summaryrefslogtreecommitdiff
path: root/old/files/relative.htm
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      Kenilworth, by Sir Walter Scott, Bart.
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The Project Gutenberg EBook of Kenilworth, by Sir Walter Scott

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
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with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org


Title: Kenilworth

Author: Sir Walter Scott

Release Date: February 21, 2006 [EBook #1606]
Last Updated: July 25, 2014

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK KENILWORTH ***




Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer and David Widger





</pre>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h1>
      KENILWORTH.
    </h1>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      by Sir Walter Scott, Bart.
    </h2>

<div class="fig" style="width:65%;">
      <img src="images/0006m.jpg" alt="0006m " width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <h5>
      <a href="images/0006.jpg"><i>Original</i></a>
    </h5>


    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p class="toc">
        <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big>
      </p>
      <p>
        <br /> <a href="#link2H_INTR"> INTRODUCTION </a><br /> <br /> <a
        href="#link2H_4_0002"> <big><b>KENILWORTH</b></big> </a><br /> <br />
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXX. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XXXI. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XXXII. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER XXXIII. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0034"> CHAPTER XXXIV. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0035"> CHAPTER XXXV. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0036"> CHAPTER XXXVI. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0037"> CHAPTER XXXVII. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0038"> CHAPTER XXXVIII. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0039"> CHAPTER XXXIX. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0040"> CHAPTER XL. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0041"> CHAPTER XLI. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_NOTE"> NOTES. </a>
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_INTR" id="link2H_INTR">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      INTRODUCTION
    </h2>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;Owen (I believe), the possessor of Godstow then.
    </p>
    <p>
      "In the hall, over the chimney, I find Abington arms cut in stone&mdash;namely,
      a patonee between four martletts; and also another escutcheon&mdash;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:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "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:&mdash;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:&mdash;"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."&mdash;BEN JONSON'S INFORMATION TO DRUMMOND OF
      HAWTHORNDEN, MS., SIR ROBERT SIBBALD'S COPY.]
    </p>
    <p>
      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,&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     "The only way to charm a woman's tongue
     Is, break her neck&mdash;a politician did it."
</pre>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     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,&mdash;
     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)&mdash;
     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&mdash;
     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&mdash;my hopes decay&mdash;
     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&mdash;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.
</pre>
    <p>
      ARBOTSFORD, 1st March 1831.
    </p>
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    <h2>
      KENILWORTH
    </h2>
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    <h2>
      CHAPTER I.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     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.
</pre>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What, ho! John Tapster."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Here is a gentleman asks if you draw good ale," continued the hostler.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Is it logic you talk of, Sir Guest?" said the host; "why, then, have at
      you with a downright consequence&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     'The horse to the rack,
     And to fire with the sack.'"
</pre>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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:&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, sir?" said Giles Gosling; "then you are from the Low Countries, the
      land of pike and caliver?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Less than superlative?" said Giles Gosling, drinking off the cup, and
      smacking his lips with an air of ineffable relish,&mdash;"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.&mdash;I trust
      your honour likes the wine?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do not say so, friend, unless you have heard ill of him lately. Many a
      wild colt has turned out a noble steed.&mdash;His name, I pray you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Michael Lambourne," answered the landlord of the Black Bear; "a son of my
      sister's&mdash;there is little pleasure in recollecting either the name or
      the connection."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Michael Lambourne!" said the stranger, as if endeavouring to recollect
      himself&mdash;"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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It could scarcely be my nephew," said Giles Gosling, "for he had not the
      courage of a hen-partridge for aught but mischief."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, many a man finds courage in the wars," replied the stranger.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It may be," said the landlord; "but I would have thought our Mike more
      likely to lose the little he had."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The Michael Lambourne whom I knew," continued the traveller, "was a
      likely fellow&mdash;went always gay and well attired, and had a hawk's eye
      after a pretty wench."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, men pick up good apparel in the wars," replied the guest.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sorry!&mdash;it would be the blithest news I ever heard of him, since it
      would ensure me he was not hanged. But let him pass&mdash;I doubt his end
      will never do such credit to his friends. Were it so, I should say"&mdash;(taking
      another cup of sack)&mdash;"Here's God rest him, with all my heart."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What, Mike, boy&mdash;Mike!" exclaimed the host;&mdash;"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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tush, uncle&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I would I might trade thither," said the mercer, chuckling.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, and so thou mayest," said Michael&mdash;"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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;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,&mdash;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.&mdash;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.&mdash;In faith, kinsman, thou art as like my poor sister
      as ever was son to mother."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?&mdash;it is a wise child, saidst thou, that knows its own
      father. Dr. Bircham laughed till he cried again, and his crying saved
      yours."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, he made it up to me many a day after," said Lambourne; "and how is
      the worthy pedagogue?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Dead," said Giles Gosling, "this many a day since."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That he is," said the clerk of the parish; "I sat by his bed the whilst.
      He passed away in a blessed frame. 'MORIOR&mdash;MORTUUS SUM VEL FUI&mdash;MORI'&mdash;these
      were his latest words; and he just added, 'my last verb is conjugated."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, peace be with him," said Mike, "he owes me nothing."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, truly," replied Goldthred; "and every lash which he laid on thee, he
      always was wont to say, he spared the hangman a labour."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, what would you do?" said the clerk.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, sir, what would you do?" said the mercer, bustling up on the other
      side of the table.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Come, come," said the host, interposing, "I will have no swaggering here.&mdash;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.&mdash;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&mdash;gives
      no more trouble than a very peasant&mdash;pays his shot like a prince
      royal&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;"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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And your nephew, mine host, this same Michael Lambourne, who is lord of
      the feast&mdash;is he, too, such a would-be ruffler as the rest of them?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Marry, mine host," replied the stranger, "you may call me Tressilian."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tressilian?" answered mine host of the Bear. "A worthy name, and, as I
      think, of Cornish lineage; for what says the south proverb&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     'By Pol, Tre, and Pen,
     You may know the Cornish men.'
</pre>
    <p>
      Shall I say the worthy Master Tressilian of Cornwall?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER II.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     Talk you of young Master Lancelot? &mdash;MERCHANT OF VENICE.
</pre>
    <p>
      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:&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     "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."
</pre>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, ay, he always loved venison well," replied Michael, "and a cup of
      claret to boot&mdash;and so here's one to his memory. Do me right, my
      masters."
    </p>
    <p>
      When the memory of this departed worthy had been duly honoured, Lambourne
      proceeded to inquire after Prance of Padworth.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pranced off&mdash;made immortal ten years since," said the mercer;
      "marry, sir, Oxford Castle and Goodman Thong, and a tenpenny-worth of
      cord, best know how."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;he who lived near
      Yattenden, and wore the long feather?&mdash;I forget his name."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Which Tony Foster mean you?" said the innkeeper.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And looks grave, and holds his head high, and scorns his old companions,"
      said the mercer.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Prospered, quotha!" said the mercer; "why, you remember Cumnor Place, the
      old mansion-house beside the churchyard?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "By the same token, I robbed the orchard three times&mdash;what of that?
      It was the old abbot's residence when there was plague or sickness at
      Abingdon."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And why so?&mdash;I mean, why do they keep a coil about her?" said
      Tressilian.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;you have, I think, Master Goldthred?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not so-not so," said the mercer, with a smirking laugh&mdash;"not
      altogether so&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And thou wouldst willingly show her a dapper body, in a silken jerkin&mdash;a
      limb like a short-legged hen's, in a cordovan boot&mdash;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!&mdash;Come, gentles, let not the
      cup stand&mdash;here's to long spurs, short boots, full bonnets, and empty
      skulls!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Marry confound thine impudence," retorted Lambourne; "thou wouldst not
      compare thy pudding face, and sarsenet manners, to a gentleman, and a
      soldier?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "May I ask her appearance, sir?" said Tressilian.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, sir," replied Master Goldthred, "I promise you, she was in
      gentlewoman's attire&mdash;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&mdash;I promise you, sir, an
      absolute and all-surpassing device. Touching her skirts, they were in the
      old pass-devant fashion."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I did not ask you of her attire, sir," said Tressilian, who had shown
      some impatience during this conversation, "but of her complexion&mdash;the
      colour of her hair, her features."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "A most mercer-like memory!" said Lambourne. "The gentleman asks him of
      the lady's beauty, and he talks of her fine clothes!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Like those of a jackanape simpering at a chestnut," said Michael
      Lambourne.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Up started of a sudden," continued Goldthred, without heeding the
      interruption, "Tony Foster himself, with a cudgel in his hand&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "And broke thy head across, I hope, for thine impertinence," said his
      entertainer.
