  The happiness of her future life might
depend upon his not driving her to extremities; and since no
authority of Tressilian's could extricate her from the power of
Varney, supposing he was to acknowledge Amy to be his wife, what
title had he to destroy the hope of domestic peace, which might
yet remain to her, by setting enmity betwixt them?  Tressilian
resolved, therefore, scrupulously to observe his word pledged to
Amy, both because it had been given, and because, as he still
thought, while he considered and reconsidered that extraordinary
interview, it could not with justice or propriety have been
refused.

In one respect, he had gained much towards securing effectual
protection for this unhappy and still beloved object of his early
affection.  Amy was no longer mewed up in a distant and solitary
retreat under the charge of persons of doubtful reputation.  She
was in the Castle of Kenilworth, within the verge of the Royal
Court for the time, free from all risk of violence, and liable to
be produced before Elizabeth on the first summons.  These were
circumstances which could not but assist greatly the efforts
which he might have occasion to use in her behalf.

While he was thus balancing the advantages and perils which
attended her unexpected presence in Kenilworth, Tressilian was
hastily and anxiously accosted by Wayland, who, after
ejaculating, "Thank God, your worship is found at last!"
proceeded with breathless caution to pour into his ear the
intelligence that the lady had escaped from Cumnor Place.

"And is at present in this Castle," said Tressilian.  "I know it,
and I have seen her.  Was it by her own choice she found refuge
in my apartment?"

"No," answered Wayland; "but I could think of no other way of
safely bestowing her, and was but too happy to find a deputy-
usher who knew where you were quartered--in jolly society truly,
the hall on the one hand, and the kitchen on the other!"

"Peace, this is no time for jesting," answered Tressilian
sternly.

"I wot that but too well," said the artist, "for I have felt
these three days as if I had a halter round my neck.  This lady
knows not her own mind--she will have none of your aid--commands
you not to be named to her--and is about to put herself into the
hands of my Lord Leicester.  I had never got her safe into your
chamber, had she known the owner of it."

"Is it possible"" said Tressilian.  "But she may have hopes the
Earl will exert his influence in her favour over his villainous
dependant."

"I know nothing of that," said Wayland; "but I believe, if she is
to reconcile herself with either Leicester or Varney, the side of
the Castle of Kenilworth which will be safest for us will be the
outside, from which we can fastest fly away.  It is not my
purpose to abide an instant after delivery of the letter to
Leicester, which waits but your commands to find its way to him.
See, here it is--but no--a plague on it--I must have left it in
my dog-hole, in the hay-loft yonder, where I am to sleep."

"Death and fury!"  said Tressilian, transported beyond his usual
patience; "thou hast not lost that on which may depend a stake
more important than a thousand such lives as thine?"

"Lost it!"  answered Wayland readily; "that were a jest indeed!
No, sir, I have it carefully put up with my night-sack, and some
matters I have occasion to use; I will fetch it in an instant."

"Do so," said Tressilian; "be faithful, and thou shalt be well
rewarded.  But if I have reason to suspect thee, a dead dog were
in better case than thou!"

Wayland bowed, and took his leave with seeming confidence and
alacrity, but, in fact, filled with the utmost dread and
confusion.  The letter was lost, that was certain,
notwithstanding the apology which he had made to appease the
impatient displeasure of Tressilian.  It was lost--it might fall
into wrong hands--it would then certainly occasion a discovery of
the whole intrigue in which he had been engaged; nor, indeed, did
Wayland see much prospect of its remaining concealed, in any
event.  He felt much hurt, besides, at Tressilian's burst of
impatience.

"Nay, if I am to be paid in this coin for services where my neck
is concerned, it is time I should look to myself.  Here have I
offended, for aught I know, to the death, the lord of this
stately castle, whose word were as powerful to take away my life
as the breath which speaks it to blow out a farthing candle.  And
all this for a mad lady, and a melancholy gallant, who, on the
loss of a four-nooked bit of paper, has his hand on his poignado,
and swears death and fury!--Then there is the Doctor and Varney.
--I will save myself from the whole mess of them.  Life is dearer
than gold.  I will fly this instant, though I leave my reward
behind me."

These reflections naturally enough occurred to a mind like
Wayland's, who found himself engaged far deeper than he had
expected in a train of mysterious and unintelligible intrigues,
in which the actors seemed hardly to know their own course.  And
yet, to do him justice, his personal fears were, in some degree,
counterbalanced by his compassion for the deserted state of the
lady.

"I care not a groat for Master Tressilian," he said; "I have done
more than bargain by him, and I have brought his errant-damosel
within his reach, so that he may look after her himself.  But I
fear the poor thing is in much danger amongst these stormy
spirits.  I will to her chamber, and tell her the fate which has
befallen her letter, that she may write another if she list.  She
cannot lack a messenger, I trow, where there are so many lackeys
that can carry a letter to their lord.  And I will tell her also
that I leave the Castle, trusting her to God, her own guidance,
and Master Tressilian's care and looking after.  Perhaps she may
remember the ring she offered me--it was well earned, I trow; but
she is a lovely creature, and--marry hang the ring!  I will not
bear a base spirit for the matter.  If I fare ill in this world
for my good-nature, I shall have better chance in the next.  So
now for the lady, and then for the road."

With the stealthy step and jealous eye of the cat that steals on
her prey, Wayland resumed the way to the Countess's chamber,
sliding along by the side of the courts and passages, alike
observant of all around him, and studious himself to escape
observation.  In this manner he crossed the outward and inward
Castle yard, and the great arched passage, which, running betwixt
the range of kitchen offices and the hall, led to the bottom of
the little winding-stair that gave access to the chambers of
Mervyn's Tower.

The artist congratulated himself on having escaped the various
perils of his journey, and was in the act of ascending by two
steps at once, when he observed that the shadow of a man, thrown
from a door which stood ajar, darkened the opposite wall of the
staircase.  Wayland drew back cautiously, went down to the inner
courtyard, spent about a quarter of an hour, which seemed at
least quadruple its usual duration, in walking from place to
place, and then returned to the tower, in hopes to find that the
lurker had disappeared.  He ascended as high as the suspicious
spot--there was no shadow on the wall; he ascended a few yards
farther--the door was still ajar, and he was doubtful whether to
advance or retreat, when it was suddenly thrown wide open, and
Michael Lambourne bolted out upon the astonished Wayland.  "Who
the devil art thou?  and what seekest thou in this part of the
Castle?  march into that chamber, and be hanged to thee!"

"I am no dog, to go at every man's whistle," said the artist,
affecting a confidence which was belied by a timid shake in his
voice.

"Sayest thou me so?--Come hither, Lawrence Staples."

A huge, ill-made and ill-looked fellow, upwards of six feet high,
appeared at the door, and Lambourne proceeded:  "If thou be'st so
fond of this tower, my friend, thou shalt see its foundations,
good twelve feet below the bed of the lake, and tenanted by
certain jolly toads, snakes, and so forth, which thou wilt find
mighty good company.  Therefore, once more I ask you in fair
play, who thou art, and what thou seekest here?"

"If the dungeon-grate once clashes behind me," thought Wayland,
"I am a gone man." He therefore answered submissively, "He was
the poor juggler whom his honour had met yesterday in Weatherly
Bottom."

"And what juggling trick art thou playing in this tower?  Thy
gang," said Lambourne, "lie over against Clinton's buildings."

"I came here to see my sister," said the juggler, "who is in
Master Tressilian's chamber, just above."

"Aha!"  said Lambourne, smiling, "here be truths!  Upon my
honour, for a stranger, this same Master Tressilian makes himself
at home among us, and furnishes out his cell handsomely, with all
sorts of commodities.  This will be a precious tale of the
sainted Master Tressilian, and will be welcome to some folks, as
a purse of broad pieces to me.--Hark ye, fellow," he continued,
addressing Wayland, "thou shalt not give Puss a hint to steal
away we must catch her in her form.  So, back with that pitiful
sheep-biting visage of thine, or I will fling thee from the
window of the tower, and try if your juggling skill can save your
bones."

"Your worship will not be so hardhearted, I trust," said Wayland;
"poor folk must live.  I trust your honour will allow me to speak
with my sister?"

"Sister on Adam's side, I warrant," said Lambourne; "or, if
otherwise, the more knave thou.  But sister or no sister.  thou
diest on point of fox, if thou comest a-prying to this tower once
more.  And now I think of it--uds daggers and death!--I will see
thee out of the Castle, for this is a more main concern than thy
jugglery."

"But, please your worship," said Wayland, "I am to enact Arion in
the pageant upon the lake this very evening."

"I will act it myself by Saint Christopher!"  said Lambourne.
"Orion, callest thou him?--I will act Orion, his belt and his
seven stars to boot.  Come along, for a rascal knave as thou art
--follow me!  Or stay--Lawrence, do thou bring him along."

Lawrence seized by the collar of the cloak the unresisting
juggler; while Lambourne, with hasty steps, led the way to that
same sallyport, or secret postern, by which Tressilian had
returned to the Castle, and which opened in the western wall at
no great distance from Mervyn's Tower.

While traversing with a rapid foot the space betwixt the tower
and the sallyport, Wayland in vain racked his brain for some
device which might avail the poor lady, for whom, notwithstanding
his own imminent danger, he felt deep interest.  But when he was
thrust out of the Castle, and informed by Lambourne, with a
tremendous oath, that instant death would be the consequence of
his again approaching it, he cast up his hands and eyes to
heaven, as if to call God to witness he had stood to the
uttermost in defence of the oppressed; then turned his back on
the proud towers of Kenilworth, and went his way to seek a
humbler and safer place of refuge.

Lawrence and Lambourne gazed a little while after Wayland, and
then turned to go back to their tower, when the former thus
addressed his companion:  "Never credit me, Master Lambourne, if
I can guess why thou hast driven this poor caitiff from the
Castle, just when he was to bear a part in the show that was
beginning, and all this about a wench,"

"Ah, Lawrence," replied Lambourne, "thou art thinking of Black
Joan Jugges of Slingdon, and hast sympathy with human frailty.
But, corragio, most noble Duke of the Dungeon and Lord of Limbo,
for thou art as dark in this matter as thine own dominions of
Little-ease.  My most reverend Signior of the Low Countries of
Kenilworth, know that our most notable master, Richard Varney,
would give as much to have a hole in this same Tressilian's coat,
as would make us some fifty midnight carousals, with the full
leave of bidding the steward go snick up, if he came to startle
us too soon from our goblets."

"Nay, an that be the case, thou hast right," said Lawrence
Staples, the upper-warder, or, in common phrase, the first
jailer, of Kenilworth Castle, and of the Liberty and Honour
belonging thereto.  "But how will you manage when you are absent
at the Queen's entrance, Master Lambourne; for methinks thou must
attend thy master there?"

"Why thou, mine honest prince of prisons, must keep ward in my
absence.  Let Tressilian enter if he will, but see thou let no
one come out.  If the damsel herself would make a break, as 'tis
not unlike she may, scare her back with rough words; she is but a
paltry player's wench after all."

"Nay for that matter," said Lawrence, "I might shut the iron
wicket upon her that stands without the double door, and so force
per force she will be bound to her answer without more trouble."

"Then Tressilian will not get access to her," said Lambourne,
reflecting a moment.  "But 'tis no matter; she will be detected
in his chamber, and that is all one.  But confess, thou old
bat's-eyed dungeon-keeper, that you fear to keep awake by
yourself in that Mervyn's Tower of thine?"

"Why, as to fear, Master Lambourne," said the fellow, "I mind it
not the turning of a key; but strange things have been heard and
seen in that tower.  You must have heard, for as short time as
you have been in Kenilworth, that it is haunted by the spirit of
Arthur ap Mervyn, a wild chief taken by fierce Lord Mortimer when
he was one of the Lords Marchers of Wales, and murdered, as they
say, in that same tower which bears his name."

"Oh, I have heard the tale five hundred times," said Lambourne,
"and how the ghost is always most vociferous when they boil leeks
and stirabout, or fry toasted cheese, in the culinary regions.
Santo Diavolo, man, hold thy tongue, I know all about it!"

"Ay, but thou dost not, though," said the turnkey, " for as wise
as thou wouldst make thyself.  Ah, it is an awful thing to murder
a prisoner in his ward!--you that may have given a man a stab in
a dark street know nothing of it.  To give a mutinous fellow a
knock on the head with the keys, and bid him be quiet, that's
what I call keeping order in the ward; but to draw weapon and
slay him, as was done to this Welsh lord, THAT raises you a ghost
that will render your prison-house untenantable by any decent
captive for some hundred years.  And I have that regard for my
prisoners, poor things, that I have put good squires and men of
worship, that have taken a ride on the highway, or slandered my
Lord of Leicester, or the like, fifty feet under ground, rather
than I would put them into that upper chamber yonder that they
call Mervyn's Bower.  Indeed, by good Saint Peter of the Fetters,
I marvel my noble lord, or Master Varney, could think of lodging
guests there; and if this Master Tressilian could get any one to
keep him company, and in especial a pretty wench, why, truly, I
think he was in the right on't."

"I tell thee," said Lambourne, leading the way into the turnkey's
apartment, "thou art an ass.  Go bolt the wicket on the stair,
and trouble not thy noddle about ghosts.  Give me the wine stoup,
man; I am somewhat heated with chafing with yonder rascal."

While Lambourne drew a long draught from a pitcher of claret,
which he made use of without any cup, the warder went on,
vindicating his own belief in the supernatural.

"Thou hast been few hours in this Castle, and hast been for the
whole space so drunk, Lambourne, that thou art deaf, dumb, and
blind.  But we should hear less of your bragging were you to pass
a night with us at full moon; for then the ghost is busiest, and
more especially when a rattling wind sets in from the north-west,
with some sprinkling of rain, and now and then a growl of
thunder.  Body o' me, what crackings and clashings, what
groanings and what howlings, will there be at such times in
Mervyn's Bower, right as it were over our heads, till the matter
of two quarts of distilled waters has not been enough to keep my
lads and me in some heart!"

"Pshaw, man!"  replied Lambourne, on whom his last draught,
joined to repeated visitations of the pitcher upon former
occasions, began to make some innovation, "thou speakest thou
knowest not what about spirits.  No one knows justly what to say
about them; and, in short, least said may in that matter be
soonest amended. Some men believe in one thing, some in another
--it is all matter of fancy.  I have known them of all sorts, my
dear Lawrence Lock-the-door, and sensible men too.  There's a
great lord--we'll pass his name, Lawrence--he believes in the
stars and the moon, the planets and their courses, and so forth,
and that they twinkle exclusively for his benefit, when in sober,
or rather in drunken truth, Lawrence, they are only shining to
keep honest fellows like me out of the kennel.  Well, sir, let
his humour pass; he is great enough to indulge it.  Then, look
ye, there is another--a very learned man, I promise you, and can
vent Greek and Hebrew as fast as I can Thieves' Latin he has an
humour of sympathies and antipathies--of changing lead into gold,
and the like; why, via, let that pass too, and let him pay those
in transmigrated coin who are fools enough to let it be current
with them.  Then here comest thou thyself, another great man,
though neither learned nor noble, yet full six feet high, and
thou, like a purblind mole, must needs believe in ghosts and
goblins, and such like.  Now, there is, besides, a great man--
that is, a great little man, or a little great man, my dear
Lawrence--and his name begins with V, and what believes he?  Why,
nothing, honest Lawrence--nothing in earth, heaven, or hell; and
for my part, if I believe there is a devil, it is only because I
think there must be some one to catch our aforesaid friend by the
back 'when soul and body sever,' as the ballad says; for your
antecedent will have a consequent--RARO ANTECEDENTEM, as Doctor
Bircham was wont to say.  But this is Greek to you now, honest
Lawrence, and in sooth learning is dry work.  Hand me the pitcher
once more."

"In faith, if you drink more, Michael," said the warder, "you
will be in sorry case either to play Arion or to wait on your
master on such a solemn night; and I expect each moment to hear
the great bell toll for the muster at Mortimer's Tower, to
receive the Queen."

While Staples remonstrated, Lambourne drank; and then setting
down the pitcher, which was nearly emptied, with a deep sigh, he
said, in an undertone, which soon rose to a high one as his
speech proceeded, "Never mind, Lawrence; if I be drunk, I know
that shall make Varney uphold me sober.  But, as I said, never
mind; I can carry my drink discreetly.  Moreover, I am to go on
the water as Orion, and shall take cold unless I take something
comfortable beforehand.  Not play Orion?  Let us see the best
roarer that ever strained his lungs for twelve pence out-mouth
me!  What if they see me a little disguised?  Wherefore should
any man be sober to-night?  answer me that.  It is matter of
loyalty to be merry; and I tell thee there are those in the
Castle who, if they are not merry when drunk, have little chance
to be merry when sober--I name no names, Lawrence.  But your
pottle of sack is a fine shoeing-horn to pull on a loyal humour,
and a merry one.  Huzza for Queen Elizabeth!--for the noble
Leicester!--for the worshipful Master Varney!--and for Michael
Lambourne, that can turn them all round his finger!"

So saying, he walked downstairs, and across the inner court.

The warder looked after him, shook his head, and while he drew
close and locked a wicket, which, crossing the staircase,
rendered it impossible for any one to ascend higher than the
story immediately beneath Mervyn's Bower, as Tressilian's chamber
was named, he thus soliloquized with himself--"It's a good thing
to be a favourite.  I well-nigh lost mine office, because one
frosty morning Master Varney thought I smelled of aqua vitae; and
this fellow can appear before him drunk as a wineskin, and yet
meet no rebuke.  But then he is a pestilent clever fellow withal,
and no one can understand above one half of what he says."



CHAPTER XXX.

  Now bid the steeple rock--she comes, she comes!--
  Speak for us, bells--speak for us, shrill-tongued tuckets.
  Stand to thy linstock, gunner; let thy cannon
  Play such a peal, as if a paynim foe
  Came stretch'd in turban'd ranks to storm the ramparts.
  We will have pageants too--but that craves wit,
  And I'm a rough-hewn soldier.  THE VIRGIN QUEEN--A TRAGI-COMEDY.

Tressilian, when Wayland had left him, as mentioned in the last
chapter, remained uncertain what he ought next to do, when
Raleigh and Blount came up to him arm in arm, yet, according to
their wont, very eagerly disputing together.  Tressilian had no
great desire for their society in the present state of his
feelings, but there was no possibility of avoiding them; and
indeed he felt that, bound by his promise not to approach Amy, or
take any step in her behalf, it would be his best course at once
to mix with general society, and to exhibit on his brow as little
as he could of the anguish and uncertainty which sat heavy at his
heart.  He therefore made a virtue of necessity, and hailed his
comrades with, "All mirth to you, gentlemen!  Whence come ye?"

"From Warwick, to be sure," said Blount; "we must needs home to
change our habits, like poor players, who are fain to multiply
their persons to outward appearance by change of suits; and you
had better do the like, Tressilian."

"Blount is right," said Raleigh; "the Queen loves such marks of
deference, and notices, as wanting in respect, those who, not
arriving in her immediate attendance, may appear in their soiled
and ruffled riding-dress.  But look at Blount himself,
Tressilian, for the love of laughter, and see how his villainous
tailor hath apparelled him--in blue, green, and crimson, with
carnation ribbons, and yellow roses in his shoes!"

"Why, what wouldst thou have?"  said Blount.  "I told the cross-
legged thief to do his best, and spare no cost; and methinks
these things are gay enough--gayer than thine own.  I'll be
judged by Tressilian."

"I agree--I agree," said Walter Raleigh.  "Judge betwixt us,
Tressilian, for the love of heaven!"

Tressilian, thus appealed to, looked at them both, and was
immediately sensible at a single glance that honest Blount had
taken upon the tailor's warrant the pied garments which he had
chosen to make, and was as much embarrassed by the quantity of
points and ribbons which garnished his dress, as a clown is in
his holiday clothes; while the dress of Raleigh was a well-
fancied and rich suit, which the wearer bore as a garb too well
adapted to his elegant person to attract particular attention.
Tressilian said, therefore, "That Blount's dress was finest, but
Raleigh's the best fancied."

Blount was satisfied with his decision.  "I knew mine was
finest," he said; "if that knave Doublestitch had brought me home
such a simple doublet as that of Raleigh's, I would have beat his
brains out with his own pressing-iron.  Nay, if we must be fools,
ever let us be fools of the first head, say I."

"But why gettest thou not on thy braveries, Tressilian?"  said
Raleigh.

"I am excluded from my apartment by a silly mistake," said
Tressilian, "and separated for the time from my baggage.  I was
about to seek thee, to beseech a share of thy lodging."

"And welcome," said Raleigh; "it is a noble one.  My Lord of
Leicester has done us that kindness, and lodged us in princely
fashion.  If his courtesy be extorted reluctantly, it is at least
extended far.  I would advise you to tell your strait to the
Earl's chamberlain--you will have instant redress."

"Nay, it is not worth while, since you can spare me room,"
replied Tressilian--"I would not be troublesome.  Has any one
come hither with you?"

"Oh, ay," said Blount; "Varney and a whole tribe of Leicestrians,
besides about a score of us honest Sussex folk.  We are all, it
seems, to receive the Queen at what they call the Gallery-tower,
and witness some fooleries there; and then we're to remain in
attendance upon the Queen in the Great Hall--God bless the mark!
--while those who are now waiting upon her Grace get rid of their
slough, and doff their riding-suits.  Heaven help me, if her
Grace should speak to me, I shall never know what to answer!"

"And what has detained them so long at Warwick?"  said
Tressilian, unwilling that their conversation should return to
his own affairs.

"Such a succession of fooleries," said Blount, "as were never
seen at Bartholomew-fair.  We have had speeches and players, and
dogs and bears, and men making monkeys and women moppets of
themselves--I marvel the Queen could endure it.  But ever and
anon came in something of 'the lovely light of her gracious
countenance,' or some such trash.  Ah!  vanity makes a fool of
the wisest.  But come, let us on to this same Gallery-tower--
though I see not what thou Tressilian, canst do with thy riding-
dress and boots."

"I will take my station behind thee, Blount," said Tressilian,
who saw that his friend's unusual finery had taken a strong hold
of his imagination; "thy goodly size and gay dress will cover my
defects."

"And so thou shalt, Edmund," said Blount.  "In faith I am glad
thou thinkest my garb well-fancied, for all Mr. Wittypate here;
for when one does a foolish thing, it is right to do it
handsomely."

So saying, Blount cocked his beaver, threw out his leg, and
marched manfully forward, as if at the head of his brigade of
pikemen, ever and anon looking with complaisance on his crimson
stockings, and the huge yellow roses which blossomed on his
shoes.  Tressilian followed, wrapt in his own sad thoughts, and
scarce minding Raleigh, whose quick fancy, amused by the awkward
vanity of his respectable friend, vented itself in jests, which
he whispered into Tressilian's ear.

In this manner they crossed the long bridge, or tilt-yard, and
took their station, with other gentlemen of quality, before the
outer gate of the Gallery, or Entrance-tower.  The whole amounted
to about forty persons, all selected as of the first rank under
that of knighthood, and were disposed in double rows on either
side of the gate, like a guard of honour, within the close hedge
of pikes and partisans which was formed by Leicester's retainers,
wearing his liveries.  The gentlemen carried no arms save their
swords and daggers.  These gallants were as gaily dressed as
imagination could devise; and as the garb of the time permitted a
great display of expensive magnificence, nought was to be seen
but velvet and cloth of gold and silver, ribbons, leathers, gems,
and golden chains.  In spite of his more serious subjects of
distress, Tressilian could not help feeling that he, with his
riding-suit, however handsome it might be, made rather an
unworthy figure among these "fierce vanities," and the rather
because he saw that his deshabille was the subject of wonder
among his own friends, and of scorn among the partisans of
Leicester.

We could not suppress this fact, though it may seem something at
variance with the gravity of Tressilian's character; but the
truth is, that a regard for personal appearance is a species of
self-love, from which the wisest are not exempt, and to which the
mind clings so instinctively that not only the soldier advancing
to almost inevitable death, but even the doomed criminal who goes
to certain execution, shows an anxiety to array his person to the
best advantage.  But this is a digression.

It was the twilight of a summer night (9th July, 1575), the sun
having for some time set, and all were in anxious expectation of
the Queen's immediate approach.  The multitude had remained
assembled for many hours, and their numbers were still rather on
the increase.  A profuse distribution of refreshments, together
with roasted oxen, and barrels of ale set a-broach in different
places of the road, had kept the populace in perfect love and
loyalty towards the Queen and her favourite, which might have
somewhat abated had fasting been added to watching.  They passed
away the time, therefore, with the usual popular amusements of
whooping, hallooing, shrieking, and playing rude tricks upon each
other, forming the chorus of discordant sounds usual on such
occasions.  These prevailed all through the crowded roads and
fields, and especially beyond the gate of the Chase, where the
greater number of the common sort were stationed; when, all of a
sudden, a single rocket was seen to shoot into the atmosphere,
and, at the instant, far heard over flood and field, the great
bell of the Castle tolled.

Immediately there was a pause of dead silence, succeeded by a
deep hum of expectation, the united voice of many thousands, none
of whom spoke above their breath--or, to use a singular
expression, the whisper of an immense multitude.

"They come now, for certain," said Raleigh.  "Tressilian, that
sound is grand.  We hear it from this distance as mariners, after
a long voyage, hear, upon their night-watch, the tide rush upon
some distant and unknown shore."

"Mass!"  answered Blount, "I hear it rather as I used to hear
mine own kine lowing from the close of Wittenswestlowe."

"He will assuredly graze presently," said Raleigh to Tressilian;
"his thought is all of fat oxen and fertile meadows.  He grows
little better than one of his own beeves, and only becomes grand
when he is provoked to pushing and goring."

"We shall have him at that presently," said Tressilian, "if you
spare not your wit."

"Tush, I care not," answered Raleigh; "but thou too, Tressilian,
hast turned a kind of owl, that flies only by night--hast
exchanged thy songs for screechings, and good company for an ivy-
tod."

"But what manner of animal art thou thyself, Raleigh," said
Tressilian, "that thou holdest us all so lightly?"

"Who--I?"  replied Raleigh.  "An eagle am I, that never will
think of dull earth while there is a heaven to soar in, and a sun
to gaze upon."

"Well bragged, by Saint Barnaby!"  said Blount; "but, good Master
Eagle, beware the cage, and beware the fowler.  Many birds have
flown as high that I have seen stuffed with straw and hung up to
scare kites.--But hark, what a dead silence hath fallen on them
at once!"

"The procession pauses," said Raleigh, "at the gate of the Chase,
where a sibyl, one of the FATIDICAE, meets the Queen, to tell her
fortune.  I saw the verses; there is little savour in them, and
her Grace has been already crammed full with such poetical
compliments.  She whispered to me, during the Recorder's speech
yonder, at Ford-mill, as she entered the liberties of Warwick,
how she was 'PERTAESA BARBARAE LOQUELAE.'"

"The Queen whispered to HIM!"  said Blount, in a kind of
soliloquy; "Good God, to what will this world come!"

His further meditations were interrupted by a shout of applause
from the multitude, so tremendously vociferous that the country
echoed for miles round.  The guards, thickly stationed upon the
road by which the Queen was to advance, caught up the
acclamation, which ran like wildfire to the Castle, and announced
to all within that Queen Elizabeth had entered the Royal Chase of
Kenilworth.  The whole music of the Castle sounded at once, and a
round of artillery, with a salvo of small arms, was discharged
from the battlements; but the noise of drums and trumpets, and
even of the cannon themselves, was but faintly heard amidst the
roaring and reiterated welcomes of the multitude.

As the noise began to abate, a broad glare of light was seen to
appear from the gate of the Park, and broadening and brightening
as it came nearer, advanced along the open and fair avenue that
led towards the Gallery-tower; and which, as we have already
noticed, was lined on either hand by the retainers of the Earl of
Leicester.  The word was passed along the line, "The Queen!  The
Queen!  Silence, and stand fast!"  Onward came the cavalcade,
illuminated by two hundred thick waxen torches, in the hands of
as many horsemen, which cast a light like that of broad day all
around the procession, but especially on the principal group, of
which the Queen herself, arrayed in the most splendid manner, and
blazing with jewels, formed the central figure.  She was mounted
on a milk-white horse, which she reined with peculiar grace and
dignity; and in the whole of her stately and noble carriage you
saw the daughter of an hundred kings.

The ladies of the court, who rode beside her Majesty, had taken
especial care that their own external appearance should not be
more glorious than their rank and the occasion altogether
demanded, so that no inferior luminary might appear to approach
the orbit of royalty.  But their personal charms, and the
magnificence by which, under every prudential restraint, they
were necessarily distinguished, exhibited them as the very flower
of a realm so far famed for splendour and beauty.  The
magnificence of the courtiers, free from such restraints as
prudence imposed on the ladies, was yet more unbounded.

Leicester, who glittered like a golden image with jewels and
cloth of gold, rode on her Majesty's right hand, as well in
quality of her host as of her master of the horse.  The black
steed which he mounted had not a single white hair on his body,
and was one of the most renowned chargers in Europe, having been
purchased by the Earl at large expense for this royal occasion.
As the noble animal chafed at the slow pace of the procession,
and, arching his stately neck, champed on the silver bits which
restrained him, the foam flew from his mouth, and speckled his
well-formed limbs as if with spots of snow.  The rider well
became the high place which he held, and the proud steed which he
bestrode; for no man in England, or perhaps in Europe, was more
perfect than Dudley in horsemanship, and all other exercises
belonging to his quality.  He was bareheaded as were all the
courtiers in the train; and the red torchlight shone upon his
long, curled tresses of dark hair, and on his noble features, to
the beauty of which even the severest criticism could only object
the lordly fault, as it may be termed, of a forehead somewhat too
high.  On that proud evening those features wore all the grateful
solicitude of a subject, to show himself sensible of the high
honour which the Queen was conferring on him, and all the pride
and satisfaction which became so glorious a moment.  Yet, though
neither eye nor feature betrayed aught but feelings which suited
the occasion, some of the Earl's personal attendants remarked
that he was unusually pale, and they expressed to each other
their fear that he was taking more fatigue than consisted with
his health.

Varney followed close behind his master, as the principal esquire
in waiting, and had charge of his lordship's black velvet bonnet,
garnished with a clasp of diamonds and surmounted by a white
plume.  He kept his eye constantly on his master, and, for
reasons with which the reader is not unacquainted, was, among
Leicester's numerous dependants, the one who was most anxious
that his lord's strength and resolution should carry him
successfully through a day so agitating.  For although Varney was
one of the few, the very few moral monsters who contrive to lull
to sleep the remorse of their own bosoms, and are drugged into
moral insensibility by atheism, as men in extreme agony are
lulled by opium, yet he knew that in the breast of his patron
there was already awakened the fire that is never quenched, and
that his lord felt, amid all the pomp and magnificence we have
described, the gnawing of the worm that dieth not.  Still,
however, assured as Lord Leicester stood, by Varney's own
intelligence, that his Countess laboured under an indisposition
which formed an unanswerable apology to the Queen for her not
appearing at Kenilworth, there was little danger, his wily
retainer thought, that a man so ambitious would betray himself by
giving way to any external weakness.

The train, male and female, who attended immediately upon the
Queen's person, were, of course, of the bravest and the fairest
--the highest born nobles, and the wisest counsellors, of that
distinguished reign, to repeat whose names were but to weary the
reader.  Behind came a long crowd of knights and gentlemen, whose
rank and birth, however distinguished, were thrown into shade, as
their persons into the rear of a procession whose front was of
such august majesty.

Thus marshalled, the cavalcade approached the Gallery-tower,
which formed, as we have often observed, the extreme barrier of
the Castle.

It was now the part of the huge porter to step forward; but the
lubbard was so overwhelmed with confusion of spirit--the contents
of one immense black jack of double ale, which he had just drunk
to quicken his memory, having treacherously confused the brain it
was intended to clear--that he only groaned piteously, and
remained sitting on his stone seat; and the Queen would have
passed on without greeting, had not the gigantic warder's secret
ally, Flibbertigibbet, who lay perdue behind him, thrust a pin
into the rear of the short femoral garment which we elsewhere
described.

The porter uttered a sort of yell, which came not amiss into his
part, started up with his club, and dealt a sound douse or two on
each side of him; and then, like a coach-horse pricked by the
spur, started off at once into the full career of his address,
and by dint of active prompting on the part of Dickie Sludge,
delivered, in sounds of gigantic intonation, a speech which may
be thus abridged--the reader being to suppose that the first
lines were addressed to the throng who approached the gateway;
the conclusion, at the approach of the Queen, upon sight of whom,
as struck by some heavenly vision, the gigantic warder dropped
his club, resigned his keys, and gave open way to the Goddess of
the night, and all her magnificent train.

  "What stir, what turmoil, have we for the nones?
  Stand back, my masters, or beware your bones!
  Sirs, I'm a warder, and no man of straw,
  My voice keeps order, and my club gives law.

  Yet soft--nay, stay--what vision have we here?
  What dainty darling's this--what peerless peer?
  What loveliest face, that loving ranks unfold,
  Like brightest diamond chased in purest gold?
  Dazzled and blind, mine office I forsake,
  My club, my key, my knee, my homage take.
  Bright paragon, pass on in joy and bliss;--
  Beshrew the gate that opes not wide at such a sight as this!"

[This is an imitation of Gascoigne's verses spoken by the
Herculean porter, as mentioned in the text.  The original may be
found in the republication of the Princely Pleasures of
Kenilworth, by the same author, in the History of Kenilworth
already quoted.  Chiswick, 1821.]

Elizabeth received most graciously the homage of the Herculean
porter, and, bending her head to him in requital, passed through
his guarded tower, from the top of which was poured a clamorous
blast of warlike music, which was replied to by other bands of
minstrelsy placed at different points on the Castle walls, and by
others again stationed in the Chase; while the tones of the one,
as they yet vibrated on the echoes, were caught up and answered
by new harmony from different quarters.

Amidst these bursts of music, which, as if the work of
enchantment, seemed now close at hand, now softened by distant
space, now wailing so low and sweet as if that distance were
gradually prolonged until only the last lingering strains could
reach the ear, Queen Elizabeth crossed the Gallery-tower, and
came upon the long bridge, which extended from thence to
Mortimer's Tower, and which was already as light as day, so many
torches had been fastened to the palisades on either side.  Most
of the nobles here alighted, and sent their horses to the
neighbouring village of Kenilworth, following the Queen on foot,
as did the gentlemen who had stood in array to receive her at the
Gallery-tower.

On this occasion, as at different times during the evening,
Raleigh addressed himself to Tressilian, and was not a little
surprised at his vague and unsatisfactory answers; which, joined
to his leaving his apartment without any assigned reason,
appearing in an undress when it was likely to be offensive to the
Queen, and some other symptoms of irregularity which he thought
he discovered, led him to doubt whether his friend did not labour
under some temporary derangement.

Meanwhile, the Queen had no sooner stepped on the bridge than a
new spectacle was provided; for as soon as the music gave signal
that she was so far advanced, a raft, so disposed as to resemble
a small floating island, illuminated by a great variety of
torches, and surrounded by floating pageants formed to represent
sea-horses, on which sat Tritons, Nereids, and other fabulous
deities of the seas and rivers, made its appearance upon the
lake, and issuing from behind a small heronry where it had been
concealed, floated gently towards the farther end of the bridge.

On the islet appeared a beautiful woman, clad in a watchet-
coloured silken mantle, bound with a broad girdle inscribed with
characters like the phylacteries of the Hebrews.  Her feet and
arms were bare, but her wrists and ankles were adorned with gold
bracelets of uncommon size.  Amidst her long, silky black hair
she wore a crown or chaplet of artificial mistletoe, and bore in
her hand a rod of ebony tipped with silver.  Two Nymphs attended
on her, dressed in the same antique and mystical guise.