    </p>
    <p>
      "That were more easily said than done," answered Goldthred indignantly;
      "no, no&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, so I would for a quartern of sack," said the soldier&mdash;"or stay:
      I am foully out of linen&mdash;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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I would gladly pay your halves of the risk, sir," said Tressilian, "to be
      permitted to accompany you on the adventure."
    </p>
    <p>
      "In what would that advantage you, sir?" answered Lambourne.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER III.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     Nay, I'll hold touch&mdash;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.
</pre>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;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."
    </p>
<div class="fig" style="width:65%;">
      <img src="images/0045m.jpg" alt="0045m " width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <h5>
      <a href="images/0045.jpg"><i>Original</i></a>
    </h5>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, uncle," replied Lambourne, "think'st thou I am an infidel, and would
      harm those of mine own house?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You hold your purpose, then, of visiting your old acquaintance?" said
      Tressilian to the adventurer.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Was he then such an unthrift?" asked Tressilian.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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;&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "And may I ask you, in return, Master Tressilian," answered Lambourne,
      "wherefore you have shown yourself so desirous to accompany me on this
      party?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I told you my motive," said Tressilian, "when I took share in your wager&mdash;it
      was simple curiosity."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And wherefore should not bare curiosity," said Tressilian, "be a
      sufficient reason for my taking this walk with you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;your bearing makes it good; of civil
      habits and fair reputation&mdash;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&mdash;and all out of mere
      curiosity, forsooth! The excuse, if curiously balanced, would be found to
      want some scruples of just weight, or so."
    </p>
    <p>
      "If your suspicions were just," said Tressilian, "you have shown no
      confidence in me to invite or deserve mine."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, if that be all," said Lambourne, "my motives lie above water. While
      this gold of mine lasts"&mdash;taking out his purse, chucking it into the
      air, and catching it as it fell&mdash;"I will make it buy pleasure; and
      when it is out I must have more. Now, if this mysterious Lady of the Manor&mdash;this
      fair Lindabrides of Tony Fire-the-Fagot&mdash;be so admirable a piece as
      men say, why, there is a chance that she may aid me to melt my nobles into
      groats; 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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "A comfortable proposal truly," said Tressilian; "but I see not what
      chance there is of accomplishing it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;But here we are, and we
      must make the best on't."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "To speak with Master Foster instantly, on pressing business of the
      state," was the ready reply of Michael Lambourne.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay; sure as you are Anthony Foster," replied Lambourne.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Tis well," answered his sullen host. "And what may Michael Lambourne
      expect from his visit hither?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "VOTO A DIOS," answered Lambourne, "I expected a better welcome than I am
      like to meet, I think."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, thou gallows-bird&mdash;thou jail-rat&mdash;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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hark you, Michael Lambourne," said Foster; "you are a gambler now, and
      live by the counting of chances&mdash;compute me the odds that I do not,
      on this instant, throw you out of that window into the ditch there."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Twenty to one that you do not," answered the sturdy visitor.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;who
      hides halters under folk's pillows, and who puts rats-bane into their
      porridge, as the stage-play says."
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Let them call it what they will," said Michael Lambourne, "it is the
      commodity we must carry through the world with us.&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nay, nay," replied Foster, "touching scruples and modesty, you sailed
      hence in ballast. But who is this gallant, honest Mike?&mdash;is he a
      Corinthian&mdash;a cutter like thyself?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.]
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER IV.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     Not serve two masters?&mdash;Here's a youth will try it&mdash;
     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,&mdash;OLD PLAY.
</pre>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The men who wrote these books," said Lambourne, looking round him,
      "little thought whose keeping they were to fall into."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And yet," said Lambourne, "I have been in cities where such learned
      commodities would have been deemed too good for such offices."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pshaw, pshaw," answered Foster, "'they are Popish trash, every one of
      them&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Gad-a-mercy, Master Tony Fire-the-Fagot!" said Lambourne, by way of
      reply.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why," said Michael Lambourne, "you were wont to glory in the share you
      had in the death of the two old heretical bishops."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But how if I lack no assistance from thee, Mike? I think thy modesty
      might suppose that were a case possible."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That is to say," retorted Lambourne, "that you would engross the whole
      work, rather than divide the reward. But be not over-greedy, Anthony&mdash;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&mdash;an unrelenting purpose&mdash;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&mdash;shall we hunt in
      couples?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is a currish proposal&mdash;thus to thrust thyself upon my private
      matters," replied Foster; "but thou wert ever an ill-nurtured whelp."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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&mdash;and thy brow is as impenetrable as a Milan visor.
      There is but one thing I would fain see amended in thee."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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 see as clear through thee and thy concernments,
      as thou callest them, as through the filthy horn of an old stable
      lantern."
    </p>
    <p>
      At this moment their conversation was interrupted by a scream from the
      next apartment.
    </p>
    <p>
      "By the holy Cross of Abingdon," exclaimed Anthony Foster, forgetting his
      Protestantism in his alarm, "I am a ruined man!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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"&mdash;it was thus he communed with himself&mdash;"to which thy cruel
      levity&mdash;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&mdash;to thy
      God. I cannot bid the bright star again sparkle in the sphere it has shot
      from, but&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;how say you, guilty
      or not?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why should I fear you?" said the lady, withdrawing her hands from her
      beautiful face, which was now covered with crimson,&mdash;"Why should I
      fear you, Master Tressilian?&mdash;or wherefore have you intruded yourself
      into my dwelling, uninvited, sir, and unwished for?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your dwelling, Amy!" said Tressilian. "Alas! is a prison your dwelling?&mdash;a
      prison guarded by one of the most sordid of men, but not a greater wretch
      than his employer!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "This house is mine," said Amy&mdash;"mine while I choose to inhabit it.
      If it is my pleasure to live in seclusion, who shall gainsay me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The pain! Is my father then ill?" said the lady.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tressilian," answered the lady, "I cannot, I must not, I dare not leave
      this place. Go back to my father&mdash;tell him I will obtain leave to see
      him within twelve hours from hence. Go back, Tressilian&mdash;tell him I
      am well, I am happy&mdash;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&mdash;the poor Amy is now greater than she
      dare name. Go, good Tressilian&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do you say this to me, Amy?&mdash;do you offer me pageants of idle
      ambition, for the quiet peace you have robbed me of!&mdash;But be it so I
      came not to upbraid, but to serve and to free you. You cannot disguise it
      from me&mdash;you are a prisoner. Otherwise your kind heart&mdash;for it
      was once a kind heart&mdash;would have been already at your father's
      bedside.&mdash;Come, poor, deceived, unhappy maiden!&mdash;all shall be
      forgot&mdash;all shall be forgiven. Fear not my importunity for what
      regarded our contract&mdash;it was a dream, and I have awaked. But come&mdash;your
      father yet lives&mdash;come, and one word of affection, one tear of
      penitence, will efface the memory of all that has passed."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?&mdash;Go, carry him the news;
      I come as sure as there is light in heaven&mdash;that is, when I obtain
      permission."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Permission!&mdash;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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do him no slander, Tressilian! He whom thou speakest of wears a sword as
      sharp as thine&mdash;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.&mdash;Leave me! Go, do
      mine errand to my father; and when he next sends to me, let him choose a
      more welcome messenger."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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:&mdash;this rank of his which thou dost boast&mdash;dost
      thou share it with him, Amy?&mdash;does he claim a husband's right to
      control thy motions?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Stop thy base, unmannered tongue!" said the lady; "to no question that
      derogates from my honour do I deign an answer."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But not, I trust, the wish to use them in so evil a cause?" said
      Tressilian. "With thy will&mdash;thine uninfluenced, free, and natural
      will, Amy, thou canst not choose this state of slavery and dishonour. Thou
      hast been bound by some spell&mdash;entrapped by some deceit&mdash;art now
      detained by some compelled vow. But thus I break the charm&mdash;Amy, in
      the name of thine excellent, thy broken-hearted father, I command thee to
      follow me!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;retire&mdash;there
      is life and death in this matter.&mdash;And you, friend, whoever you may
      be, leave this house&mdash;out with you, before my dagger's hilt and your
      costard become acquainted.&mdash;Draw, Mike, and rid us of the knave!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;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&mdash;depart&mdash;vanish&mdash;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.]
    </p>
    <p>
      "Away, base groom!" said Tressilian.&mdash;"And you, madam, fare you well&mdash;what
      life lingers in your father's bosom will leave him at the news I have to
      tell."