The pageant was so well managed that this Lady of the Floating
Island, having performed her voyage with much picturesque effect,
landed at Mortimer's Tower with her two attendants just as
Elizabeth presented herself before that outwork.  The stranger
then, in a well-penned speech, announced herself as that famous
Lady of the Lake renowned in the stories of King Arthur, who had
nursed the youth of the redoubted Sir Lancelot, and whose beauty
'had proved too powerful both for the wisdom and the spells of
the mighty Merlin.  Since that early period she had remained
possessed of her crystal dominions, she said, despite the various
men of fame and might by whom Kenilworth had been successively
tenanted.  'The Saxons, the Danes, the Normans, the Saintlowes,
the Clintons, the Montforts, the Mortimers, the Plantagenets,
great though they were in arms and magnificence, had never, she
said, caused her to raise her head from the waters which hid her
crystal palace.  But a greater than all these great names had now
appeared, and she came in homage and duty to welcome the peerless
Elizabeth to all sport which the Castle and its environs, which
lake or land, could afford.

The Queen received this address also with great courtesy, and
made answer in raillery, "We thought this lake had belonged to
our own dominions, fair dame; but since so famed a lady claims it
for hers, we will be glad at some other time to have further
communing with you touching our joint interests."

With this gracious answer the Lady of the Lake vanished, and
Arion, who was amongst the maritime deities, appeared upon his
dolphin.  But Lambourne, who had taken upon him the part in the
absence of Wayland, being chilled with remaining immersed in an
element to which he was not friendly, having never got his speech
by heart, and not having, like the porter, the advantage of a
prompter, paid it off with impudence, tearing off his vizard, and
swearing, "Cogs bones!  he was none of Arion or Orion either, but
honest Mike Lambourne, that had been drinking her Majesty's
health from morning till midnight, and was come to bid her
heartily welcome to Kenilworth Castle."

This unpremeditated buffoonery answered the purpose probably
better than the set speech would have done.  The Queen laughed
heartily, and swore (in her turn) that he had made the best
speech she had heard that day.  Lambourne, who instantly saw his
jest had saved his bones, jumped on shore, gave his dolphin a
kick, and declared he would never meddle with fish again, except
at dinner.

At the same time that the Queen was about to enter the Castle,
that memorable discharge of fireworks by water and land took
place, which Master Laneham, formerly introduced to the reader,
has strained all his eloquence to describe.

"Such," says the Clerk of the Council-chamber door "was the blaze
of burning darts, the gleams of stars coruscant, the streams and
hail of fiery sparks, lightnings of wildfire, and flight-shot of
thunderbolts, with continuance, terror, and vehemency, that the
heavens thundered, the waters surged, and the earth shook; and
for my part, hardy as I am, it made me very vengeably afraid."

[See Laneham's Account of the Queen's Entertainment at
Killingworth Castle, in 1575, a very diverting tract, written by
as great a coxcomb as ever blotted paper.  [See Note 6]  The
original is extremely rare, but it has been twice reprinted; once
in Mr. Nichols's very curious and interesting collection of the
Progresses and Public Processions of Queen Elizabeth, vol.i.  and
more lately in a beautiful antiquarian publication, termed
KENILWORTH ILLUSTRATED, printed at Chiswick, for Meridew of
Coventry and Radcliffe of Birmingham.  It contains reprints of
Laneham's Letter, Gascoigne's PrinceIy Progress, and other scarce
pieces, annotated with accuracy and ability.  The author takes
the liberty to refer to this work as his authority for the
account of the festivities.

I am indebted for a curious ground-plan of the Castle of
Kenilworth, as it existed in Queen Elizabeth's time, to the
voluntary kindness of Richard Badnall Esq. of Olivebank, near
Liverpool.  From his obliging communication, I learn that the
original sketch was found among the manuscripts of the celebrated
J. J. Rousseau, when he left  England.  These were entrusted by
the philosopher to the care of his friend Mr. Davenport, and
passed from his legatee into the possession of Mr. Badnall.]



CHAPTER XXXI.

  Nay, this is matter for the month of March,
  When hares are maddest.  Either speak in reason,
  Giving cold argument the wall of passion,
  Or I break up the court.      BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.

It is by no means our purpose to detail minutely all the princely
festivities of Kenilworth, after the fashion of Master Robert
Laneham, whom we quoted in the conclusion of the last chapter.
It is sufficient to say that under discharge of the splendid
fireworks, which we have borrowed Laneham's eloquence to
describe, the Queen entered the base-court of Kenilworth, through
Mortimer's Tower, and moving on through pageants of heathen gods
and heroes of antiquity, who offered gifts and compliments on the
bended knee, at length found her way to the Great Hall of the
Castle, gorgeously hung for her reception with the richest silken
tapestry, misty with perfumes, and sounding to strains of soft
and delicious music.  From the highly-carved oaken roof hung a
superb chandelier of gilt bronze, formed like a spread eagle,
whose outstretched wings supported three male and three female
figures, grasping a pair of branches in each hand.  The Hall was
thus illuminated by twenty-four torches of wax.  At the upper end
of the splendid apartment was a state canopy, overshadowing a
royal throne, and beside it was a door, which opened to a long
suite of apartments, decorated with the utmost magnificence for
the Queen and her ladies, whenever it should be her pleasure to
be private.

The Earl of Leicester having handed the Queen up to her throne,
and seated her there, knelt down before her, and kissing the hand
which she held out, with an air in which romantic and respectful
gallantry was happily mingled with the air of loyal devotion, he
thanked her, in terms of the deepest gratitude, for the highest
honour which a sovereign could render to a subject.  So handsome
did he look when kneeling before her, that Elizabeth was tempted
to prolong the scene a little longer than there was, strictly
speaking, necessity for; and ere she raised him, she passed her
hand over his head, so near as almost to touch his long, curled,
and perfumed hair, and with a movement of fondness that seemed to
intimate she would, if she dared, have made the motion a slight
caress.

[To justify what may be considered as a high-coloured picture,
the author quotes the original of the courtly and shrewd Sir
James Melville, being then Queen Mary's envoy at the court of
London.

"I was required," says Sir James, "to stay till I had seen him
made Earle of Leicester, and Baron of Denbigh, with great
solemnity; herself (Elizabeth) helping to put on his ceremonial,
he sitting on his knees before her, keeping a great gravity and a
discreet behaviour; but she could not refrain from putting her
hand to his neck to kittle (i.e., tickle) him, smilingly, the
French Ambassador and I standing beside her."--MELVILLE'S
MEMOIRS, BANNATYNE EDITION, p. 120.]

She at length raised him, and standing beside the throne, he
explained to her the various preparations which had been made for
her amusement and accommodation, all of which received her prompt
and gracious approbation.  The Earl then prayed her Majesty for
permission that he himself, and the nobles who had been in
attendance upon her during the journey, might retire for a few
minutes, and put themselves into a guise more fitting for dutiful
attendance, during which space those gentlemen of worship
(pointing to Varney, Blount, Tressilian, and others), who had
already put themselves into fresh attire, would have the honour
of keeping her presence-chamber.

"Be it so, my lord," answered the Queen; "you could manage a
theatre well, who can thus command a double set of actors.  For
ourselves, we will receive your courtesies this evening but
clownishly, since it is not our purpose to change our riding
attire, being in effect something fatigued with a journey which
the concourse of our good people hath rendered slow, though the
love they have shown our person hath, at the same time, made it
delightful."

Leicester, having received this permission, retired accordingly,
and was followed by those nobles who had attended the Queen to
Kenilworth in person.  The gentlemen who had preceded them, and
were, of course, dressed for the solemnity, remained in
attendance.  But being most of them of rather inferior rank, they
remained at an awful distance from the throne which Elizabeth
occupied.  The Queen's sharp eye soon distinguished Raleigh
amongst them, with one or two others who were personally known to
her, and she instantly made them a sign to approach, and accosted
them very graciously.  Raleigh, in particular, the adventure of
whose cloak, as well as the incident of the verses, remained on
her mind, was very graciously received; and to him she most
frequently applied for information concerning the names and rank
of those who were in presence.  These he communicated concisely,
and not without some traits of humorous satire, by which
Elizabeth seemed much amused.  "And who is yonder clownish
fellow?"  she said, looking at Tressilian, whose soiled dress on
this occasion greatly obscured his good mien.

"A poet, if it please your Grace," replied Raleigh.

"I might have guessed that from his careless garb," said
Elizabeth.  "I have known some poets so thoughtless as to throw
their cloaks into gutters."

"It must have been when the sun dazzled both their eyes and their
judgment," answered Raleigh.

Elizabeth smiled, and proceeded, "I asked that slovenly fellow's
name, and you only told me his profession."

"Tressilian is his name," said Raleigh, with internal reluctance,
for he foresaw nothing favourable to his friend from the manner
in which she took notice of him.

"Tressilian!"  answered Elizabeth.  "Oh, the Menelaus of our
romance.  Why, he has dressed himself in a guise that will go far
to exculpate his fair and false Helen.  And where is Farnham, or
whatever his name is--my Lord of Leicester's man, I mean--the
Paris of this Devonshire tale?"

With still greater reluctance Raleigh named and pointed out to
her Varney, for whom the tailor had done all that art could
perform in making his exterior agreeable; and who, if he had not
grace, had a sort of tact and habitual knowledge of breeding,
which came in place of it.

The Queen turned her eyes from the one to the other.  "I doubt,"
she said, "this same poetical Master Tressilian, who is too
learned, I warrant me, to remember whose presence he was to
appear in, may be one of those of whom Geoffrey Chaucer says
wittily, the wisest clerks are not the wisest men.  I remember
that Varney is a smooth-tongued varlet.  I doubt this fair
runaway hath had reasons for breaking her faith."

To this Raleigh durst make no answer, aware how little he should
benefit Tressilian by contradicting the Queen's sentiments, and
not at all certain, on the whole, whether the best thing that
could befall him would not be that she should put an end at once
by her authority to this affair, upon which it seemed to him
Tressilian's thoughts were fixed with unavailing and distressing
pertinacity.  As these reflections passed through his active
brain, the lower door of the hall opened, and Leicester,
accompanied by several of his kinsmen, and of the nobles who had
embraced his faction, re-entered the Castle Hall.

The favourite Earl was now apparelled all in white, his shoes
being of white velvet; his under-stocks (or stockings) of knit
silk; his upper stocks of white velvet, lined with cloth of
silver, which was shown at the slashed part of the middle thigh;
his doublet of cloth of silver, the close jerkin of white velvet,
embroidered with silver and seed-pearl, his girdle and the
scabbard of his sword of white velvet with golden buckles; his
poniard and sword hilted and mounted with gold; and over all a
rich, loose robe of white satin, with a border of golden
embroidery a foot in breadth.  The collar of the Garter, and the
azure garter itself around his knee, completed the appointments
of the Earl of Leicester; which were so well matched by his fair
stature, graceful gesture, fine proportion of body, and handsome
countenance, that at that moment he was admitted by all who saw
him as the goodliest person whom they had ever looked upon.
Sussex and the other nobles were also richly attired, but in
point of splendour and gracefulness of mien Leicester far
exceeded them all.

Elizabeth received him with great complacency.  "We have one
piece of royal justice," she said, "to attend to.  It is a piece
of justice, too, which interests us as a woman, as well as in the
character of mother and guardian of the English people."

An involuntary shudder came over Leicester as he bowed low,
expressive of his readiness to receive her royal commands; and a
similar cold fit came over Varney, whose eyes (seldom during that
evening removed from his patron) instantly perceived from the
change in his looks, slight as that was, of what the Queen was
speaking.  But Leicester had wrought his resolution up to the
point which, in his crooked policy, he judged necessary; and when
Elizabeth added, "it is of the matter of Varney and Tressilian we
speak--is the lady here, my lord?"  his answer was ready--
"Gracious madam, she is not."

Elizabeth bent her brews and compressed her lips.  "Our orders
were strict and positive, my lord," was her answer--

"And should have been obeyed, good my liege," replied Leicester,
"had they been expressed in the form of the lightest wish.  But
--Varney, step forward--this gentleman will inform your Grace of
the cause why the lady" (he could not force his rebellious tongue
to utter the words--HIS WIFE) "cannot attend on your royal
presence."

Varney advanced, and pleaded with readiness, what indeed he
firmly believed, the absolute incapacity of the party (for
neither did he dare, in Leicester's presence, term her his wife)
to wait on her Grace.

"Here," said he, "are attestations from a most learned physician,
whose skill and honour are well known to my good Lord of
Leicester, and from an honest and devout Protestant, a man of
credit and substance, one Anthony Foster, the gentleman in whose
house she is at present bestowed, that she now labours under an
illness which altogether unfits her for such a journey as betwixt
this Castle and the neighbourhood of Oxford."

"This alters the matter," said the Queen, taking the certificates
in her hand, and glancing at their contents.--"Let Tressilian
come forward.--Master Tressilian, we have much sympathy for your
situation, the rather that you seem to have set your heart deeply
on this Amy Robsart, or Varney.  Our power, thanks to God, and
the willing obedience of a loving people, is worth much, but
there are some things which it cannot compass.  We cannot, for
example, command the affections of a giddy young girl, or make
her love sense and learning better than a courtier's fine
doublet; and we cannot control sickness, with which it seems this
lady is afflicted, who may not, by reason of such infirmity,
attend our court here, as we had required her to do.  Here are
the testimonials of the physician who hath her under his charge,
and the gentleman in whose house she resides, so setting forth."

"Under your Majesty's favour," said Tressilian hastily, and in
his alarm for the consequence of the imposition practised on the
Queen forgetting in part at least his own promise to Amy, "these
certificates speak not the truth."

"How, sir!"  said the Queen--"impeach my Lord of Leicester's
veracity!  But you shall have a fair hearing.  In our presence
the meanest of our subjects shall be heard against the proudest,
and the least known against the most favoured; therefore you
shall be heard fairly, but beware you speak not without a
warrant!  Take these certificates in your own hand, look at them
carefully, and say manfully if you impugn the truth of them, and
upon what evidence."

As the Queen spoke, his promise and all its consequences rushed
on the mind of the unfortunate Tressilian, and while it
controlled his natural inclination to pronounce that a falsehood
which he knew from the evidence of his senses to be untrue, gave
an indecision and irresolution to his appearance and utterance
which made strongly against him in the mind of Elizabeth, as well
as of all who beheld him.  He turned the papers over and over, as
if he had been an idiot, incapable of comprehending their
contents.  The Queen's impatience began to become visible.  "You
are a scholar, sir," she said, "and of some note, as I have
heard; yet you seem wondrous slow in reading text hand.  How say
you, are these certificates true or no?"

"Madam," said Tressilian, with obvious embarrassment and
hesitation, anxious to avoid admitting evidence which he might
afterwards have reason to confute, yet equally desirous to keep
his word to Amy, and to give her, as he had promised, space to
plead her own cause in her own way--"Madam--Madam, your Grace
calls on me to admit evidence which ought to be proved valid by
those who found their defence upon them."

"Why, Tressilian, thou art critical as well as poetical," said
the Queen, bending on him a brow of displeasure; "methinks these
writings, being produced in the presence of the noble Earl to
whom this Castle pertains, and his honour being appealed to as
the guarantee of their authenticity, might be evidence enough for
thee.  But since thou listest to be so formal--Varney, or rather
my Lord of Leicester, for the affair becomes yours" (these words,
though spoken at random, thrilled through the Earl's marrow and
bones), "what evidence have you as touching these certificates?"

Varney hastened to reply, preventing Leicester--"So please your
Majesty, my young Lord of Oxford, who is here in presence, knows
Master Anthony Foster's hand and his character."

The Earl of Oxford, a young unthrift, whom Foster had more than
once accommodated with loans on usurious interest, acknowledged,
on this appeal, that he knew him as a wealthy and independent
franklin, supposed to be worth much money, and verified the
certificate produced to be his handwriting.

"And who speaks to the Doctor's certificate?"  said the Queen.
"Alasco, methinks, is his name."

Masters, her Majesty's physician (not the less willingly that he
remembered his repulse from Sayes Court, and thought that his
present testimony might gratify Leicester, and mortify the Earl
of Sussex and his faction), acknowledged he had more than once
consulted with Doctor Alasco, and spoke of him as a man of
extraordinary learning and hidden acquirements, though not
altogether in the regular course of practice.  The Earl of
Huntingdon, Lord Leicester's brother-in-law, and the old Countess
of Rutland, next sang his praises, and both remembered the thin,
beautiful Italian hand in which he was wont to write his
receipts, and which corresponded to the certificate produced as
his.

"And now, I trust, Master Tressilian, this matter is ended," said
the Queen.  "We will do something ere the night is older to
reconcile old Sir Hugh Robsart to the match.  You have done your
duty something more than boldly; but we were no woman had we not
compassion for the wounds which true love deals, so we forgive
your audacity, and your uncleansed boots withal, which have well-
nigh overpowered my Lord of Leicester's perfumes."

So spoke Elizabeth, whose nicety of scent was one of the
characteristics of her organization, as appeared long afterwards
when she expelled Essex from her presence, on a charge against
his boots similar to that which she now expressed against those
of Tressilian

But Tressilian had by this time collected himself, astonished as
he had at first been by the audacity of the falsehood so feasibly
supported, and placed in array against the evidence of his own
eyes.  He rushed forward, kneeled down, and caught the Queen by
the skirt of her robe.  "As you are Christian woman," he said,
"madam, as you are crowned Queen, to do equal justice among your
subjects--as you hope yourself to have fair hearing (which God
grant you) at that last bar at which we must all plead, grant me
one small request!  Decide not this matter so hastily.  Give me
but twenty-four hours' interval, and I will, at the end of that
brief space, produce evidence which will show to demonstration
that these certificates, which state this unhappy lady to be now
ill at ease in Oxfordshire, are false as hell!"

"Let go my train, sir!"  said Elizabeth, who was startled at his
vehemence, though she had too much of the lion in her to fear;
"the fellow must be distraught.  That witty knave, my godson
Harrington, must have him into his rhymes of Orlando Furioso!
And yet, by this light, there is something strange in the
vehemence of his demand.--Speak, Tressilian, what wilt thou do
if, at the end of these four-and-twenty hours, thou canst not
confute a fact so solemnly proved as this lady's illness?"

"I will lay down my head on the block," answered Tressilian.

"Pshaw!"  replied the Queen, "God's light!  thou speakest like a
fool.  What head falls in England but by just sentence of English
law?  I ask thee, man--if thou hast sense to understand me--wilt
thou, if thou shalt fail in this improbable attempt of thine,
render me a good and sufficient reason why thou dost undertake
it?"

Tressilian paused, and again hesitated; because he felt convinced
that if, within the interval demanded, Amy should become
reconciled to her husband, he would in that case do her the worst
of offices by again ripping up the whole circumstances before
Elizabeth, and showing how that wise and jealous princess had
been imposed upon by false testimonials.  The consciousness of
this dilemma renewed his extreme embarrassment of look, voice,
and manner; he hesitated, looked down, and on the Queen repeating
her question with a stern voice and flashing eye, he admitted
with faltering words, "That it might be--he could not positively
--that is, in certain events--explain the reasons and grounds on
which he acted."

"Now, by the soul of King Henry," said the Queen, "this is either
moonstruck madness or very knavery!--Seest thou, Raleigh, thy
friend is far too Pindaric for this presence.  Have him away, and
make us quit of him, or it shall be the worse for him; for his
flights are too unbridled for any place but Parnassus, or Saint
Luke's Hospital.  But come back instantly thyself, when he is
placed under fitting restraint.--We wish we had seen the beauty
which could make such havoc in a wise man's brain."

Tressilian was again endeavouring to address the Queen, when
Raleigh, in obedience to the orders he had received, interfered,
and with Blount's assistance, half led, half forced him out of
the presence-chamber, where he himself indeed began to think his
appearance did his cause more harm than good.

When they had attained the antechamber, Raleigh entreated Blount
to see Tressilian safely conducted into the apartments allotted
to the Earl of Sussex's followers, and, if necessary, recommended
that a guard should be mounted on him.

"This extravagant passion," he said, "and, as it would seem, the
news of the lady's illness, has utterly wrecked his excellent
judgment.  But it will pass away if he be kept quiet.  Only let
him break forth again at no rate; for he is already far in her
Highness's displeasure, and should she be again provoked, she
will find for him a worse place of confinement, and sterner
keepers."

"I judged as much as that he was mad," said Nicholas Blount,
looking down upon his own crimson stockings and yellow roses,
"whenever I saw him wearing yonder damned boots, which stunk so
in her nostrils.  I will but see him stowed, and be back with you
presently.  But, Walter, did the Queen ask who I was?--methought
she glanced an eye at me."

"Twenty--twenty eye-glances she sent!  and I told her all--how
thou wert a brave soldier, and a-- But for God's sake, get off
Tressilian!"

"I will--I will," said Blount; "but methinks this court-haunting
is no such bad pastime, after all.  We shall rise by it, Walter,
my brave lad.  Thou saidst I was a good soldier, and a-- what
besides, dearest Walter?"

"An all unutterable-codshead.  For God's sake, begone!"

Tressilian, without further resistance or expostulation followed,
or rather suffered himself to be conducted by Blount to Raleigh's
lodging, where he was formally installed into a small truckle-bed
placed in a wardrobe, and designed for a domestic.  He saw but
too plainly that no remonstrances would avail to procure the help
or sympathy of his friends, until the lapse of the time for which
he had pledged himself to remain inactive should enable him
either to explain the whole circumstances to them, or remove from
him every pretext or desire of further interference with the
fortunes of Amy, by her having found means to place herself in a
state of reconciliation with her husband.

With great difficulty, and only by the most patient and mild
remonstrances with Blount, he escaped the disgrace and
mortification of having two of Sussex's stoutest yeomen quartered
in his apartment.  At last, however, when Nicholas had seen him
fairly deposited in his truckle-bed, and had bestowed one or two
hearty kicks, and as hearty curses, on the boots, which, in his
lately acquired spirit of foppery, he considered as a strong
symptom, if not the cause, of his friend's malady, he contented
himself with the modified measure of locking the door on the
unfortunate Tressilian, whose gallant and disinterested efforts
to save a female who had treated him with ingratitude thus
terminated for the present in the displeasure of his Sovereign
and the conviction of his friends that he was little better than
a madman.



CHAPTER XXXII.

  The wisest Sovereigns err like private men,
  And royal hand has sometimes laid the sword
  Of chivalry upon a worthless shoulder,
  Which better had been branded by the hangman.
  What then?--Kings do their best; and they and we
  Must answer for the intent, and not the event.    OLD PLAY.

"It is a melancholy matter," said the Queen, when Tressilian was
withdrawn, "to see a wise and learned man's wit thus pitifully
unsettled.  Yet this public display of his imperfection of brain
plainly shows us that his supposed injury and accusation were
fruitless; and therefore, my Lord of Leicester, we remember your
suit formerly made to us in behalf of your faithful servant
Varney, whose good gifts and fidelity, as they are useful to you,
ought to have due reward from us, knowing well that your
lordship, and all you have, are so earnestly devoted to our
service.  And we render Varney the honour more especially that we
are a guest, and, we fear, a chargeable and troublesome one,
under your lordship's roof; and also for the satisfaction of the
good old Knight of Devon, Sir Hugh Robsart, whose daughter he
hath married, and we trust the especial mark of grace which we
are about to confer may reconcile him to his son-in-law.--Your
sword, my Lord of Leicester."

The Earl unbuckled his sword, and taking it by the point,
presented on bended knee the hilt to Elizabeth.

She took it slowly drew it from the scabbard, and while the
ladies who stood around turned away their eyes with real or
affected shuddering, she noted with a curious eye the high polish
and rich, damasked ornaments upon the glittering blade.

"Had I been a man," she said, "methinks none of my ancestors
would have loved a good sword better.  As it is with me, I like
to look on one, and could, like the Fairy of whom I have read in
some Italian rhymes--were my godson Harrington here, he could
tell me the passage--even trim my hair, and arrange my head-gear,
in such a steel mirror as this is.--Richard Varney, come forth,
and kneel down.  In the name of God and Saint George, we dub thee
knight!  Be Faithful, Brave, and Fortunate.  Arise, Sir Richard
Varney."

[The incident alluded to occurs in the poem of Orlando Innamorato
of Boiardo, libro ii. canto 4, stanza 25.

  "Non era per ventura," etc.

It may be rendered thus:--

  As then, perchance, unguarded was the tower,
   So enter'd free Anglante's dauntless knight.
  No monster and no giant guard the bower
   In whose recess reclined the fairy light,
  Robed in a loose cymar of lily white,
   And on her lap a sword of breadth and might,
  In whose broad blade, as in a mirror bright,
   Like maid that trims her for a festal night,
  The fairy deck'd her hair, and placed her coronet aright.

Elizabeth's attachment to the Italian school of poetry was
singularly manifested on a well-known occasion.  Her godson, Sir
John Harrington, having offended her delicacy by translating some
of the licentious passages of the Orlando Furioso, she imposed on
him, as a penance, the task of rendering the WHOLE poem into
English.]

Varney arose and retired, making a deep obeisance to the
Sovereign who had done him so much honour.

"The buckling of the spur, and what other rites remain," said the
Queen, "may be finished to-morrow in the chapel; for we intend
Sir Richard Varney a companion in his honours.  And as we must
not be partial in conferring such distinction, we mean on this
matter to confer with our cousin of Sussex."

That noble Earl, who since his arrival at Kenilworth, and indeed
since the commencement of this Progress, had found himself in a
subordinate situation to Leicester, was now wearing a heavy cloud
on his brow; a circumstance which had not escaped the Queen, who
hoped to appease his discontent, and to follow out her system of
balancing policy by a mark of peculiar favour, the more
gratifying as it was tendered at a moment when his rival's
triumph appeared to be complete.

At the summons of Queen Elizabeth, Sussex hastily approached her
person; and being asked on which of his followers, being a
gentleman and of merit, he would wish the honour of knighthood to
be conferred, he answered, with more sincerity than policy, that
he would have ventured to speak for Tressilian, to whom he
conceived he owed his own life, and who was a distinguished
soldier and scholar, besides a man of unstained lineage, "only,"
he said, "he feared the events of that night--" And then he
stopped.

"I am glad your lordship is thus considerate," said Elizabeth.
"The events of this night would make us, in the eyes of our
subjects, as mad as this poor brain-sick gentleman himself--for
we ascribe his conduct to no malice--should we choose this moment
to do him grace."

"In that case," said the Earl of Sussex, somewhat
discountenanced, your Majesty will allow me to name my master of
the horse, Master Nicholas Blount, a gentleman of fair estate and
ancient name, who has served your Majesty both in Scotland and
Ireland, and brought away bloody marks on his person, all
honourably taken and requited."

The Queen could not help shrugging her shoulders slightly even at
this second suggestion; and the Duchess of Rutland, who read in
the Queen's manner that she had expected that Sussex would have
named Raleigh, and thus would have enabled her to gratify her own
wish while she honoured his recommendation, only waited the
Queen's assent to what he had proposed, and then said that she
hoped, since these two high nobles had been each permitted to
suggest a candidate for the honours of chivalry, she, in behalf
of the ladies in presence, might have a similar indulgence.

"I were no woman to refuse you such a boon," said the Queen,
smiling.

"Then," pursued the Duchess, "in the name of these fair ladies
present, I request your Majesty to confer the rank of knighthood
on Walter Raleigh, whose birth, deeds of arms, and promptitude to
serve our sex with sword or pen, deserve such distinction from us
all."

"Gramercy, fair ladies," said Elizabeth, smiling, "your boon is
granted, and the gentle squire Lack-Cloak shall become the good
knight Lack-Cloak, at your desire.  Let the two aspirants for the
honour of chivalry step forward."

Blount was not as yet returned from seeing Tressilian, as he
conceived, safely disposed of; but Raleigh came forth, and
kneeling down, received at the hand of the Virgin Queen that
title of honour, which was never conferred on a more
distinguished or more illustrious object.

Shortly afterwards Nicholas Blount entered, and hastily apprised
by Sussex, who met him at the door of the hall, of the Queen's
gracious purpose regarding him, he was desired to advance towards
the throne.  It is a sight sometimes seen, and it is both
ludicrous and pitiable; when an honest man of plain common sense
is surprised, by the coquetry of a pretty woman, or any other
cause, into those frivolous fopperies which only sit well upon
the youthful, the gay, and those to whom long practice has
rendered them a second nature.  Poor Blount was in this
situation.  His head was already giddy from a consciousness of
unusual finery, and the supposed necessity of suiting his manners
to the gaiety of his dress; and now this sudden view of promotion
altogether completed the conquest of the newly inhaled spirit of
foppery over his natural disposition, and converted a plain,
honest, awkward man into a coxcomb of a new and most ridiculous
kind.

The knight-expectant advanced up the hall, the whole length of
which he had unfortunately to traverse, turning out his toes with
so much zeal that he presented his leg at every step with its
broadside foremost, so that it greatly resembled an old-fashioned
table-knife with a curved point, when seen sideways.  The rest of
his gait was in proportion to this unhappy amble; and the implied
mixture of bashful rear and self-satisfaction was so unutterably
ridiculous that Leicester's friends did not suppress a titter, in
which many of Sussex's partisans were unable to resist joining,
though ready to eat their nails with mortification.  Sussex
himself lost all patience, and could not forbear whispering into
the ear of his friend, "Curse thee!  canst thou not walk like a
man and a soldier?"  an interjection which only made honest
Blount start and stop, until a glance at his yellow roses and
crimson stockings restored his self-confidence, when on he went
at the same pace as before.

The Queen conferred on poor Blount the honour of knighthood with
a marked sense of reluctance.  That wise Princess was fully aware
of the propriety of using great circumspection and economy in
bestowing those titles of honour, which the Stewarts, who
succeeded to her throne, distributed with an imprudent liberality
which greatly diminished their value.  Blount had no sooner
arisen and retired than she turned to the Duchess of Rutland.
"Our woman wit," she said, "dear Rutland, is sharper than that of
those proud things in doublet and hose.  Seest thou, out of these
three knights, thine is the only true metal to stamp chivalry's
imprint upon?"

"Sir Richard Varney, surely--the friend of my Lord of Leicester
--surely he has merit," replied the Duchess.

"Varney has a sly countenance and a smooth tongue," replied the
Queen; "I fear me he will prove a knave.  But the promise was of
ancient standing.  My Lord of Sussex must have lost his own wits,
I think, to recommend to us first a madman like Tressilian, and
then a clownish fool like this other fellow.  I protest, Rutland,
that while he sat on his knees before me, mopping and mowing as
if he had scalding porridge in his mouth, I had much ado to
forbear cutting him over the pate, instead of striking his
shoulder."

"Your Majesty gave him a smart ACCOLADE," said the Duchess; "we
who stood behind heard the blade clatter on his collar-bone, and
the poor man fidgeted too as if he felt it."

"I could not help it, wench," said the Queen, laughing.  "But we
will have this same Sir Nicholas sent to Ireland or Scotland, or
somewhere, to rid our court of so antic a chevalier; he may be a
good soldier in the field, though a preposterous ass in a
banqueting-hall."

The discourse became then more general, and soon after there was
a summons to the banquet.

In order to obey this signal, the company were under the
necessity of crossing the inner court of the Castle, that they
might reach the new buildings containing the large banqueting-
room, in which preparations for supper were made upon a scale of
profuse magnificence, corresponding to the occasion.

The livery cupboards were loaded with plate of the richest
description, and the most varied--some articles tasteful, some
perhaps grotesque, in the invention and decoration, but all
gorgeously magnificent, both from the richness of the work and
value of the materials.  Thus the chief table was adorned by a
salt, ship-fashion, made of mother-of-pearl, garnished with
silver and divers warlike ensigns and other ornaments, anchors,
sails, and sixteen pieces of ordnance.  It bore a figure of
Fortune, placed on a globe, with a flag in her hand.  Another
salt was fashioned of silver, in form of a swan in full sail.
That chivalry might not be omitted amid this splendour, a silver
Saint George was presented, mounted and equipped in the usual
fashion in which he bestrides the dragon.  The figures were
moulded to be in some sort useful.  The horse's tail was managed
to hold a case of knives, while the breast of the dragon
presented a similar accommodation for oyster knives,

In the course of the passage from the hall of reception to the
banqueting-room, and especially in the courtyard, the new-made
knights were assailed by the heralds, pursuivants, minstrels,
etc., with the usual cry of LARGESSE, LARGESSE, CHEVALIERS TRES
HARDIS!  an ancient invocation, intended to awaken the bounty of
the acolytes of chivalry towards those whose business it was to
register their armorial bearings, and celebrate the deeds by
which they were illustrated.  The call was, of course, liberally
and courteously answered by those to whom it was addressed.
Varney gave his largesse with an affectation of complaisance and
humility.  Raleigh bestowed his with the graceful ease peculiar
to one who has attained his own place, and is familiar with its
dignity.  Honest Blount gave what his tailor had left him of his
half-year's rent, dropping some pieces in his hurry, then
stooping down to look for them, and then distributing them
amongst the various claimants, with the anxious face and mien of
the parish beadle dividing a dole among paupers.

The donations were accepted with the usual clamour and VIVATS of
applause common on such occasions; but as the parties gratified
were chiefly dependants of Lord Leicester, it was Varney whose
name was repeated with the loudest acclamations.  Lambourne,
especially, distinguished himself by his vociferations of "Long
life to Sir Richard Varney!--Health and honour to Sir Richard!--
Never was a more worthy knight dubbed!"--then, suddenly sinking
his voice, he added--"since the valiant Sir Pandarus of Troy,"--a
winding-up of his clamorous applause which set all men a-laughing
who were within hearing of it.

It is unnecessary to say anything further of the festivities of
the evening, which were so brilliant in themselves, and received
with such obvious and willing satisfaction by the Queen, that
Leicester retired to his own apartment with all the giddy
raptures of successful ambition.  Varney, who had changed his
splendid attire, and now waited on his patron in a very modest
and plain undress, attended to do the honours of the Earl's
COUCHER.

"How!  Sir Richard," said Leicester, smiling, "your new rank
scarce suits the humility of this attendance."

"I would disown that rank, my Lord," said Varney, "could I think
it was to remove me to a distance from your lordship's person."

"Thou art a grateful fellow," said Leicester; "but I must not
allow you to do what would abate you in the opinion of others."

While thus speaking, he still accepted without hesitation the
offices about his person, which the new-made knight seemed to
render as eagerly as if he had really felt, in discharging the
task, that pleasure which his words expressed.

"I am not afraid of men's misconstruction," he said, in answer to
Leicester's remark, "since there is not--(permit me to undo the
collar)--a man within the Castle who does not expect very soon to
see persons of a rank far superior to that which, by your
goodness, I now hold, rendering the duties of the bedchamber to
you, and accounting it an honour."

"It might, indeed, so have been"--said the Earl, with an
involuntary sigh; and then presently added, "My gown, Varney; I
will look out on the night.  Is not the moon near to the full?"

"I think so, my lord, according to the calendar," answered
Varney.

There was an abutting window, which opened on a small projecting
balcony of stone, battlemented as is usual in Gothic castles.
The Earl undid the lattice, and stepped out into the open air.
The station he had chosen commanded an extensive view of the lake
and woodlands beyond, where the bright moonlight rested on the
clear blue waters and the distant masses of oak and elm trees.
The moon rode high in the heavens, attended by thousands and
thousands of inferior luminaries.  All seemed already to be
hushed in the nether world, excepting occasionally the voice of
the watch (for the yeomen of the guard performed that duty
wherever the Queen was present in person) and the distant baying
of the hounds, disturbed by the preparations amongst the grooms
and prickers for a magnificent hunt, which was to be the
amusement of the next day.

Leicester looked out on the blue arch of heaven, with gestures
and a countenance expressive of anxious exultation, while Varney,
who remained within the darkened apartment, could (himself
unnoticed), with a secret satisfaction, see his patron stretch
his hands with earnest gesticulation towards the heavenly bodies.

"Ye distant orbs of living fire," so ran the muttered invocation
of the ambitious Earl, "ye are silent while you wheel your mystic
rounds; but Wisdom has given to you a voice.  Tell me, then, to
what end is my high course destined?  Shall the greatness to
which I have aspired be bright, pre-eminent, and stable as your
own; or am I but doomed to draw a brief and glittering train
along the nightly darkness, and then to sink down to earth, like
the base refuse of those artificial fires with which men emulate
your rays?"

He looked on the heavens in profound silence for a minute or two
longer, and then again stepped into the apartment, where Varney
seemed to have been engaged in putting the Earl's jewels into a
casket.

"What said Alasco of my horoscope?"  demanded Leicester.  "You
already told me; but it has escaped me, for I think but lightly
of that art."

"Many learned and great men have thought otherwise," said Varney;
"and, not to flatter your lordship, my own opinion leans that
way."

"Ay, Saul among the prophets?"  said Leicester.  "I thought thou
wert sceptical in all such matters as thou couldst neither see,
hear, smell, taste, or touch, and that thy belief was limited by
thy senses."

"Perhaps, my lord," said Varney, "I may be misled on the present
occasion by my wish to find the predictions of astrology true.
Alasco says that your favourite planet is culminating, and that
the adverse influence--he would not use a plainer term--though
not overcome, was evidently combust, I think he said, or
retrograde."

"It is even so," said Leicester, looking at an abstract of
astrological calculations which he had in his hand; "the stronger
influence will prevail, and, as I think, the evil hour pass away.
Lend me your hand, Sir Richard, to doff my gown; and remain an
instant, if it is not too burdensome to your knighthood, while I
compose myself to sleep.  I believe the bustle of this day has
fevered my blood, for it streams through my veins like a current
of molten lead.  Remain an instant, I pray you--I would fain feel
my eyes heavy ere I closed them."

Varney officiously assisted his lord to bed, and placed a massive
silver night-lamp, with a short sword, on a marble table which
stood close by the head of the couch.  Either in order to avoid
the light of the lamp, or to hide his countenance from Varney,
Leicester drew the curtain, heavy with entwined silk and gold, so
as completely to shade his face.  Varney took a seat near the
bed, but with his back towards his master, as if to intimate that
he was not watching him, and quietly waited till Leicester
himself led the way to the topic by which his mind was engrossed.

"And so, Varney," said the Earl, after waiting in vain till his
dependant should commence the conversation, "men talk of the
Queen's favour towards me?"

"Ay, my good lord," said Varney; "of what can they else, since it
is so strongly manifested?"

"She is indeed my good and gracious mistress," said Leicester,
after another pause; "but it is written, 'Put not thy trust in
princes.'"

"A good sentence and a true," said Varney, "unless you can unite
their interest with yours so absolutely that they must needs sit
on your wrist like hooded hawks."

"I know what thou meanest," said Leicester impatiently, "though
thou art to-night so prudentially careful of what thou sayest to
me.  Thou wouldst intimate I might marry the Queen if I would?"

"It is your speech, my lord, not mine," answered Varney; "but
whosesoever be the speech, it is the thought of ninety-nine out
of an hundred men throughout broad England."

"Ay, but," said Leicester, turning himself in his bed, "the
hundredth man knows better.  Thou, for example, knowest the
obstacle that cannot be overleaped."

"It must, my lord, if the stars speak true," said Varney
composedly.

"What, talkest thou of them," said Leicester, "that believest not
in them or in aught else?"

"You mistake, my lord, under your gracious pardon," said Varney;
"I believe in many things that predict the future.  I believe, if
showers fall in April, that we shall have flowers in May; that if
the sun shines, grain will ripen; and I believe in much natural
philosophy to the same effect, which, if the stars swear to me, I
will say the stars speak the truth.  And in like manner, I will
not disbelieve that which I see wished for and expected on earth,
solely because the astrologers have read it in the heavens."

"Thou art right," said Leicester, again tossing himself on his
couch "Earth does wish for it.  I have had advices from the
reformed churches of Germany--from the Low Countries--from
Switzerland--urging this as a point on which Europe's safety
depends.  France will not oppose it.  The ruling party in
Scotland look to it as their best security.  Spain fears it, but
cannot prevent it.  And yet thou knowest it is impossible."

"I know not that, my lord," said Varney; "the Countess is
indisposed."

"Villain!"  said Leicester, starting up on his couch, and seizing
the sword which lay on the table beside him, "go thy thoughts
that way?--thou wouldst not do murder?"

"For whom, or what, do you hold me, my lord?"  said Varney,
assuming the superiority of an innocent man subjected to unjust
suspicion.  "I said nothing to deserve such a horrid imputation
as your violence infers.  I said but that the Countess was ill.
And Countess though she be--lovely and beloved as she is--surely
your lordship must hold her to be mortal?  She may die, and your
lordship's hand become once more your own."

"Away!  away!"  said Leicester; "let me have no more of this."

"Good night, my lord," said Varney, seeming to understand this as
a command to depart; but Leicester's voice interrupted his
purpose.

"Thou 'scapest me not thus, Sir Fool," said he; "I think thy
knighthood has addled thy brains.  Confess thou hast talked of
impossibilities as of things which may come to pass."

"My lord, long live your fair Countess," said Varney; "but
neither your love nor my good wishes can make her immortal.  But
God grant she live long to be happy herself, and to render you
so!  I see not but you may be King of England notwithstanding."

"Nay, now, Varney, thou art stark mad," said Leicester.

"I would I were myself within the same nearness to a good estate
of freehold," said Varney.  "Have we not known in other countries
how a left-handed marriage might subsist betwixt persons of
differing degree?--ay, and be no hindrance to prevent the husband
from conjoining himself afterwards with a more suitable partner?"

"I have heard of such things in Germany," said Leicester.

"Ay, and the most learned doctors in foreign universities justify
the practice from the Old Testament," said Varney.  "And after
all, where is the harm?  The beautiful partner whom you have
chosen for true love has your secret hours of relaxation and
affection.  Her fame is safe her conscience may slumber securely.
You have wealth to provide royally for your issue, should Heaven
bless you with offspring.  Meanwhile you may give to Elizabeth
ten times the leisure, and ten thousand times the affection, that
ever Don Philip of Spain spared to her sister Mary; yet you know
how she doted on him though so cold and neglectful.  It requires
but a close mouth and an open brow, and you keep your Eleanor and
your fair Rosamond far enough separate.  Leave me to build you a
bower to which no jealous Queen shall find a clew."

Leicester was silent for a moment, then sighed, and said, "It is
impossible.  Good night, Sir Richard Varney--yet stay.  Can you
guess what meant Tressilian by showing himself in such careless
guise before the Queen to-day?--to strike her tender heart, I
should guess, with all the sympathies due to a lover abandoned by
his mistress and abandoning himself."

Varney, smothering a sneering laugh, answered, "He believed
Master Tressilian had no such matter in his head."

"How!"  said Leicester; "what meanest thou?  There is ever
knavery in that laugh of thine, Varney."

"I only meant, my lord," said Varney, "that Tressilian has taken
the sure way to avoid heart-breaking.  He hath had a companion--a
female companion--a mistress--a sort of player's wife or sister,
as I believe--with him in Mervyn's Bower, where I quartered him
for certain reasons of my own."

"A mistress!--meanest thou a paramour?"

"Ay, my lord; what female else waits for hours in a gentleman's
chamber?"

"By my faith, time and space fitting, this were a good tale to
tell," said Leicester.  "I ever distrusted those bookish,
hypocritical, seeming-virtuous scholars.  Well--Master Tressilian
makes somewhat familiar with my house; if I look it over, he is
indebted to it for certain recollections.  I would not harm him
more than I can help.  Keep eye on him, however, Varney."

"I lodged him for that reason," said Varney, "in Mervyn's Tower,
where he is under the eye of my very vigilant, if he were not
also my very drunken, servant, Michael Lambourne, whom I have
told your Grace of."

"Grace!"  said Leicester; "what meanest thou by that epithet?"

"It came unawares, my lord; and yet it sounds so very natural
that I cannot recall it."

"It is thine own preferment that hath turned thy brain," said
Leicester, laughing; "new honours are as heady as new wine."

"May your lordship soon have cause to say so from experience,"
said Varney; and wishing his patron good night, he withdrew."
[See Note 8. Furniture of Kenilworth.]



CHAPTER XXXIII.

  Here stands the victim--there the proud betrayer,
  E'en as the hind pull'd down by strangling dogs
  Lies at the hunter's feet--who courteous proffers
  To some high dame, the Dian of the chase,
  To whom he looks for guerdon, his sharp blade,
  To gash the sobbing throat.           THE WOODSMAN.

We are now to return to Mervyn's Bower, the apartment, or rather
the prison, of the unfortunate Countess of Leicester, who for
some time kept within bounds her uncertainty and her impatience.
She was aware that, in the tumult of the day, there might be some
delay ere her letter could be safely conveyed to the hands of
Leicester, and that some time more might elapse ere he could
extricate himself from the necessary attendance on Elizabeth, to
come and visit her in her secret bower.  "I will not expect him,"
she said, "till night; he cannot be absent from his royal guest,
even to see me.  He will, I know, come earlier if it be possible,
but I will not expect him before night."  And yet all the while
she did expect him; and while she tried to argue herself into a
contrary belief, each hasty noise of the hundred which she heard
sounded like the hurried step of Leicester on the staircase,
hasting to fold her in his arms.

The fatigue of body which Amy had lately undergone, with the
agitation of mind natural to so cruel a state of uncertainty,
began by degrees strongly to affect her nerves, and she almost
feared her total inability to maintain the necessary self-command
through the scenes which might lie before her.  But although
spoiled by an over-indulgent system of education, Amy had
naturally a mind of great power, united with a frame which her
share in her father's woodland exercises had rendered uncommonly
healthy.  She summoned to her aid such mental and bodily
resources; and not unconscious how much the issue of her fate
might depend on her own self-possession, she prayed internally
for strength of body and for mental fortitude, and resolved at
the same time to yield to no nervous impulse which might weaken
either.

Yet when the great bell of the Castle, which was placed in
Caesar's Tower, at no great distance from that called Mervyn's,
began to send its pealing clamour abroad, in signal of the
arrival of the royal procession, the din was so painfully acute
to ears rendered nervously sensitive by anxiety, that she could
hardly forbear shrieking with anguish, in answer to every
stunning clash of the relentless peal.

Shortly afterwards, when the small apartment was at once
enlightened by the shower of artificial fires with which the air
was suddenly filled, and which crossed each other like fiery
spirits, each bent on his own separate mission, or like
salamanders executing a frolic dance in the region of the Sylphs,
the Countess felt at first as if each rocket shot close by her
eyes, and discharged its sparks and flashes so nigh that she
could feel a sense of the heat.  But she struggled against these
fantastic terrors, and compelled herself to arise, stand by the
window, look out, and gaze upon a sight which at another time
would have appeared to her at once captivating and fearful.  The
magnificent towers of the Castle were enveloped in garlands of
artificial fire, or shrouded with tiaras of pale smoke.  The
surface of the lake glowed like molten iron, while many fireworks
(then thought extremely wonderful, though now common), whose
flame continued to exist in the opposing element, dived and rose,
hissed and roared, and spouted fire, like so many dragons of
enchantment sporting upon a burning lake.

Even Amy was for a moment interested by what was to her so new a
scene.  "I had thought it magical art," she said, "but poor
Tressilian taught me to judge of such things as they are.  Great
God!  and may not these idle splendours resemble my own hoped-for
happiness--a single spark, which is instantly swallowed up by
surrounding darkness--a precarious glow, which rises but for a
brief space into the air, that its fall may be the lower?  O
Leicester!  after all--all that thou hast said--hast sworn--that
Amy was thy love, thy life, can it be that thou art the magician
at whose nod these enchantments arise, and that she sees them as
an outcast, if not a captive?"

The sustained, prolonged, and repeated bursts of music, from so
many different quarters, and at so many varying points of
distance, which sounded as if not the Castle of Kenilworth only,
but the whole country around, had been at once the scene of
solemnizing some high national festival, carried the same
oppressive thought still closer to her heart, while some notes
would melt in distant and falling tones, as if in compassion for
her sorrows, and some burst close and near upon her, as if
mocking her misery, with all the insolence of unlimited mirth.
"These sounds," she said, "are mine--mine, because they are HIS;
but I cannot say, Be still, these loud strains suit me not; and
the voice of the meanest peasant that mingles in the dance would
have more power to modulate the music than the command of her who
is mistress of all."

By degrees the sounds of revelry died away, and the Countess
withdrew from the window at which she had sat listening to them.
It was night, but the moon afforded considerable light in the
room, so that Amy was able to make the arrangement which she
judged necessary.  There was hope that Leicester might come to
her apartment as soon as the revel in the Castle had subsided;
but there was also risk she might be disturbed by some
unauthorized intruder.  She had lost confidence in the key since
Tressilian had entered so easily, though the door was locked on
the inside; yet all the additional security she could think of
was to place the table across the door, that she might be warned
by the noise should any one attempt to enter.  Having taken these
necessary precautions, the unfortunate lady withdrew to her
couch, stretched herself down on it, mused in anxious
expectation, and counted more than one hour after midnight, till
exhausted nature proved too strong for love, for grief, for fear,
nay, even for uncertainty, and she slept.

Yes, she slept.  The Indian sleeps at the stake in the intervals
between his tortures; and mental torments, in like manner,
exhaust by long continuance the sensibility of the sufferer, so
that an interval of lethargic repose must necessarily ensue, ere
the pangs which they inflict can again be renewed.

The Countess slept, then, for several hours, and dreamed that she
was in the ancient house at Cumnor Place, listening for the low
whistle with which Leicester often used to announce his presence
in the courtyard when arriving suddenly on one of his stolen
visits.  But on this occasion, instead of a whistle, she heard
the peculiar blast of a bugle-horn, such as her father used to
wind on the fall of the stag, and which huntsmen then called a
MORT.  She ran, as she thought, to a window that looked into the
courtyard, which she saw filled with men in mourning garments.
The old Curate seemed about to read the funeral service.
Mumblazen, tricked out in an antique dress, like an ancient
herald, held aloft a scutcheon, with its usual decorations of
skulls, cross-bones, and hour-glasses, surrounding a coat-of-
arms, of which she could only distinguish that it was surmounted
with an Earl's coronet.  The old man looked at her with a ghastly
smile, and said, "Amy, are they not rightly quartered?"  Just as
he spoke, the horns again poured on her ear the melancholy yet
wild strain of the MORT, or death-note, and she awoke.

The Countess awoke to hear a real bugle-note, or rather the
combined breath of many bugles, sounding not the MORT.  but the
jolly REVEILLE, to remind the inmates of the Castle of Kenilworth
that the pleasures of the day were to commence with a magnificent
stag-hunting in the neighbouring Chase.  Amy started up from her
couch, listened to the sound, saw the first beams of the summer
morning already twinkle through the lattice of her window, and
recollected, with feelings of giddy agony, where she was, and how
circumstanced.

"He thinks not of me," she said; "he will not come nigh me!  A
Queen is his guest, and what cares he in what corner of his huge
Castle a wretch like me pines in doubt, which is fast fading into
despair?"  At once a sound at the door, as of some one attempting
to open it softly, filled her with an ineffable mixture of joy
and fear; and hastening to remove the obstacle she had placed
against the door, and to unlock it, she had the precaution to
ask!  "Is it thou, my love?"

"Yes, my Countess," murmured a whisper in reply.

She threw open the door, and exclaiming, "Leicester!"  flung her
arms around the neck of the man who stood without, muffled in his
cloak.

"No--not quite Leicester," answered Michael Lambourne, for he it
was, returning the caress with vehemence--"not quite Leicester,
my lovely and most loving duchess, but as good a man."

With an exertion of force, of which she would at another time
have thought herself incapable, the Countess freed herself from
the profane and profaning grasp of the drunken debauchee, and
retreated into the midst of her apartment.  where despair gave
her courage to make a stand.

As Lambourne, on entering, dropped the lap of his cloak from his
face, she knew Varney's profligate servant, the very last person,
excepting his detested master, by whom she would have wished to
be discovered.  But she was still closely muffled in her
travelling dress, and as Lambourne had scarce ever been admitted
to her presence at Cumnor Place, her person, she hoped, might not
be so well known to him as his was to her, owing to Janet's
pointing him frequently out as he crossed the court, and telling
stories of his wickedness.  She might have had still greater
confidence in her disguise had her experience enabled her to
discover that he was much intoxicated; but this could scarce have
consoled her for the risk which she might incur from such a
character in such a time, place, and circumstances.

Lambourne flung the door behind him as he entered, and folding
his arms, as if in mockery of the attitude of distraction into
which Amy had thrown herself, he proceeded thus:  "Hark ye, most
fair Calipolis--or most lovely Countess of clouts, and divine
Duchess of dark corners--if thou takest all that trouble of
skewering thyself together, like a trussed fowl, that there may
be more pleasure in the carving, even save thyself the labour.  I
love thy first frank manner the best---like thy present as
little"--(he made a step towards her, and staggered)--"as little
as--such a damned uneven floor as this, where a gentleman may
break his neck if he does not walk as upright as a posture-master
on the tight-rope."

"Stand back!"  said the Countess; "do not approach nearer to me
on thy peril!"

"My peril!--and stand back!  Why, how now, madam?  Must you have
a better mate than honest Mike Lambourne?  I have been in
America, girl, where the gold grows, and have brought off such a
load on't--"

"Good friend," said the Countess, in great terror at the
ruffian's determined and audacious manner, "I prithee begone, and
leave me."

"And so I will, pretty one, when we are tired of each other's
company--not a jot sooner."  He seized her by the arm, while,
incapable of further defence, she uttered shriek upon shriek.
"Nay, scream away if you like it," said he, still holding her
fast; "I have heard the sea at the loudest, and I mind a
squalling woman no more than a miauling kitten.  Damn me!  I have
heard fifty or a hundred screaming at once, when there was a town
stormed."

The cries of the Countess, however, brought unexpected aid in the
person of Lawrence Staples, who had heard her exclamations from
his apartment below, and entered in good time to save her from
being discovered, if not from more atrocious violence.  Lawrence
was drunk also from the debauch of the preceding night, but
fortunately his intoxication had taken a different turn from that
of Lambourne.

"What the devil's noise is this in the ward?"  he said.  "What!
man and woman together in the same cell?--that is against rule.
I will have decency under my rule, by Saint Peter of the
Fetters!"

"Get thee downstairs, thou drunken beast," said Lambourne; "seest
thou not the lady and I would be private?"

"Good sir, worthy sir!"  said the Countess, addressing the
jailer, "do but save me from him, for the sake of mercy!"

"She speaks fairly," said the jailer, "and I will take her part.
I love my prisoners; and I have had as good prisoners under my
key as they have had in Newgate or the Compter.  And so, being
one of my lambkins, as I say, no one shall disturb her in her
pen-fold.  So let go the woman:  or I'll knock your brains out
with my keys."

"I'll make a blood-pudding of thy midriff first," answered
Lambourne, laying his left hand on his dagger, but still
detaining the Countess by the arm with his right.  "So have at
thee, thou old ostrich, whose only living is upon a bunch of iron
keys."

Lawrence raised the arm of Michael, and prevented him from
drawing his dagger; and as Lambourne struggled and strove to
shake him off; the Countess made a sudden exertion on her side,
and slipping her hand out of the glove on which the ruffian still
kept hold, she gained her liberty, and escaping from the
apartment, ran downstairs; while at the same moment she heard the
two combatants fall on the floor with a noise which increased her
terror.  The outer wicket offered no impediment to her flight,
having been opened for Lambourne's admittance; so that she
succeeded in escaping down the stair, and fled into the
Pleasance, which seemed to her hasty glance the direction in
which she was most likely to avoid pursuit.

Meanwhile, Lawrence and Lambourne rolled on the floor of the
apartment, closely grappled together.  Neither had, happily,
opportunity to draw their daggers; but Lawrence found space
enough to clash his heavy keys across Michael's face, and Michael
in return grasped the turnkey so felly by the throat that the
blood gushed from nose and mouth, so that they were both gory and
filthy spectacles when one of the other officers of the
household, attracted by the noise of the fray, entered the room,
and with some difficulty effected the separation of the
combatants.

"A murrain on you both," said the charitable mediator, "and
especially on you, Master Lambourne!  What the fiend lie you here
for, fighting on the floor like two butchers' curs in the kennel
of the shambles?"

Lambourne arose, and somewhat sobered by the interposition of a
third party, looked with something less than his usual brazen
impudence of visage.  "We fought for a wench, an thou must know,"
was his reply.

"A wench!  Where is she?"  said the officer.

"Why, vanished, I think," said Lambourne, looking around him,
"unless Lawrence hath swallowed her, That filthy paunch of his
devours as many distressed damsels and oppressed orphans as e'er
a giant in King Arthur's history.  They are his prime food; he
worries them body, soul, and substance."

"Ay, ay!  It's no matter," said Lawrence, gathering up his huge,
ungainly form from the floor; "but I have had your betters,
Master Michael Lambourne, under the little turn of my forefinger
and thumb, and I shall have thee, before all's done, under my
hatches.  The impudence of thy brow will not always save thy
shin-bones from iron, and thy foul, thirsty gullet from a hempen
cord."  The words were no sooner out of his mouth, when Lambourne
again made at him.

"Nay, go not to it again," said the sewer, "or I will call for
him shall tame you both, and that is Master Varney--Sir Richard,
I mean.  He is stirring, I promise you; I saw him cross the court
just now."

"Didst thou, by G--!"  said Lambourne, seizing on the basin and
ewer which stood in the apartment.  "Nay, then, element, do thy
work.  I thought I had enough of thee last night, when I floated
about for Orion, like a cork on a fermenting cask of ale."

So saying, he fell to work to cleanse from his face and hands the
signs of the fray, and get his apparel into some order.

"What hast thou done to him?"  said the sewer, speaking aside to
the jailer; "his face is fearfully swelled."

"It is but the imprint of the key of my cabinet--too good a mark
for his gallows-face.  No man shall abuse or insult my prisoners;
they are my jewels, and I lock them in safe casket accordingly.
--And so, mistress, leave off your wailing.--Why!  why, surely,
there was a woman here!"

"I think you are all mad this morning," said the sewer.  "I saw
no woman here, nor no man neither in a proper sense, but only two
beasts rolling on the floor."

"Nay, then I am undone," said the jailer; "the prison's broken,
that is all.  Kenilworth prison is broken," he continued, in a
tone of maudlin lamentation, "which was the strongest jail
betwixt this and the Welsh Marches--ay, and a house that has had
knights, and earls, and kings sleeping in it, as secure as if
they had been in the Tower of London.  It is broken, the
prisoners fled, and the jailer in much danger of being hanged!"

So saying, he retreated down to his own den to conclude his
lamentations, or to sleep himself sober.  Lambourne and the sewer
followed him close; and it was well for them, since the jailer,
out of mere habit, was about to lock the wicket after him, and
had they not been within the reach of interfering, they would
have had the pleasure of being shut up in the turret-chamber,
from which the Countess had been just delivered.

That unhappy lady, as soon as she found herself at liberty, fled,
as we have already mentioned, into the Pleasance.  She had seen
this richly-ornamented space of ground from the window of
Mervyn's Tower; and it occurred to her, at the moment of her
escape, that among its numerous arbours, bowers, fountains,
statues, and grottoes, she might find some recess in which she
could lie concealed until she had an opportunity of addressing
herself to a protector, to whom she might communicate as much as
she dared of her forlorn situation, and through whose means she
might supplicate an interview with her husband.

"If I could see my guide," she thought, "I would learn if he had
delivered my letter.  Even did I but see Tressilian, it were
better to risk Dudley's anger, by confiding my whole situation to
one who is the very soul of honour, than to run the hazard of
further insult among the insolent menials of this ill-ruled
place.  I will not again venture into an enclosed apartment.  I
will wait, I will watch; amidst so many human beings there must
be some kind heart which can judge and compassionate what mine
endures."

In truth, more than one party entered and traversed the
Pleasance.  But they were in joyous groups of four or five
persons together, laughing and jesting in their own fullness of
mirth and lightness of heart.

The retreat which she had chosen gave her the easy alternative of
avoiding observation.  It was but stepping back to the farthest
recess of a grotto, ornamented with rustic work and moss-seats,
and terminated by a fountain, and she might easily remain
concealed, or at her pleasure discover herself to any solitary
wanderer whose curiosity might lead him to that romantic
retirement.  Anticipating such an opportunity, she looked into
the clear basin which the silent fountain held up to her like a
mirror, and felt shocked at her own appearance, and doubtful at;
the same time, muffled and disfigured as her disguise made her
seem to herself, whether any female (and it was from the
compassion of her own sex that she chiefly expected sympathy)
would engage in conference with so suspicious an object.
Reasoning thus like a woman, to whom external appearance is
scarcely in any circumstances a matter of unimportance, and like
a beauty, who had some confidence in the power of her own charms,
she laid aside her travelling cloak and capotaine hat, and placed
them beside her, so that she could assume them in an instant, ere
one could penetrate from the entrance of the grotto to its
extremity, in case the intrusion of Varney or of Lambourne should
render such disguise necessary.  The dress which she wore under
these vestments was somewhat of a theatrical cast, so as to suit
the assumed personage of one of the females who was to act in the
pageant, Wayland had found the means of arranging it thus upon
the second day of their journey, having experienced the service
arising from the assumption of such a character on the preceding
day.  The fountain, acting both as a mirror and ewer, afforded
Amy the means of a brief toilette, of which she availed herself
as hastily as possible; then took in her hand her small casket of
jewels, in case she might find them useful intercessors, and
retiring to the darkest and most sequestered nook, sat down on a
seat of moss, and awaited till fate should give her some chance
of rescue, or of propitiating an intercessor.



CHAPTER XXXIV.

  Have you not seen the partridge quake,
  Viewing the hawk approaching nigh?
  She cuddles close beneath the brake,
  Afraid to sit, afraid to fly,          PRIOR.

It chanced, upon that memorable morning, that one of the earliest
of the huntress train, who appeared from her chamber in full
array for the chase, was the Princess for whom all these
pleasures were instituted, England's Maiden Queen.  I know not if
it were by chance, or out of the befitting courtesy due to a
mistress by whom he was so much honoured, that she had scarcely
made one step beyond the threshold of her chamber ere Leicester
was by her side, and proposed to her, until the preparations for
the chase had been completed, to view the Pleasance, and the
gardens which it connected with the Castle yard.

To this new scene of pleasures they walked, the Earl's arm
affording his Sovereign the occasional support which she
required, where flights of steps, then a favourite ornament in a
garden, conducted them from terrace to terrace, and from parterre
to parterre.  The ladies in attendance, gifted with prudence, or
endowed perhaps with the amiable desire of acting as they would
be done by, did not conceive their duty to the Queen's person
required them, though they lost not sight of her, to approach so
near as to share, or perhaps disturb, the conversation betwixt
the Queen and the Earl, who was not only her host, but also her
most trusted, esteemed, and favoured servant.  They contented
themselves with admiring the grace of this illustrious couple,
whose robes of state were now exchanged for hunting suits, almost
equally magnificent.

Elizabeth's silvan dress, which was of a pale blue silk, with
silver lace and AIGUILLETTES, approached in form to that of the
ancient Amazons, and was therefore well suited at once to her
height and to the dignity of her mien, which her conscious rank
and long habits of authority had rendered in some degree too
masculine to be seen to the best advantage in ordinary female
weeds.  Leicester's hunting suit of Lincoln green, richly
embroidered with gold, and crossed by the gay baldric which
sustained a bugle-horn, and a wood-knife instead of a sword,
became its master, as did his other vestments of court or of war.
For such were the perfections of his form and mien, that
Leicester was always supposed to be seen to the greatest
advantage in the character and dress which for the time he
represented or wore.

The conversation of Elizabeth and the favourite Earl has not
reached us in detail.  But those who watched at some distance
(and the eyes of courtiers and court ladies are right sharp) were
of opinion that on no occasion did the dignity of Elizabeth, in
gesture and motion, seem so decidedly to soften away into a mien
expressive of indecision and tenderness.  Her step was not only
slow, but even unequal, a thing most unwonted in her carriage;
her looks seemed bent on the ground; and there was a timid
disposition to withdraw from her companion, which external
gesture in females often indicates exactly the opposite tendency
in the secret mind.  The Duchess of Rutland, who ventured
nearest, was even heard to aver that she discerned a tear in
Elizabeth's eye and a blush on her cheek; and still further, "She
bent her looks on the ground to avoid mine," said the Duchess,
"she who, in her ordinary mood, could look down a lion."  To what
conclusion these symptoms led is sufficiently evident; nor were
they probably entirely groundless.  The progress of a private
conversation betwixt two persons of different sexes is often
decisive of their fate, and gives it a turn very different
perhaps from what they themselves anticipated.  Gallantry becomes
mingled with conversation, and affection and passion come
gradually to mix with gallantry.  Nobles, as well as shepherd
swains, will, in such a trying moment, say more than they
intended; and Queens, like village maidens, will listen longer
than they should.

Horses in the meanwhile neighed and champed the bits with
impatience in the base-court; hounds yelled in their couples; and
yeomen, rangers, and prickers lamented the exhaling of the dew,
which would prevent the scent from lying.  But Leicester had
another chase in view--or, to speak more justly towards him, had
become engaged in it without premeditation, as the high-spirited
hunter which follows the cry of the hounds that have crossed his
path by accident.  The Queen, an accomplished and handsome woman,
the pride of England, the hope of France and Holland, and the
dread of Spain, had probably listened with more than usual favour
to that mixture of romantic gallantry with which she always loved
to be addressed; and the Earl had, in vanity, in ambition, or in
both, thrown in more and more of that delicious ingredient, until
his importunity became the language of love itself.

"No, Dudley," said Elizabeth, yet it was with broken accents--
"no, I must be the mother of my people.  Other ties, that make
the lowly maiden happy, are denied to her Sovereign.  No,
Leicester, urge it no more.  Were I as others, free to seek my
own happiness, then, indeed--but it cannot--cannot be.  Delay the
chase--delay it for half an hour--and leave me, my lord."

"How!  leave you, madam?"  said Leicester,--"has my madness
offended you?"

"No, Leicester, not so!"  answered the Queen hastily; "but it is
madness, and must not be repeated.  Go--but go not far from
hence; and meantime let no one intrude on my privacy."

While she spoke thus, Dudley bowed deeply, and retired with a
slow and melancholy air.  The Queen stood gazing after him, and
murmured to herself, "Were it possible--were it BUT possible!--
but no--no; Elizabeth must be the wife and mother of England
alone."

As she spoke thus, and in order to avoid some one whose step she
heard approaching, the Queen turned into the grotto in which her
hapless, and yet but too successful, rival lay concealed.

The mind of England's Elizabeth, if somewhat shaken by the
agitating interview to which she had just put a period, was of
that firm and decided character which soon recovers its natural
tone.  It was like one of those ancient Druidical monuments
called Rocking-stones.  The finger of Cupid, boy as he is
painted, could put her feelings in motion; but the power of
Hercules could not have destroyed their equilibrium.  As she
advanced with a slow pace towards the inmost extremity of the
grotto, her countenance, ere she had proceeded half the length,
had recovered its dignity of look, and her mien its air of
command.

It was then the Queen became aware that a female figure was
placed beside, or rather partly behind, an alabaster column, at
the foot of which arose the pellucid fountain which occupied the
inmost recess of the twilight grotto.  The classical mind of
Elizabeth suggested the story of Numa and Egeria, and she doubted
not that some Italian sculptor had here represented the Naiad
whose inspirations gave laws to Rome.  As she advanced, she
became doubtful whether she beheld a statue, or a form of flesh
and blood.  The unfortunate Amy, indeed, remained motionless,
betwixt the desire which she had to make her condition known to
one of her own sex, and her awe for the stately form which
approached her, and which, though her eyes had never before
beheld, her fears instantly suspected to be the personage she
really was.  Amy had arisen from her seat with the purpose of
addressing the lady who entered the grotto alone, and, as she at
first thought, so opportunely.  But when she recollected the
alarm which Leicester had expressed at the Queen's knowing aught
of their union, and became more and more satisfied that the
person whom she now beheld was Elizabeth herself, she stood with
one foot advanced and one withdrawn, her arms, head, and hands
perfectly motionless, and her cheek as pallid as the alabaster
pedestal against which she leaned.  Her dress was of pale sea-
green silk, little distinguished in that imperfect light, and
somewhat resembled the drapery of a Grecian Nymph, such an
antique disguise having been thought the most secure, where so
many maskers and revellers were assembled; so that the Queen's
doubt of her being a living form was well justified by all
contingent circumstances, as well as by the bloodless cheek and
the fixed eye.

Elizabeth remained in doubt, even after she had approached within
a few paces, whether she did not gaze on a statue so cunningly
fashioned that by the doubtful light it could not be
distinguished from reality.  She stopped, therefore, and fixed
upon this interesting object her princely look with so much
keenness that the astonishment which had kept Amy immovable gave
way to awe, and she gradually cast down her eyes, and drooped her
head under the commanding gaze of the Sovereign.  Still, however,
she remained in all respects, saving this slow and profound
inclination of the head, motionless and silent.

From her dress, and the casket which she instinctively held in
her hand, Elizabeth naturally conjectured that the beautiful but
mute figure which she beheld was a performer in one of the
various theatrical pageants which had been placed in different
situations to surprise her with their homage; and that the poor
player, overcome with awe at her presence, had either forgot the
part assigned her, or lacked courage to go through it.  It was
natural and courteous to give her some encouragement; and
Elizabeth accordingly said, in a, tone of condescending kindness,
"How now, fair Nymph of this lovely grotto, art thou spell-bound
and struck with dumbness by the charms of the wicked enchanter
whom men term Fear?  We are his sworn enemy, maiden, and can
reverse his charm.  Speak, we command thee."

Instead of answering her by speech, the unfortunate Countess
dropped on her knee before the Queen, let her casket fall from
her hand, and clasping her palms together, looked up in the
Queen's face with such a mixed agony of fear and supplication,
that Elizabeth was considerably affected.

"What may this mean?"  she said; "this is a stronger passion than
befits the occasion.  Stand up, damsel--what wouldst thou have
with us?"

"Your protection, madam," faltered forth the unhappy petitioner.

"Each daughter of England has it while she is worthy of it,"
replied the Queen; "but your distress seems to have a deeper root
than a forgotten task.  Why, and in what, do you crave our
protection?"

Amy hastily endeavoured to recall what she were best to say,
which might secure herself from the imminent dangers that
surrounded her, without endangering her husband; and plunging
from one thought to another, amidst the chaos which filled her
mind, she could at length, in answer to the Queen's repeated
inquiries in what she sought protection, only falter out, "Alas!
I know not."

"This is folly, maiden," said Elizabeth impatiently; for there
was something in the extreme confusion of the suppliant which
irritated her curiosity, as well as interested her feelings.
"The sick man must tell his malady to the physician; nor are WE
accustomed to ask questions so oft without receiving an answer."

"I request--I implore," stammered forth the unfortunate Countess
--"I beseech your gracious protection--against--against one
Varney."  She choked well-nigh as she uttered the fatal word,
which was instantly caught up by the Queen.

"What, Varney--Sir Richard Varney--the servant of Lord Leicester!
what, damsel, are you to him, or he to you?"

"I--I--was his prisoner--and he practised on my life--and I broke
forth to--to--"

"To throw thyself on my protection, doubtless," said Elizabeth.
"Thou shalt have it--that is, if thou art worthy; for we will
sift this matter to the uttermost.  Thou art," she said, bending
on the Countess an eye which seemed designed to pierce her very
inmost soul--"thou art Amy, daughter of Sir Hugh Robsart of
Lidcote Hall?"

"Forgive me--forgive me, most gracious Princess!"  said Amy,
dropping once more on her knee, from which she had arisen.

"For what should I forgive thee, silly wench?"  said Elizabeth;
"for being the daughter of thine own father?  Thou art brain-
sick, surely.  Well I see I must wring the story from thee by
inches. Thou didst deceive thine old and honoured father--thy
look confesses it--cheated Master Tressilian--thy blush avouches
it--and married this same Varney."

Amy sprung on her feet, and interrupted the Queen eagerly with,
"No, madam, no!  as there is a God above us, I am not the sordid
wretch you would make me!  I am not the wife of that contemptible
slave--of that most deliberate villain!  I am not the wife of
Varney!  I would rather be the bride of Destruction!"