    </p>
    <p>
      He departed, the lady saying faintly as he left the room, "Tressilian, be
      not rash&mdash;say no scandal of me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;nay, tarry
      not."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I move not at your command, sir," answered the lady.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nay, but you must, fair lady," replied Foster; "excuse my freedom, but,
      by blood and nails, this is no time to strain courtesies&mdash;you MUST go
      to your chamber.&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I must make the attempt, however," he said to himself; "the only means of
      reclaiming this lost&mdash;this miserable&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "What make you here?" was the stern question put by the stranger to
      Tressilian, when the moment of surprise was past&mdash;"what make you
      here, where your presence is neither expected nor desired?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;thou knowest I can
      fight."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have heard thee say so, Varney," replied Tressilian; "but now,
      methinks, I would fain have some better evidence than thine own word."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
<div class="fig" style="width:65%;">
      <img src="images/0515m.jpg" alt="0515m " width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <h5>
      <a href="images/0515.jpg"><i>Original</i></a>
    </h5>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Off, abject!" said Tressilian, striking himself free of Lambourne's
      grasp; "darest thou come betwixt me and mine enemy?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;tramp&mdash;begone&mdash;we
      are two to one."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.&mdash;Varney,
      farewell! we shall meet where there are none to come betwixt us." So
      saying, he turned round and departed through the postern door.
    </p>
    <p>
      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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sworn friends, as the haft is to the knife," replied Michael Lambourne.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Enough said," replied Lambourne; "I can draw on a scent as well as a
      sleuth-hound."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;they
      lie on the grass as thick as dewdrops&mdash;you may have them for
      gathering. And if I have not my share of such glittering dewdrops, may my
      sword melt like an icicle!"
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER V.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     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.
     &mdash;THE DECEIVER, A TRAGEDY.
</pre>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Peace, sir," said the lady, "and undo the gate to your master.&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;Janet! come to my
      tiring-room instantly." Then returning to Varney, she asked if her lord
      sent any further commendations to her.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;scissors&mdash;aught that may undo this envious knot!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, sir," replied the lady, rejecting the instrument which he offered&mdash;"steel
      poniard shall cut no true-love knot of mine."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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'&mdash;each pearl is worth a
      freehold."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;the young eagle must gaze at the sun ere he soars on strong
      wing to meet it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tressilian!" answered Foster, "what know I of Tressilian? I never heard
      his name."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, with Mike Lambourne, an you must know," answered Foster.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;for, thank Heaven, my acquaintance
      lies not amongst such companions&mdash;when, as Heaven would have it, this
      tall fellow, who is in all his qualities 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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;did he, I say,
      bring the saintly, sighing Tressilian in his train?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "They came together, by Heaven!" said Foster; "and Tressilian&mdash;to
      speak Heaven's truth&mdash;obtained a moment's interview with our pretty
      moppet, while I was talking apart with Lambourne."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That is good. Canst thou not get from thy daughter an inkling of what
      passed between them, good Foster?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "And so I did, Master Varney," answered Foster; "and she said her lady
      called out upon the sickness of her father."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;his
      presence is hemlock to me&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, and thou wouldst fain convert thy leasehold into a copyhold&mdash;the
      thing may chance to happen, Anthony Foster, if thou dost good service for
      it. But softly, good Anthony&mdash;it is not the lending a room or two of
      this old house for keeping my lord's pretty paroquet&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      This alteration did not escape Varney. Then the meal was finished, the
      cloth removed, and they were left to their private discourse&mdash;"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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "To answer you in the spirit, Master Varney," said Foster, "were&mdash;excuse
      the parable&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;who are a terror to peaceable men, and a scandal
      to my lord's service?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay," said Foster, "and to whisper a word for him into a fair lady's ear,
      when he may not approach her himself."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then," said Varney, going on without appearing to notice the
      interruption, "he must have his lawyers&mdash;deep, subtle pioneers&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tush, man," said Varney, "never look at me with so sad a brow. You trap
      me not&mdash;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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Tis the better, good Anthony," answered Varney; "we must found our
      future fortunes on her good liking."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You mistake her, Foster&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;as I
      have often told thee&mdash;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?&mdash;I. Who amused the old
      knight and Tressilian?&mdash;I. Who planned her escape?&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;the
      sacrament, or the ceremony&mdash;which callest thou it, Anthony?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Very natural, very right," answered Varney; "but what have I to do with
      that?&mdash;she may shine through horn or through crystal at my lord's
      pleasure, I have nought to say against it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;KA ME, KA THEE&mdash;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.&mdash;But, hark&mdash;some one knocks at the gate. Look out
      at the window&mdash;let no one enter&mdash;this were an ill night to be
      interrupted."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is he whom we spoke of before dinner," said Foster, as he looked
      through the casement; "it is Michael Lambourne."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;Admit him, I say, but bring him not hither; I will come
      to you presently in the Abbot's library."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'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&mdash;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&mdash;and so far it is mine own, for if he sinks I fall in his
      train&mdash;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?&mdash;that were indeed
      a masterpiece of courtlike art! Let me but once be her counsel-keeper&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VI.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     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.&mdash;MICKLE.

     [This verse is the commencement of the ballad already quoted, as
     what suggested the novel.]
</pre>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 from being seen without.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Countess Amy, therefore&mdash;for to that rank she was exalted by her
      private but solemn union with England's proudest Earl&mdash;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&mdash;"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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;"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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.&mdash;"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&mdash;"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&mdash;but I could tell that of him would lose him
      favour."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;for I think his purpose may be true."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Doubt it not, my lady," answered Janet&mdash;"doubt not that my father
      purposes well, though he is a plain man, and his blunt looks may belie his
      heart."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;nay, have done with that poking-iron&mdash;could
      hardly look upon him without quaking."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;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&mdash;the news of my happiness and advancement will make him young
      again. And that I may cheer him the sooner"&mdash;she wiped her eyes as
      she spoke&mdash;"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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am unworthy to touch it," said Varney, dropping on one knee, "save as a
      subject honours that of a prince."
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;I think it runs so, or something like it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;Janet,
      follow me, to see that all be in order."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, Master Foster," said the Countess, "we will your daughter remains
      here in our apartment&mdash;out of ear-shot, however, in case Varney hath
      ought to say to me from my lord."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Briefly then, madam," replied Varney, "and boldly, for my argument
      requires both haste and courage&mdash;you have this day seen Tressilian?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have, sir and what of that?" answered the lady somewhat sharply.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nothing that concerns me, lady," Varney replied with humility. "But,
      think you, honoured madam, that your lord will hear it with equal
      equanimity?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Of your father's illness, madam!" answered Varney. "It must have been
      sudden then&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You do him injustice, Master Varney," replied the Countess, with
      animation&mdash;"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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I crave your pardon, madam," said Varney, "I meant the gentleman no
      injustice&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;I must do him justice, for I
      have done him wrong, as none knows better than thou. Tressilian's
      conscience is of other mould&mdash;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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;take the most noble, the most
      virtuous, the most unimpeachable that stands around our Queen's throne&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And wherefore," said the Countess, colouring impatiently, "should I not
      do justice to Tressilian's worth, before my husband's friend&mdash;before
      my husband himself&mdash;before the whole world?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My lord's pleasure," answered the Countess; "and I am bound to seek no
      other motive."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Indeed, madam?" said Varney.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is," replied the lady, "to speak the truth to my lord at all times&mdash;to
      hold up my mind and my thoughts before him as pure as that polished mirror&mdash;so
      that when he looks into my heart, he shall only see his own features
      reflected there."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tush," said Varney, "what has the surly groom to do with your ladyship's
      concerns?&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;Hark! I hear the trampling of horse. He comes!
      he comes!" she exclaimed, jumping up in ecstasy.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I cannot think it is he," said Varney; "or that you can hear the tread of
      his horse through the closely-mantled casements."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Stop me not, Varney&mdash;my ears are keener than thine. It is he!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "But, madam!&mdash;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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Content thee, man&mdash;content thee!" said the Countess, "and quit my
      skirt&mdash;you are too bold to detain me. Content thyself, I think not of
      thee."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VII.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     "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&mdash;and, perchance,
     His colours are as transient."&mdash;OLD PLAY.
</pre>
    <p>
      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&mdash;at length thou art come!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;many a poor blade looks
      gay in a velvet scabbard."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;"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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, love," said the Earl, "if thou wilt share my state with me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, I know all that tale," said the Countess, slightly blushing, "and how
      a lady's garter became the proudest badge of English chivalry."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;but what then? he that climbs a ladder
      must begin at the first round."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nay, my lord, you know your own path best," replied the Countess. "And
      this other collar, to what country does this fair jewel belong?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, then," said the Countess, "my gratified wish has, as usual, given
      rise to a new one."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And what is it thou canst ask that I can deny?" said the fond husband.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That is a wish easily granted," said the Earl&mdash;"the sober russet
      shall be donned to-morrow, if you will."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;at least one day soon&mdash;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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But WHY can it not be?" urged the Countess, in the softest tones of
      persuasion&mdash;"why can it not immediately take place&mdash;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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      The Earl's brow was overcast.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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?&mdash;in all things respectful, I
      trust, else the fellow shall dearly rue it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;her little air of precision sits so
      well upon her!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Is she indeed?" said the Earl. "She who gives you pleasure must not pass
      unrewarded.&mdash;Come hither, damsel."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Janet," said the lady, "come hither to my lord."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, he put into her hand five broad gold pieces of Philip and Mary.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Even please thyself, pretty Janet," said the Earl, "and I shall be well
      satisfied. And I prithee let them hasten the evening collation."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I had a boon to beg of thee, and a secret to tell thee, my dear lord,"
      said the Countess, with a faltering accent.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Faith, my good lord," said his attendant, "I think fetters of gold are
      like no other fetters&mdash;they are ever the weightier the welcomer."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And gather cockle-shells, with Dan Cupid to aid you," said Varney.