The Queen, overwhelmed in her turn by Amy's vehemence, stood
silent for an instant, and then replied, "Why, God ha' mercy,
woman!  I see thou canst talk fast enough when the theme likes
thee.  Nay, tell me, woman," she continued, for to the impulse of
curiosity was now added that of an undefined jealousy that some
deception had been practised on her--"tell me, woman--for, by
God's day, I WILL know--whose wife, or whose paramour, art thou!
Speak out, and be speedy.  Thou wert better daily with a lioness
than with Elizabeth."

Urged to this extremity, dragged as it were by irresistible force
to the verge of the precipice which she saw, but could not avoid
--permitted not a moment's respite by the eager words and
menacing gestures of the offended Queen, Amy at length uttered in
despair, "The Earl of Leicester knows it all."

"The Earl of Leicester!"  said Elizabeth, in utter astonishment.
"The Earl of Leicester!"  she repeated with kindling anger.
"Woman, thou art set on to this--thou dost belie him--he takes no
keep of such things as thou art.  Thou art suborned to slander
the noblest lord and the truest-hearted gentleman in England!
But were he the right hand of our trust, or something yet dearer
to us, thou shalt have thy hearing, and that in his presence.
Come with me--come with me instantly!"

As Amy shrunk back with terror, which the incensed Queen
interpreted as that of conscious guilt, Elizabeth rapidly
advanced, seized on her arm, and hastened with swift and long
steps out of the grotto, and along the principal alley of the
Pleasance, dragging with her the terrified Countess, whom she
still held by the arm, and whose utmost exertions could but just
keep pace with those of the indignant Queen.

Leicester was at this moment the centre of a splendid group of
lords and ladies, assembled together under an arcade, or portico,
which closed the alley.  The company had drawn together in that
place, to attend the commands of her Majesty when the hunting-
party should go forward, and their astonishment may be imagined
when, instead of seeing Elizabeth advance towards them with her
usual measured dignity of motion, they beheld her walking so
rapidly that she was in the midst of them ere they were aware;
and then observed, with fear and surprise, that her features were
flushed betwixt anger and agitation, that her hair was loosened
by her haste of motion, and that her eyes sparkled as they were
wont when the spirit of Henry VIII.  mounted highest in his
daughter.  Nor were they less astonished at the appearance of the
pale, attenuated, half-dead, yet still lovely female, whom the
Queen upheld by main strength with one hand, while with the other
she waved aside the ladies and nobles who pressed towards her,
under the idea that she was taken suddenly ill.  "Where is my
Lord of Leicester?"  she said, in a tone that thrilled with
astonishment all the courtiers who stood around.  "Stand forth,
my Lord of Leicester!"

If, in the midst of the most serene day of summer, when all is
light and laughing around, a thunderbolt were to fall from the
clear blue vault of heaven, and rend the earth at the very feet
of some careless traveller, he could not gaze upon the
smouldering chasm, which so unexpectedly yawned before him, with
half the astonishment and fear which Leicester felt at the sight
that so suddenly presented itself.  He had that instant been
receiving, with a political affectation of disavowing and
misunderstanding their meaning, the half-uttered, half-intimated
congratulations of the courtiers upon the favour of the Queen,
carried apparently to its highest pitch during the interview of
that morning, from which most of them seemed to augur that he
might soon arise from their equal in rank to become their master.
And now, while the subdued yet proud smile with which he
disclaimed those inferences was yet curling his cheek, the Queen
shot into the circle, her passions excited to the uttermost; and
supporting with one hand, and apparently without an effort, the
pale and sinking form of his almost expiring wife, and pointing
with the finger of the other to her half-dead features, demanded
in a voice that sounded to the ears of the astounded statesman
like the last dread trumpet-call that is to summon body and
spirit to the judgment-seat, "Knowest thou this woman?"

As, at the blast of that last trumpet, the guilty shall call upon
the mountains to cover them, Leicester's inward thoughts invoked
the stately arch which he had built in his pride to burst its
strong conjunction, and overwhelm them in its ruins.  But the
cemented stones, architrave and battlement, stood fast; and it
was the proud master himself who, as if some actual pressure had
bent him to the earth, kneeled down before Elizabeth, and
prostrated his brow to the marble flag-stones on which she stood.

"Leicester," said Elizabeth, in a voice which trembled with
passion, "could I think thou hast practised on me--on me thy
Sovereign--on me thy confiding, thy too partial mistress, the
base and ungrateful deception which thy present confusion
surmises--by all that is holy, false lord, that head of thine
were in as great peril as ever was thy father's!"

Leicester had not conscious innocence, but he had pride to
support him.  He raised slowly his brow and features, which were
black and swoln with contending emotions, and only replied, "My
head cannot fall but by the sentence of my peers.  To them I will
plead, and not to a princess who thus requites my faithful
service."

"What!  my lords," said Elizabeth, looking around, "we are
defied, I think--defied in the Castle we have ourselves bestowed
on this proud man!--My Lord Shrewsbury, you are Marshal of
England, attach him of high treason."

"Whom does your Grace mean?"  said Shrewsbury, much surprised,
for he had that instant joined the astonished circle.

"Whom should I mean, but that traitor Dudley, Earl of Leicester!
--Cousin of Hunsdon, order out your band of gentlemen pensioners,
and take him into instant custody.  I say, villain, make haste!"

Hunsdon, a rough old noble, who, from his relationship to the
Boleyns, was accustomed to use more freedom with the Queen than
almost any other dared to do, replied bluntly, "And it is like
your Grace might order me to the Tower to-morrow for making too
much haste.  I do beseech you to be patient."

"Patient--God's life!"  exclaimed the Queen--"name not the word
to me; thou knowest not of what he is guilty!"

Amy, who had by this time in some degree recovered herself, and
who saw her husband, as she conceived, in the utmost danger from
the rage of an offended Sovereign, instantly (and alas!  how
many women have done the same) forgot her own wrongs and her own
danger in her apprehensions for him, and throwing herself before
the Queen, embraced her knees, while she exclaimed, "He is
guiltless, madam--he is guiltless; no one can lay aught to the
charge of the noble Leicester!"

"Why, minion," answered the Queen, "didst not thou thyself say
that the Earl of Leicester was privy to thy whole history?"

"Did I say so?"  repeated the unhappy Amy, laying aside every
consideration of consistency and of self-interest.  "Oh, if I
did, I foully belied him.  May God so judge me, as I believe he
was never privy to a thought that would harm me!"

"Woman!"  said Elizabeth, "I will know who has moved thee to
this; or my wrath--and the wrath of kings is a flaming fire--
shall wither and consume thee like a weed in the furnace!"

As the Queen uttered this threat, Leicester's better angel called
his pride to his aid, and reproached him with the utter extremity
of meanness which would overwhelm him for ever if he stooped to
take shelter under the generous interposition of his wife, and
abandoned her, in return for her kindness, to the resentment of
the Queen.  He had already raised his head with the dignity of a
man of honour to avow his marriage, and proclaim himself the
protector of his Countess, when Varney, born, as it appeared, to
be his master's evil genius, rushed into the presence with every
mark of disorder on his face and apparel.

"What means this saucy intrusion?"  said Elizabeth.

Varney, with the air of a man altogether overwhelmed with grief
and confusion, prostrated himself before her feet, exclaiming,
"Pardon, my Liege, pardon!--or at least let your justice avenge
itself on me, where it is due; but spare my noble, my generous,
my innocent patron and master!"

Amy, who was yet kneeling, started up as she saw the man whom she
deemed most odious place himself so near her, and was about to
fly towards Leicester, when, checked at once by the uncertainty
and even timidity which his looks had reassumed as soon as the
appearance of his confidant seemed to open a new scene, she hung
back, and uttering a faint scream, besought of her Majesty to
cause her to be imprisoned in the lowest dungeon of the Castle--
to deal with her as the worst of criminals--"but spare," she
exclaimed, "my sight and hearing what will destroy the little
judgment I have left--the sight of that unutterable and most
shameless villain!"

"And why, sweetheart?"  said the Queen, moved by a new impulse;
"what hath he, this false knight, since such thou accountest him,
done to thee?"

"Oh, worse than sorrow, madam, and worse than injury--he has sown
dissension where most there should be peace.  I shall go mad if I
look longer on him!"

"Beshrew me, but I think thou art distraught already," answered
the Queen.--"My Lord Hunsdon, look to this poor distressed young
woman, and let her be safely bestowed, and in honest keeping,
till we require her to be forthcoming."

Two or three of the ladies in attendance, either moved by
compassion for a creature so interesting, or by some other
motive, offered their services to look after her; but the Queen
briefly answered, "Ladies, under favour, no.  You have all (give
God thanks) sharp ears and nimble tongues; our kinsman Hunsdon
has ears of the dullest, and a tongue somewhat rough, but yet of
the slowest.--Hunsdon, look to it that none have speech of her."

"By Our Lady," said Hunsdon, taking in his strong, sinewy arms
the fading and almost swooning form of Amy, "she is a lovely
child!  and though a rough nurse, your Grace hath given her a
kind one.  She is safe with me as one of my own ladybirds of
daughters."

So saying, he carried her off; unresistingly and almost
unconsciously, his war-worn locks and long, grey beard mingling
with her light-brown tresses, as her head reclined on his strong,
square shoulder.  The Queen followed him with her eye.  She had
already, with that self-command which forms so necessary a part
of a Sovereign's accomplishments, suppressed every appearance of
agitation, and seemed as if she desired to banish all traces of
her burst of passion from the recollection of those who had
witnessed it.  "My Lord of Hunsdon says well," she observed, "he
is indeed but a rough nurse for so tender a babe."

"My Lord of Hunsdon," said the Dean of St. Asaph--"I speak it not
in defamation of his more noble qualities--hath a broad license
in speech, and garnishes his discourse somewhat too freely with
the cruel and superstitious oaths which savour both of
profaneness and of old Papistrie."

"It is the fault of his blood, Mr. Dean," said the Queen, turning
sharply round upon the reverend dignitary as she spoke; "and you
may blame mine for the same distemperature.  The Boleyns were
ever a hot and plain-spoken race, more hasty to speak their mind
than careful to choose their expressions.  And by my word--I hope
there is no sin in that affirmation--I question if it were much
cooled by mixing with that of Tudor."

As she made this last observation she smiled graciously, and
stole her eyes almost insensibly round to seek those of the Earl
of Leicester, to whom she now began to think she had spoken with
hasty harshness upon the unfounded suspicion of a moment.

The Queen's eye found the Earl in no mood to accept the implied
offer of conciliation.  His own looks had followed, with late and
rueful repentance, the faded form which Hunsdon had just borne
from the presence.  They now reposed gloomily on the ground, but
more--so at least it seemed to Elizabeth--with the expression of
one who has received an unjust affront, than of him who is
conscious of guilt.  She turned her face angrily from him, and
said to Varney, "Speak, Sir Richard, and explain these riddles--
thou hast sense and the use of speech, at least, which elsewhere
we look for in vain."

As she said this, she darted another resentful glance towards
Leicester, while the wily Varney hastened to tell his own story.

"Your Majesty's piercing eye," he said, "has already detected the
cruel malady of my beloved lady, which, unhappy that I am, I
would not suffer to be expressed in the certificate of her
physician, seeking to conceal what has now broken out with so
much the more scandal."

"She is then distraught?"  said the Queen.  "Indeed we doubted
not of it; her whole demeanour bears it out.  I found her moping
in a corner of yonder grotto; and every word she spoke--which
indeed I dragged from her as by the rack--she instantly recalled
and forswore.  But how came she hither?  Why had you her not in
safe-keeping?"

"My gracious Liege," said Varney, "the worthy gentleman under
whose charge I left her, Master Anthony Foster, has come hither
but now, as fast as man and horse can travel, to show me of her
escape, which she managed with the art peculiar to many who are
afflicted with this malady.  He is at hand for examination."

"Let it be for another time," said the Queen.  "But, Sir Richard,
we envy you not your domestic felicity; your lady railed on you
bitterly, and seemed ready to swoon at beholding you."

"It is the nature of persons in her disorder, so please your
Grace," answered Varney, "to be ever most inveterate in their
spleen against those whom, in their better moments, they hold
nearest and dearest."

"We have heard so, indeed," said Elizabeth, "and give faith to
the saying."

"May your Grace then be pleased," said Varney, " to command my
unfortunate wife to be delivered into the custody of her
friends?"

Leicester partly started; but making a strong effort, he subdued
his emotion, while Elizabeth answered sharply, "You are something
too hasty, Master Varney.  We will have first a report of the
lady's health and state of mind from Masters, our own physician,
and then determine what shall be thought just.  You shall have
license, however, to see her, that if there be any matrimonial
quarrel betwixt you--such things we have heard do occur, even
betwixt a loving couple--you may make it up, without further
scandal to our court or trouble to ourselves."

Varney bowed low, and made no other answer.

Elizabeth again looked towards Leicester, and said, with a degree
of condescension which could only arise out of the most heartfelt
interest, "Discord, as the Italian poet says, will find her way
into peaceful convents, as well as into the privacy of families;
and we fear our own guards and ushers will hardly exclude her
from courts.  My Lord of Leicester, you are offended with us, and
we have right to be offended with you.  We will take the lion's
part upon us, and be the first to forgive."

Leicester smoothed his brow, as by an effort; but the trouble was
too deep-seated that its placidity should at once return.  He
said, however, that which fitted the occasion, "That he could not
have the happiness of forgiving, because she who commanded him to
do so could commit no injury towards him."

Elizabeth seemed content with this reply, and intimated her
pleasure that the sports of the morning should proceed.  The
bugles sounded, the hounds bayed, the horses pranced --but the
courtiers and ladies sought the amusement to which they were
summoned with hearts very different from those which had leaped
to the morning's REVIELLE.  There was doubt, and fear, and
expectation on every brow, and surmise and intrigue in every
whisper.

Blount took an opportunity to whisper into Raleigh's ear, "This
storm came like a levanter in the Mediterranean."

"VARIUM ET MUTABILE," answered Raleigh, in a similar tone.

"Nay, I know nought of your Latin," said Blount; "but I thank God
Tressilian took not the sea during that hurricane.  He could
scarce have missed shipwreck, knowing as he does so little how to
trim his sails to a court gale."

"Thou wouldst have instructed him!"  said Raleigh.

"Why, I have profited by my time as well as thou, Sir Walter,"
replied honest Blount.  "I am knight as well as thou, and of the
earlier creation."

"Now, God further thy wit," said Raleigh.  "But for Tressilian, I
would I knew what were the matter with him.  He told me this
morning he would not leave his chamber for the space of twelve
hours or thereby, being bound by a promise.  This lady's madness,
when he shall learn it, will not, I fear, cure his infirmity.
The moon is at the fullest, and men's brains are working like
yeast.  But hark!  they sound to mount.  Let us to horse, Blount;
we young knights must deserve our spurs."



CHAPTER XXXV.

        Sincerity,
   Thou first of virtues!  let no mortal leave
   Thy onward path, although the earth should gape,
   And from the gulf of hell destruction cry,
   To take dissimulation's winding way.        DOUGLAS.

It was not till after a long and successful morning's sport, and
a prolonged repast which followed the return of the Queen to the
Castle, that Leicester at length found himself alone with Varney,
from whom he now learned the whole particulars of the Countess's
escape, as they had been brought to Kenilworth by Foster, who, in
his terror for the consequences, had himself posted thither with
the tidings.  As Varney, in his narrative, took especial care to
be silent concerning those practices on the Countess's health
which had driven her to so desperate a resolution, Leicester, who
could only suppose that she had adopted it out of jealous
impatience to attain the avowed state and appearance belonging to
her rank, was not a little offended at the levity with which his
wife had broken his strict commands, and exposed him to the
resentment of Elizabeth.

"I have given," he said, "to this daughter of an obscure
Devonshire gentleman the proudest name in England.  I have made
her sharer of my bed and of my fortunes.  I ask but of her a
little patience, ere she launches forth upon the full current of
her grandeur; and the infatuated woman will rather hazard her own
shipwreck and mine--will rather involve me in a thousand
whirlpools, shoals, and quicksands, and compel me to a thousand
devices which shame me in mine own eyes--than tarry for a little
space longer in the obscurity to which she was born.  So lovely,
so delicate, so fond, so faithful, yet to lack in so grave a
matter the prudence which one might hope from the veriest fool--
it puts me beyond my patience."

"We may post it over yet well enough," said Varney, "if my lady
will be but ruled, and take on her the character which the time
commands."

"It is but too true, Sir Richard," said Leicester; "there is
indeed no other remedy.  I have heard her termed thy wife in my
presence, without contradiction.  She must bear the title until
she is far from Kenilworth."

"And long afterwards, I trust," said Varney; then instantly
added, "For I cannot but hope it will be long after ere she bear
the title of Lady Leicester--I fear me it may scarce be with
safety during the life of this Queen.  But your lordship is best
judge, you alone knowing what passages have taken place betwixt
Elizabeth and you."

"You are right, Varney," said Leicester.  "I have this morning
been both fool and villain; and when Elizabeth hears of my
unhappy marriage, she cannot but think herself treated with that
premeditated slight which women never forgive.  We have once this
day stood upon terms little short of defiance; and to those, I
fear, we must again return."

"Is her resentment, then, so implacable?" said Varney.

"Far from it," replied the Earl; "for, being what she is in
spirit and in station, she has even this day been but too
condescending, in giving me opportunities to repair what she
thinks my faulty heat of temper."

"Ay," answered Varney; "the Italians say right--in lovers'
quarrels, the party that loves most is always most willing to
acknowledge the greater fault.  So then, my lord, if this union
with the lady could be concealed, you stand with Elizabeth as you
did?"

Leicester sighed, and was silent for a moment, ere he replied.

"Varney, I think thou art true to me, and I will tell thee all.
I do NOT stand where I did.  I have spoken to Elizabeth--under
what mad impulse I know not--on a theme which cannot be abandoned
without touching every female feeling to the quick, and which yet
I dare not and cannot prosecute.  She can never, never forgive me
for having caused and witnessed those yieldings to human
passion."

"We must do something, my lord," said Varney, "and that
speedily."

"There is nought to be done," answered Leicester, despondingly.
"I am like one that has long toiled up a dangerous precipice, and
when he is within one perilous stride of the top, finds his
progress arrested when retreat has become impossible.  I see
above me the pinnacle which I cannot reach--beneath me the abyss
into which I must fall, as soon as my relaxing grasp and dizzy
brain join to hurl me from my present precarious stance."

"Think better of your situation, my lord," said Varney; "let us
try the experiment in which you have but now acquiesced.  Keep we
your marriage from Elizabeth's knowledge, and all may yet be
well.  I will instantly go to the lady myself.  She hates me,
because I have been earnest with your lordship, as she truly
suspects, in opposition to what she terms her rights.  I care not
for her prejudices--she SHALL listen to me; and I will show her
such reasons for yielding to the pressure of the times that I
doubt not to bring back her consent to whatever measures these
exigencies may require."

"No, Varney," said Leicester; "I have thought upon what is to be
done, and I will myself speak with Amy."

It was now Varney's turn to feel upon his own account the terrors
which he affected to participate solely on account of his patron.
"Your lordship will not yourself speak with the lady?"

"It is my fixed purpose," said Leicester.  "Fetch me one of the
livery-cloaks; I will pass the sentinel as thy servant.  Thou art
to have free access to her."

"But, my lord--"

"I will have no BUTS," replied Leicester; "it shall be even thus,
and not otherwise.  Hunsdon sleeps, I think, in Saintlowe's
Tower.  We can go thither from these apartments by the private
passage, without risk of meeting any one.  Or what if I do meet
Hunsdon?  he is more my friend than enemy, and thick-witted
enough to adopt any belief that is thrust on him.  Fetch me the
cloak instantly."

Varney had no alternative save obedience.  In a few minutes
Leicester was muffled in the mantle, pulled his bonnet over his
brows, and followed Varney along the secret passage of the Castle
which communicated with Hunsdon's apartments, in which there was
scarce a chance of meeting any inquisitive person, and hardly
light enough for any such to have satisfied their curiosity.
They emerged at a door where Lord Hunsdon had, with military
precaution, placed a sentinel, one of his own northern retainers
as it fortuned, who readily admitted Sir Richard Varney and his
attendant, saying only, in his northern dialect, "I would, man,
thou couldst make the mad lady be still yonder; for her moans do
sae dirl through my head that I would rather keep watch on a
snowdrift, in the wastes of Catlowdie."

They hastily entered, and shut the door behind them.

"Now, good devil, if there be one," said Varney, within himself,
"for once help a votary at a dead pinch, for my boat is amongst
the breakers!"

The Countess Amy, with her hair and her garments dishevelled, was
seated upon a sort of couch, in an attitude of the deepest
affliction, out of which she was startled by the opening of the
door.  Size turned hastily round, and fixing her eye on Varney,
exclaimed, "Wretch!  art thou come to frame some new plan of
villainy?"

Leicester cut short her reproaches by stepping forward and
dropping his cloak, while he said, in a voice rather of authority
than of affection, "It is with me, madam, you have to commune,
not with Sir Richard Varney."

The change effected on the Countess's look and manner was like
magic.  "Dudley!"  she exclaimed, "Dudley!  and art thou come at
last?" And with the speed of lightning she flew to her husband,
clung round his neck, and unheeding the presence of Varney,
overwhelmed him with caresses, while she bathed his face in a
flood of tears, muttering, at the same time, but in broken and
disjointed monosyllables, the fondest expressions which Love
teaches his votaries.

Leicester, as it seemed to him, had reason to be angry with his
lady for transgressing his commands, and thus placing him in the
perilous situation in which he had that morning stood.  But what
displeasure could keep its ground before these testimonies of
affection from a being so lovely, that even the negligence of
dress, and the withering effects of fear, grief, and fatigue,
which would have impaired the beauty of others, rendered hers but
the more interesting.  He received and repaid her caresses with
fondness mingled with melancholy, the last of which she seemed
scarcely to observe, until the first transport of her own joy was
over, when, looking anxiously in his face, she asked if he was
ill.

"Not in my body, Amy," was his answer.

"Then I will be well too.  O Dudley!  I have been ill!--very ill,
since we last met!--for I call not this morning's horrible vision
a meeting.  I have been in sickness, in grief, and in danger.
But thou art come, and all is joy, and health, and safety!"

"Alas, Amy," said Leicester, "thou hast undone me!"

"I, my lord?" said Amy, her cheek at once losing its transient
flush of joy--"how could I injure that which I love better than
myself?"

"I would not upbraid you, Amy," replied the Earl; "but are you
not here contrary to my express commands--and does not your
presence here endanger both yourself and me?"

"Does it, does it indeed?" she exclaimed eagerly; "then why am I
here a moment longer?  Oh, if you knew by what fears I was urged
to quit Cumnor Place!  But I will say nothing of myself--only
that if it might be otherwise, I would not willingly return
THITHER; yet if it concern your safety--"

"We will think, Amy, of some other retreat," said Leicester; "and
you shall go to one of my northern castles, under the personage--
it will be but needful, I trust, for a very few days--of Varney's
wife."

"How, my Lord of Leicester!"  said the lady, disengaging herself
from his embraces; "is it to your wife you give the dishonourable
counsel to acknowledge herself the bride of another--and of all
men, the bride of that Varney?"

"Madam, I speak it in earnest--Varney is my true and faithful
servant, trusted in my deepest secrets.  I had better lose my
right hand than his service at this moment.  You have no cause to
scorn him as you do."

"I could assign one, my lord," replied the Countess; "and I see
he shakes even under that assured look of his.  But he that is
necessary as your right hand to your safety is free from any
accusation of mine.  May he be true to you; and that he may be
true, trust him not too much or too far.  But it is enough to say
that I will not go with him unless by violence, nor would I
acknowledge him as my husband were all--"

"It is a temporary deception, madam," said Leicester, irritated
by her opposition, "necessary for both our safeties, endangered
by you through female caprice, or the premature desire to seize
on a rank to which I gave you title only under condition that our
marriage, for a time, should continue secret.  If my proposal
disgust you, it is yourself has brought it on both of us.  There
is no other remedy--you must do what your own impatient folly
hath rendered necessary--I command you."

"I cannot put your commands, my lord," said Amy, "in balance with
those of honour and conscience.  I will NOT, in this instance,
obey you.  You may achieve your own dishonour, to which these
crooked policies naturally tend, but I will do nought that can
blemish mine.  How could you again, my lord, acknowledge me as a
pure and chaste matron, worthy to share your fortunes, when,
holding that high character, I had strolled the country the
acknowledged wife of such a profligate fellow as your servant
Varney?"

"My lord," said Varney interposing, "my lady is too much
prejudiced against me, unhappily, to listen to what I can offer,
yet it may please her better than what she proposes.  She has
good interest with Master Edmund Tressilian, and could doubtless
prevail on him to consent to be her companion to Lidcote Hall,
and there she might remain in safety until time permitted the
development of this mystery."

Leicester was silent, but stood looking eagerly on Amy, with eyes
which seemed suddenly to glow as much with suspicion as
displeasure.

The Countess only said, "Would to God I were in my father's
house!  When I left it, I little thought I was leaving peace of
mind and honour behind me."

Varney proceeded with a tone of deliberation.  "Doubtless this
will make it necessary to take strangers into my lord's counsels;
but surely the Countess will be warrant for the honour of Master
Tressilian, and such of her father's family--"

"Peace, Varney," said Leicester; "by Heaven I will strike my
dagger into thee if again thou namest Tressilian as a partner of
my counsels!"

"And wherefore not!"  said the Countess; "unless they be counsels
fitter for such as Varney, than for a man of stainless honour and
integrity.  My lord, my lord, bend no angry brows on me; it is
the truth, and it is I who speak it.  I once did Tressilian wrong
for your sake; I will not do him the further injustice of being
silent when his honour is brought in question.  I can forbear,"
she said, looking at Varney, "to pull the mask off hypocrisy, but
I will not permit virtue to be slandered in my hearing."

There was a dead pause.  Leicester stood displeased, yet
undetermined, and too conscious of the weakness of his cause;
while Varney, with a deep and hypocritical affectation of sorrow,
mingled with humility, bent his eyes on the ground.

It was then that the Countess Amy displayed, in the midst of
distress and difficulty, the natural energy of character which
would have rendered her, had fate allowed, a distinguished
ornament of the rank which she held.  She walked up to Leicester
with a composed step, a dignified air, and looks in which strong
affection essayed in vain to shake the firmness of conscious,
truth and rectitude of principle.  "You have spoken your mind, my
lord," she said, "in these difficulties, with which, unhappily, I
have found myself unable to comply.  This gentleman--this person
I would say--has hinted at another scheme, to which I object not
but as it displeases you.  Will your lordship be pleased to hear
what a young and timid woman, but your most affectionate wife,
can suggest in the present extremity?"

Leicester was silent, but bent his head towards the Countess, as
an intimation that she was at liberty to proceed.

"There hath been but one cause for all these evils, my lord," she
proceeded, "and it resolves itself into the mysterious duplicity
with which you, have been induced to surround yourself.
Extricate yourself at once, my lord, from the tyranny of these
disgraceful trammels.  Be like a true English gentleman, knight,
and earl, who holds that truth is the foundation of honour, and
that honour is dear to him as the breath of his nostrils.  Take
your ill-fated wife by the hand, lead her to the footstool of
Elizabeth's throne--say that in a moment of infatuation, moved by
supposed beauty, of which none perhaps can now trace even the
remains, I gave my hand to this Amy Robsart.  You will then have
done justice to me, my lord, and to your own honour and should
law or power require you to part from me, I will oppose no
objection, since I may then with honour hide a grieved and broken
heart in those shades from which your love withdrew me.  Then--
have but a little patience, and Amy's life will not long darken
your brighter prospects."

There was so much of dignity, so much of tenderness, in the
Countess's remonstrance, that it moved all that was noble and
generous in the soul of her husband.  The scales seemed to fall
from his eyes, and the duplicity and tergiversation of which he
had been guilty stung him at once with remorse and shame.

"I am not worthy of you, Amy," he said, "that could weigh aught
which ambition has to give against such a heart as thine.  I have
a bitter penance to perform, in disentangling, before sneering
foes and astounded friends, all the meshes of my own deceitful
policy.  And the Queen--but let her take my head, as she has
threatened."

"Take your head, my lord!"  said the Countess, "because you used
the freedom and liberty of an English subject in choosing a wife?
For shame!  it is this distrust of the Queen's justice, this
apprehension of danger, which cannot but be imaginary, that, like
scarecrows, have induced you to forsake the straightforward path,
which, as it is the best, is also the safest."

"Ah, Amy, thou little knowest!"  said Dudley but instantly
checking himself, he added, "Yet she shall not find in me a safe
or easy victim of arbitrary vengeance.  I have friends--I have
allies--I will not, like Norfolk, be dragged to the block as a
victim to sacrifice.  Fear not, Amy; thou shalt see Dudley bear
himself worthy of his name.  I must instantly communicate with
some of those friends on whom I can best rely; for, as things
stand, I may be made prisoner in my own Castle."

"Oh, my good lord," said Amy, "make no faction in a peaceful
state!  There is no friend can help us so well as our own candid
truth and honour.  Bring but these to our assistance, and you are
safe amidst a whole army of the envious and malignant.  Leave
these behind you, and all other defence will be fruitless.
Truth, my noble lord, is well painted unarmed."

"But Wisdom, Amy," answered Leicester, is arrayed in panoply of
proof.  Argue not with me on the means I shall use to render my
confession--since it must be called so--as safe as may be; it
will be fraught with enough of danger, do what we will.--Varney,
we must hence.--Farewell, Amy, whom I am to vindicate as mine
own, at an expense and risk of which thou alone couldst be
worthy.  You shall soon hear further from me."

He embraced her fervently, muffled himself as before, and
accompanied Varney from the apartment.  The latter, as he left
the room, bowed low, and as he raised his body, regarded Amy with
a peculiar expression, as if he desired to know how far his own
pardon was included in the reconciliation which had taken place
betwixt her and her lord.  The Countess looked upon him with a
fixed eye, but seemed no more conscious of his presence than if
there had been nothing but vacant air on the spot where he stood.

"She has brought me to the crisis," he muttered--"she or I am
lost.  There was something--I wot not if it was fear or pity--
that prompted me to avoid this fatal crisis.  It is now decided
--she or I must PERISH."

While he thus spoke, he observed, with surprise, that a boy,
repulsed by the sentinel, made up to Leicester, and spoke with
him.  Varney was one of those politicians whom not the slightest
appearances escape without inquiry.  He asked the sentinel what
the lad wanted with him, and received for answer that the boy had
wished him to transmit a parcel to the mad lady; but that he
cared not to take charge of it, such communication being beyond
his commission, His curiosity satisfied in that particular, he
approached his patron, and heard him say, "Well, boy, the packet
shall be delivered."

"Thanks, good Master Serving-man," said the boy, and was out of
sight in an instant.

Leicester and Varney returned with hasty steps to the Earl's
private apartment, by the same passage which had conducted them
to Saintlowe's Tower.



CHAPTER XXXVI.

  I have said
  This is an adulteress--I have said with whom:
  More, she's a traitor, and Camillo is
  A federary with her, and one that knows
  What she should shame to know herself.      WINTER'S TALE.

They were no sooner in the Earl's cabinet than, taking his
tablets from his pocket, he began to write, speaking partly to
Varney, and partly to himself--"There are many of them close
bounden to me, and especially those in good estate and high
office--many who, if they look back towards my benefits, or
forward towards the perils which may befall themselves, will not,
I think, be disposed to see me stagger unsupported.  Let me see
--Knollis is sure, and through his means Guernsey and Jersey.
Horsey commands in the Isle of Wight.  My brother-in-law,
Huntingdon, and Pembroke, have authority in Wales.  Through
Bedford I lead the Puritans, with their interest, so powerful in
all the boroughs.  My brother of Warwick is equal, well-nigh, to
myself, in wealth, followers, and dependencies.  Sir Owen Hopton
is at my devotion; he commands the Tower of London, and the
national treasure deposited there.  My father and grand-father
needed never to have stooped their heads to the block had they
thus forecast their enterprises.--Why look you so sad, Varney?  I
tell thee, a tree so deep-rooted is not so easily to be torn up
by the tempest."

"Alas!  my lord," said Varney, with well-acted passion, and then
resumed the same look of despondency which Leicester had before
noted.

"Alas!"  repeated Leicester; "and wherefore alas, Sir Richard?
Doth your new spirit of chivalry supply no more vigorous
ejaculation when a noble struggle is impending?  Or, if ALAS
means thou wilt flinch from the conflict, thou mayest leave the
Castle, or go join mine enemies, whichever thou thinkest best."

"Not so, my lord," answered his confidant; "Varney will be found
fighting or dying by your side.  Forgive me, if, in love to you,
I see more fully than your noble heart permits you to do, the
inextricable difficulties with which you are surrounded.  You are
strong, my lord, and powerful; yet, let me say it without
offence, you are so only by the reflected light of the Queen's
favour.  While you are Elizabeth's favourite, you are all, save
in name, like an actual sovereign.  But let her call back the
honours she has bestowed, and the prophet's gourd did not wither
more suddenly.  Declare against the Queen, and I do not say that
in the wide nation, or in this province alone, you would find
yourself instantly deserted and outnumbered; but I will say, that
even in this very Castle, and in the midst of your vassals,
kinsmen, and dependants, you would be a captive, nay, a sentenced
captive, should she please to say the word.  Think upon Norfolk,
my lord--upon the powerful Northumberland--the splendid
Westmoreland;--think on all who have made head against this sage
Princess.  They are dead, captive, or fugitive.  This is not like
other thrones, which can be overturned by a combination of
powerful nobles; the broad foundations which support it are in
the extended love and affections of the people.  You might share
it with Elizabeth if you would; but neither yours, nor any other
power, foreign or domestic, will avail to overthrow, or even to
shake it."

He paused, and Leicester threw his tablets from him with an air
of reckless despite.  "It may be as thou sayest," he said?  "and,
in sooth, I care not whether truth or cowardice dictate thy
forebodings.  But it shall not be said I fell without a struggle.

Give orders that those of my retainers who served under me in
Ireland be gradually drawn into the main Keep, and let our
gentlemen and friends stand on their guard, and go armed, as if
they expected arm onset from the followers of Sussex.  Possess
the townspeople with some apprehension; let them take arms, and
be ready, at a given signal, to overpower the Pensioners and
Yeomen of the Guard."

"Let me remind you, my lord," said Varney, with the same
appearance of deep and melancholy interest, "that you have given
me orders to prepare for disarming the Queen's guard.  It is an
act of high treason, but you shall nevertheless be obeyed."

"I care not," said Leicester desperately--"I care not.  Shame is
behind me, ruin before me; I must on."

Here there was another pause, which Varney at length broke with
the following words:  "It is come to the point I have long
dreaded.  I must either witness, like an ungrateful beast, the
downfall of the best and kindest of masters, or I must speak what
I would have buried in the deepest oblivion, or told by any other
mouth than mine."

"What is that thou sayest, or wouldst say?"  replied the Earl;
"we have no time to waste on words when the times call us to
action."

"My speech is soon made, my lord-would to God it were as soon
answered!  Your marriage is the sole cause of the threatened
breach with your Sovereign, my lord, is it not?"

"Thou knowest it is!"  replied Leicester.  "What needs so
fruitless a question?"

"Pardon me, my lord," said Varney; "the use lies here.  Men will
wager their lands and lives in defence of a rich diamond, my
lord; but were it not first prudent to look if there is no flaw
in it?"

"What means this?"  said Leicester, with eyes sternly fixed on
his dependant; "of whom dost thou dare to speak?"

"It is--of the Countess Amy, my lord, of whom I am unhappily
bound to speak; and of whom I WILL speak, were your lordship to
kill me for my zeal."

"Thou mayest happen to deserve it at my hand," said the Earl;
"but speak on, I will hear thee."