    </p>
    <p>
      "How mean you by that, Varney?" said the Earl somewhat hastily.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yet you seem discontented when I propose throwing up a dangerous game,
      which may end in the ruin of both of us."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Speak on, then, Varney," said the Earl; "I tell thee I have determined
      nothing, and will weigh all considerations on either side."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Varney, forbear!" said the Earl.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nay, my lord, you must give me leave to conclude my picture.&mdash;Sussex
      governs England&mdash;the Queen's health fails&mdash;the succession is to
      be settled&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      Having said this in a melancholy but firm accent, he left the dressing
      apartment.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;VIA!
      I know my steerage as well as they."
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, he left the apartment.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;I
      dare not stay. Ere this I should have been ten miles from hence."
    </p>
    <p>
      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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Anything, Amy, anything thou canst ask I will grant," answered the Earl&mdash;"always
      excepting," he said, "that which might ruin us both."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nay," said the Countess, "I urge not my wish to be acknowledged in the
      character which would make me the envy of England&mdash;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&mdash;they say he is ill, the
      good old kind-hearted man!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will not trust him, however, Amy," said her husband&mdash;"by my
      honour, I will not trust him, I would rather the foul fiend intermingle in
      our secret than this Tressilian!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;a bankrupt at once in favour
      and in fortune, perhaps, for she hath in her a touch of her father Henry&mdash;a
      victim, and it may be a bloody one, to her offended and jealous
      resentment."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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 he 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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Awful, indeed!" said the Countess, turning very pale.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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 quality were unknown to them, had already been
      dismissed over-night.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      While his stately form vanished under the dark archway which led out of
      the quadrangle, Varney muttered, "There goes fine policy&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How's this? how's this?" said Anthony Foster hastily; "gave he gold to
      Janet?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, man, wherefore not?&mdash;does not her service to his fair lady
      require guerdon?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, Foster, thou art mad&mdash;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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How meanest thou?" said Foster. "Is he tired already of his pretty toy&mdash;his
      plaything yonder? He has purchased her at a monarch's ransom, and I
      warrant me he rues his bargain."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;church-lands are resumed, Tony, and well if the holders be
      not called to account in Exchequer."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;not a word
      until I give thee notice."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And wherefore, I pray you?" asked Foster, suspiciously.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      He turned his horse, struck him with the spurs, and rode off under the
      archway in pursuit of his lord.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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&mdash;tell his beads,
      hear a mass, confess, and be absolved. These Puritans tread a harder and a
      rougher path; but I will try&mdash;I will read my Bible for an hour ere I
      again open mine iron chest."
    </p>
    <p>
      Varney, meantime, spurred after his lord, whom he found waiting for him at
      the postern gate of the park.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Is he fit for the meridian of the antechamber, think'st thou?" said the
      Earl.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thou hast lost the scent," said Varney, "of thy comrade Tressilian. I
      know it by thy hang-dog visage. Is this thy alacrity, thou impudent
      knave?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Cogswounds!" said Lambourne, "there was never a trail so finely hunted. I
      saw him to earth at mine uncle's here&mdash;stuck to him like bees'-wax&mdash;saw
      him at supper&mdash;watched him to his chamber, and, presto! he is gone
      next morning, the very hostler knows not where."
    </p>
    <p>
      "This sounds like practice upon me, sir," replied Varney; "and if it
      proves so, by my soul you shall repent it!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;ask the tapster and hostler&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Have you," said he, "ever been at court?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It may be your own fault if your dream comes not true," said Varney. "Are
      you needy?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Um!" replied Lambourne; "I love pleasure."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And thine, I suppose," said Varney, "has had its edge blunted long
      since?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thou hast served, then, in the Indies?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.]
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thou mayest do me, and my lord, and thyself, good service," said Varney,
      after a pause. "But observe, I know the world&mdash;and answer me truly,
      canst thou be faithful?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;not otherwise."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well," replied Varney, "if thou hast no hypocrisy, hast thou not a nag
      here in the stable?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Brave and hearty!" said Lambourne, "and I am mounted in an instant.&mdash;Knave,
      hostler, saddle my nag without the loss of one second, as thou dost value
      the safety of thy noddle.&mdash;Pretty Cicely, take half this purse to
      comfort thee for my sudden departure."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Let me look at this Cicely of thine, mine host," said Varney; "I have
      heard much talk of her beauty."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, peace be with her, my good host," answered Varney; "our horses are
      impatient&mdash;we bid you good day."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Does my nephew go with you, so please you?" said Gosling.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, such is his purpose," answered Richard Varney.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are right&mdash;fully right," replied mine host&mdash;"you are, I
      say, fully right, my kinsman. Thou hast got a gay horse; see thou light
      not unaware upon a halter&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are contented, then," said Varney to his companion, "to take court
      service?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, worshipful sir, if you like my terms as well as I like yours."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And what are your terms?" demanded Varney.
    </p>
    <p>
      "If I am to have a quick eye for my patron's interest, he must have a dull
      one towards my faults," said Lambourne.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay," said Varney, "so they lie not so grossly open that he must needs
      break his shins over them."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Agreed," said Lambourne. "Next, if I run down game, I must have the
      picking of the bones."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That is but reason," replied Varney, "so that your betters are served
      before you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Reason again," said Varney, "if the quarrel hath happened in your
      master's service."
    </p>
    <p>
      "For the wage and so forth, I say nothing," proceeded Lambourne; "it is
      the secret guerdon that I must live by."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That jumps all with my humour," replied Michael Lambourne; "and it only
      remains that you tell me my master's name."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My name is Master Richard Varney," answered his companion.
    </p>
    <p>
      "But I mean," said Lambourne, "the name of the noble lord to whose service
      you are to prefer me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I crave your worship's pardon," said Lambourne, "but you seemed familiar
      with Anthony Foster; now I am familiar with Anthony myself."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thou art a shrewd knave, I see," replied Varney. "Mark me&mdash;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&mdash;it
      is one that shakes the council and wields the state."
    </p>
    <p>
      "By this light, a brave spell to conjure with," said Lambourne, "if a man
      would discover hidden treasures!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Used with discretion, it may prove so," replied Varney; "but mark&mdash;if
      thou conjure with it at thine own hand, it may raise a devil who will tear
      thee in fragments."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Enough said," replied Lambourne; "I will not exceed my limits."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Stand somewhat aloof, my masters!" said Varney haughtily, "and let the
      domestics do their office."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;"Stand
      back, Jack peasant, with a murrain to you, and let these knave footmen do
      their duty!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, rest be with him!" echoed the auditors; "it will be long ere this
      Lady Elizabeth horsewhip any of us."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VIII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      HOST. I will hear you, Master Fenton; and I will, at the least, keep your
      counsel.&mdash;MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;as I deny not but it may&mdash;it is because
      they are the agents of a more powerful villain than themselves."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I mean the same, mine host."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well&mdash;it is done, and I cannot help it," answered Tressilian.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Uds precious, but it must be helped in some manner," said the host.
      "Richard Varney&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;for I will not deny that
      which belongs to my calling&mdash;is joined to a reasonable degree of
      discretion."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;oh,
      ay, 'tis him of whom minstrels sing to this hour,&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     '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.]
</pre>
    <p>
      "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:&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     '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."]
</pre>
    <p>
      "True, good mine host&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;I loved
      her, in short, mine host, and her father saw it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "She was the more dangerous enemy of the two," said the innkeeper. "I fear
      me your suit proved a cold one."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That could bode no good to the place he honoured with his residence,"
      said Gosling.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;for I deemed her heart as
      open as her angelic countenance&mdash;have since arisen on my memory, to
      convince me of their private understanding. But I need not detail them&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mine host," answered Tressilian, "my father&mdash;such I must ever
      consider Sir Hugh Robsart&mdash;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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Be not so rash, good sir," replied Giles Gosling, "and cast not yourself
      away because a woman&mdash;to be brief&mdash;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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And what is now your purpose, worthy sir?&mdash;excuse my freedom in
      asking the question so broadly."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is but too true," said Tressilian; "I cannot deny it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have spoken well, mine host," said Tressilian, "and I will profit by
      your advice, and leave you to-morrow early."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do not trust your daughter too far with your guests, my good landlord,"
      said Tressilian.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, sir, we will keep measure; but I wonder not that you are jealous of
      them all.&mdash;May I crave to know with what aspect the fair lady at the
      Place yesterday received you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You do me wrong in the supposition, mine host&mdash;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&mdash;perhaps in the world&mdash;is over and ended."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Only thus far, mine host," replied Tressilian&mdash;"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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nay, sir," said the landlord, "I desire no recompense&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER IX.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     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.&mdash;GAY'S TRIVIA.
</pre>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;what wouldst ha' wi' un,
      mon?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "To shoe my horse, good dame," answered Tressiliany; "you may see that he
      has thrown a fore-foot shoe."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Master Holiday!" exclaimed the dame, without returning any direct answer&mdash;"Master
      Herasmus Holiday, come and speak to mon, and please you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "FAVETE LINGUIS," answered a voice from within; "I cannot now come forth,
      Gammer Sludge, being in the very sweetest bit of my morning studies."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Tressilian mustered his learning to reply, "LINGUAE LATINAE HAUD PENITUS
      IGNARUS, VENIA TUA, DOMINE ERUDITISSIME, VERNACULAM LIBENTIUS LOQUOR."
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I should at least," said Tressilian, "have a direct answer to a plain
      question, which seems difficult to be obtained in this country."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sir," replied Tressilian, "I should in that case have all that I want at
      present&mdash;a horse fit to carry me forward;&mdash;out of hearing of
      your learning." The last words he muttered to himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      "O CAECA MENS MORTALIUM!" said the learned man "well was it sung by Junius
      Juvenalis, 'NUMINIBUS VOTA EXAUDITA MALIGNIS!'"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "There again now," replied the pedagogue, "how fondly you fly from him
      that would instruct you! Truly said Quintilian&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;an wholesome food for
      which I have found no Latin phrase&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "With your worshipful patience," replied the diffusive man of letters,
      "you shall understand that presently&mdash;PATIENTIA 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&mdash;compounding
      his drugs&mdash;tracing his circles&mdash;cajoling his patients, ET SIC DE
      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,&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     DILIUS HELLEBORUM CERTO COMPESCERE PUNCTO
     NESCIUS EXAMEN?  VETAT HOC NATURA MEDENDI;
</pre>
    <p>
      which I have thus rendered in a poor paraphrase of mine own,&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     Wilt thou mix hellebore, who dost not know
     How many grains should to the mixture go?
     The art of medicine this forbids, I trow.
</pre>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Indeed! and where does he lodge all this time?" said Tressilian. "And
      does he shoe horses well? Show me his dwelling presently."
    </p>
    <p>
      The interruption pleased not the Magister, who exclaimed, "O CAECA MENS
      MORTALIUM!&mdash;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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The old woman hath touched it again," said the pedagogue; "REM ACU
      TETIGIT&mdash;she hath pricked it with her needle's point. This Wayland
      takes no money, indeed; nor doth he show himself to any one."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And can this madman, for such I hold him," said the traveller, "know
      aught like good skill of his trade?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, sir, in that let us give the devil his due&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "DO MANUS," said the Magister, "I submit&mdash;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.&mdash;RICARDE! ADSIS, NEBULO."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;ERGO, HEUS RICARDE! ADSIS, QUAESO, MI
      DIDASCULE."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pshaw&mdash;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&mdash;EUMENIDES, STYGIUMQUE NEFAS."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Now for it," said the urchin to Tressilian; "snatch your beaver, get out
      your horse, and have at the silver groat you spoke of."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nay, but tarry, tarry," said the preceptor&mdash;"SUFFLAMINA, RICARDE!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tarry yourself," said Dickie, "and think what answer you are to make to
      granny for sending me post to the devil."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER X.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     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.&mdash;THE FAERY QUEENE.
</pre>
    <p>
      "Are we far from the dwelling of this smith, my pretty lad?" said
      Tressilian to his young guide.
    </p>
    <p>
      "How is it you call me?" said the boy, looking askew at him with his
      sharp, grey eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I call you my pretty lad&mdash;is there any offence in that, my boy?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No; but were you with my grandam and Dominie Holiday, you might sing
      chorus to the old song of
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     'We three
     Tom-fools be.'"
</pre>
    <p>
      "And why so, my little man?" said Tressilian.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thou art a sharp wag at least, if not a pretty one. But what do thy
      playfellows call thee?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then you fear not this smith whom you are going to see?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And why do you tell it to me, then, my boy?" said Tressilian.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And what is that, my lad, whom I must not call pretty?" replied
      Tressilian.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "At court, Richard! are you bound for court?" said Tressilian.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But what will your grandam say, and your tutor, Dominie Holiday?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And whereabouts are they to be held, my little friend?" said Tressilian.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, at some castle far in the north," answered his guide&mdash;"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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;here are we at Wayland
      Smith's forge-door."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;or count over a
      hundred, which will do as well&mdash;and then come into the circle; you
      will find your money gone and your horse shod."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My money gone to a certainty!" said Tressilian; "but as for the rest&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will make no conditions with thee, thou ugly varlet!" said Tressilian;
      "I will have thee at my mercy in a moment."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;whistle three times&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;"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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, you said but now he was no devil," replied Tressilian.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
<div class="fig" style="width:65%;">
      <img src="images/0591m.jpg" alt="0591m " width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <h5>
      <a href="images/0591.jpg"><i>Original</i></a>
    </h5>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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!&mdash;the
      gentleman is a true gentleman, and a bold."
    </p>
    <p>
      "So thou hast betrayed me, Flibbertigibbet?" said the smith; "it shall be
      the worse for thee!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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!&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."&mdash;SLANG DIALECT.]
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;what need you
      cumber yourself further than to mount and pursue your journey?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Have you seen enough of Wayland Smith now?" whispered the urchin to
      Tressilian, with an arch sneer, as if marking his companion's uncertainty.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;I see from your worship's countenance,
      dark as this place is, that my memory has not done me wrong."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Peace, I command thee, peace!" said Tressilian.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;She was indeed so fair a maiden
      that, to win a smile of her, a man might well&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not a word more of her, I charge thee!" said Tressilian. "I do well
      remember the night you speak of&mdash;one of the few happy evenings my
      life has known."
    </p>
    <p>
      "She is gone, then," said the smith, interpreting after his own fashion
      the sigh with which Tressilian uttered these words&mdash;"she is gone,
      young, beautiful, and beloved as she was!&mdash;I crave your worship's
      pardon&mdash;I should have hammered on another theme. I see I have
      unwarily driven the nail to the quick."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;why do I find
      thee a laborious handicraftsman, plying thy trade in so melancholy a
      dwelling and under such extraordinary circumstances?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Speak not of it," said Tressilian, "but go on with thy story, for my
      leisure is brief."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XI.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     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.
     &mdash;THE CANON'S YEOMAN'S PROLOGUE, CANTERBURY TALES.
</pre>
    <p>
      THE artist commenced his narrative in the following terms:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;I refer myself to your worship, whose judgment
      cannot be disputed, whether I did not learn to ply the craft indifferently
      well?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Excellently," said Tressilian; "but be brief."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, friend, and what," said Tressilian, "was your next shift?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "In other words," said Tressilian, "you were Jack Pudding to a
      quacksalver."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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:&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     "Si fixum solvas, faciasque volare solutum,
     Et volucrem figas, facient te vivere tutum;
     Si pariat ventum, valet auri pondere centum;
     Ventus ubi vult spirat&mdash;Capiat qui capere potest."
</pre>
    <p>
      "I protest to you," said Tressilian, "all I understand of this jargon is
      that the last words seem to mean 'Catch who catch can.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And didst thou follow this sage advice?" said Tressilian.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And art thou," said Tressilian, "perfectly acquainted with the roads in
      this country?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I could ride them every inch by midnight," answered Wayland Smith, which
      was the name this adept had assumed.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thou hast no horse to ride upon," said Tressilian.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      While he accoutred him for the journey, Tressilian drew his own girths
      tighter, and in a few minutes both were ready to mount.
    </p>
    <p>
      At this moment Sludge approached to bid them farewell.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "In good time," said Wayland; "but I pray you to do nought rashly."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;and
      besides, what would it avail? Better make the best of our way hence, as he
      advises."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I trust," said Tressilian, "your drugs will do my horse no harm?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, he spurred his horse, and Tressilian also quickening his speed,
      they rode briskly forward.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "He would have given us warning," said the smith. "I saw him look back
      more than once to see if we were off&mdash;'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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;namely, that ILL NEWS FLY FAST, and that
      LISTENERS SELDOM HEAR A GOOD TALE OF THEMSELVES.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What is the matter, say you, master?" answered, at length, the head
      hostler, in reply to Tressilian's repeated questions.&mdash;"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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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 dame hath a lame tame Crane."