"Nay, then, my lord, I will be bold.  I speak for my own life as
well as for your lordship's.  I like not this lady's tampering
and trickstering with this same Edmund Tressilian.  You know him,
my lord.  You know he had formerly an interest in her, which it
cost your lordship some pains to supersede.  You know the
eagerness with which he has pressed on the suit against me in
behalf of this lady, the open object of which is to drive your
lordship to an avowal of what I must ever call your most unhappy
marriage, the point to which my lady also is willing, at any
risk, to urge you."

Leicester smiled constrainedly.  "Thou meanest well, good Sir
Richard, and wouldst, I think, sacrifice thine own honour, as
well as that of any other person, to save me from what thou
thinkest a step so terrible.  But remember"--he spoke these words
with the most stern decision--"you speak of the Countess of
Leicester."

"I do, my lord," said Varney; "but it is for the welfare of the
Earl of Leicester.  My tale is but begun.  I do most strongly
believe that this Tressilian has, from the beginning of his
moving in her cause, been in connivance with her ladyship the
Countess."

"Thou speakest wild madness, Varney, with the sober face of a
preacher.  Where, or how, could they communicate together?"

"My lord," said Varney, "unfortunately I can show that but too
well.  It was just before the supplication was presented to the
Queen, in Tressilian's name, that I met him, to my utter
astonishment, at the postern gate which leads from the demesne at
Cumnor Place."

"Thou met'st him, villain!  and why didst thou not strike him
dead?"  exclaimed Leicester.

"I drew on him, my lord, and he on me; and had not my foot
slipped, he would not, perhaps, have been again a stumbling-block
in your lordship's path."

Leicester seemed struck dumb with surprise.  At length he
answered, "What other evidence hast thou of this, Varney, save
thine own assertion?--for, as I will punish deeply, I will
examine coolly and warily.  Sacred Heaven!--but no--I will
examine coldly and warily-coldly and warily."  He repeated these
words more than once to himself, as if in the very sound there
was a sedative quality; and again compressing his lips, as if he
feared some violent expression might escape from them, he asked
again, "What further proof?"

"Enough, my lord," said Varney, "and to spare.  I would it rested
with me alone, for with me it might have been silenced for ever.
But my servant, Michael Lambourne, witnessed the whole, and was,
indeed, the means of first introducing Tressilian into Cumnor
Place; and therefore I took him into my service, and retained him
in it, though something of a debauched fellow, that I might have
his tongue always under my own command."  He then acquainted Lord
Leicester how easy it was to prove the circumstance of their
interview true, by evidence of Anthony Foster, with the
corroborative testimonies of the various persons at Cumnor, who
had heard the wager laid, and had seen Lambourne and Tressilian
set off together.  In the whole narrative, Varney hazarded
nothing fabulous, excepting that, not indeed by direct assertion,
but by inference, he led his patron to suppose that the interview
betwixt Amy and Tressilian at Cumnor Place had been longer than
the few minutes to which it was in reality limited.

"And wherefore was I not told of all this?"  said Leicester
sternly.  "Why did all of ye--and in particular thou, Varney--
keep back from me such material information?"

"Because, my lord," replied Varney, "the Countess pretended to
Foster and to me that Tressilian had intruded himself upon her;
and I concluded their interview had been in all honour, and that
she would at her own time tell it to your lordship.  Your
lordship knows with what unwilling ears we listen to evil
surmises against those whom we love; and I thank Heaven I am no
makebate or informer, to be the first to sow them."

"You are but too ready to receive them, however, Sir Richard,"
replied his patron.  "How knowest thou that this interview was
not in all honour, as thou hast said?  Methinks the wife of the
Earl of Leicester might speak for a short time with such a person
as Tressilian without injury to me or suspicion to herself."

"Questionless, my lord," answered Varney, "Had I thought
otherwise, I had been no keeper of the secret.  But here lies the
rub--Tressilian leaves not the place without establishing a
correspondence with a poor man, the landlord of an inn in Cumnor,
for the purpose of carrying off the lady.  He sent down an
emissary of his, whom I trust soon to have in right sure keeping
under Mervyn's Tower--Killigrew and Lambsbey are scouring the
country in quest of him.  The host is rewarded with a ring for
keeping counsel--your lordship may have noted it on Tressilian's
hand--here it is.  This fellow, this agent, makes his way to the
place as a pedlar; holds conferences with the lady, and they make
their escape together by night; rob a poor fellow of a horse by
the way, such was their guilty haste, and at length reach this
Castle, where the Countess of Leicester finds refuge--I dare not
say in what place."

"Speak, I command thee," said Leicester--"speak, while I retain
sense enough to hear thee."

"Since it must be so," answered Varney, "the lady resorted
immediately to the apartment of Tressilian, where she remained
many hours, partly in company with him, and partly alone.  I told
you Tressilian had a paramour in his chamber; I little dreamed
that paramour was--"

"Amy, thou wouldst say," answered Leicester; "but it is false,
false as the smoke of hell!  Ambitious she may be--fickle and
impatient--'tis a woman's fault; but false to me!--never, never.
The proof--the proof of this!"  he exclaimed hastily.

"Carrol, the Deputy Marshal, ushered her thither by her own
desire, on yesterday afternoon; Lambourne and the Warder both
found her there at an early hour this morning,"

"Was Tressilian there with her?"  said Leicester, in the same
hurried tone.

"No, my lord.  You may remember," answered Varney, "that he was
that night placed with Sir Nicholas Blount, under a species of
arrest."

"Did Carrol, or the other fellows, know who she was?"  demanded
Leicester.

"No, my lord," replied Varney; "Carrol and the Warder had never
seen the Countess, and Lambourne knew her not in her disguise.
But in seeking to prevent her leaving the cell, he obtained
possession of one of her gloves, which, I think, your lordship
may know."

He gave the glove, which had the Bear and Ragged Staff, the
Earl's impress, embroidered upon it in seed-pearls.

"I do--I do recognize it," said Leicester.  "They were my own
gift.  The fellow of it was on the arm which she threw this very
day around my neck!"  He spoke this with violent agitation.

"Your lordship," said Varney, "might yet further inquire of the
lady herself respecting the truth of these passages."

"It needs not--it needs not," said the tortured Earl; "it is
written in characters of burning light, as if they were branded
on my very eyeballs!  I see her infamy-I can see nought else;
and--gracious Heaven!--for this vile woman was I about to commit
to danger the lives of so many noble friends, shake the
foundation of a lawful throne, carry the sword and torch through
the bosom of a peaceful land, wrong the kind mistress who made me
what I am, and would, but for that hell-framed marriage, have
made me all that man can be!  All this I was ready to do for a
woman who trinkets and traffics with my worst foes!--And thou,
villain, why didst thou not speak sooner?"

"My lord," said Varney, "a tear from my lady would have blotted
out all I could have said.  Besides, I had not these proofs until
this very morning, when Anthony Foster's sudden arrival with the
examinations and declarations, which he had extorted from the
innkeeper Gosling and others, explained the manner of her flight
from Cumnor Place, and my own researches discovered the steps
which she had taken here."

"Now, may God be praised for the light He has given!  so full, so
satisfactory, that there breathes not a man in England who shall
call my proceeding rash, or my revenge unjust.--And yet, Varney,
so young, so fair, so fawning, and so false!  Hence, then, her
hatred to thee, my trusty, my well-beloved servant, because you
withstood her plots, and endangered her paramour's life!"

"I never gave her any other cause of dislike, my lord," replied
Varney.  "But she knew that my counsels went directly to diminish
her influence with your lordship; and that I was, and have been,
ever ready to peril my life against your enemies."

"It is too, too apparent," replied Leicester "yet with what an
air of magnanimity she exhorted me to commit my head to the
Queen's mercy, rather than wear the veil of falsehood a moment
longer!  Methinks the angel of truth himself can have no such
tones of high-souled impulse.  Can it be so, Varney?--can
falsehood use thus boldly the language of truth?--can infamy thus
assume the guise of purity?  Varney, thou hast been my servant
from a child.  I have raised thee high--can raise thee higher.
Think, think for me!--thy brain was ever shrewd and piercing--
may she not be innocent?  Prove her so, and all I have yet done
for thee shall be as nothing--nothing, in comparison of thy
recompense!"

The agony with which his master spoke had some effect even on the
hardened Varney, who, in the midst of his own wicked and
ambitious designs, really loved his patron as well as such a
wretch was capable of loving anything.  But he comforted himself,
and subdued his self-reproaches, with the reflection that if he
inflicted upon the Earl some immediate and transitory pain, it
was in order to pave his way to the throne, which, were this
marriage dissolved by death or otherwise, he deemed Elizabeth
would willingly share with his benefactor.  He therefore
persevered in his diabolical policy; and after a moment's
consideration, answered the anxious queries of the Earl with a
melancholy look, as if he had in vain sought some exculpation for
the Countess; then suddenly raising his head, he said, with an
expression of hope, which instantly communicated itself to the
countenance of his patron--"Yet wherefore, if guilty, should she
have perilled herself by coming hither?  Why not rather have fled
to her father's, or elsewhere?--though that, indeed, might have
interfered with her desire to be acknowledged as Countess of
Leicester."

"True, true, true!"  exclaimed Leicester, his transient gleam of
hope giving way to the utmost bitterness of feeling and
expression; "thou art not fit to fathom a woman's depth of wit,
Varney.  I see it all.  She would not quit the estate and title
of the wittol who had wedded her.  Ay, and if in my madness I had
started into rebellion, or if the angry Queen had taken my head,
as she this morning threatened, the wealthy dower which law would
have assigned to the Countess Dowager of Leicester had been no
bad windfall to the beggarly Tressilian.  Well might she goad me
on to danger, which could not end otherwise than profitably to
her,--Speak not for her, Varney!  I will have her blood!"

"My lord," replied Varney, "the wildness of your distress breaks
forth in the wildness of your language,"

"I say, speak not for her!"  replied Leicester; "she has
dishonoured me--she would have murdered me--all ties are burst
between us.  She shall die the death of a traitress and
adulteress, well merited both by the laws of God and man!  And--
what is this casket," he said, "which was even now thrust into my
hand by a boy, with the desire I would convey it to Tressilian,
as he could not give it to the Countess?  By Heaven! the words
surprised me as he spoke them, though other matters chased them
from my brain; but now they return with double force. It is her
casket of jewels!--Force it open, Varney--force the hinges open
with thy poniard!"

"She refused the aid of my dagger once," thought Varney, as he
unsheathed the weapon, "to cut the string which bound a letter,
but now it shall work a mightier ministry in her fortunes."

With this reflection, by using the three-cornered stiletto-blade
as a wedge, he forced open the slender silver hinges of the
casket.  The Earl no sooner saw them give way than he snatched
the casket from Sir Richard's hand, wrenched off the cover, and
tearing out the splendid contents, flung them on the floor in a
transport of rage, while he eagerly searched for some letter or
billet which should make the fancied guilt of his innocent
Countess yet more apparent.  Then stamping furiously on the gems,
he exclaimed, "Thus I annihilate the miserable toys for which
thou hast sold thyself, body and soul--consigned thyself to an
early and timeless death, and me to misery and remorse for ever!
--Tell me not of forgiveness, Varney--she is doomed!"

So saying, he left the room, and rushed into an adjacent closet,
the door of which he locked and bolted.

Varney looked after him, while something of a more human feeling
seemed to contend with his habitual sneer.  "I am sorry for his
weakness," he said, "but love has made him a child.  He throws
down and treads on these costly toys-with the same vehemence
would he dash to pieces this frailest toy of all, of which he
used to rave so fondly.  But that taste also will be forgotten
when its object is no more.  Well, he has no eye to value things
as they deserve, and that nature has given to Varney.  When
Leicester shall be a sovereign, he will think as little of the
gales of passion through which he gained that royal port, as ever
did sailor in harbour of the perils of a voyage.  But these tell-
tale articles must not remain here--they are rather too rich
vails for the drudges who dress the chamber."

While Varney was employed in gathering together and putting them
into a secret drawer of a cabinet that chanced to be open, he saw
the door of Leicester's closet open, the tapestry pushed aside,
and the Earl's face thrust out, but with eyes so dead, and lips
and cheeks so bloodless and pale, that he started at the sudden
change.  No sooner did his eyes encounter the Earl's, than the
latter withdrew his head and shut the door of the closet.  This
manoeuvre Leicester repeated twice, without speaking a word, so
that Varney began to doubt whether his brain was not actually
affected by his mental agony.  The third time, however, he
beckoned, and Varney obeyed the signal.  When he entered, he soon
found his patron's perturbation was not caused by insanity, but
by the fullness of purpose which he entertained contending with
various contrary passions.  They passed a full hour in close
consultation; after which the Earl of Leicester, with an
incredible exertion, dressed himself, and went to attend his
royal guest.



CHAPTER XXXVII.

  You have displaced the mirth, broke the good meeting
  With most admired disorder.           MACBETH.

It was afterwards remembered that during the banquets and revels
which occupied the remainder of this eventful day the bearing of
Leicester and of Varney were totally different from their usual
demeanour.  Sir Richard Varney had been held rather a man of
counsel and of action than a votary of pleasure.  Business,
whether civil or military, seemed always to be his proper sphere;
and while in festivals and revels, although he well understood
how to trick them up and present them, his own part was that of a
mere spectator; or if he exercised his wit, it was in a rough,
caustic, and severe manner, rather as if he scoffed at the
exhibition and the guests than shared the common pleasure.

But upon the present day his character seemed changed.  He mixed
among the younger courtiers and ladies, and appeared for the
moment to be actuated by a spirit of light-hearted gaiety, which
rendered him a match for the liveliest.  Those who had looked
upon him as a man given up to graver and more ambitious pursuits,
a bitter sneerer and passer of sarcasms at the expense of those
who, taking life as they find it, were disposed to snatch at
each pastime it presents, now perceived with astonishment that
his wit could carry as smooth an edge as their own, his laugh be
as lively, and his brow as unclouded.  By what art of damnable
hypocrisy he could draw this veil of gaiety over the black
thoughts of one of the worst of human bosoms must remain
unintelligible to all but his compeers, if any such ever existed;
but he was a man of extraordinary powers, and those powers were
unhappily dedicated in all their energy to the very worst of
purposes.

It was entirely different with Leicester.  However habituated his
mind usually was to play the part of a good courtier, and appear
gay, assiduous, and free from all care but that of enhancing the
pleasure of the moment, while his bosom internally throbbed with
the pangs of unsatisfied ambition, jealousy, or resentment, his
heart had now a yet more dreadful guest, whose workings could not
be overshadowed or suppressed; and you might read in his vacant
eye and troubled brow that his thoughts were far absent from the
scenes in which he was compelling himself to play a part.  He
looked, moved, and spoke as if by a succession of continued
efforts; and it seemed as if his will had in some degree lost the
promptitude of command over the acute mind and goodly form of
which it was the regent.  His actions and gestures, instead of
appearing the consequence of simple volition, seemed, like those
of an automaton, to wait the revolution of some internal
machinery ere they could be performed; and his words fell from
him piecemeal, interrupted, as if he had first to think what he
was to say, then how it was to be said, and as if, after all, it
was only by an effort of continued attention that he completed a
sentence without forgetting both the one and the other.

The singular effects which these distractions of mind produced
upon the behaviour and conversation of the most accomplished
courtier of England, as they were visible to the lowest and
dullest menial who approached his person, could not escape the
notice of the most intelligent Princess of the age.  Nor is there
the least doubt that the alternate negligence and irregularity of
his manner would have called down Elizabeth's severe displeasure
on the Earl of Leicester, had it not occurred to her to account
for it by supposing that the apprehension of that displeasure
which she had expressed towards him with such vivacity that very
morning was dwelling upon the spirits of her favourite, and,
spite of his efforts to the contrary, distracted the usual
graceful tenor of his mien and the charms of his conversation.
When this idea, so flattering to female vanity, had once obtained
possession of her mind, it proved a full and satisfactory apology
for the numerous errors and mistakes of the Earl of Leicester;
and the watchful circle around observed with astonishment, that,
instead of resenting his repeated negligence, and want of even
ordinary attention (although these were points on which she was
usually extremely punctilious), the Queen sought, on the
contrary, to afford him time and means to recollect himself, and
deigned to assist him in doing so, with an indulgence which
seemed altogether inconsistent with her usual character.  It was
clear, however, that this could not last much longer, and that
Elizabeth must finally put another and more severe construction
on Leicester's uncourteous conduct, when the Earl was summoned by
Varney to speak with him in a different apartment.

After having had the message twice delivered to him, he rose, and
was about to withdraw, as it were, by instinct; then stopped, and
turning round, entreated permission of the Queen to absent
himself for a brief space upon matters of pressing importance.

"Go, my lord," said the Queen.  "We are aware our presence must
occasion sudden and unexpected occurrences, which require to be
provided for on the instant.  Yet, my lord, as you would have us
believe ourself your welcome and honoured guest, we entreat you
to think less of our good cheer, and favour us with more of your
good countenance than we have this day enjoyed; for whether
prince or peasant be the guest, the welcome of the host will
always be the better part of the entertainment.  Go, my lord; and
we trust to see you return with an unwrinkled brow, and those
free thoughts which you are wont to have at the disposal of your
friends."

Leicester only bowed low in answer to this rebuke, and retired.
At the door of the apartment he was met by Varney, who eagerly
drew him apart, and whispered in his ear, "All is well!"

"Has Masters seen her?"  said the Earl.

"He has, my lord; and as she would neither answer his queries,
nor allege any reason for her refusal, he will give full
testimony that she labours under a mental disorder, and may be
best committed to the charge of her friends.  The opportunity is
therefore free to remove her as we proposed."

"But Tressilian?"  said Leicester.

"He will not know of her departure for some time," replied
Varney; "it shall take place this very evening, and to-morrow he
shall be cared for."

"No, by my soul," answered Leicester; "I will take vengeance on
him with mine own hand!"

"You, my lord, and on so inconsiderable a man as Tressilian!  No,
my lord, he hath long wished to visit foreign parts.  Trust him
to me--I will take care he returns not hither to tell tales."

"Not so, by Heaven, Varney!"  exclaimed Leicester.
"Inconsiderable do you call an enemy that hath had power to wound
me so deeply that my whole after-life must be one scene of
remorse and misery?--No; rather than forego the right of doing
myself justice with my own hand on that accursed villain, I will
unfold the whole truth at Elizabeth's footstool, and let her
vengeance descend at once on them and on myself."

Varney saw with great alarm that his lord was wrought up to such
a pitch of agitation, that if he gave not way to him he was
perfectly capable of adopting the desperate resolution which he
had announced, and which was instant ruin to all the schemes of
ambition which Varney had formed for his patron and for himself.
But the Earl's rage seemed at once uncontrollable and deeply
concentrated, and while he spoke his eyes shot fire, his voice
trembled with excess of passion, and the light foam stood on his
lip.

His confidant made a bold and successful effort to obtain the
mastery of him even in this hour of emotion.  "My lord," he said,
leading him to a mirror, "behold your reflection in that glass,
and think if these agitated features belong to one who, in a
condition so extreme, is capable of forming a resolution for
himself"

"What, then, wouldst thou make me?"  said Leicester, struck at
the change in his own physiognomy, though offended at the freedom
with which Varney made the appeal.  "Am I to be thy ward, thy
vassal,--the property and subject of my servant?"

"No, my lord," said Varney firmly, "but be master of yourself,
and of your own passion.  My lord, I, your born servant, am
ashamed to see how poorly you bear yourself in the storm of fury.
Go to Elizabeth's feet, confess your marriage--impeach your wife
and her paramour of adultery--and avow yourself, amongst all your
peers, the wittol who married a country girl, and was cozened by
her and her book-learned gallant.  Go, my lord--but first take
farewell of Richard Varney, with all the benefits you ever
conferred on him.  He served the noble, the lofty, the high-
minded Leicester, and was more proud of depending on him than he
would be of commanding thousands.  But the abject lord who stoops
to every adverse circumstance, whose judicious resolves are
scattered like chaff before every wind of passion, him Richard
Varney serves not.  He is as much above him in constancy of mind
as beneath him in rank and fortune."

Varney spoke thus without hypocrisy, for though the firmness of
mind which he boasted was hardness and impenetrability, yet he
really felt the ascendency which he vaunted; while the interest
which he actually felt in the fortunes of Leicester gave unusual
emotion to his voice and manner.

Leicester was overpowered by his assumed superiority it seemed to
the unfortunate Earl as if his last friend was about to abandon
him.  He stretched his hand towards Varney as he uttered the
words, "Do not leave me.  What wouldst thou have me do?"

"Be thyself, my noble master," said Varney, touching the Earl's
hand with his lips, after having respectfully grasped it in his
own; "be yourself, superior to those storms of passion which
wreck inferior minds.  Are you the first who has been cozened in
love--the first whom a vain and licentious woman has cheated into
an affection, which she has afterwards scorned and misused?  And
will you suffer yourself to be driven frantic because you have
not been wiser than the wisest men whom the world has seen?  Let
her be as if she had not been--let her pass from your memory, as
unworthy of ever having held a place there.  Let your strong
resolve of this morning, which I have both courage, zeal, and
means enough to execute, be like the fiat of a superior being, a
passionless act of justice.  She hath deserved death--let her
die!"

While he was speaking, the Earl held his hand fast, compressed
his lips hard, and frowned, as if he laboured to catch from
Varney a portion of the cold, ruthless, and dispassionate
firmness which he recommended.  When he was silent, the Earl
still continued to rasp his hand, until, with an effort at calm
decision, he was able to articulate, "Be it so--she dies!  But
one tear might be permitted."

"Not one, my lord," interrupted Varney, who saw by the quivering
eye and convulsed cheek of his patron that he was about to give
way to a burst of emotion--"not a tear--the time permits it not.
Tressilian must be thought of--"

"That indeed is a name," said the Earl, "to convert tears into
blood.  Varney, I have thought on this, and I have determined--
neither entreaty nor argument shall move me--Tressilian shall be
my own victim."

"It is madness, my lord; but you are too mighty for me to bar
your way to your revenge.  Yet resolve at least to choose fitting
time and opportunity, and to forbear him until these shall be
found."

"Thou shalt order me in what thou wilt," said Leicester, "only
thwart me not in this."

"Then, my lord," said Varney, "I first request of you to lay
aside the wild, suspected, and half-frenzied demeanour which hath
this day drawn the eyes of all the court upon you, and which, but
for the Queen's partial indulgence, which she hath extended
towards you in a degree far beyond her nature, she had never
given you the opportunity to atone for."

"Have I indeed been so negligent?"  said Leicester, as one who
awakes from a dream.  "I thought I had coloured it well.  But
fear nothing, my mind is now eased--I am calm.  My horoscope
shall be fulfilled; and that it may be fulfilled, I will tax to
the highest every faculty of my mind.  Fear me not, I say.  I
will to the Queen instantly--not thine own looks and language
shall be more impenetrable than mine.  Hast thou aught else to
say?"

"I must crave your signet-ring," said Varney gravely, "in token
to those of your servants whom I must employ, that I possess your
full authority in commanding their aid."

Leicester drew off the signet-ring which he commonly used, and
gave it to Varney, with a haggard and stern expression of
countenance, adding only, in a low, half-whispered tone, but with
terrific emphasis, the words, "What thou dost, do quickly."

Some anxiety and wonder took place, meanwhile, in the presence-
hall, at the prolonged absence of the noble Lord of the Castle,
and great was the delight of his friends when they saw him enter
as a man from whose bosom, to all human seeming, a weight of care
had been just removed.  Amply did Leicester that day redeem the
pledge he had given to Varney, who soon saw himself no longer
under the necessity of maintaining a character so different from
his own as that which he had assumed in the earlier part of the
day, and gradually relapsed into the same grave, shrewd, caustic
observer of conversation and incident which constituted his usual
part in society.

With Elizabeth, Leicester played his game as one to whom her
natural strength of talent and her weakness in one or two
particular points were well known.  He was too wary to exchange
on a sudden the sullen personage which he had played before he
retired with Varney; but on approaching her it seemed softened
into a melancholy, which had a touch of tenderness in it, and
which, in the course of conversing with Elizabeth, and as she
dropped in compassion one mark of favour after another to console
him, passed into a flow of affectionate gallantry, the most
assiduous, the most delicate, the most insinuating, yet at the
same time the most respectful, with which a Queen was ever
addressed by a subject.  Elizabeth listened as in a sort of
enchantment.  Her jealousy of power was lulled asleep; her
resolution to forsake all social or domestic ties, and dedicate
herself exclusively to the care of her people, began to be
shaken; and once more the star of Dudley culminated in the court
horizon.

But Leicester did not enjoy this triumph over nature, and over
conscience, without its being embittered to him, not only by the
internal rebellion of his feelings against the violence which he
exercised over them, but by many accidental circumstances, which,
in the course of the banquet, and during the subsequent
amusements of the evening, jarred upon that nerve, the least
vibration of which was agony.

The courtiers were, for example, in the Great Hall, after having
left the banqueting-room, awaiting the appearance of a splendid
masque, which was the expected entertainment of this evening,
when the Queen interrupted a wild career of wit which the Earl of
Leicester was running against Lord Willoughby, Raleigh, and some
other courtiers, by saying, "We will impeach you of high treason,
my lord, if you proceed in this attempt to slay us with laughter.
And here comes a thing may make us all grave at his pleasure, our
learned physician Masters, with news belike of our poor
suppliant, Lady Varney;--nay, my lord, we will not have you leave
us, for this being a dispute betwixt married persons, we do not
hold our own experience deep enough to decide thereon without
good counsel.--How now, Masters, what thinkest thou of the
runaway bride?"

The smile with which Leicester had been speaking, when the Queen
interrupted him, remained arrested on his lips, as if it had been
carved there by the chisel of Michael Angelo or of Chantrey; and
he listened to the speech of the physician with the same
immovable cast of countenance.

"The Lady Varney, gracious Sovereign," said the court physician
Masters, "is sullen, and would hold little conference with me
touching the state of her health, talking wildly of being soon to
plead her own cause before your own presence, and of answering no
meaner person's inquiries."

"Now the heavens forfend!"  said the Queen; "we have already
suffered from the misconstructions and broils which seem to
follow this poor brain-sick lady wherever she comes.--Think you
not so, my lord?"  she added, appealing to Leicester with
something in her look that indicated regret, even tenderly
expressed, for their disagreement of that morning.  Leicester
compelled himself to bow low.  The utmost force he could exert
was inadequate to the further effort of expressing in words his
acquiescence in the Queen's sentiment.

"You are vindictive," she said, "my lord; but we will find time
and place to punish you.  But once more to this same trouble-
mirth, this Lady Varney.  What of her health, Masters?"

"She is sullen, madam, as I already said," replied Masters, "and
refuses to answer interrogatories, or be amenable to the
authority of the mediciner.  I conceive her to be possessed with
a delirium, which I incline to term rather HYPOCHONDRIA than
PHRENESIS; and I think she were best cared for by her husband in
his own house, and removed from all this bustle of pageants,
which disturbs her weak brain with the most fantastic phantoms.
She drops hints as if she were some great person in disguise--
some Countess or Princess perchance.  God help them, such are
often the hallucinations of these infirm persons!"

"Nay, then," said the Queen, "away with her with all speed.  Let
Varney care for her with fitting humanity; but let them rid the
Castle of her forthwith she will think herself lady of all, I
warrant you.  It is pity so fair a form, however, should have an
infirm understanding.--What think you, my lord?"

"It is pity indeed," said the Earl, repeating the words like a
task which was set him.

"But, perhaps," said Elizabeth, "you do not join with us in our
opinion of her beauty; and indeed we have known men prefer a
statelier and more Juno-like form to that drooping fragile one
that hung its head like a broken lily.  Ay, men are tyrants, my
lord, who esteem the animation of the strife above the triumph of
an unresisting conquest, and, like sturdy champions, love best
those women who can wage contest with them.--I could think with
you, Rutland, that give my Lord of Leicester such a piece of
painted wax for a bride, he would have wished her dead ere the
end of the honeymoon."

As she said this, she looked on Leicester so expressively that,
while his heart revolted against the egregious falsehood, he did
himself so much violence as to reply in a whisper that
Leicester's love was more lowly than her Majesty deemed, since it
was settled where he could never command, but must ever obey.

The Queen blushed, and bid him be silent; yet looked as of she
expected that he would not obey her commands.  But at that moment
the flourish of trumpets and kettle-drums from a high balcony
which overlooked the hall announced the entrance of the maskers,
and relieved Leicester from the horrible state of constraint and
dissimulation in which the result of his own duplicity had placed
him.

The masque which entered consisted of four separate bands, which
followed each other at brief intervals, each consisting of six
principal persons and as many torch-bearers, and each
representing one of the various nations by which England had at
different times been occupied.

The aboriginal Britons, who first entered, were ushered in by two
ancient Druids, whose hoary hair was crowned with a chaplet of
oak, and who bore in their hands branches of mistletoe.  The
maskers who followed these venerable figures were succeeded by
two Bards, arrayed in white, and bearing harps, which they
occasionally touched, singing at the same time certain stanzas of
an ancient hymn to Belus, or the Sun.  The aboriginal Britons had
been selected from amongst the tallest and most robust young
gentlemen in attendance on the court.  Their masks were
accommodated with long, shaggy beards and hair; their vestments
were of the hides of wolves and bears; while their legs, arms,
and the upper parts of their bodies, being sheathed in flesh-
coloured silk, on which were traced in grotesque lines
representations of the heavenly bodies, and of animals and other
terrestrial objects, gave them the lively appearance of our
painted ancestors, whose freedom was first trenched upon by the
Romans.

The sons of Rome, who came to civilize as well as to conquer,
were next produced before the princely assembly; and the manager
of the revels had correctly imitated the high crest and military
habits of that celebrated people, accommodating them with the
light yet strong buckler and the short two-edged sword, the use
of which had made them victors of the world.  The Roman eagles
were borne before them by two standard-bearers, who recited a
hymn to Mars, and the classical warriors followed with the grave
and haughty step of men who aspired at universal conquest.

The third quadrille represented the Saxons, clad in the bearskins
which they had brought with them from the German forests, and
bearing in their hands the redoubtable battle-axes which made
such havoc among the natives of Britain.  They were preceded by
two Scalds, who chanted the praises of Odin.

Last came the knightly Normans, in their mail-shirts and hoods of
steel, with all the panoply of chivalry, and marshalled by two
Minstrels, who sang of war and ladies' love.

These four bands entered the spacious hall with the utmost order,
a short pause being made, that the spectators might satisfy their
curiosity as to each quadrille before the appearance of the next.
They then marched completely round the hall, in order the more
fully to display themselves, regulating their steps to organs,
shalms, hautboys, and virginals, the music of the Lord
Leicester's household.  At length the four quadrilles of maskers,
ranging their torch-bearers behind them, drew up in their several
ranks on the two opposite sides of the hall, so that the Romans
confronting the Britons, and the Saxons the Normans, seemed to
look on each other with eyes of wonder, which presently appeared
to kindle into anger, expressed by menacing gestures.  At the
burst of a strain of martial music from the gallery the maskers
drew their swords on all sides, and advanced against each other
in the measured steps of a sort of Pyrrhic or military dance,
clashing their swords against their adversaries' shields, and
clattering them against their blades as they passed each other in
the progress of the dance.  It was a very pleasant spectacle to
see how the various bands, preserving regularity amid motions
which seemed to be totally irregular, mixed together, and then
disengaging themselves, resumed each their own original rank as
the music varied.

In this symbolical dance were represented the conflicts which had
taken place among the various nations which had anciently
inhabited Britain.

At length, after many mazy evolutions, which afforded great
pleasure to the spectators, the sound of a loud-voiced trumpet
was heard, as if it blew for instant battle, or for victory won.
The maskers instantly ceased their mimic strife, and collecting
themselves under their original leaders, or presenters, for such
was the appropriate phrase, seemed to share the anxious
expectation which the spectators experienced concerning what was
next to appear.

The doors of the hall were thrown wide, and no less a person
entered than the fiend-born Merlin, dressed in a strange and
mystical attire, suited to his ambiguous birth and magical power.

About him and behind him fluttered or gambolled many
extraordinary forms, intended to represent the spirits who waited
to do his powerful bidding; and so much did this part of the
pageant interest the menials and others of the lower class then
in the Castle, that many of them forgot even the reverence due to
the Queen's presence, so far as to thrust themselves into the
lower part of the hall.

The Earl of Leicester, seeing his officers had some difficulty to
repel these intruders, without more disturbance than was fitting
where the Queen was in presence, arose and went himself to the
bottom of the hall; Elizabeth, at the same time, with her usual
feeling for the common people, requesting that they might be
permitted to remain undisturbed to witness the pageant.
Leicester went under this pretext; but his real motive was to
gain a moment to himself, and to relieve his mind, were it but
for one instant, from the dreadful task of hiding, under the
guise of gaiety and gallantry, the lacerating pangs of shame,
anger, remorse, and thirst for vengeance.  He imposed silence by
his look and sign upon the vulgar crowd at the lower end of the
apartment; but instead of instantly returning to wait on her
Majesty, he wrapped his cloak around him, and mixing with the
crowd, stood in some degree an undistinguished spectator of the
progress of the masque.

Merlin having entered, and advanced into the midst of the hall,
summoned the presenters of the contending bands around him by a
wave of his magical rod, and announced to them, in a poetical
speech, that the isle of Britain was now commanded by a Royal
Maiden, to whom it was the will of fate that they should all do
homage, and request of her to pronounce on the various
pretensions which each set forth to be esteemed the pre-eminent
stock, from which the present natives, the happy subjects of that
angelical Princess, derived their lineage.

In obedience to this mandate, the bands, each moving to solemn
music, passed in succession before Elizabeth, doing her, as they
passed, each after the fashion of the people whom they
represented, the lowest and most devotional homage, which she
returned with the same gracious courtesy that had marked her
whole conduct since she came to Kenilworth.

The presenters of the several masques or quadrilles then alleged,
each in behalf of his own troop, the reasons which they had for
claiming pre-eminence over the rest; and when they had been all
heard in turn, she returned them this gracious answer:  "That she
was sorry she was not better qualified to decide upon the
doubtful question which had been propounded to her by the
direction of the famous Merlin, but that it seemed to her that no
single one of these celebrated nations could claim pre-eminence
over the others, as having most contributed to form the
Englishman of her own time, who unquestionably derived from each
of them some worthy attribute of his character.  Thus," she said,
"the Englishman had from the ancient Briton his bold and tameless
spirit of freedom; from the Roman his disciplined courage in war,
with his love of letters and civilization in time of peace; from
the Saxon his wise and equitable laws; and from the chivalrous
Norman his love of honour and courtesy, with his generous desire
for glory."

Merlin answered with readiness that it did indeed require that so
many choice qualities should meet in the English, as might render
them in some measure the muster of the perfections of other
nations, since that alone could render them in some degree
deserving of the blessings they enjoyed under the reign of
England's Elizabeth.

The music then sounded, and the quadrilles, together with Merlin
and his assistants, had begun to remove from the crowded hall,
when Leicester, who was, as we have mentioned, stationed for the
moment near the bottom of the hall, and consequently engaged in
some degree in the crowd, felt himself pulled by the cloak, while
a voice whispered in his ear, "My Lord, I do desire some instant
conference with you."



CHAPTER XXXVIII.

  How is't with me, when every noise appals me?     MACBETH.

"I desire some conference with you."  The words were simple in
themselves, but Lord Leicester was in that alarmed and feverish
state of mind when the most ordinary occurrences seem fraught
with alarming import; and he turned hastily round to survey the
person by whom they had been spoken.  There was nothing
remarkable in the speaker's appearance, which consisted of a
black silk doublet and short mantle, with a black vizard on his
face; for it appeared he had been among the crowd of masks who
had thronged into the hall in the retinue of Merlin, though he
did not wear any of the extravagant disguises by which most of
them were distinguished.

"Who are you, or what do you want with me?"  said Leicester, not
without betraying, by his accents, the hurried state of his
spirits.

"No evil, my lord," answered the mask, "but much good and honour,
if you will rightly understand my purpose.  But I must speak with
you more privately."

"I can speak with no nameless stranger," answered Leicester,
dreading he knew not precisely what from the request of the
stranger; "and those who are known to me must seek another and a
fitter time to ask an interview."