    </p>
    <p>
      On this occasion he chirped out a repetition of his wife's question,
      "Didst see the devil, Jack Hostler, I say?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;But
      truly, Jack Hostler, I should be glad to know myself what like the fellow
      was."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And how didst thou get thine errand done," said Gaffer Grimesby, "if thou
      seedst him not?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And what was it?&mdash;and did it cure your nag, Jack Hostler?" was
      uttered and echoed by all who stood around.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, how can I tell you what it was?" said the hostler; "simply it
      smelled and tasted&mdash;for I did make bold to put a pea's substance into
      my mouth&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;the
      parson to the prayer-book, and the groom to his curry-comb.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pooh&mdash;pooh&mdash;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!&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Very true, Dame Crank," said the hostler; "so said Simpkins of Simonburn
      when the curate kissed his wife,&mdash;'They are a comfortable people,'
      said he."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I wish," he said, apologizing to his guests, as he set down a flagon of
      sack, and promised some food immediately&mdash;"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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I hold opinion with you, good fellow," replied Wayland Smith; "and I will
      drink to you upon that argument."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;saw
      ye ever better sack, my masters?&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XII.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     Ah me!  the flower and blossom of your house,
     The wind hath blown away to other towers.
     &mdash;JOANNA BAILLIE'S  FAMILY LEGEND.
</pre>
    <p>
      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&mdash;just as we see shopkeepers amuse themselves with taking
      an exact account of their stock at the time there is least demand for it.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;that
      is, of mine own, and the curate's, and Master Mumblazen's&mdash;to do
      aught wi'un."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Is Sir Hugh then worse since I went away, Will?" demanded Tressilian.
    </p>
    <p>
      "For worse in body&mdash;no; he is much better," replied the domestic;
      "but he is clean mazed as it were&mdash;eats and drinks as he was wont&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Can ye not stir his mind to any pastimes?" said Tressilian.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;for you know, Master
      Edmund, he was particular in counting time&mdash;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&mdash;so the case is beyond me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "White art or black art, I would," said Will Badger, "that he had any art
      which could help us.&mdash;Here, Tom Butler, look to the man of art;&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;turns
      bridle, and walks back to Hall again, and leaves us to hunt at leisure by
      ourselves, if we listed."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You tell a heavy tale, Will," replied Tressilian; "but God must help us&mdash;there
      is no aid in man."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then you bring us no news of young Mistress Amy? But what need I ask&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      As he spoke, the door opened, and Master Mumblazen appeared&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will ask thee no questions," said the old knight; "no questions&mdash;none,
      Edmund. Thou hast not found her&mdash;or so found her, that she were
      better lost."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tressilian was unable to reply otherwise than by putting his hands before
      his face.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is enough&mdash;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.&mdash;Great God! thou knowest best what
      is good for us. It was my nightly prayer that I should see Amy and Edmund
      wedded,&mdash;had it been granted, it had now been gall added to
      bitterness."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, no," replied Sir Hugh impatiently, "I were wrong to name broadly the
      base thing she is become&mdash;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&mdash;of Varney too&mdash;of
      Varney, whose grandsire was relieved by my father, when his fortune was
      broken, at the battle of&mdash;the battle of&mdash;where Richard was slain&mdash;out
      on my memory!&mdash;and I warrant none of you will help me&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "The battle of Bosworth," said Master Mumblazen&mdash;"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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "True, true, old friend," said Sir Hugh; "and we will bear our trials
      manfully&mdash;we have lost but a woman.&mdash;See, Tressilian,"&mdash;he
      drew from his bosom a long ringlet of glossy hair,&mdash;"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&mdash;as all I was ever to
      see more of her!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I know what you would say, Master Curate,&mdash;After all, it is but a
      lock of woman's tresses; and by woman, shame, and sin, and death came into
      an innocent world.&mdash;And learned Master Mumblazen, too, can say
      scholarly things of their inferiority."
    </p>
    <p>
      "C'EST L'HOMME," said Master Mumblazen, "QUI SE BAST, ET QUI CONSEILLE."
    </p>
    <p>
      "True," said Sir Hugh, "and we will bear us, therefore, like men who have
      both mettle and wisdom in us.&mdash;Tressilian, thou art as welcome as if
      thou hadst brought better news. But we have spoken too long dry-lipped.&mdash;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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That was in TERTIO MARIAE," said Master Mumblazen.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have," replied Tressilian. "Know you Cumnor Place, near Oxford?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Surely," said the clergyman; "it was a house of removal for the monks of
      Abingdon."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Whose arms," said Master Michael, "I have seen over a stone chimney in
      the hall,&mdash;a cross patonce betwixt four martlets."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "They are called, in heraldry, LAQUEI AMORIS, or LACS D'AMOUR," said
      Mumblazen.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My mind revolts from your counsel," said Tressilian. "I cannot brook to
      plead my noble patron's cause the unhappy Amy's cause&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      The curate assured him of his assistance, and the herald nodded assent.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "At first," said the clergyman, "she did not, as it seemed to me, much
      affect his company; but latterly I saw them often together."
    </p>
    <p>
      "SEIANT in the parlour," said Michael Mumblazen, "and PASSANT in the
      garden."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, Tressilian left the room.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, Will," said the curate, "hast thou then so much confidence in Doctor
      Diddleum's draught?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "A farrier! you saucy groom&mdash;and by whose authority, pray?" said the
      curate, rising in surprise and indignation; "or who will be warrant for
      this new physician?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;I who can
      gie a drench, and a ball, and bleed, or blister, if need, to my very
      self."
    </p>
    <p>
      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?
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why," replied the artist, "your worship cannot but remember that I told
      you I had made more progress into my master's&mdash;I mean the learned
      Doctor Doboobie's&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "None of thy buffoonery, sir," said Tressilian sternly. "If thou hast
      trifled with us&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I trust thou dealest fairly with me, Wayland?" said Tressilian.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?&mdash;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?&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Here is a serving-man on the bonniest grey tit I ever see'd in my life,"
      said Will Badger, who got the start&mdash;"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."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tressilian took the letter, which was addressed "To the worshipful Master
      Edmund Tressilian, our loving kinsman&mdash;These&mdash;ride, ride, ride&mdash;for
      thy life, for thy life, for thy life." He then opened it, and found the
      following contents:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "MASTER TRESSILIAN, OUR GOOD FRIEND AND COUSIN,
    </p>
    <p>
      "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,
    </p>
    <p>
      "RATCLIFFE, EARL OF SUSSEX."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ill, Master Tressilian," was the messenger's reply, "and having therefore
      the more need of good friends around him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But what is my lord's malady?" said Tressilian anxiously; "I heard
      nothing of his being ill."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What are the symptoms?" said Wayland Smith, stepping forward hastily.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Anan?" said the messenger, not comprehending his meaning.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What does he ail?" said Wayland; "where lies his disease?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Joined," said Wayland, "to a gnawing pain in the stomach, and a low
      fever?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Even so," said the messenger, somewhat surprised.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;my master shall not say I studied in his laboratory for
      nothing."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How mean you?" said Tressilian, frowning; "we speak of one of the first
      nobles of England. Bethink you, this is no subject for buffoonery."
    </p>
    <p>
      "God forbid!" said Wayland Smith. "I say that I know this disease, and can
      cure him. Remember what I did for Sir Hugh Robsart."
    </p>
    <p>
      "We will set forth instantly," said Tressilian. "God calls us."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XIII.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     Ay, I know you have arsenic,
     Vitriol, sal-tartre, argaile, alkaly,
     Cinoper:  I know all.&mdash;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.
</pre>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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,&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     "Ban, ban, ca Caliban&mdash;
     Get a new master&mdash;Be a new man."
</pre>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.]
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Take thy sword and buckler, and follow me, then," said Tressilian; "I am
      about to walk myself, and we will go in company."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;ay, gold well-refined&mdash;I vill 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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are a rude man," said the Jew; "and, besides, I ave no better than
      that&mdash;or if I ave, I will not sell it without order of a physician,
      or without you tell me vat you make of it."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Vill you not taste a cup vith the poor Jew, Zacharias Yoglan?&mdash;Vill
      you Tokay ave?&mdash;vill you Lachrymae taste?&mdash;vill you&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You offend in your proffers," said Wayland; "minister to me in what I
      require of you, and forbear further discourse."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Have you scales?" said Wayland.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "They must be other than these," said Wayland sternly. "Know you not that
      holy things lose their virtue if weighed in an unjust balance?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;one hair of the high-priest's
      beard would turn them."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "No price&mdash;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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I advise you to practise no such knavery while waiting upon me," said
      Tressilian.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Did I not say," answered the artist, "that for that reason alone I
      forbore him for the present?&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.]
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
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    <h2>
      CHAPTER XIV.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     This is rare news thou tell'st me, my good fellow;
     There are two bulls fierce battling on the green
     For one fair heifer&mdash;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.     &mdash;OLD PLAY.
</pre>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;to hold the cards&mdash;to
      oppose one interest to another&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;for
      in that old time men never forgot the probability that the matter might be
      determined by length of sword&mdash;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.]
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the entrance of Tressilian both started from their musing, and made him
      welcome&mdash;the younger, in particular, with great appearance of
      animation and cordiality.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Is my lord, then, so greatly indisposed?" said Tressilian.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We fear the very worst," answered the elder gentleman, "and by the worst
      practice."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Fie," replied Tressilian, "my Lord of Leicester is honourable."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And is this all of you, my mates," inquired Tressilian, "that are about
      my lord in his utmost straits?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It may be," said Tressilian, "that I will embrace the same purpose, so
      soon as I have settled some business at court."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thou business at court!" they both exclaimed at once, "and thou make the
      Indian voyage!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?&mdash;What has become of the lovely Indamira that
      was to match my Amoret for truth and beauty?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Speak not of her!" said Tressilian, averting his face.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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,
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     '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.'"
</pre>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.]
    </p>
    <p>
      At this moment the Earl's chamberlain entered, and informed Tressilian
      that his lord required to speak with him.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pass over his trash," said the Earl, "and see whether he had not been
      supplied with his materials by a herbalist called Demetrius."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is even so," answered the secretary. "And he adds, he has not since
      seen the said Demetrius."
    </p>
    <p>
      "This accords with thy fellow's story, Tressilian," said the Earl; "call
      him hither."
    </p>
    <p>
      On being summoned to the Earl's presence, Wayland Smith told his former
      tale with firmness and consistency.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That is but fair," replied the Earl; "and now prepare your drug."
    </p>
    <p>
      While Wayland obeyed the Earl's commands, his servants, by the artist's
      direction, undressed their master, and placed him in bed.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Let all leave the room, save Stanley and this good fellow," said the
      Earl.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And saving me also," said Tressilian. "I too am deeply interested in the
      effects of this potion."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Be it so, good friend," said the Earl. "And now for our experiment; but
      first call my secretary and chamberlain."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Bear witness," he continued, when these officers arrived&mdash;"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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Here is nothing to be feared," said Sussex to Tressilian, and swallowed
      the medicine without further hesitation.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.&mdash;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.
    </p>
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    <h2>
      CHAPTER XV.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     You loggerheaded and unpolish'd grooms,
     What, no attendance, no regard, no duty?
     Where is the foolish knave I sent before?
     &mdash;TAMING OF THE SHREW.
</pre>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "There thou liest," replied the gallant.
    </p>
    <p>
      "How, lie!" exclaimed Blount, starting up, "lie! and to me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay," replied Blount, "a good portion will survive with thee, doubtless."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "As how, I prithee?" said Blount; "tell us your mystery of multiplying."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "O base transmutation!" exclaimed his antagonist; "thou hast already got
      the true rustic slouch&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Doctor Masters, physician to her Grace in ordinary, sent by her especial
      orders to inquire after the Earl's health," answered Walter.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nay," replied Walter, "he is half way back to Greenwich by this time, and
      in high dudgeon."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thou didst not refuse him admittance?" exclaimed Tracy.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thou wert not, surely, so mad?" ejaculated Blount.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I refused him admittance as flatly, Blount, as you would refuse a penny
      to a blind beggar&mdash;as obstinately, Tracy, as thou didst ever deny
      access to a dun."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, in the fiend's name, didst thou trust him to go to the gate?" said
      Blount to Tracy.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nor the means of making fortunes for his followers," said the young
      gallant, smiling contemptuously;&mdash;"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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I, who have done the wrong, will bear the blame," said Walter.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The lad hath quicksilver in his veins, that is certain," said Blount,
      looking at Markham.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Never fear, never fear," exclaimed the youth, "it is I will help you
      through; let me but fetch my cloak."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, thou hast it on thy shoulders," said Blount,&mdash;"the lad is
      mazed."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, No, this is Tracy's old mantle," answered Walter. "I go not with thee
      to court unless as a gentleman should."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why," Said Blount, "thy braveries are like to dazzle the eyes of none but
      some poor groom or porter."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, well," said Blount, "here is a coil about a doublet and a cloak.
      Get thyself ready, a God's name!"
    </p>
    <p>
      They were soon launched on the princely bosom of the broad Thames, upon
      which the sun now shone forth in all its splendour.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There are two things scarce matched in the universe," said Walter to
      Blount&mdash;"the sun in heaven, and the Thames on the earth."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And this is all thou thinkest&mdash;all thou carest&mdash;all thou
      deemest the use of the King of Elements and the King of Rivers&mdash;to
      guide three such poor caitiffs as thyself, and me, and Tracy, upon an idle
      journey of courtly ceremony!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nay, I told you as much before," said Blount; "do, I pray you, my dear
      Walter, let us take boat and return."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not till I see the Queen come forth," returned the youth composedly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thou art mad, stark mad, by the Mass!" answered Blount.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
<div class="fig" style="width:65%;">
      <img src="images/0641m.jpg" alt="0641m " width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <h5>
      <a href="images/0641.jpg"><i>Original</i></a>
    </h5>
    <p>
      "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-debure, which despises all
      colours."
    </p>
    <p>
      "This cloak," said the youth, taking it up and folding it, "shall never be
      brushed while in my possession."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      Their discourse was here interrupted by one of the band of Pensioners.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I was sent," said he, after looking at them attentively, "to a gentleman
      who hath no cloak, or a muddy one.&mdash;You, sir, I think," addressing
      the younger cavalier, "are the man; you will please to follow me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "He is in attendance on me," said Blount&mdash;"on me, the noble Earl of
      Sussex's master of horse."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have nothing to say to that," answered the messenger; "my orders are
      directly from her Majesty, and concern this gentleman only."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 muddied cloak still hung upon his arm, and formed the
      natural topic with which the Queen introduced the conversation.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "In a sovereign's need," answered the youth, "it is each liegeman's duty
      to be bold."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;"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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "How, boy!" said the Queen, "neither gold nor garment? What is it thou
      wouldst have of me, then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Only permission, madam&mdash;if it is not asking too high an honour&mdash;permission
      to wear the cloak which did you this trifling service."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Permission to wear thine own cloak, thou silly boy!" said the Queen.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      The Queen again blushed, and endeavoured to cover, by laughing, a slight
      degree of not unpleasing surprise and confusion.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;What art thou?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      In a moment the gracious expression which Elizabeth's face had hitherto
      maintained, gave way to an expression of haughtiness and severity.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?&mdash;or, God's death! with a defiance?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What! was it thou?&mdash;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&mdash;that is, whose exterior bearing
      shows devotion&mdash;to his Sovereign?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Madam," said the youth&mdash;who, notwithstanding an assumed appearance
      of severity, thought that he saw something in the Queen's face that
      resembled not implacability&mdash;"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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thy master hath trusted some false varlet of an empiric," said the Queen.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I know not, madam, but by the fact that he is now&mdash;this very morning&mdash;awakened
      much refreshed and strengthened from the only sleep he hath had for many
      hours."
    </p>
    <p>
      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'?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, madam," said Walter; "but I have heard learned men say that the
      safety spoken of is for the physicians, not for the patient."
    </p>
    <p>
      "By my faith, child, thou hast pushed me home," said the Queen, laughing;
      "for my Hebrew learning does not come quite at a call.&mdash;How say you,
      my Lord of Lincoln? Hath the lad given a just interpretation of the text?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "My lord," said the Queen, interrupting him, "we said we had forgotten our
      Hebrew.&mdash;But for thee, young man, what is thy name and birth?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Raleigh is my name, most gracious Queen, the youngest son of a large but
      honourable family of Devonshire."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Raleigh?" said Elizabeth, after a moment's recollection. "Have we not
      heard of your service in Ireland?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.]
    </p>
    <p>
      His master, the Earl of Sussex, had the full advantage of the satisfaction
      which Raleigh had afforded Elizabeth, on their first interview.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      It may be readily supposed that none to whom this speech was addressed
      ventured to oppose its purport.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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;&mdash;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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Lord Sussex hastened to offer some apology.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XVI.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     Then call them to our presence.  Face to face,
     And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear
     The accuser and accused freely speak;&mdash;
     High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire,
     In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.&mdash;RICHARD II.