He would have hurried away, but the mask still detained him.

"Those who talk to your lordship of what your own honour demands
have a right over your time, whatever occupations you may lay
aside in order to indulge them."

"How!  my honour?  Who dare impeach it?"  said Leicester.

"Your own conduct alone can furnish grounds for accusing it, my
lord, and it is that topic on which I would speak with you."

"You are insolent," said Leicester, "and abuse the hospitable
license of the time, which prevents me from having you punished.
I demand your name!"

"Edmund Tressilian of Cornwall," answered the mask.  "My tongue
has been bound by a promise for four-and-twenty hours.  The space
is passed,--I now speak, and do your lordship the justice to
address myself first to you."

The thrill of astonishment which had penetrated to Leicester's
very heart at hearing that name pronounced by the voice of the
man he most detested, and by whom he conceived himself so deeply
injured, at first rendered him immovable, but instantly gave way
to such a thirst for revenge as the pilgrim in the desert feels
for the water-brooks.  He had but sense and self-government
enough left to prevent his stabbing to the heart the audacious
villain, who, after the ruin he had brought upon him, dared, with
such unmoved assurance, thus to practise upon him further.
Determined to suppress for the moment every symptom of agitation,
in order to perceive the full scope of Tressilian's purpose, as
well as to secure his own vengeance, he answered in a tone so
altered by restrained passion as scarce to be intelligible, "And
what does Master Edmund Tressilian require at my hand?"

"Justice, my lord," answered Tressilian, calmly but firmly.

"Justice," said Leicester, "all men are entitled to.  YOU, Master
Tressilian, are peculiarly so, and be assured you shall have it."

"I expect nothing less from your nobleness," answered Tressilian;
"but time presses, and I must speak with you to-night.  May I
wait on you in your chamber?"

"No," answered Leicester sternly, "not under a roof, and that
roof mine own.  We will meet under the free cope of heaven."

"You are discomposed or displeased, my lord," replied Tressilian;
"yet there is no occasion for distemperature.  The place is equal
to me, so you allow me one half-hour of your time uninterrupted."

"A shorter time will, I trust, suffice," answered Leicester.
"Meet me in the Pleasance when the Queen has retired to her
chamber."

"Enough," said Tressilian, and withdrew; while a sort of rapture
seemed for the moment to occupy the mind of Leicester.

"Heaven," he said, "is at last favourable to me, and has put
within my reach the wretch who has branded me with this deep
ignominy--who has inflicted on me this cruel agony.  I will blame
fate no more, since I am afforded the means of tracing the wiles
by which he means still further to practise on me, and then of at
once convicting and punishing his villainy.  To my task--to my
task!  I will not sink under it now, since midnight, at farthest,
will bring me vengeance."

While these reflections thronged through Leicester's mind, he
again made his way amid the obsequious crowd, which divided to
give him passage, and resumed his place, envied and admired,
beside the person of his Sovereign.  But could the bosom of him
thus admired and envied have been laid open before the
inhabitants of that crowded hall, with all its dark thoughts of
guilty ambition, blighted affection, deep vengeance, and
conscious sense of meditated cruelty, crossing each other like
spectres in the circle of some foul enchantress, which of them,
from the most ambitious noble in the courtly circle down to the
most wretched menial who lived by shifting of trenchers, would
have desired to change characters with the favourite of
Elizabeth, and the Lord of Kenilworth?

New tortures awaited him as soon as he had rejoined Elizabeth.

"You come in time, my lord," she said, "to decide a dispute
between us ladies.  Here has Sir Richard Varney asked our
permission to depart from the Castle with his infirm lady,
having, as he tells us, your lordship's consent to his absence,
so he can obtain ours.  Certes, we have no will to withhold him
from the affectionate charge of this poor young person; but you
are to know that Sir Richard Varney hath this day shown himself
so much captivated with these ladies of ours, that here is our
Duchess of Rutland says he will carry his poor insane wife no
farther than the lake, plunge her in to tenant the crystal
palaces that the enchanted nymph told us of, and return a jolly
widower, to dry his tears and to make up the loss among our
train.  How say you, my lord?  We have seen Varney under two or
three different guises--you know what are his proper attributes
--think you he is capable of playing his lady such a knave's
trick?"

Leicester was confounded, but the danger was urgent, and a reply
absolutely necessary.  "The ladies," he said, "think too lightly
of one of their own sex, in supposing she could deserve such a
fate; or too ill of ours, to think it could be inflicted upon an
innocent female."

"Hear him, my ladies," said Elizabeth; "like all his sex, he
would excuse their cruelty by imputing fickleness to us."

"Say not US, madam," replied the Earl.  "We say that meaner
women, like the lesser lights of heaven, have revolutions and
phases; but who shall impute mutability to the sun, or to
Elizabeth?"

The discourse presently afterwards assumed a less perilous
tendency, and Leicester continued to support his part in it with
spirit, at whatever expense of mental agony.  So pleasing did it
seem to Elizabeth, that the Castle bell had sounded midnight ere
she retired from the company, a circumstance unusual in her quiet
and regular habits of disposing of time.  Her departure was, of
course, the signal for breaking up the company, who dispersed to
their several places of repose, to dream over the pastimes of the
day, or to anticipate those of the morrow.

The unfortunate Lord of the Castle, and founder of the proud
festival, retired to far different thoughts.  His direction to
the valet who attended him was to send Varney instantly to his
apartment.  The messenger returned after some delay, and informed
him that an hour had elapsed since Sir Richard Varney had left
the Castle by the postern gate with three other persons, one of
whom was transported in a horse-litter.

"How came he to leave the Castle after the watch was set?"  said
Leicester.  "I thought he went not till daybreak."

"He gave satisfactory reasons, as I understand," said the
domestic, "to the guard, and, as I hear, showed your lordship's
signet--"

"True--true," said the Earl; "yet he has been hasty.  Do any of
his attendants remain behind?"

"Michael Lambourne, my lord," said the valet, "was not to be
found when Sir Richard Varney departed, and his master was much
incensed at his absence.  I saw him but now saddling his horse to
gallop after his master."

"Bid him come hither instantly," said Leicester; "I have a
message to his master."

The servant left the apartment, and Leicester traversed it for
some time in deep meditation.  "Varney is over-zealous," he said,
"over-pressing.  He loves me, I think; but he hath his own ends
to serve, and he is inexorable in pursuit of them.  If I rise, he
rises; and he hath shown himself already but too, eager to rid me
of this obstacle which seems to stand betwixt me and sovereignty.
Yet I will not stoop to bear this disgrace.  She shall be
punished, but it shall be more advisedly.  I already feel, even
in anticipation, that over-haste would light the flames of hell
in my bosom.  No--one victim is enough at once, and that victim
already waits me."

He seized upon writing materials, and hastily traced these
words:--
"Sir Richard Varney, we have resolved to defer the matter
entrusted to your care, and strictly command you to proceed no
further in relation to our Countess until our further order.  We
also command your instant return to Kenilworth as soon as you
have safely bestowed that with which you are entrusted.  But if
the safe-placing of your present charge shall detain you longer
than we think for, we command you in that case to send back our
signet-ring by a trusty and speedy messenger, we having present
need of the same.  And requiring your strict obedience in these
things, and commending you to God's keeping, we rest your assured
good friend and master,         R. LEICESTER.

"Given at our Castle of Kenilworth, the tenth of July, in the
year of Salvation one thousand five hundred and seventy-five."

As Leicester had finished and sealed this mandate, Michael
Lambourne, booted up to mid-thigh, having his riding-cloak
girthed around him with a broad belt, and a felt cap on his head,
like that of a courier, entered his apartment, ushered in by the
valet.

"What is thy capacity of service?"  said the Earl.

"Equerry to your lordship's master of the horse," answered
Lambourne, with his customary assurance.

"Tie up thy saucy tongue, sir," said Leicester; "the jests that
may suit Sir Richard Varney's presence suit not mine.  How soon
wilt thou overtake thy master?"

"In one hour's riding, my lord, if man and horse hold good," said
Lambourne, with an instant alteration of demeanour, from an
approach to familiarity to the deepest respect.  The Earl
measured him with his eye from top to toe.

"I have heard of thee," he said "men say thou art a prompt fellow
in thy service, but too much given to brawling and to wassail to
be trusted with things of moment."

"My lord," said Lambourne, "I have been soldier, sailor,
traveller, and adventurer; and these are all trades in which men
enjoy to-day, because they have no surety of to-morrow.  But
though I may misuse mine own leisure, I have never neglected the
duty I owe my master."

"See that it be so in this instance," said Leicester, "and it
shall do thee good.  Deliver this letter speedily and carefully
into Sir Richard Varney's hands."

"Does my commission reach no further?"  said Lambourne.

"No," answered Leicester; "but it deeply concerns me that it be
carefully as well as hastily executed."

"I will spare neither care nor horse-flesh," answered Lambourne,
and immediately took his leave.

"So, this is the end of my private audience, from which I hoped
so much!"  he muttered to himself, as he went through the long
gallery, and down the back staircase.  Cogs bones!  I thought the
Earl had wanted a cast of mine office in some secret intrigue,
and it all ends in carrying a letter!  Well, his pleasure shall
be done, however; and as his lordship well says, it may do me
good another time.  The child must creep ere he walk, and so must
your infant courtier.  I will have a look into this letter,
however, which he hath sealed so sloven-like."  Having
accomplished this, he clapped his hands together in ecstasy,
exclaiming, "The Countess the Countess!  I have the secret that
shall make or mar me.--But come forth, Bayard," he added, leading
his horse into the courtyard, "for your flanks and my spurs must
be presently acquainted."

Lambourne mounted, accordingly, and left the Castle by the
postern gate, where his free passage was permitted, in
consequence of a message to that effect left by Sir Richard
Varney.

As soon as Lambourne and the valet had left the apartment,
Leicester proceeded to change his dress for a very plain one,
threw his mantle around him, and taking a lamp in his hand, went
by the private passage of communication to a small secret postern
door which opened into the courtyard, near to the entrance of the
Pleasance.  His reflections were of a more calm and determined
character than they had been at any late period, and he
endeavoured to claim, even in his own eyes, the character of a
man more sinned against than sinning.

"I have suffered the deepest injury," such was the tenor of his
meditations, "yet I have restricted the instant revenge which was
in my power, and have limited it to that which is manly and
noble.  But shall the union which this false woman has this day
disgraced remain an abiding fetter on me, to check me in the
noble career to which my destinies invite me?  No; there are
other means of disengaging such ties, without unloosing the cords
of life.  In the sight of God, I am no longer bound by the union
she has broken.  Kingdoms shall divide us, oceans roll betwixt
us, and their waves, whose abysses have swallowed whole navies,
shall be the sole depositories of the deadly mystery."

By such a train of argument did Leicester labour to reconcile his
conscience to the prosecution of plans of vengeance, so hastily
adopted, and of schemes of ambition, which had become so woven in
with every purpose and action of his life that he was incapable
of the effort of relinquishing them, until his revenge appeared
to him to wear a face of justice, and even of generous
moderation.

In this mood the vindictive and ambitious Earl entered the superb
precincts of the Pleasance, then illumined by the full moon.  The
broad, yellow light was reflected on all sides from the white
freestone, of which the pavement, balustrades, and architectural
ornaments of the place were constructed; and not a single fleecy
cloud was visible in the azure sky, so that the scene was nearly
as light as if the sun had but just left the horizon.  The
numerous statues of white marble glimmered in the pale light like
so many sheeted ghosts just arisen from their sepulchres, and the
fountains threw their jets into the air as if they sought that
their waters should be brightened by the moonbeams ere they fell
down again upon their basins in showers of sparkling silver.  The
day had been sultry, and the gentle night-breeze which sighed
along the terrace of the Pleasance raised not a deeper breath
than the fan in the hand of youthful beauty.  The bird of summer
night had built many a nest in the bowers of the adjacent garden,
and the tenants now indemnified themselves for silence during the
day by a full chorus of their own unrivalled warblings, now
joyous, now pathetic, now united, now responsive to each other,
as if to express their delight in the placid and delicious scene
to which they poured their melody.

Musing on matters far different from the fall of waters, the
gleam of moonlight, or the song of the nightingale, the stately
Leicester walked slowly from the one end of the terrace to the
other, his cloak wrapped around him, and his sword under his arm,
without seeing anything resembling the human form.

"I have been fooled by my own generosity," he said, "if I have
suffered the villain to escape me--ay, and perhaps to go to the
rescue of the adulteress, who is so poorly guarded."

These were his thoughts, which were instantly dispelled when,
turning to look back towards the entrance, he saw a human form
advancing slowly from the portico, and darkening the various
objects with its shadow, as passing them successively, in its
approach towards him.

"Shall I strike ere I again hear his detested voice?"  was
Leicester's thought, as he grasped the hilt of the sword.  "But
no!  I will see which way his vile practice tends.  I will watch,
disgusting as it is, the coils and mazes of the loathsome snake,
ere I put forth my strength and crush him."

His hand quitted the sword-hilt, and he advanced slowly towards
Tressilian, collecting, for their meeting, all the self-
possession he could command, until they came front to front with
each other.

Tressilian made a profound reverence, to which the Earl replied
with a haughty inclination of the head, and the words, "You
sought secret conference with me, sir; I am here, and attentive."

"My lord," said Tressilian, "I am so earnest in that which I have
to say, and so desirous to find a patient, nay, a favourable
hearing, that I will stoop to exculpate myself from whatever
might prejudice your lordship against me.  You think me your
enemy?"

"Have I not some apparent cause?"  answered Leicester, perceiving
that Tressilian paused for a reply.

"You do me wrong, my lord.  I am a friend, but neither a
dependant nor partisan, of the Earl of Sussex, whom courtiers
call your rival; and it is some considerable time since I ceased
to consider either courts or court intrigues as suited to my
temper or genius."

"No doubt, sir," answered Leicester "there are other occupations
more worthy a scholar, and for such the world holds Master
Tressilian.  Love has his intrigues as well as ambition."

"I perceive, my lord," replied Tressilian, "you give much weight
to my early attachment for the unfortunate young person of whom I
am about to speak, and perhaps think I am prosecuting her cause
out of rivalry, more than a sense of justice."

"No matter for my thoughts, sir," said the Earl; "proceed.  You
have as yet spoken of yourself only--an important and worthy
subject doubtless, but which, perhaps, does not altogether so
deeply concern me that I should postpone my repose to hear it.
Spare me further prelude, sir, and speak to the purpose if indeed
you have aught to say that concerns me.  When you have done, I,
in my turn, have something to communicate."

"I will speak, then, without further prelude, my lord," answered
Tressilian, "having to say that which, as it concerns your
lordship's honour, I am confident you will not think your time
wasted in listening to.  I have to request an account from your
lordship of the unhappy Amy Robsart, whose history is too well
known to you.  I regret deeply that I did not at once take this
course, and make yourself judge between me and the villain by
whom she is injured.  My lord, she extricated herself from an
unlawful and most perilous state of confinement, trusting to the
effects of her own remonstrance upon her unworthy husband, and
extorted from me a promise that I would not interfere in her
behalf until she had used her own efforts to have her rights
acknowledged by him."

"Ha," said Leicester, "remember you to whom you speak?"

"I speak of her unworthy husband, my lord," repeated Tressilian,
"and my respect can find no softer language.  The unhappy young
woman is withdrawn from my knowledge, and sequestered in some
secret place of this Castle--if she be not transferred to some
place of seclusion better fitted for bad designs.  This must be
reformed, my lord--I speak it as authorized by her father--and
this ill-fated marriage must be avouched and proved in the
Queen's presence, and the lady placed without restraint and at
her own free disposal.  And permit me to say it concerns no one's
honour that these most just demands of mine should be complied
with so much as it does that of your lordship."

The Earl stood as if he had been petrified at the extreme
coolness with which the man, whom he considered as having injured
him so deeply, pleaded the cause of his criminal paramour, as if
she had been an innocent woman and he a disinterested advocate;
nor was his wonder lessened by the warmth with which Tressilian
seemed to demand for her the rank and situation which she had
disgraced, and the advantages of which she was doubtless to share
with the lover who advocated her cause with such effrontery.
Tressilian had been silent for more than a minute ere the Earl
recovered from the excess of his astonishment; and considering
the prepossessions with which his mind was occupied, there is
little wonder that his passion gained the mastery of every other
consideration.  "I have heard you, Master Tressilian," said he,
"without interruption, and I bless God that my ears were never
before made to tingle by the words of so frontless a villain.
The task of chastising you is fitter for the hangman's scourge
than the sword of a nobleman, but yet--Villain, draw and defend
thyself!"

As he spoke the last words, he dropped his mantle on the ground,
struck Tressilian smartly with his sheathed sword, and instantly
drawing his rapier, put himself into a posture of assault.  The
vehement fury of his language at first filled Tressilian, in his
turn, with surprise equal to what Leicester had felt when he
addressed him.  But astonishment gave place to resentment when
the unmerited insults of his language were followed by a blow
which immediately put to flight every thought save that of
instant combat.  Tressilian's sword was instantly drawn; and
though perhaps somewhat inferior to Leicester in the use of the
weapon, he understood it well enough to maintain the contest with
great spirit, the rather that of the two he was for the time the
more cool, since he could not help imputing Leicester's conduct
either to actual frenzy or to the influence of some strong
delusion.

The rencontre had continued for several minutes, without either
party receiving a wound, when of a sudden voices were heard
beneath the portico which formed the entrance of the terrace,
mingled with the steps of men advancing hastily.  "We are
interrupted," said Leicester to his antagonist; "follow me."

At the same time a voice from the portico said, "The jackanape is
right--they are tilting here."

Leicester, meanwhile, drew off Tressilian into a sort of recess
behind one of the fountains, which served to conceal them, while
six of the yeomen of the Queen's guard passed along the middle
walk of the Pleasance, and they could hear one say to the rest,
"We shall never find them to-night among all these squirting
funnels, squirrel cages, and rabbit-holes; but if we light not on
them before we reach the farther end, we will return, and mount a
guard at the entrance, and so secure them till morning."

"A proper matter," said another, "the drawing of swords so near
the Queen's presence, ay, and in her very palace as 'twere!  Hang
it, they must be some poor drunken game-cocks fallen to sparring
--'twere pity almost we should find them--the penalty is chopping
off a hand, is it not?--'twere hard to lose hand for handling a
bit of steel, that comes so natural to one's gripe."

"Thou art a brawler thyself, George," said another; "but take
heed, for the law stands as thou sayest."

"Ay," said the first, "an the act be not mildly construed; for
thou knowest 'tis not the Queen's palace, but my Lord of
Leicester's."

"Why, for that matter, the penalty may be as severe," said
another "for an our gracious Mistress be Queen, as she is, God
save her, my Lord of Leicester is as good as King."

"Hush, thou knave!"  said a third; "how knowest thou who may be
within hearing?"

They passed on, making a kind of careless search, but seemingly
more intent on their own conversation than bent on discovering
the persons who had created the nocturnal disturbance.

They had no sooner passed forward along the terrace, than
Leicester, making a sign to Tressilian to follow him, glided away
in an opposite direction, and escaped through the portico
undiscovered.  He conducted Tressilian to Mervyn's Tower, in
which he was now again lodged; and then, ere parting with him,
said these words, "If thou hast courage to continue and bring to
an end what is thus broken off, be near me when the court goes
forth to-morrow; we shall find a time, and I will give you a
signal when it is fitting."

"My lord," said Tressilian, "at another time I might have
inquired the meaning of this strange and furious inveteracy
against me.  But you have laid that on my shoulder which only
blood can wash away; and were you as high as your proudest wishes
ever carried you, I would have from you satisfaction for my
wounded honour."

On these terms they parted, but the adventures of the night were
not yet ended with Leicester.  He was compelled to pass by
Saintlowe's Tower, in order to gain the private passage which led
to his own chamber; and in the entrance thereof he met Lord
Hunsdon half clothed, and with a naked sword under his arm.

"Are you awakened, too, with this 'larum, my Lord of Leicester?"
said the old soldier.  "'Tis well.  By gog's nails, the nights
are as noisy as the day in this Castle of yours.  Some two hours
since I was waked by the screams of that poor brain-sick Lady
Varney, whom her husband was forcing away.  I promise you it
required both your warrant and the Queen's to keep me from
entering into the game, and cutting that Varney of yours over the
head.  And now there is a brawl down in the Pleasance, or what
call you the stone terrace-walk where all yonder gimcracks
stand?"

The first part of the old man's speech went through the Earl's
heart like a knife; to the last he answered that he himself had
heard the clash of swords, and had come down to take order with
those who had been so insolent so near the Queen's presence.

"Nay, then," said Hunsdon, "I will be glad of your lordship's
company."

Leicester was thus compelled to turn back with the rough old Lord
to the Pleasance, where Hunsdon heard from the yeomen of the
guard, who were under his immediate command, the unsuccessful
search they had made for the authors of the disturbance; and
bestowed for their pains some round dozen of curses on them, as
lazy knaves and blind whoresons.  Leicester also thought it
necessary to seem angry that no discovery had been effected; but
at length suggested to Lord Hunsdon, that after all it could only
be some foolish young men who had been drinking healths pottle-
deep, and who should be sufficiently scared by the search which
had taken place after them.  Hunsdon, who was himself attached to
his cup, allowed that a pint-flagon might cover many of the
follies which it had caused, "But," added he, "unless your
lordship will be less liberal in your housekeeping, and restrain
the overflow of ale, and wine, and wassail, I foresee it will end
in my having some of these good fellows into the guard-house, and
treating them to a dose of the strappado.  And with this warning,
good night to you."

Joyful at being rid of his company, Leicester took leave of him
at the entrance of his lodging, where they had first met, and
entering the private passage, took up the lamp which he had left
there, and by its expiring light found the way to his own
apartment.



CHAPTER XXXIX.

  Room!  room!  for my horse will wince
  If he comes within so many yards of a prince;
  For to tell you true, and in rhyme,
  He was foal'd in Queen Elizabeth's time;
  When the great Earl of Lester
  In his castle did feast her.
                                BEN JONSON, MASQUE OF OWLS.

The amusement with which Elizabeth and her court were next day to
be regaled was an exhibition by the true-hearted men of Coventry,
who were to represent the strife between the English and the
Danes, agreeably to a custom long preserved in their ancient
borough, and warranted for truth by old histories and chronicles.
In this pageant one party of the townsfolk presented the Saxons
and the other the Danes, and set forth, both in rude rhymes and
with hard blows, the contentions of these two fierce nations, and
the Amazonian courage of the English women, who, according to the
story, were the principal agents in the general massacre of the
Danes, which took place at Hocktide, in the year of God 1012.
This sport, which had been long a favourite pastime with the men
of Coventry, had, it seems, been put down by the influence of
some zealous clergymen of the more precise cast, who chanced to
have considerable influence with the magistrates.  But the
generality of the inhabitants had petitioned the Queen that they
might have their play again, and be honoured with permission to
represent it before her Highness.  And when the matter was
canvassed in the little council which usually attended the Queen
for dispatch of business, the proposal, although opposed by some
of the stricter sort, found favour in the eyes of Elizabeth, who
said that such toys occupied, without offence, the minds of many
who, lacking them, might find worse subjects of pastime; and that
their pastors, however commendable for learning and godliness,
were somewhat too sour in preaching against the pastimes of their
flocks and so the pageant was permitted to proceed.

Accordingly, after a morning repast, which Master Laneham calls
an ambrosial breakfast, the principal persons of the court in
attendance upon her Majesty pressed to the Gallery-tower, to
witness the approach of the two contending parties of English and
Danes; and after a signal had been given, the gate which opened
in the circuit of the Chase was thrown wide to admit them.  On
they came, foot and horse; for some of the more ambitious
burghers and yeomen had put themselves into fantastic dresses,
imitating knights, in order to resemble the chivalry of the two
different nations.  However, to prevent fatal accidents, they
were not permitted to appear on real horses, but had only license
to accoutre themselves with those hobby-horses, as they are
called, which anciently formed the chief delight of a morrice-
dance, and which still are exhibited on the stage, in the grand
battle fought at the conclusion of Mr. Bayes's tragedy.  The
infantry followed in similar disguises.  The whole exhibition was
to be considered as a sort of anti-masque, or burlesque of the
more stately pageants in which the nobility and gentry bore part
in the show, and, to the best of their knowledge, imitated with
accuracy the personages whom they represented.  The Hocktide play
was of a different character, the actors being persons of
inferior degree, and their habits the better fitted for the
occasion, the more incongruous and ridiculous that they were in
themselves.  Accordingly their array, which the progress of our
tale allows us no time to describe, was ludicrous enough; and
their weapons, though sufficiently formidable to deal sound
blows, were long alder-poles instead of lances, and sound cudgels
for swords; and for fence, both cavalry and infantry were well
equipped with stout headpieces and targets, both made of thick
leather.

Captain Coxe, that celebrated humorist of Coventry, whose library
of ballads, almanacs, and penny histories, fairly wrapped up in
parchment, and tied round for security with a piece of whipcord,
remains still the envy of antiquaries, being himself the
ingenious person under whose direction the pageant had been set
forth, rode valiantly on his hobby-horse before the bands of
English, high-trussed, saith Laneham, and brandishing his long
sword, as became an experienced man of war, who had fought under
the Queen's father, bluff King Henry, at the siege of Boulogne.
This chieftain was, as right and reason craved, the first to
enter the lists, and passing the Gallery at the head of his
myrmidons, kissed the hilt of his sword to the Queen, and
executed at the same time a gambade, the like whereof had never
been practised by two-legged hobby-horse.  Then passing on with
all his followers of cavaliers and infantry, he drew them up with
martial skill at the opposite extremity of the bridge, or tilt-
yard, until his antagonist should be fairly prepared for the
onset.

This was no long interval; for the Danish cavalry and infantry,
no way inferior to the English in number, valour, and equipment,
instantly arrived, with the northern bagpipe blowing before them
in token of their country, and headed by a cunning master of
defence, only inferior to the renowned Captain Coxe, if to him,
in the discipline of war.  The Danes, as invaders, took their
station under the Gallery-tower, and opposite to that of
Mortimer; and when their arrangements were completely made, a
signal was given for the encounter.

Their first charge upon each other was rather moderate, for
either party had some dread of being forced into the lake.  But
as reinforcements came up on either side, the encounter grew from
a skirmish into a blazing battle.  They rushed upon one another,
as Master Laneham testifies, like rams inflamed by jealousy, with
such furious encounter that both parties were often overthrown,
and the clubs and targets made a most horrible clatter.  In many
instances that happened which had been dreaded by the more
experienced warriors who began the day of strife.  The rails
which defended the ledges of the bridge had been, perhaps on
purpose, left but slightly fastened, and gave way under the
pressure of those who thronged to the combat, so that the hot
courage of many of the combatants received a sufficient cooling.
These incidents might have occasioned more serious damage than
became such an affray, for many of the champions who met with
this mischance could not swim, and those who could were
encumbered with their suits of leathern and of paper armour; but
the case had been provided for, and there were several boats in
readiness to pick up the unfortunate warriors and convey them to
the dry land, where, dripping and dejected, they comforted
themselves with the hot ale and strong waters which were
liberally allowed to them, without showing any desire to re-enter
so desperate a conflict.

Captain Coxe alone, that paragon of Black-Letter antiquaries,
after twice experiencing, horse and man, the perilous leap from
the bridge into the lake, equal to any extremity to which the
favourite heroes of chivalry, whose exploits he studied in an
abridged form, whether Amadis, Belianis, Bevis, or his own Guy of
Warwick, had ever been subjected to--Captain Coxe, we repeat, did
alone, after two such mischances, rush again into the heat of
conflict, his bases and the footcloth of his hobby-horse dropping
water, and twice reanimated by voice and example the drooping
spirits of the English; so that at last their victory over the
Danish invaders became, as was just and reasonable, complete and
decisive.  Worthy he was to be rendered immortal by the pen of
Ben Jonson, who, fifty years afterwards, deemed that a masque,
exhibited at Kenilworth, could be ushered in by none with so much
propriety as by the ghost of Captain Coxe, mounted upon his
redoubted hobby-horse.

These rough, rural gambols may not altogether agree with the
reader's preconceived idea of an entertainment presented before
Elizabeth, in whose reign letters revived with such brilliancy,
and whose court, governed by a female whose sense of propriety
was equal to her strength of mind, was no less distinguished for
delicacy and refinement than her councils for wisdom and
fortitude.  But whether from the political wish to seem
interested in popular sports, or whether from a spark of old
Henry's rough, masculine spirit, which Elizabeth sometimes
displayed, it is certain the Queen laughed heartily at the
imitation, or rather burlesque, of chivalry which was presented
in the Coventry play.  She called near her person the Earl of
Sussex and Lord Hunsdon, partly perhaps to make amends to the
former for the long and private audiences with which she had
indulged the Earl of Leicester, by engaging him in conversation
upon a pastime which better suited his taste than those pageants
that were furnished forth from the stores of antiquity.  The
disposition which the Queen showed to laugh and jest with her
military leaders gave the Earl of Leicester the opportunity he
had been watching for withdrawing from the royal presence, which
to the court around, so well had he chosen his time, had the
graceful appearance of leaving his rival free access to the
Queen's person, instead of availing himself of his right as her
landlord to stand perpetually betwixt others and the light of her
countenance.

Leicester's thoughts, however, had a far different object from
mere courtesy; for no sooner did he see the Queen fairly engaged
in conversation with Sussex and Hunsdon, behind whose back stood
Sir Nicholas Blount, grinning from ear to ear at each word which
was spoken, than, making a sign to Tressilian, who, according to
appointment, watched his motions at a little distance, he
extricated himself from the press, and walking towards the Chase,
made his way through the crowds of ordinary spectators, who, with
open mouth, stood gazing on the battle of the English and the
Danes.  When he had accomplished this, which was a work of some
difficulty, he shot another glance behind him to see that
Tressilian had been equally successful; and as soon as he saw him
also free from the crowd, he led the way to a small thicket,
behind which stood a lackey, with two horses ready saddled.  He
flung himself on the one, and made signs to Tressilian to mount
the other, who obeyed without speaking a single word.

Leicester then spurred his horse, and galloped without stopping
until he reached a sequestered spot, environed by lofty oaks,
about a mile's distance from the Castle, and in an opposite
direction from the scene to which curiosity was drawing every
spectator.  He there dismounted, bound his horse to a tree, and
only pronouncing the words, "Here there is no risk of
interruption," laid his cloak across his saddle, and drew his
sword.

Tressilian imitated his example punctually, yet could not forbear
saying, as he drew his weapon, "My lord, as I have been known to
many as one who does not fear death when placed in balance with
honour, methinks I may, without derogation, ask wherefore, in the
name of all that is honourable, your lordship has dared to offer
me such a mark of disgrace as places us on these terms with
respect to each other?"

"If you like not such marks of my scorn," replied the Earl,
"betake yourself instantly to your weapon, lest I repeat the
usage you complain of."

"It shall not need, my lord," said Tressilian.  "God judge
betwixt us!  and your blood, if you fall, be on your own head."

He had scarce completed the sentence when they instantly closed
in combat.

But Leicester, who was a perfect master of defence among all
other exterior accomplishments of the time, had seen on the
preceding night enough of Tressilian's strength and skill to make
him fight with more caution than heretofore, and prefer a secure
revenge to a hasty one.  For some minutes they fought with equal
skill and fortune, till, in a desperate lunge which Leicester
successfully put aside, Tressilian exposed himself at
disadvantage; and in a subsequent attempt to close, the Earl
forced his sword from his hand, and stretched him on the ground.
With a grim smile he held the point of his rapier within two
inches of the throat of his fallen adversary, and placing his
foot at the same time upon his breast, bid him confess his
villainous wrongs towards him, and prepare for death.

"I have no villainy nor wrong towards thee to confess," answered
Tressilian, "and am better prepared for death than thou.  Use
thine advantage as thou wilt, and may God forgive you!  I have
given you no cause for this."

"No cause!"  exclaimed the Earl, "no cause!--but why parley with
such a slave?  Die a liar, as thou hast lived!"

He had withdrawn his arm for the purpose of striking the fatal
blow, when it was suddenly seized from behind.

The Earl turned in wrath to shake off the unexpected obstacle,
but was surprised to find that a strange-looking boy had hold of
his sword-arm, and clung to it with such tenacity of grasp that
he could not shake him of without a considerable struggle, in the
course of which Tressilian had opportunity to rise and possess
himself once more of his weapon.  Leicester again turned towards
him with looks of unabated ferocity, and the combat would have
recommenced with still more desperation on both sides, had not
the boy clung to Lord Leicester's knees, and in a shrill tone
implored him to listen one moment ere he prosecuted this quarrel.

"Stand up, and let me go," said Leicester, "or, by Heaven, I will
pierce thee with my rapier!  What hast thou to do to bar my way
to revenge?"

"Much--much!"  exclaimed the undaunted boy, "since my folly has
been the cause of these bloody quarrels between you, and
perchance of worse evils.  Oh, if you would ever again enjoy the
peace of an innocent mind, if you hope again to sleep in peace
and unhaunted by remorse, take so much leisure as to peruse this
letter, and then do as you list."

While he spoke in this eager and earnest manner, to which his
singular features and voice gave a goblin-like effect, he held up
to Leicester a packet, secured with a long tress of woman's hair
of a beautiful light-brown colour.  Enraged as he was, nay,
almost blinded with fury to see his destined revenge so strangely
frustrated, the Earl of Leicester could not resist this
extraordinary supplicant.  He snatched the letter from his hand--
changed colour as he looked on the superscription--undid with
faltering hand the knot which secured it--glanced over the
contents, and staggering back, would have fallen, had he not
rested against the trunk of a tree, where he stood for an
instant, his eyes bent on the letter, and his sword-point turned
to the ground, without seeming to be conscious of the presence of
an antagonist towards whom he had shown little mercy, and who
might in turn have taken him at advantage.  But for such revenge
Tressilian was too noble-minded.  He also stood still in
surprise, waiting the issue of this strange fit of passion, but
holding his weapon ready to defend himself in case of need
against some new and sudden attack on the part of Leicester, whom
he again suspected to be under the influence of actual frenzy.
The boy, indeed, he easily recognized as his old acquaintance
Dickon, whose face, once seen, was scarcely to be forgotten; but
how he came hither at so critical a moment, why his interference
was so energetic, and, above all, how it came to produce so
powerful an effect upon Leicester, were questions which he could
not solve.

But the letter was of itself powerful enough to work effects yet
more wonderful.  It was that which the unfortunate Amy had
written to her husband, in which she alleged the reasons and
manner of her flight from Cumnor Place, informed him of her
having made her way to Kenilworth to enjoy his protection, and
mentioned the circumstances which had compelled her to take
refuge in Tressilian's apartment, earnestly requesting he would,
without delay, assign her a more suitable asylum.  The letter
concluded with the most earnest expressions of devoted attachment
and submission to his will in all things, and particularly
respecting her situation and place of residence, conjuring him
only that she might not be placed under the guardianship or
restraint of Varney.  The letter dropped from Leicester's hand
when he had perused it.  "Take my sword," he said, "Tressilian,
and pierce my heart, as I would but now have pierced yours!"

"My lord," said Tressilian, "you have done me great wrong, but
something within my breast ever whispered that it was by
egregious error."

"Error, indeed!"  said Leicester, and handed him the letter; "I
have been made to believe a man of honour a villain, and the best
and purest of creatures a false profligate.--Wretched boy, why
comes this letter now, and where has the bearer lingered?"

"I dare not tell you, my lord," said the boy, withdrawing, as if
to keep beyond his reach; "but here comes one who was the
messenger."

Wayland at the same moment came up; and interrogated by
Leicester, hastily detailed all the circumstances of his escape
with Amy, the fatal practices which had driven her to flight, and
her anxious desire to throw herself under the instant protection
of her husband--pointing out the evidence of the domestics of
Kenilworth, "who could not," he observed, "but remember her eager
inquiries after the Earl of Leicester on her first arrival."

"The villains!"  exclaimed Leicester; "but oh, that worst of
villains, Varney!--and she is even now in his power!"

"But not, I trust in God," said Tressilian, "with any commands of
fatal import?"

"No, no, no!"  exclaimed the Earl hastily.  "I said something in
madness; but it was recalled, fully recalled, by a hasty
messenger, and she is now--she must now be safe."

"Yes," said Tressilian," she MUST be safe, and I MUST be assured
of her safety.  My own quarrel with you is ended, my lord; but
there is another to begin with the seducer of Amy Robsart, who
has screened his guilt under the cloak of the infamous Varney."

"The SEDUCER of Amy!"  replied Leicester, with a voice like
thunder; "say her husband!--her misguided, blinded, most unworthy
husband!  She is as surely Countess of Leicester as I am belted
Earl.  Nor can you, sir, point out that manner of justice which I
will not render her at my own free will.  I need scarce say I
fear not your compulsion."

The generous nature of Tressilian was instantly turned from
consideration of anything personal to himself, and centred at
once upon Amy's welfare.  He had by no means undoubting
confidence in the fluctuating resolutions of Leicester, whose
mind seemed to him agitated beyond the government of calm reason;
neither did he, notwithstanding the assurances he had received,
think Amy safe in the hands of his dependants.  "My lord," he
said calmly, "I mean you no offence, and am far from seeking a
quarrel.  But my duty to Sir Hugh Robsart compels me to carry
this matter instantly to the Queen, that the Countess's rank may
be acknowledged in her person."

"You shall not need, sir," replied the Earl haughtily; "do not
dare to interfere.  No voice but Dudley's shall proclaim Dudley's
infamy.  To Elizabeth herself will I tell it; and then for Cumnor
Place with the speed of life and death!"

So saying, he unbound his horse from the tree, threw himself into
the saddle, and rode at full gallop towards the Castle.

"Take me before you, Master Tressilian," said the boy, seeing
Tressilian mount in the same haste; "my tale is not all told out,
and I need your protection."

Tressilian complied, and followed the Earl, though at a less
furious rate.  By the way the boy confessed, with much
contrition, that in resentment at Wayland's evading all his
inquiries concerning the lady, after Dickon conceived he had in
various ways merited his confidence, he had purloined from him in
revenge the letter with which Amy had entrusted him for the Earl
of Leicester.  His purpose was to have restored it to him that
evening, as he reckoned himself sure of meeting with him, in
consequence of Wayland's having to perform the part of Arion in
the pageant.  He was indeed something alarmed when he saw to whom
the letter was addressed; but he argued that, as Leicester did
not return to Kenilworth until that evening, it would be again in
the possession of the proper messenger as soon as, in the nature
of things, it could possibly be delivered.  But Wayland came not
to the pageant, having been in the interim expelled by Lambourne
from the Castle; and the boy, not being able to find him, or to
get speech of Tressilian, and finding himself in possession of a
letter addressed to no less a person than the Earl of Leicester,
became much afraid of the consequences of his frolic.  The
caution, and indeed the alarm, which Wayland had expressed
respecting Varney and Lambourne, led him to judge that the letter
must be designed for the Earl's own hand, and that he might
prejudice the lady by giving it to any of the domestics.  He made
an attempt or two to obtain an audience of Leicester; but the
singularity of his features and the meanness of his appearance
occasioned his being always repulsed by the insolent menials whom
he applied to for that purpose.  Once, indeed, he had nearly
succeeded, when, in prowling about, he found in the grotto the
casket, which he knew to belong to the unlucky Countess, having
seen it on her journey; for nothing escaped his prying eye.
Having striven in vain to restore it either to Tressilian or the
Countess, he put it into the hands, as we have seen, of Leicester
himself, but unfortunately he did not recognize him in his
disguise.

At length the boy thought he was on the point of succeeding when
the Earl came down to the lower part of the hall; but just as he
was about to accost him, he was prevented by Tressilian.  As
sharp in ear as in wit, the boy heard the appointment settled
betwixt them, to take place in the Pleasance, and resolved to add
a third to the party, in hope that, either in coming or
returning, he might find an opportunity of delivering the letter
to Leicester; for strange stories began to flit among the
domestics, which alarmed him for the lady's safety.  Accident,
however, detained Dickon a little behind the Earl, and as he
reached the arcade he saw them engaged in combat; in consequence
of which he hastened to alarm the guard, having little doubt that
what bloodshed took place betwixt them might arise out of his own
frolic.  Continuing to lurk in the portico, he heard the second
appointment which Leicester at parting assigned to Tressilian;
and was keeping them in view during the encounter of the Coventry
men, when, to his surprise, he recognized Wayland in the crowd,
much disguised, indeed, but not sufficiently so to escape the
prying glance of his old comrade.  They drew aside out of the
crowd to explain their situation to each other.  The boy
confessed to Wayland what we have above told; and the artist, in
return, informed him that his deep anxiety for the fate of the
unfortunate lady had brought him back to the neighbourhood of the
Castle, upon his learning that morning, at a village about ten
miles distant, that Varney and Lambourne, whose violence he
dreaded, had both left Kenilworth over-night.

While they spoke, they saw Leicester and Tressilian separate
themselves from the crowd, dogged them until they mounted their
horses, when the boy, whose speed of foot has been before
mentioned, though he could not possibly keep up with them, yet
arrived, as we have seen, soon enough to save Tressilian's life.
The boy had just finished his tale when they arrived at the
Gallery-tower.



CHAPTER XL.

  High o'er the eastern steep the sun is beaming,
  And darkness flies with her deceitful shadows;--
  So truth prevails o'er falsehood.       OLD PLAY.

As Tressilian rode along the bridge, lately the scene of so much
riotous sport, he could not but observe that men's countenances
had singularly changed during the space of his brief absence.
The mock fight was over, but the men, still habited in their
masking suits, stood together in groups, like the inhabitants of
a city who have been just startled by some strange and alarming
news.

When he reached the base-court, appearances were the same--
domestics, retainers, and under-officers stood together and
whispered, bending their eyes towards the windows of the Great
Hall, with looks which seemed at once alarmed and mysterious.

Sir Nicholas Blount was the first person of his own particular
acquaintance Tressilian saw, who left him no time to make
inquiries, but greeted him with, "God help thy heart, Tressilian!
thou art fitter for a clown than a courtier thou canst not
attend, as becomes one who follows her Majesty.  Here you are
called for, wished for, waited for--no man but you will serve the
turn; and hither you come with a misbegotten brat on thy horse's
neck, as if thou wert dry nurse to some sucking devil, and wert
just returned from airing."

"Why, what is the matter?"  said Tressilian, letting go the boy,
who sprung to ground like a feather, and himself dismounting at
the same time.

"Why, no one knows the matter," replied Blount; "I cannot smell
it out myself, though I have a nose like other courtiers.  Only,
my Lord of Leicester has galloped along the bridge as if he would
have rode over all in his passage, demanded an audience of the
Queen, and is closeted even now with her, and Burleigh and
Walsingham--and you are called for; but whether the matter be
treason or worse, no one knows."

"He speaks true, by Heaven!"  said Raleigh, who that instant
appeared; "you must immediately to the Queen's presence."

"Be not rash, Raleigh," said Blount, "remember his boots.--For
Heaven's sake, go to my chamber, dear Tressilian, and don my new
bloom-coloured silken hose; I have worn them but twice."

"Pshaw!"  answered Tressilian; "do thou take care of this boy,
Blount; be kind to him, and look he escapes you not--much depends
on him."

So saying, he followed Raleigh hastily, leaving honest Blount
with the bridle of his horse in one hand, and the boy in the
other.  Blount gave a long look after him.

"Nobody," he said, "calls me to these mysteries--and he leaves me
here to play horse-keeper and child-keeper at once.  I could
excuse the one, for I love a good horse naturally; but to be
plagued with a bratchet whelp.--Whence come ye, my fair-favoured
little gossip?"

"From the Fens," answered the boy.

"And what didst thou learn there, forward imp?"

"To catch gulls, with their webbed feet and yellow stockings,"
said the boy.

"Umph!"  said Blount, looking down on his own immense roses.
"Nay, then, the devil take him asks thee more questions."

Meantime Tressilian traversed the full length of the Great Hall,
in which the astonished courtiers formed various groups, and were
whispering mysteriously together, while all kept their eyes fixed
on the door which led from the upper end of the hall into the
Queen's withdrawing apartment.  Raleigh pointed to the door.
Tressilian knocked, and was instantly admitted.  Many a neck was
stretched to gain a view into the interior of the apartment; but
the tapestry which covered the door on the inside was dropped too
suddenly to admit the slightest gratification of curiosity.

Upon entrance, Tressilian found himself, not without a strong
palpitation of heart, in the presence of Elizabeth, who was
walking to and fro in a violent agitation, which she seemed to
scorn to conceal, while two or three of her most sage and
confidential counsellors exchanged anxious looks with each other,
but delayed speaking till her wrath abated.  Before the empty
chair of state in which she had been seated, and which was half
pushed aside by the violence with which she had started from it,
knelt Leicester, his arms crossed, and his brows bent on the
ground, still and motionless as the effigies upon a sepulchre.
Beside him stood the Lord Shrewsbury, then Earl Marshal of
England, holding his baton of office.  The Earl's sword was
unbuckled, and lay before him on the floor.

"Ho, sir!"  said the Queen, coming close up to Tressilian, and
stamping on the floor with the action and manner of Henry
himself; "you knew of this fair work--you are an accomplice in
this deception which has been practised on us--you have been a
main cause of our doing injustice?"  Tressilian dropped on his
knee before the Queen, his good sense showing him the risk of
attempting any defence at that moment of irritation.  "Art dumb,
sirrah?"  she continued; "thou knowest of this affair dost thou
not?"

"Not, gracious madam, that this poor lady was Countess of
Leicester."

"Nor shall any one know her for such," said Elizabeth.  "Death of
my life!  Countess of Leicester!--I say Dame Amy Dudley; and well
if she have not cause to write herself widow of the traitor
Robert Dudley."

"Madam," said Leicester, "do with me what it may be your will to
do, but work no injury on this gentleman; he hath in no way
deserved it."

"And will he be the better for thy intercession," said the Queen,
leaving Tressilian, who slowly arose, and rushing to Leicester,
who continued kneeling--"the better for thy intercession, thou
doubly false--thou doubly forsworn;--of thy intercession, whose
villainy hath made me ridiculous to my subjects and odious to
myself?  I could tear out mine eyes for their blindness!"

Burleigh here ventured to interpose.

"Madam," he said, "remember that you are a Queen--Queen of
England--mother of your people.  Give not way to this wild storm
of passion."

Elizabeth turned round to him, while a tear actually twinkled in
her proud and angry eye.  "Burleigh," she said, "thou art a
statesman--thou dost not, thou canst not, comprehend half the
scorn, half the misery, that man has poured on me!"

With the utmost caution--with the deepest reverence--Burleigh
took her hand at the moment he saw her heart was at the fullest,
and led her aside to an oriel window, apart from the others.

"Madam," he said, "I am a statesman, but I am also a man--a man
already grown old in your councils--who have not and cannot have
a wish on earth but your glory and happiness; I pray you to be
composed."

"Ah!  Burleigh," said Elizabeth, "thou little knowest--" here her
tears fell over her cheeks in despite of her.

"I do--I do know, my honoured sovereign.  Oh, beware that you
lead not others to guess that which they know not!"

"Ha!"  said Elizabeth, pausing as if a new train of thought had
suddenly shot across her brain.  "Burleigh, thou art right--thou
art right--anything but disgrace--anything but a confession of
weakness--anything rather than seem the cheated, slighted--
'sdeath!  to think on it is distraction!"

"Be but yourself, my Queen," said Burleigh; "and soar far above a
weakness which no Englishman will ever believe his Elizabeth
could have entertained, unless the violence of her disappointment
carries a sad conviction to his bosom."

"What weakness, my lord?"  said Elizabeth haughtily; "would you
too insinuate that the favour in which I held yonder proud
traitor derived its source from aught--"  But here she could no
longer sustain the proud tone which she had assumed, and again
softened as she said, "But why should I strive to deceive even
thee, my good and wise servant?"

Burleigh stooped to kiss her hand with affection, and--rare in
the annals of courts--a tear of true sympathy dropped from the
eye of the minister on the hand of his Sovereign.

It is probable that the consciousness of possessing this sympathy
aided Elizabeth in supporting her mortification, and suppressing
her extreme resentment; but she was still more moved by fear that
her passion should betray to the public the affront and the
disappointment, which, alike as a woman and a Queen, she was so
anxious to conceal.  She turned from Burleigh, and sternly paced
the hall till her features had recovered their usual dignity, and
her mien its wonted stateliness of regular motion.

"Our Sovereign is her noble self once more," whispered Burleigh
to Walsingham; "mark what she does, and take heed you thwart her
not."

She then approached Leicester, and said with calmness, "My Lord
Shrewsbury, we discharge you of your prisoner.--My Lord of
Leicester, rise and take up your sword; a quarter of an hour's
restraint under the custody of our Marshal, my lord, is, we
think, no high penance for months of falsehood practised upon us.
We will now hear the progress of this affair."  She then seated
herself in her chair, and said, "You, Tressilian, step forward,
and say what you know."

Tressilian told his story generously, suppressing as much as he
could what affected Leicester, and saying nothing of their having
twice actually fought together.  It is very probable that, in
doing so, he did the Earl good service; for had the Queen at that
instant found anything on account of which she could vent her
wrath upon him, without laying open sentiments of which she was
ashamed, it might have fared hard with him.  She paused when
Tressilian had finished his tale.

"We will take that Wayland," she said, "into our own service, and
place the boy in our Secretary office for instruction, that he
may in future use discretion towards letters.  For you,
Tressilian, you did wrong in not communicating the whole truth to
us, and your promise not to do so was both imprudent and
undutiful.  Yet, having given your word to this unhappy lady, it
was the part of a man and a gentleman to keep it; and on the
whole, we esteem you for the character you have sustained in this
matter.--My Lord of Leicester, it is now your turn to tell us the
truth, an exercise to which you seem of late to have been too
much a stranger."

Accordingly, she extorted, by successive questions, the whole
history of his first acquaintance with Amy Robsart--their
marriage--his jealousy--the causes on which it was founded, and
many particulars besides.  Leicester's confession, for such it
might be called, was wrenched from him piecemeal, yet was upon
the whole accurate, excepting that he totally omitted to mention
that he had, by implication or otherwise, assented to Varney's
designs upon the life of his Countess.  Yet the consciousness of
this was what at that moment lay nearest to his heart; and
although he trusted in great measure to the very positive
counter-orders which he had sent by Lambourne, it was his purpose
to set out for Cumnor Place in person as soon as he should be
dismissed from the presence of the Queen, who, he concluded,
would presently leave Kenilworth.

But the Earl reckoned without his host.  It is true his presence
and his communications were gall and wormwood to his once partial
mistress.  But barred from every other and more direct mode of
revenge, the Queen perceived that she gave her false suitor
torture by these inquiries, and dwelt on them for that reason, no
more regarding the pain which she herself experienced, than the
savage cares for the searing of his own hands by grasping the hot
pincers with which he tears the flesh of his captive enemy.

At length, however, the haughty lord, like a deer that turns to
bay, gave intimation that his patience was failing.  "Madam," he
said, "I have been much to blame--more than even your just
resentment has expressed.  Yet, madam, let me say that my guilt,
if it be unpardonable, was not unprovoked, and that if beauty and
condescending dignity could seduce the frail heart of a human
being, I might plead both as the causes of my concealing this
secret from your Majesty."

The Queen was so much struck with this reply, which Leicester
took care should be heard by no one but herself, that she was for
the moment silenced, and the Earl had the temerity to pursue his
advantage.  "Your Grace, who has pardoned so much, will excuse my
throwing myself on your royal mercy for those expressions which
were yester-morning accounted but a light offence."

The Queen fixed her eyes on him while she replied, "Now, by
Heaven, my lord, thy effrontery passes the bounds of belief, as
well as patience!  But it shall avail thee nothing.--What ho!  my
lords, come all and hear the news-my Lord of Leicester's stolen
marriage has cost me a husband, and England a king.  His lordship
is patriarchal in his tastes--one wife at a time was
insufficient, and he designed US the honour of his left hand.
Now, is not this too insolent--that I could not grace him with a
few marks of court-favour, but he must presume to think my hand
and crown at his disposal?  You, however, think better of me; and
I can pity this ambitious man, as I could a child, whose bubble
of soap has burst between his hands.  We go to the presence-
chamber.--My Lord of Leicester, we command your close attendance
on us."

All was eager expectation in the hall, and what was the universal
astonishment when the Queen said to those next her, "The revels
of Kenilworth are not yet exhausted, my lords and ladies--we are
to solemnize the noble owner's marriage."

There was an universal expression of surprise.

"It is true, on our royal word," said the Queen; "he hath kept
this a secret even from us, that he might surprise us with it at
this very place and time.  I see you are dying of curiosity to
know the happy bride.  It is Amy Robsart, the same who, to make
up the May-game yesterday, figured in the pageant as the wife of
his servant Varney."

"For God's sake, madam," said the Earl, approaching her with a
mixture of humility, vexation, and shame in his countenance, and
speaking so low as to be heard by no one else, "take my head, as
you threatened in your anger, and spare me these taunts!  Urge
not a falling man--tread not on a crushed worm."

"A worm, my lord?"  said the Queen, in the same tone; "nay, a
snake is the nobler reptile, and the more exact similitude--the
frozen snake you wot of, which was warmed in a certain bosom--"

"For your own sake--for mine, madam," said the Earl--"while there
is yet some reason left in me--"

"Speak aloud, my lord," said Elizabeth, "and at farther distance,
so please you--your breath thaws our ruff.  What have you to ask
of us?"

"Permission," said the unfortunate Earl humbly, "to travel to
Cumnor Place."

"To fetch home your bride belike?--Why, ay--that is but right,
for, as we have heard, she is indifferently cared for there.
But, my lord, you go not in person; we have counted upon passing
certain days in this Castle of Kenilworth, and it were slight
courtesy to leave us without a landlord during our residence
here.  Under your favour, we cannot think to incur such disgrace
in the eyes of our subjects.  Tressilian shall go to Cumnor Place
instead of you, and with him some gentleman who hath been sworn
of our chamber, lest my Lord of Leicester should be again jealous
of his old rival.--Whom wouldst thou have to be in commission
with thee, Tressilian?"

Tressilian, with humble deference, suggested the name of Raleigh.

"Why, ay," said the Queen; "so God ha' me, thou hast made a good
choice.  He is a young knight besides, and to deliver a lady from
prison is an appropriate first adventure.--Cumnor Place is little
better than a prison, you are to know, my lords and ladies.
Besides, there are certain faitours there whom we would willingly
have in safe keeping.  You will furnish them, Master Secretary,
with the warrant necessary to secure the bodies of Richard Varney
and the foreign Alasco, dead or alive.  Take a sufficient force
with you, gentlemen--bring the lady here in all honour--lose no
time, and God be with you!"

They bowed, and left the presence,

Who shall describe how the rest of that day was spent at
Kenilworth?  The Queen, who seemed to have remained there for the
sole purpose of mortifying and taunting the Earl of Leicester,
showed herself as skilful in that female art of vengeance, as she
was in the science of wisely governing her people.  The train of
state soon caught the signal, and as he walked among his own
splendid preparations, the Lord of Kenilworth, in his own Castle,
already experienced the lot of a disgraced courtier, in the
slight regard and cold manners of alienated friends, and the ill-
concealed triumph of avowed and open enemies.  Sussex, from his
natural military frankness of disposition, Burleigh and
Walsingham, from their penetrating and prospective sagacity, and
some of the ladies, from the compassion of their sex, were the
only persons in the crowded court who retained towards him the
countenance they had borne in the morning.

So much had Leicester been accustomed to consider court favour as
the principal object of his life, that all other sensations were,
for the time, lost in the agony which his haughty spirit felt at
the succession of petty insults and studied neglects to which he
had been subjected; but when he retired to his own chamber for
the night, that long, fair tress of hair which had once secured
Amy's letter fell under his observation, and, with the influence
of a counter-charm, awakened his heart to nobler and more natural
feelings.  He kissed it a thousand times; and while he
recollected that he had it always in his power to shun the
mortifications which he had that day undergone, by retiring into
a dignified and even prince-like seclusion with the beautiful and
beloved partner of his future life, he felt that he could rise
above the revenge which Elizabeth had condescended to take.

Accordingly, on the following day the whole conduct of the Earl
displayed so much dignified equanimity--he seemed so solicitous
about the accommodations and amusements of his guests, yet so
indifferent to their personal demeanour towards him--so
respectfully distant to the Queen, yet so patient of her
harassing displeasure--that Elizabeth changed her manner to him,
and, though cold and distant, ceased to offer him any direct
affront.  She intimated also with some sharpness to others around
her, who thought they were consulting her pleasure in showing a
neglectful conduct to the Earl, that while they remained at
Kenilworth they ought to show the civility due from guests to the
Lord of the Castle.  In short, matters were so far changed in
twenty-four hours that some of the more experienced and sagacious
courtiers foresaw a strong possibility of Leicester's restoration
to favour, and regulated their demeanour towards him, as those
who might one day claim merit for not having deserted him in
adversity.  It is time, however, to leave these intrigues, and
follow Tressilian and Raleigh on their journey.

The troop consisted of six persons; for, besides Wayland, they
had in company a royal pursuivant and two stout serving-men.  All
were well-armed, and travelled as fast as it was possible with
justice to their horses, which had a long journey before them.
They endeavoured to procure some tidings as they rode along of
Varney and his party, but could hear none, as they had travelled
in the dark.  At a small village about twelve miles from
Kenilworth, where they gave some refreshment to their horses, a
poor clergyman, the curate of the place, came out of a small
cottage, and entreated any of the company who might know aught of
surgery to look in for an instant on a dying man.

The empiric Wayland undertook to do his best, and as the curate
conducted him to the spot, he learned that the man had been found
on the highroad, about a mile from the village, by labourers, as
they were going to their work on the preceding morning, and the
curate had given him shelter in his house.  He had received a
gun-shot wound, which seemed to be obviously mortal; but whether
in a brawl or from robbers they could not learn, as he was in a
fever, and spoke nothing connectedly.  Wayland entered the dark
and lowly apartment, and no sooner had the curate drawn aside the
curtain than he knew, in the distorted features of the patient,
the countenance of Michael Lambourne.  Under pretence of seeking
something which he wanted, Wayland hastily apprised his fellow-
travellers of this extraordinary circumstance; and both
Tressilian and Raleigh, full of boding apprehensions, hastened to
the curate's house to see the dying man.

The wretch was by this time in the agonies of death, from which a
much better surgeon than Wayland could not have rescued him, for
the bullet had passed clear through his body.  He was sensible,
however, at least in part, for he knew Tressilian, and made signs
that he wished him to stoop over his bed.  Tressilian did so, and
after some inarticulate murmurs, in which the names of Varney and
Lady Leicester were alone distinguishable, Lambourne bade him
"make haste, or he would come too late."  It was in vain
Tressilian urged the patient for further information; he seemed
to become in some degree delirious, and when he again made a
signal to attract Tressilian's attention, it was only for the
purpose of desiring him to inform his uncle, Giles Gosling of the
Black Bear, that "he had died without his shoes after all."  A
convulsion verified his words a few minutes after, and the
travellers derived nothing from having met with him, saving the
obscure fears concerning the fate of the Countess, which his
dying words were calculated to convey, and which induced them to
urge their journey with the utmost speed, pressing horses in the
Queen's name when those which they rode became unfit for service.



CHAPTER XLI.

  The death-bell thrice was heard to ring,
   An aerial voice was heard to call,
  And thrice the raven flapp'd its wing
   Around the towers of Cumnor Hall.     MICKLE.

We are now to return to that part of our story where we intimated
that Varney, possessed of the authority of the Earl of Leicester,
and of the Queen's permission to the same effect, hastened to
secure himself against discovery of his perfidy by removing the
Countess from Kenilworth Castle.  He had proposed to set forth
early in the morning; but reflecting that the Earl might relent
in the interim, and seek another interview with the Countess, he
resolved to prevent, by immediate departure, all chance of what
would probably have ended in his detection and ruin.  For this
purpose he called for Lambourne, and was exceedingly incensed to
find that his trusty attendant was abroad on some ramble in the
neighbouring village, or elsewhere.  As his return was expected,
Sir Richard commanded that he should prepare himself for
attending him on an immediate journey, and follow him in case he
returned after his departure.

In the meanwhile, Varney used the ministry of a servant called
Robin Tider, one to whom the mysteries of Cumnor Place were
already in some degree known, as he had been there more than once
in attendance on the Earl.  To this man, whose character
resembled that of Lambourne, though he was neither quite so
prompt nor altogether so profligate, Varney gave command to have
three horses saddled, and to prepare a horse-litter, and have
them in readiness at the postern gate.  The natural enough excuse
of his lady's insanity, which was now universally believed,
accounted for the secrecy with which she was to be removed from
the Castle, and he reckoned on the same apology in case the
unfortunate Amy's resistance or screams should render such
necessary.  The agency of Anthony Foster was indispensable, and
that Varney now went to secure.

This person, naturally of a sour, unsocial disposition, and
somewhat tired, besides, with his journey from Cumnor to
Warwickshire, in order to bring the news of the Countess's
escape, had early extricated himself from the crowd of
wassailers, and betaken himself to his chamber, where he lay
asleep, when Varney, completely equipped for travelling, and with
a dark lantern in his hand, entered his apartment.  He paused an
instant to listen to what his associate was murmuring in his
sleep, and could plainly distinguish the words, "AVE MARIA--ORA
PRO NOBIS.  No, it runs not so--deliver us from evil--ay, so it
goes."

"Praying in his sleep," said Varney, "and confounding his old and
new devotions.  He must have more need of prayer ere I am done
with him.--What ho!  holy man, most blessed penitent!--awake--
awake!  The devil has not discharged you from service yet."

As Varney at the same time shook the sleeper by the arm, it
changed the current of his ideas, and he roared out, "Thieves!--
thieves!  I will die in defence of my gold--my hard-won gold--
that has cost me so dear.  Where is Janet?--Is Janet safe?"

"Safe enough, thou bellowing fool!"  said Varney; "art thou not
ashamed of thy clamour?"

Foster by this time was broad awake, and sitting up in his bed,
asked Varney the meaning of so untimely a visit.  "It augurs
nothing good," he added.

"A false prophecy, most sainted Anthony," returned Varney; "it
augurs that the hour is come for converting thy leasehold into
copyhold.  What sayest thou to that?"

"Hadst thou told me this in broad day," said Foster, "I had
rejoiced; but at this dead hour, and by this dim light, and
looking on thy pale face, which is a ghastly contradiction to thy
light words, I cannot but rather think of the work that is to be
done, than the guerdon to be gained by it."

"Why, thou fool, it is but to escort thy charge back to Cumnor
Place."

"Is that indeed all?"  said Foster; "thou lookest deadly pale,
and thou art not moved by trifles--is that indeed all?"

"Ay, that--and maybe a trifle more," said Varney.

"Ah, that trifle more!"  said Foster; "still thou lookest paler
and paler."

"Heed not my countenance," said Varney; "you see it by this
wretched light.  Up and be doing, man.  Think of Cumnor Place--
thine own proper copyhold.  Why, thou mayest found a weekly
lectureship, besides endowing Janet like a baron's daughter.
Seventy pounds and odd."

"Seventy-nine pounds, five shillings and fivepence half-penny,
besides the value of the wood," said Foster; "and I am to have it
all as copyhold?"

"All, man--squirrels and all.  No gipsy shall cut the value of a
broom--no boy so much as take a bird's nest--without paying thee
a quittance.--Ay, that is right--don thy matters as fast as
possible; horses and everything are ready, all save that accursed
villain Lambourne, who is out on some infernal gambol."

"Ay, Sir Richard," said Foster, "you would take no advice.  I
ever told you that drunken profligate would fail you at need.
Now I could have helped you to a sober young man."

"What, some slow-spoken, long-breathed brother of the
congregation?  Why, we shall have use for such also, man.  Heaven
be praised, we shall lack labourers of every kind.--Ay, that is
right--forget not your pistols.  Come now, and let us away."

"Whither?"  said Anthony.

"To my lady's chamber; and, mind, she MUST along with us.  Thou
art not a fellow to be startled by a shriek?"

"Not if Scripture reason can be rendered for it; and it is
written, 'Wives obey your husbands.' But will my lord's commands
bear us out if we use violence?"

"Tush, man!  here is his signet," answered Varney; and having
thus silenced the objections of his associate, they went together
to Lord Hunsdon's apartments, and acquainting the sentinel with
their purpose, as a matter sanctioned by the Queen and the Earl
of Leicester, they entered the chamber of the unfortunate
Countess.

The horror of Amy may be conceived when, starting from a broken
slumber, she saw at her bedside Varney, the man on earth she most
feared and hated.  It was even a consolation to see that he was
not alone, though she had so much reason to dread his sullen
companion.

"Madam," said Varney, "there is no time for ceremony.  My Lord of
Leicester, having fully considered the exigencies of the time,
sends you his orders immediately to accompany us on our return to
Cumnor Place.  See, here is his signet, in token of his instant
and pressing commands."

"It is false!"  said the Countess; "thou hast stolen the warrant
--thou, who art capable of every villainy, from the blackest to
the basest!"

"It is TRUE, madam," replied Varney; "so true, that if you do not
instantly arise, and prepare to attend us, we must compel you to
obey our orders."

"Compel!  Thou darest not put it to that issue, base as thou
art!"  exclaimed the unhappy Countess.

"That remains to be proved, madam," said Varney, who had
determined on intimidation as the only means of subduing her high
spirit; "if you put me to it, you will find me a rough groom of
the chambers."

It was at this threat that Amy screamed so fearfully that, had it
not been for the received opinion of her insanity, she would
quickly have had Lord Hunsdon and others to her aid.  Perceiving,
however, that her cries were vain, she appealed to Foster in the
most affecting terms, conjuring him, as his daughter Janet's
honour and purity were dear to him, not to permit her to be
treated with unwomanly violence.

"Why, madam, wives must obey their husbands---there's Scripture
warrant for it," said Foster; "and if you will dress yourself,
and come with us patiently, there's no one shall lay finger on
you while I can draw a pistol-trigger."

Seeing no help arrive, and comforted even by the dogged language
of Foster, the Countess promised to arise and dress herself, if
they would agree to retire from the room.  Varney at the same
time assured her of all safety and honour while in their hands,
and promised that he himself would not approach her, since his
presence was so displeasing.  Her husband, he added, would be at
Cumnor Place within twenty-four hours after they had reached it.

Somewhat comforted by this assurance, upon which, however, she
saw little reason to rely, the unhappy Amy made her toilette by
the assistance of the lantern, which they left with her when they
quitted the apartment.

Weeping, trembling, and praying, the unfortunate lady dressed
herself with sensations how different from the days in which she
was wont to decorate herself in all the pride of conscious
beauty!  She endeavoured to delay the completing her dress as
long as she could, until, terrified by the impatience of Varney,
she was obliged to declare herself ready to attend them.

When they were about to move, the Countess clung to Foster with
such an appearance of terror at Varney's approach that the latter
protested to her, with a deep oath, that he had no intention
whatever of even coming near her.  "If you do but consent to
execute your husband's will in quietness, you shall," he said,
"see but little of me.  I will leave you undisturbed to the care
of the usher whom your good taste prefers."

"My husband's will!"  she exclaimed.  "But it is the will of God,
and let that be sufficient to me.  I will go with Master Foster
as unresistingly as ever did a literal sacrifice.  He is a father
at least; and will have decency, if not humanity.  For thee,
Varney, were it my latest word, thou art an equal stranger to
both."

Varney replied only she was at liberty to choose, and walked some
paces before them to show the way; while, half leaning on Foster,
and half carried by him, the Countess was transported from
Saintlowe's Tower to the postern gate, where Tider waited with
the litter and horses.

The Countess was placed in the former without resistance.  She
saw with some satisfaction that, while Foster and Tider rode
close by the litter, which the latter conducted, the dreaded
Varney lingered behind, and was soon lost in darkness.  A little
while she strove, as the road winded round the verge of the lake,
to keep sight of those stately towers which called her husband
lord, and which still, in some places, sparkled with lights,
where wassailers were yet revelling.  But when the direction of
the road rendered this no longer possible, she drew back her
head, and sinking down in the litter, recommended herself to the
care of Providence.

Besides the desire of inducing the Countess to proceed quietly on
her journey, Varney had it also in view to have an interview with
Lambourne, by whom he every moment expected to be joined, without
the presence of any witnesses.  He knew the character of this
man, prompt, bloody, resolute, and greedy, and judged him the
most fit agent he could employ in his further designs.  But ten
miles of their journey had been measured ere he heard the hasty
clatter of horse's hoofs behind him, and was overtaken by Michael
Lambourne.

Fretted as he was with his absence, Varney received his
profligate servant with a rebuke of unusual bitterness.  "Drunken
villain," he said, "thy idleness and debauched folly will stretch
a halter ere it be long, and, for me, I care not how soon!"

This style of objurgation Lambourne, who was elated to an unusual
degree, not only by an extraordinary cup of wine, but by the sort
of confidential interview he had just had with the Earl, and the
secret of which he had made himself master, did not receive with
his wonted humility.  "He would take no insolence of language,"
he said, "from the best knight that ever wore spurs.  Lord
Leicester had detained him on some business of import, and that
was enough for Varney, who was but a servant like himself."

Varney was not a little surprised at his unusual tone of
insolence; but ascribing it to liquor, suffered it to pass as if
unnoticed, and then began to tamper with Lambourne touching his
willingness to aid in removing out of the Earl of Leicester's way
an obstacle to a rise, which would put it in his power to reward
his trusty followers to their utmost wish.  And upon Michael
Lambourne's seeming ignorant what was meant, he plainly indicated
"the litter-load, yonder," as the impediment which he desired
should be removed.

"Look you, Sir Richard, and so forth," said Michael, "some are
wiser than some, that is one thing, and some are worse than some,
that's another.  I know my lord's mind on this matter better than
thou, for he hath trusted me fully in the matter.  Here are his
mandates, and his last words were, Michael Lambourne--for his
lordship speaks to me as a gentleman of the sword, and useth not
the words drunken villain, or such like phrase, of those who know
not how to bear new dignities--Varney, says he, must pay the
utmost respect to my Countess.  I trust to you for looking to it,
Lambourne, says his lordship, and you must bring back my signet
from him peremptorily."

"Ay," replied Varney, "said he so, indeed?  You know all, then?"

"All--all; and you were as wise to make a friend of me while the
weather is fair betwixt us."

"And was there no one present," said Varney, "when my lord so
spoke?"

"Not a breathing creature," replied Lambourne.  "Think you my
lord would trust any one with such matters, save an approved man
of action like myself?"

"Most true," said Varney; and making a pause, he looked forward
on the moonlight road.  They were traversing a wide and open
heath.  The litter being at least a mile before them, was both
out of sight and hearing.  He looked behind, and there was an
expanse, lighted by the moonbeams, without one human being in
sight.  He resumed his speech to Lambourne:  "And will you turn
upon your master, who has introduced you to this career of court-
like favour--whose apprentice you have been, Michael--who has
taught you the depths and shallows of court intrigue?"

"Michael not me!"  said Lambourne; "I have a name will brook a
MASTER before it as well as another; and as to the rest, if I
have been an apprentice, my indenture is out, and I am resolute
to set up for myself."

"Take thy quittance first, thou fool!"  said Varney; and with a
pistol, which he had for some time held in his hand, shot
Lambourne through the body.

The wretch fell from his horse without a single groan; and
Varney, dismounting, rifled his pockets, turning out the lining,
that it might appear he had fallen by robbers.  He secured the
Earl's packet, which was his chief object; but he also took
Lambourne"s purse, containing some gold pieces, the relics of
what his debauchery had left him, and from a singular combination
of feelings, carried it in his hand only the length of a small
river, which crossed the road, into which he threw it as far as
he could fling.  Such are the strange remnants of conscience
which remain after she seems totally subdued, that this cruel and
remorseless man would have felt himself degraded had he pocketed
the few pieces belonging to the wretch whom he had thus
ruthlessly slain.

The murderer reloaded his pistol after cleansing the lock and
barrel from the appearances of late explosion, and rode calmly
after the litter, satisfying himself that he had so adroitly
removed a troublesome witness to many of his intrigues, and the
bearer of mandates which he had no intentions to obey, and which,
therefore, he was desirous it should be thought had never reached
his hand.

The remainder of the journey was made with a degree of speed
which showed the little care they had for the health of the
unhappy Countess.  They paused only at places where all was under
their command, and where the tale they were prepared to tell of
the insane Lady Varney would have obtained ready credit had she
made an attempt to appeal to the compassion of the few persons
admitted to see her.  But Amy saw no chance of obtaining a
hearing from any to whom she had an opportunity of addressing
herself; and besides, was too terrified for the presence of
Varney to violate the implied condition under which she was to
travel free from his company.  The authority of Varney, often so
used during the Earl's private journeys to Cumnor, readily
procured relays of horses where wanted, so that they approached
Cumnor Place upon the night after they left Kenilworth.

At this period of the journey Varney came up to the rear of the
litter, as he had done before repeatedly during their progress,
and asked, "How does she?"

"She sleeps," said Foster.  "I would we were home--her strength
is exhausted."

"Rest will restore her," answered Varney.  "She shall soon sleep
sound and long.  We must consider how to lodge her in safety."

"In her own apartments, to be sure," said Foster.  "I have sent
Janet to her aunt's with a proper rebuke, and the old women are
truth itself--for they hate this lady cordially."

"We will not trust them, however, friend Anthony," said Varney;
"We must secure her in that stronghold where you keep your gold."

"My gold!"  said Anthony, much alarmed; "why, what gold have I?
God help me, I have no gold--I would I had!"

"Now, marry hang thee, thou stupid brute, who thinks of or cares
for thy gold?  If I did, could I not find an hundred better ways
to come at it?  In one word, thy bedchamber, which thou hast
fenced so curiously, must be her place of seclusion; and thou,
thou hind, shalt press her pillows of down.  I dare to say the
Earl will never ask after the rich furniture of these four
rooms."

This last consideration rendered Foster tractable; he only asked
permission to ride before, to make matters ready, and spurring
his horse, he posted before the litter, while Varney falling
about threescore paces behind it, it remained only attended by
Tider.

When they had arrived at Cumnor Place, the Countess asked eagerly
for Janet, and showed much alarm when informed that she was no
longer to have the attendance of that amiable girl.

"My daughter is dear to me, madam," said Foster gruffly; "and I
desire not that she should get the court-tricks of lying and
'scaping--somewhat too much of that has she learned already, an
it please your ladyship."

The Countess, much fatigued and greatly terrified by the
circumstances of her journey, made no answer to this insolence,
but mildly expressed a wish to retire to her chamber,

"Ay, ay," muttered Foster, "'tis but reasonable; but, under
favour, you go not to your gew-gaw toy-house yonder--you will
sleep to-night in better security."

"I would it were in my grave," said the Countess; "but that
mortal feelings shiver at the idea of soul and body parting."

"You, I guess, have no chance to shiver at that," replied Foster.
"My lord comes hither to-morrow, and doubtless you will make your
own ways good with him."

"But does he come hither?--does he indeed, good Foster?"

"Oh, ay, good Foster!"  replied the other.  "But what Foster
shall I be to-morrow when you speak of me to my lord--though all
I have done was to obey his own orders?"

"You shall be my protector--a rough one indeed--but still a
protector," answered the Countess.  "Oh that Janet were but
here!"

"She is better where she is," answered Foster--"one of you is
enough to perplex a plain head.  But will you taste any
refreshment?"

"Oh no, no--my chamber--my chamber!  I trust," she said
apprehensively, "I may secure it on the inside?"

"With all my heart," answered Foster, "so I may secure it on the
outside;" and taking a light, he led the way to a part of the
building where Amy had never been, and conducted her up a stair
of great height, preceded by one of the old women with a lamp.
At the head of the stair, which seemed of almost immeasurable
height, they crossed a short wooden gallery, formed of black oak,
and very narrow, at the farther end of which was a strong oaken
door, which opened and admitted them into the miser's apartment,
homely in its accommodations in the very last degree, and, except
in name, little different from a prison-room.

Foster stopped at the door, and gave the lamp to the Countess,
without either offering or permitting the attendance of the old
woman who had carried it.  The lady stood not on ceremony, but
taking it hastily, barred the door, and secured it with the ample
means provided on the inside for that purpose.

Varney, meanwhile, had lurked behind on the stairs; but hearing
the door barred, he now came up on tiptoe, and Foster, winking to
him, pointed with self-complacence to a piece of concealed
machinery in the wall, which, playing with much ease and little
noise, dropped a part of the wooden gallery, after the manner of
a drawbridge, so as to cut off all communication between the door
of the bedroom, which he usually inhabited, and the landing-place
of the high, winding stair which ascended to it.  The rope by
which this machinery was wrought was generally carried within the
bedchamber, it being Foster's object to provide against invasion
from without; but now that it was intended to secure the prisoner
within, the cord had been brought over to the landing-place, and
was there made fast, when Foster with much complacency had
dropped the unsuspected trap-door.

Varney looked with great attention at the machinery, and peeped
more than once down the abyss which was opened by the fall of the
trap-door.  It was dark as pitch, and seemed profoundly deep,
going, as Foster informed his confederate in a whisper, nigh to
the lowest vault of the Castle.  Varney cast once more a fixed
and long look down into this sable gulf, and then followed Foster
to the part of the manor-house most usually inhabited.

When they arrived in the parlour which we have mentioned, Varney
requested Foster to get them supper, and some of the choicest
wine.  "I will seek Alasco," he added; "we have work for him to
do, and we must put him in good heart."

Foster groaned at this intimation, but made no remonstrance.  The
old woman assured Varney that Alasco had scarce eaten or drunken
since her master's departure, living perpetually shut up in the
laboratory, and talking as if the world's continuance depended on
what he was doing there.

"I will teach him that the world hath other claims on him," said
Varney, seizing a light, and going in quest of the alchemist.  He
returned, after a considerable absence, very pale, but yet with
his habitual sneer on his cheek and nostril.  "Our friend," he
said, "has exhaled."

"How!--what mean you?"  said Foster--"run away--fled with my
forty pounds, that should have been multiplied a thousand-fold?
I will have Hue and Cry!"

"I will tell thee a surer way," said Varney.

"How!--which way?"  exclaimed Foster; "I will have back my forty
pounds--I deemed them as surely a thousand times multiplied--I
will have back my in-put, at the least."

"Go hang thyself, then, and sue Alasco in the Devil's Court of
Chancery, for thither he has carried the cause."

"How!--what dost thou mean is he dead?"

"Ay, truly is he," said Varney; "and properly swollen already in
the face and body.  He had been mixing some of his devil's
medicines, and the glass mask which he used constantly had fallen
from his face, so that the subtle poison entered the brain, and
did its work."

"SANCTA MARIA!"  said Foster--"I mean, God in His mercy preserve
us from covetousness and deadly sin!--Had he not had projection,
think you?  Saw you no ingots in the crucibles?"

"Nay, I looked not but at the dead carrion," answered Varney; "an
ugly spectacle--he was swollen like a corpse three days exposed
on the wheel.  Pah!  give me a cup of wine."

"I will go," said Foster, "I will examine myself--" He took the
lamp, and hastened to the door, but there hesitated and paused.
"Will you not go with me?"  said he to Varney.

"To what purpose?"  said Varney; "I have seen and smelled enough
to spoil my appetite.  I broke the window, however, and let in
the air; it reeked of sulphur, and such like suffocating steams,
as if the very devil had been there."

"And might it not be the act of the demon himself?"  said Foster,
still hesitating; "I have heard he is powerful at such times, and
with such people."

"Still, if it were that Satan of thine," answered Varney, "who
thus jades thy imagination, thou art in perfect safety, unless he
is a most unconscionable devil indeed.  He hath had two good sops
of late."

"How TWO sops--what mean you?"  said Foster--"what mean you?"

"You will know in time," said Varney;--"and then this other
banquet--but thou wilt esteem Her too choice a morsel for the
fiend's tooth--she must have her psalms, and harps, and seraphs."

Anthony Foster heard, and came slowly back to the table.  "God!
Sir Richard, and must that then be done?"

"Ay, in very truth, Anthony, or there comes no copyhold in thy
way," replied his inflexible associate.

"I always foresaw it would land there!"  said Foster.  "But how,
Sir Richard, how?--for not to win the world would I put hands on
her."

"I cannot blame thee," said Varney; "I should be reluctant to do
that myself.  We miss Alasco and his manna sorely--ay, and the
dog Lambourne."

"Why, where tarries Lambourne?"  said Anthony.

"Ask no questions," said Varney, "thou wilt see him one day if
thy creed is true.  But to our graver matter.  I will teach thee
a spring, Tony, to catch a pewit.  Yonder trap-door--yonder
gimcrack of thine, will remain secure in appearance, will it not,
though the supports are withdrawn beneath?"

"Ay, marry, will it," said Foster; "so long as it is not trodden
on."

"But were the lady to attempt an escape over it," replied Varney,
"her weight would carry it down?"

"A mouse's weight would do it," said Foster.

"Why, then, she dies in attempting her escape, and what could you
or I help it, honest Tony?  Let us to bed, we will adjust our
project to-morrow."

On the next day, when evening approached, Varney summoned Foster
to the execution of their plan.  Tider and Foster's old man-
servant were sent on a feigned errand down to the village, and
Anthony himself, as if anxious to see that the Countess suffered
no want of accommodation, visited her place of confinement.  He
was so much staggered at the mildness and patience with which she
seemed to endure her confinement, that he could not help
earnestly recommending to her not to cross the threshold of her
room on any account whatever, until Lord Leicester should come,
"which," he added, "I trust in God, will be very soon."  Amy
patiently promised that she would resign herself to her fate.
and Foster returned to his hardened companion with his conscience
half-eased of the perilous load that weighed on it.  "I have
warned her," he said; "surely in vain is the snare set in the
sight of any bird!"

He left, therefore, the Countess's door unsecured on the outside,
and, under the eye of Varney, withdrew the supports which
sustained the falling trap, which, therefore, kept its level
position merely by a slight adhesion.  They withdrew to wait the
issue on the ground-floor adjoining; but they waited long in
vain.  At length Varney, after walking long to and fro, with his
face muffled in his cloak, threw it suddenly back and exclaimed,
"Surely never was a woman fool enough to neglect so fair an
opportunity of escape!"

"Perhaps she is resolved," said Foster, "to await her husband's
return,"

"True!--most true!"  said Varney, rushing out; "I had not thought
of that before."

In less than two minutes, Foster, who remained behind, heard the
tread of a horse in the courtyard, and then a whistle similar to
that which was the Earl's usual signal.  The instant after the
door of the Countess's chamber opened, and in the same moment the
trap-door gave way.  There was a rushing sound--a heavy fall--a
faint groan--and all was over.

At the same instant, Varney called in at the window, in an accent
and tone which was an indescribable mixture betwixt horror and
raillery, "Is the bird caught?--is the deed done?"

"O God, forgive us!"  replied Anthony Foster.

"Why, thou fool," said Varney, "thy toil is ended, and thy reward
secure.  Look down into the vault--what seest thou?"

"I see only a heap of white clothes, like a snowdrift," said
Foster.  "O God, she moves her arm!"

"Hurl something down on her--thy gold chest, Tony--it is an heavy
one."

"Varney, thou art an incarnate fiend!"  replied Foster.

"There needs nothing more--she is gone!"

"So pass our troubles," said Varney, entering the room; "I
dreamed not I could have mimicked the Earl's call so well."

"Oh, if there be judgment in heaven, thou hast deserved it," said
Foster, "and wilt meet it!  Thou hast destroyed her by means of
her best affections--it is a seething of the kid in the mother's
milk!"

"Thou art a fanatical ass," replied Varney; "let us now think how
the alarm should be given--the body is to remain where it is."

But their wickedness was to be permitted no longer; for even
while they were at this consultation, Tressilian and Raleigh
broke in upon them, having obtained admittance by means of Tider
and Foster's servant, whom they had secured at the village.

Anthony Foster fled on their entrance, and knowing each corner
and pass of the intricate old house, escaped all search.  But
Varney was taken on the spot; and instead of expressing
compunction for what he had done, seemed to take a fiendish
pleasure in pointing out to them the remains of the murdered
Countess, while at the same time he defied them to show that he
had any share in her death.  The despairing grief of Tressilian,
on viewing the mangled and yet warm remains of what had lately
been so lovely and so beloved, was such that Raleigh was
compelled to have him removed from the place by force, while he
himself assumed the direction of what was to be done.

Varney, upon a second examination, made very little mystery
either of the crime or of its motives---alleging, as a reason for
his frankness, that though much of what he confessed could only
have attached to him by suspicion, yet such suspicion would have
been sufficient to deprive him of Leicester's confidence, and to
destroy all his towering plans of ambition.  "I was not born," he
said, "to drag on the remainder of life a degraded outcast; nor
will I so die that my fate shall make a holiday to the vulgar
herd."

From these words it was apprehended he had some design upon
himself, and he was carefully deprived of all means by which such
could be carried into execution.  But like some of the heroes of
antiquity, he carried about his person a small quantity of strong
poison, prepared probably by the celebrated Demetrius Alasco.
Having swallowed this potion over-night, he was found next
morning dead in his cell; nor did he appear to have suffered much
agony, his countenance presenting, even in death, the habitual
expression of sneering sarcasm which was predominant while he
lived.  "The wicked man," saith Scripture, "hath no bands in his
death."

The fate of his colleague in wickedness was long unknown.  Cumnor
Place was deserted immediately after the murder; for in the
vicinity of what was called the Lady Dudley's Chamber, the
domestics pretended to hear groans, and screams, and other
supernatural noises.  After a certain length of time, Janet,
hearing no tidings of her father, became the uncontrolled
mistress of his property, and conferred it with her hand upon
Wayland, now a man of settled character, and holding a place in
Elizabeth's household.  But it was after they had been both dead
for some years that their eldest son and heir, in making some
researches about Cumnor Hall, discovered a secret passage, closed
by an iron door, which, opening from behind the bed in the Lady
Dudley's Chamber, descended to a sort of cell, in which they
found an iron chest containing a quantity of gold, and a human
skeleton stretched above it.  The fate of Anthony Foster was now
manifest.  He had fled to this place of concealment, forgetting
the key of the spring-lock; and being barred from escape by the
means he had used for preservation of that gold, for which he had
sold his salvation, he had there perished miserably.
Unquestionably the groans and screams heard by the domestics were
not entirely imaginary, but were those of this wretch, who, in
his agony, was crying for relief and succour.

The news of the Countess's dreadful fate put a sudden period to
the pleasures of Kenilworth.  Leicester retired from court, and
for a considerable time abandoned himself to his remorse.  But as
Varney in his last declaration had been studious to spare the
character of his patron, the Earl was the object rather of
compassion than resentment.  The Queen at length recalled him to
court; he was once more distinguished as a statesman and
favourite; and the rest of his career is well known to history.
But there was something retributive in his death, if, according
to an account very generally received, it took place from his
swallowing a draught of poison which was designed by him for
another person.  [See Note 9.  Death of the Earl of Leicester.]

Sir Hugh Robsart died very soon after his daughter, having
settled his estate on Tressilian.  But neither the prospect of
rural independence, nor the promises of favour which Elizabeth
held out to induce him to follow the court, could remove his
profound melancholy.  Wherever he went he seemed to see before
him the disfigured corpse of the early and only object of his
affection.  At length, having made provision for the maintenance
of the old friends and old servants who formed Sir Hugh's family
at Lidcote Hall, he himself embarked with his friend Raleigh for
the Virginia expedition, and, young in years but old in grief,
died before his day in that foreign land.

Of inferior persons it is only necessary to say that Blount's wit
grew brighter as his yellow roses faded; that, doing his part as
a brave commander in the wars, he was much more in his element
than during the short period of his following the court; and that
Flibbertigibbet's acute genius raised him to favour and
distinction in the employment both of Burleigh and Walsingham.




NOTES.


Note 1. Ch. III.--FOSTER, LAMBOURNE, AND THE BLACK BEAR.

If faith is to be put in epitaphs, Anthony Foster was something
the very reverse of the character represented in the novel.
Ashmole gives this description of his tomb.  I copy from the
ANTIQUITIES OF BERKSHIRE, vol.i., p.143.

"In the north wall of the chancel at Cumnor church is a monument
of grey marble, whereon, in brass plates, are engraved a man in
armour, and his wife in the habit of her times, both kneeling
before a fald-stoole, together with the figures of three sons
kneeling behind their mother.  Under the figure of the man is
this inscription:--

 "ANTONIUS FORSTER, generis generosa propago,
   Cumnerae Dominus, Bercheriensis erat.
 Armiger, Armigero prognatus patre Ricardo,
   Qui quondam Iphlethae Salopiensis erat.
 Quatuor ex isto fluxerunt stemmate nati,
  Ex isto Antonius stemmate quartus erat.
 Mente sagax, animo precellens, corpore promptus,
  Eloquii dulcis, ore disertus erat.
 In factis probitas; fuit in sermone venustas,
  In vultu gravitas, relligione fides,
 In patriam pietas, in egenos grata voluntas,
  Accedunt reliquis annumeranda bonis.
 Si quod cuncta rapit, rapuit non omnia Lethum,
  Si quod Mors rapuit, vivida fama dedit.

"These verses following are writ at length, two by two, in praise
of him:--

  "Argute resonas Cithare pretendere chordas
      Novit, et Aonia concrepuisse Lyra.
  Gaudebat terre teneras defigere plantas;
      Et mira pulchras construere arte domos
  Composita varias lingua formare loquelas
      Doctus, et edocta scribere multa manu.

"The arms over it thus:--

Quart.  I. 3 HUNTER'S HORNS stringed.
       II. 3 PINIONS with their points upwards.

"The crest is a STAG couchant, vulnerated through the neck by a
broad arrow; on his side is a MARTLETT for a difference."

From this monumental inscription it appears that Anthony Foster,
instead of being a vulgar, low-bred, puritanical churl, was, in
fact, a gentleman of birth and consideration, distinguished for
his skill in the arts of music and horticulture, as also in
languages.  In so far, therefore, the Anthony Foster of the
romance has nothing but the name in common with the real
individual.  But notwithstanding the charity, benevolence, and
religious faith imputed by the monument of grey marble to its
tenant, tradition, as well as secret history, names him as the
active agent in the death of the Countess; and it is added that,
from being a jovial and convivial gallant, as we may infer from
some expressions in the epitaph, he sunk, after the fatal deed,
into a man of gloomy and retired habits, whose looks and manners
indicated that he suffered under the pressure of some atrocious
secret.

The name of Lambourne is still known in the vicinity, and it is
said some of the clan partake the habits, as well as name, of the
Michael Lambourne of the romance.  A man of this name lately
murdered his wife, outdoing Michael in this respect, who only was
concerned in the murder of the wife of another man.

I have only to add that the jolly Black Bear has been restored to
his predominance over bowl and bottle in the village of Cumnor.

*

Note 2. Ch. XIII.--LEGEND OF WAYLAND SMITH.

The great defeat given by Alfred to the Danish invaders is said
by Mr. Gough to have taken place near Ashdown, in Berkshire. "The
burial place of Baereg, the Danish chief, who was slain in this
fight, is distinguished by a parcel of stones, less than a mile
from the hill, set on edge, enclosing a piece of ground somewhat
raised.  On the east side of the southern extremity stand three
squarish flat stones, of about four or five feet over either way,
supporting a fourth, and now called by the vulgar WAYLAND SMITH,
from an idle tradition about an invisible smith replacing lost
horse-shoes there."--GOUGH'S edition of CAMDEN'S BRITANNIA,
vol.i., p. 221.

The popular belief still retains memory of this wild legend,
which, connected as it is with the site of a Danish sepulchre,
may have arisen from some legend concerning the northern Duergar,
who resided in the rocks, and were cunning workers in steel and
iron.  It was believed that Wayland Smith's fee was sixpence, and
that, unlike other workmen, he was offended if more was offered.
Of late his offices have been again called to memory; but fiction
has in this, as in other cases, taken the liberty to pillage the
stores of oral tradition.  This monument must be very ancient,
for it has been kindly pointed out to me that it is referred to
in an ancient Saxon charter as a landmark.  The monument has been
of late cleared out, and made considerably more conspicuous.

*

Note 3. Ch. XIV.--LEICESTER AND SUSSEX.

Naunton gives us numerous and curious particulars of the jealous
struggle which took place between Ratcliffe, Earl of Sussex, and
the rising favourite Leicester.  The former, when on his
deathbed, predicted to his followers that after his death the
gipsy (so he called Leicester, from his dark complexion) would
prove too many for them.

*

Note 4. Ch. XIV.--SIR WALTER RALEIGH.

Among the attendants and adherents of Sussex, we have ventured to
introduce the celebrated Raleigh, in the dawn of his court
favour.

In Aubrey's Correspondence there are some curious particulars of
Sir Walter Raleigh.  "He was a tall, handsome, bold man; but his
naeve was that he was damnably proud.  Old Sir Robert Harley of
Brampton Brian Castle, who knew him, would say it was a great
question who was the proudest, Sir Walter or Sir Thomas Overbury;
but the difference that was, was judged in Sir Thomas's side.  In
the great parlour at Downton, at Mr. Raleigh's, is a good piece,
an original of Sir Walter, in a white satin doublet, all
embroidered with rich pearls, and a mighty rich chain of great
pearls about his neck.  The old servants have told me that the
real pearls were near as big as the painted ones.  He had a most
remarkable aspect, an exceeding high forehead, long-faced, and
sour-eyelidded.  "A rebus is added to this purpose:--

  The enemy to the stomach, and the word of disgrace,
  Is the name of the gentleman with the bold face.

Sir Walter Raleigh's beard turned up naturally, which gave him an
advantage over the gallants of the time, whose moustaches
received a touch of the barber's art to give them the air then
most admired.--See AUBREY'S CORRESPONDENCE, vol.ii., part ii.,
p.500.

*

Note 5. Ch. XV.--COURT FAVOUR OF SIR WALTER RALEIGH.

The gallant incident of the cloak is the traditional account of
this celebrated statesman's rise at court.  None of Elizabeth's
courtiers knew better than he how to make his court to her
personal vanity, or could more justly estimate the quantity of
flattery which she could condescend to swallow.  Being confined
in the Tower for some offence, and understanding the Queen was
about to pass to Greenwich in her barge, he insisted on
approaching the window, that he might see, at whatever distance,
the Queen of his Affections, the most beautiful object which the
earth bore on its surface.  The Lieutenant of the Tower (his own
particular friend) threw himself between his prisoner and the
window; while Sir Waiter, apparently influenced by a fit of
unrestrainable passion, swore he would not be debarred from
seeing his light, his life, his goddess!  A scuffle ensued, got
up for effect's sake, in which the Lieutenant and his captive
grappled and struggled with fury, tore each other's hair, and at
length drew daggers, and were only separated by force.  The Queen
being informed of this scene exhibited by her frantic adorer, it
wrought, as was to be expected, much in favour of the captive
Paladin.  There is little doubt that his quarrel with the
Lieutenant was entirely contrived for the purpose which it
produced.

*

Note 6. Ch. XVII.--ROBERT LANEHAM.

Little is known of Robert Laneham, save in his curious letter to
a friend in London, giving an account of Queen Elizabeth's
entertainments at Kenilworth, written in a style of the most
intolerable affectation, both in point of composition and
orthography.  He describes himself as a BON VIVANT, who was wont
to be jolly and dry in the morning, and by his good-will would be
chiefly in the company of the ladies.  He was, by the interest of
Lord Leicester, Clerk of the Council Chamber door, and also
keeper of the same.  "When Council sits," says he, "I am at hand.
If any makes a babbling, PEACE, say I.  If I see a listener or a
pryer in at the chinks or lockhole, I am presently on the bones
of him.  If a friend comes, I make him sit down by me on a form
or chest.  The rest may walk, a God's name!"  There has been
seldom a better portrait of the pragmatic conceit and self-
importance of a small man in office.

*

Note 7. Ch. XVIII.--DR. JULIO.

The Earl of Leicester's Italian physician, Julio, was affirmed by
his contemporaries to be a skilful compounder of poisons, which
he applied with such frequency, that the Jesuit Parsons extols
ironically the marvellous good luck of this great favourite in
the opportune deaths of those who stood in the way of his wishes.
There is a curious passage on the subject:--

"Long after this, he fell in love with the Lady Sheffield, whom I
signified before, and then also had he the same fortune to have
her husband dye quickly, with an extreame rheume in his head (as
it was given out), but as others say, of an artificiall catarre
that stopped his breath.

"The like good chance had he in the death of my Lord of Essex (as
I have said before), and that at a time most fortunate for his
purpose; for when he was coming home from Ireland, with intent to
revenge himselfe upon my Lord of Leicester for begetting his wife
with childe in his absence (the childe was a daughter, and
brought up by the Lady Shandoes, W. Knooles, his wife), my Lord
of Leicester hearing thereof, wanted not a friend or two to
accompany the deputy, as among other a couple of the Earles own
servants, Crompton (if I misse not his name), yeoman of his
bottles, and Lloid his secretary, entertained afterward by my
Lord of Leicester, and so he dyed in the way of an extreame flux,
caused by an Italian receipe, as all his friends are well
assured, the maker whereof was a chyrurgeon (as it is beleeved)
that then was newly come to my Lord from Italy---a cunning man
and sure in operation, with whom, if the good Lady had been
sooner acquainted, and used his help, she should not have needed
to sitten so pensive at home, and fearefull of her husband's
former returne out of the same country......Neither must you
marvaile though all these died in divers manners of outward
diseases, for this is the excellency of the Italian art, for
which this chyrurgeon and Dr. Julio were entertained so
carefully, who can make a man dye in what manner or show of
sickness you will--by whose instructions, no doubt; but his
lordship is now cunning, especially adding also to these the
counsell of his Doctor Bayly, a man also not a little studied (as
he seemeth) in his art; for I heard him once myselfe, in a
publique act in Oxford, and that in presence of my Lord of
Leicester (if I be not deceived), maintain that poyson might be
so tempered and given as it should not appear presently, and yet
should kill the party afterward, at what time should be
appointed; which argument belike pleased well his lordship, and
therefore was chosen to be discussed in his audience, if I be not
deceived of his being that day present.  So, though one dye of a
flux, and another of a catarre, yet this importeth little to the
matter, but showeth rather the great cunning and skill of the
artificer."--PARSONS' LEICESTER'S COMMONWEALTH, p.23.

It is unnecessary to state the numerous reasons why the Earl is
stated in the tale to be rather the dupe of villains than the
unprincipled author of their atrocities.  In the latter capacity,
which a part at least of his contemporaries imputed to him, he
would have made a character too disgustingly wicked to be useful
for the purposes of fiction.

I have only to add that the union of the poisoner, the
quacksalver, the alchemist, and the astrologer in the same person
was familiar to the pretenders to the mystic sciences.

*

Note 8. Ch. XXXII.--FURNITURE OF KENILWORTH.

In revising this work, I have had the means of making some
accurate additions to my attempt to describe the princely
pleasures of Kenilworth, by the kindness of my friend William
Hamper, Esq., who had the goodness to communicate to me an
inventory of the furniture of Kenilworth in the days of the
magnificent Earl of Leicester.  I have adorned the text with some
of the splendid articles mentioned in the inventory, but
antiquaries especially will be desirous to see a more full
specimen than the story leaves room for.

EXTRACTS FROM KENILWORTH INVENTORY, A.D. 1584.

A Salte, ship-fashion, of the mother of perle, garnished with
silver and divers workes, warlike ensignes, and ornaments, with
xvj peeces of ordinance whereof ij on wheles, two anckers on the
foreparte, and on the stearne the image of Dame Fortune standing
on a globe with a flag in her hand.  Pois xxxij oz.

A gilte salte like a swann, mother of perle.  Pois xxx oz. iij
quarters.

A George on horseback, of wood, painted and gilt, with a case for
knives in the tayle of the horse, and a case for oyster knives in
the brest of the Dragon.

A green barge-cloth, embrother'd with white lions and beares.

A perfuming pann, of silver.  Pois xix oz.

In the halle.  Tabells, long and short, vj. Formes, long and
short, xiiij.

HANGINGS.
(These are minutely specified, and consisted of the following
subjects, in tapestry, and gilt, and red leather.)

Flowers, beasts, and pillars arched.  Forest worke.  Historie.
Storie of Susanna, the Prodigall Childe, Saule, Tobie, Hercules,
Lady Fame, Hawking and Hunting, Jezabell, Judith and Holofernes,
David, Abraham, Sampson, Hippolitus, Alexander the Great, Naaman
the Assyrian, Jacob, etc.

BEDSTEADS, WITH THEIR FURNITURE.
(These are magnificent and numerous.  I shall copy VERBATIM the
description of what appears to have been one of the best.)

A bedsted of wallnut-tree, toppe fashion, the pillers redd and
varnished, the ceelor, tester, and single vallance of crimson
sattin, paned with a broad border of bone lace of golde and
silver.  The tester richlie embrothered with my Lo. armes in a
garland of hoppes, roses, and pomegranetts, and lyned with
buckerom.  Fyve curteins of crimson sattin to the same bedsted,
striped downe with a bone lace of gold and silver, garnished with
buttons and loops of crimson silk and golde, containing xiiij
bredths of sattin, and one yarde iij quarters deepe.  The ceelor,
vallance, and curteins lyned with crymson taffata sarsenet.

A crymson sattin counterpointe, quilted and embr.  with a golde
twiste, and lyned with redd sarsenet, being in length iij yards
good, and in breadth iij scant.

A chaise of crymson sattin, suteable.

A fayre quilte of crymson sattin, vj breadths, iij yardes 3
quarters naile deepe, all lozenged over with silver twiste, in
the midst a cinquefoile within a garland of ragged staves,
fringed rounde aboute with a small fringe of crymson silke, lyned
throughe with white fustian.

Fyve plumes of coolered feathers, garnished with bone lace and
spangells of goulde and silver, standing in cups knitt all over
with goulde, silver, and crymson silk.  [Probably on the centre
and four corners of the bedstead.  Four bears and ragged staves
occupied a similar position on another of these sumptuous pieces
of furniture.]

A carpett for a cupboarde of crymson sattin, embrothered with a
border of goulde twiste, about iij parts of it fringed with silk
and goulde, lyned with bridges [That is, Bruges.] sattin, in
length ij yards, and ij bredths of sattin.

(There were eleven down beds and ninety feather beds, besides
thirty-seven mattresses.)

CHYRES, STOOLES, AND CUSHENS.
(These were equally splendid with the beds, etc.  I shall here
copy that which stands at the head of the list.)

A chaier of crimson velvet, the seate and backe partlie
embrothered, with R. L. in cloth of goulde, the beare and ragged
staffe in clothe of silver, garnished with lace and fringe of
goulde, silver, and crimson silck.  The frame covered with
velvet, bounde aboute the edge with goulde lace, and studded with
gilte nailes.

A square stoole and a foote stoole, of crimson velvet, fringed
and garnished suteable.

A long cushen of crimson velvet, embr.  with the ragged staffe in
a wreathe of goulde, with my Lo. posie "DROYTE ET LOYALL" written
in the same, and the letters R. L. in clothe of goulde, being
garnished with lace, fringe, buttons, and tassels of gold,
silver, and crimson silck, lyned with crimson taff., being in
length 1 yard quarter.

A square cushen, of the like velvet, embr. suteable to the long
cushen.

CARPETS.
(There were 10 velvet carpets for tables and windows, 49 Turkey
carpets for floors, and 32 cloth carpets.  One of each I will now
specify.)

A carpett of crimson velvet, richlie embr.  with my Lo. posie,
beares and ragged staves, etc., of clothe of goulde and silver,
garnished upon the seames and aboute with golde lace, fringed
accordinglie, lyned with crimson taffata sarsenett, being 3
breadths of velvet, one yard 3 quarters long.

A great Turquoy carpett, the grounde blew, with a list of yelloe
at each end, being in length x yards, in bredthe iiij yards and
quarter

A long carpett of blew clothe, lyned with bridges sattin, fringed
with blew silck and goulde, in length vj yards lack a quarter,
the whole bredth of the clothe.

PICTURES.
(Chiefly described as having curtains.)

The Queene's Majestie (2 great tables).  3 of my Lord.  St.
Jerome.  Lo. of Arundell.  Lord Mathevers.  Lord of Pembroke.
Counte Egmondt.  The Queene of Scotts.  King Philip.  The Baker's
Daughters.  The Duke of Feria.  Alexander Magnus.  Two Yonge
Ladies.  Pompaea Sabina.  Fred. D. of Saxony.  Emp. Charles.
K. Philip's Wife.  Prince of Orange and his Wife.  Marq.  of
Berges and his Wife.  Counte de Home.  Count Holstrate.  Monsr.
Brederode.  Duke Alva.  Cardinal Grandville.  Duches of Parma.
Henrie E. of Pembrooke and his young Countess.  Countis of Essex.
Occacion and Repentance.  Lord Mowntacute.  Sir Jas. Crofts.  Sir
Wr. Mildmay.  Sr. Wm. Pickering.  Edwin Abp. of York.

A tabell of an historie of men, women, and children, moulden in
wax.

A little foulding table of ebanie, garnished with white bone,
wherein are written verses with lres.  of goulde.

A table of my Lord's armes.

Fyve of the plannetts, painted in frames.

Twentie-three cardes, [That is charts.] or maps of countries.

INSTRUMENTS.
(I shall give two specimens.)

An instrument of organs, regall, and virginalls, covered with
crimson velvet, and garnished with goulde lace.

A fair pair of double virginalls.

CABONETTS.

A cabonett of crimson sattin, richlie embr.  with a device of
hunting the stagg, in goulde, silver, and silck, with iiij
glasses in the topp thereof, xvj cupps of flowers made of goulde,
silver, and silck, in a case of leather, lyned with greene sattin
of bridges.

(Another of purple velvet.  A desk of red leather.)

A CHESS BOARDE of ebanie, with checkars of christall and other
stones, layed with silver, garnished with beares and ragged
staves, and cinquefoiles of silver.  The xxxij men likewyse of
christall and other stones sett, the one sort in silver white,
the other gilte, in a case gilded and lyned with green cotton.

(Another of bone and ebanie.  A pair of tabells of bone.)

A great BRASON CANDLESTICK to hang in the roofe of the howse,
verie fayer and curiouslye wrought, with xxiiij branches, xij
greate and xij of lesser size, 6 rowlers and ij wings for the
spreade eagle, xxiiij socketts for candells, xij greater and xij
of a lesser sorte, xxiiij sawcers, or candlecups, of like
proporcion to put under the socketts, iij images of men and iij
of weomen, of brass, verie finely and artificiallie done.

These specimens of Leicester's magnificence may serve to assure
the reader that it scarce lay in the power of a modern author to
exaggerate the lavish style of expense displayed in the princely
pleasures of Kenilworth.

*

Note to Ch. XLI.--DEATH OF THE EARL OF LEICESTER.

In a curious manuscript copy of the information given by Ben
Jonson to Drummond of Hawthornden, as transcribed by Sir Robert
Sibbald, Leicester's death is ascribed to poison administered as
a cordial by his countess, to whom he had given it, representing
it to be a restorative in any faintness, in the hope that she
herself might be cut off by using it.  We have already quoted
Jonson's account of this merited stroke of retribution in a note
of the Introduction to this volume.  It may be here added that
the following satirical epitaph on Leicester occurs in Drummond's
Collection, but is evidently not of his composition:--

EPITAPH ON THE ERLE OF LEISTER.

  Here lies a valiant warriour,
   Who never drew a sword;
  Here lies a noble courtier,
   Who never kept his word;
  Here lies the Erle of Leister,
   Who governed the Estates,
  Whom the earth could never living love,
   And the just Heaven now hates.