</pre>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And what said the Queen?" asked Leicester hastily.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      "She likes not marriages, or speech of marriage, among churchmen," said
      Leicester.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your lordship meaneth that Raleigh, the Devonshire youth," said Varney&mdash;"the
      Knight of the Cloak, as they call him at court?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "He may be Knight of the Garter one day, for aught I know," said
      Leicester, "for he advances rapidly&mdash;she hath capped verses with him,
      and such fooleries. I would gladly abandon, of my own free will, the part&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My heart never failed me, sir," replied Leicester.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, well, well!" said Leicester impatiently; "I understand thy meaning&mdash;my
      heart shall neither fail me nor seduce me. Have my retinue in order&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      The preparations of Sussex and his party were not less anxious than those
      of Leicester.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thy Supplication, impeaching Varney of seduction," said the Earl to
      Tressilian, "is by this time in the Queen's hand&mdash;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&mdash;I wot not how&mdash;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.&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My good lord," answered Blount, "Raleigh hath been here, and taken that
      charge upon him&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, the friends&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your lordship will pardon me," replied Bowyer stoutly; "my orders are
      precise, and limit me to a strict discharge of my duty."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My lord," said Bowyer, "Master Raleigh is newly admitted a sworn servant
      of her Grace, and to him my orders did not apply."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thou art a knave&mdash;an ungrateful knave," said Leicester; "but he that
      hath done can undo&mdash;thou shalt not prank thee in thy authority long!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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 rod in his hand, and knelt down before her.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, how now, Bowyer?" said Elizabeth, "thy courtesy seems strangely
      timed!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;Go, Bowyer, you have done the part
      of an honest man and a true subject. We will brook no mayor of the palace
      here."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      The two rivals looked at each other with reluctant eyes, each unwilling to
      make the first advance to execute the Queen's will.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sussex," said Elizabeth, "I entreat&mdash;Leicester, I command you."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sir Henry Lee," she said, to an officer in attendance, "have a guard in
      present readiness, and man a barge instantly.&mdash;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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "The prison?" said Leicester, "might be borne, but to lose your Grace's
      presence were to lose light and life at once.&mdash;Here, Sussex, is my
      hand."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And here," said Sussex, "is mine in truth and honesty; but&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;My
      Lord of Leicester, you have a gentleman in your household called Varney?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, gracious madam," replied Leicester; "I presented him to kiss your
      royal hand when you were last at Nonsuch."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;My Lord of
      Leicester, are you ill, that you look so deadly pale?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, gracious madam," said Leicester; and it required every effort he
      could make to bring forth these few words.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are surely ill, my lord?" said Elizabeth, going towards him with
      hasty speech and hurried step, which indicated the deepest concern. "Call
      Masters&mdash;call our surgeon in ordinary.&mdash;Where be these loitering
      fools?&mdash;we lose the pride of our court through their negligence.&mdash;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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Peace, my good lord," said Raleigh, "for God's sake, peace! Wait the
      change of the tide; it is even now on the turn."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;or than you, my
      lord, wish that we should see? Where is this Varney? Who saw him?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "An it please your Grace," said Bowyer, "it is the same against whom I
      this instant closed the door of the presence-room."
    </p>
    <p>
      "An it please me?" repeated Elizabeth sharply, not at that moment in the
      humour of being pleased with anything.&mdash;"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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "May it please you," answered the perplexed usher, "if I knew, in such
      case, how to bear myself, I would take heed&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;I will do him justice, though I know he bears me ill-will&mdash;one
      Master Edmund Tressilian, whom I now see in the presence."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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"&mdash;he paused an instant, and then added,
      in a very low and timid tone&mdash;"which she inflicts upon all others."
    </p>
    <p>
      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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Gracious madam," said Varney, "to speak Heaven's truth, my lord was the
      cause of the whole matter."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thou villain, wouldst thou betray me?" said Leicester.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Speak on," said the Queen hastily, her cheek colouring, and her eyes
      sparkling, as she addressed Varney&mdash;"speak on. Here no commands are
      heard but mine."
    </p>
    <p>
      "They are omnipotent, gracious madam," replied Varney; "and to you there
      can be no secrets.&mdash;Yet I would not," he added, looking around him,
      "speak of my master's concerns to other ears."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;the
      heaviest to endure by me which I could by any means incur, saving always
      the yet more dreaded resentment of your Grace."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And in this sense, and no other, hath he been accessory to thy fault?"
      said Elizabeth.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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!&mdash;yet
      what has he to fear from aught I can say to your Highness? Ah! madam,
      since he received that fatal packet!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "What packet, and from whence?" said the Queen eagerly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;he parts not from it when he
      sleeps&mdash;no heathen ever worshipped an idol with such devotion."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;What colour might the braid of hair be that thou pratest
      of?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;more like the last parting sunbeam of the softest day of
      spring."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;is there"&mdash;(she hesitated, and endeavoured
      to assume an air of great indifference)&mdash;"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&mdash;what was it?&mdash;the last rays of the May-day sun."
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How, sir knave?" said the Queen; "dare you intimate&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nay, madam," replied Varney, shading his eyes with his hand, "it was the
      beams of the May-day sun that dazzled my weak eyes."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Go to&mdash;go to," said the Queen; "thou art a foolish fellow"&mdash;and
      turning quickly from him she walked up to Leicester.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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
      power, but to leave him the name of her servant.&mdash;"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&mdash;what
      in word or deed he never forfeited&mdash;the regard of his adored Queen
      and mistress!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;your life and honour. Rise, my lord,
      and let my hand go&mdash;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.&mdash;And
      so help me God," she added, turning to the audience, who, with various
      feelings, witnessed this interesting scene&mdash;"so help me God,
      gentlemen, as I think never sovereign had a truer servant than I have in
      this noble Earl!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;Where is Tressilian, the accuser?&mdash;let
      him come before us."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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.&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;a plague on him, his toys come into my
      head when I should think of other matters. Stay, how goes it?
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     '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.'
</pre>
    <p>
      You smile, my Lord of Southampton&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;not a wise one perchance&mdash;but
      she is Varney's wedded wife."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Had that doubt been elsewhere urged," answered Varney, "my sword&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "THY sword!" interrupted Tressilian scornfully; "with her Grace's leave,
      my sword shall show&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Peace, you knaves, both!" said the Queen; "know you where you are?&mdash;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.&mdash;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.&mdash;My
      Lord of Leicester, will you warrant with your honour&mdash;that is, to the
      best of your belief&mdash;that your servant speaks truth in saying he hath
      married this Amy Robsart?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;indeed on my certain knowledge&mdash;she is a
      wedded wife."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Gracious madam," said Tressilian, "may I yet request to know, when and
      under what circumstances this alleged marriage&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;thinkest thyself such at least&mdash;and
      thou shalt have indulgence; we will look into the matter ourself more at
      leisure.&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      Sussex was more embarrassed. "I should," said he, "madam, be but a clog on
      your gayer hours, since my late severe illness."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The doubt of your Majesty's favour," answered the Lord Treasurer, "may
      perchance occasion the difference, which does not&mdash;as what does?&mdash;escape
      your Grace's eye."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;My Lords of Sussex and Leicester, we
      have a word more with you. 'Tressilian and Varney are near your persons&mdash;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.&mdash;Varney, thy wife
      must be at Kenilworth, and forthcoming at my order.&mdash;My Lord of
      Leicester, we expect you will look to this."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.&mdash;And that reminds
      us of a circumstance.&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XVII.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     Well, then&mdash;our course is chosen&mdash;spread the sail&mdash;
     Heave oft the lead, and mark the soundings well&mdash;
     Look to the helm, good master&mdash;many a shoal
     Marks this stern coast, and rocks, where sits the Siren,
     Who, like ambition, lures men to their ruin.&mdash;THE SHIPWRECK.
</pre>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;never was the voice of
      the ushers louder, to "make room, make room for the noble Earl"&mdash;never
      were these signals more promptly and reverently obeyed&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Poynings, good morrow; and how does your wife and fair daughter? Why come
      they not to court?&mdash;Adams, your suit is naught; the Queen will grant
      no more monopolies. But I may serve you in another matter.&mdash;My good
      Alderman Aylford, the suit of the City, affecting Queenhithe, shall be
      forwarded as far as my poor interest can serve.&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My lord," said the poet, "were I permitted to explain&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Come to my lodging, Edmund," answered the Earl "not to-morrow, or next
      day, but soon.&mdash;Ha, Will Shakespeare&mdash;wild Will!&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      The PLAYER bowed, and the Earl nodded and passed on&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good even to you, Master Robert Laneham," said Leicester, and seemed
      desirous to pass forward, without further speech.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have a suit to your noble lordship," said the figure, boldly following
      him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And what is it, good master keeper of the council-chamber door?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "CLERK of the council-chamber door," said Master Robert Laneham, with
      emphasis, by way of reply, and of correction.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, qualify thine office as thou wilt, man," replied the Earl; "what
      wouldst thou have with me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "To what purpose, good Master Laneham?" replied the Earl; "bethink you, my
      guests must needs be many."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Speak it, and let me go," said the Earl; "I think the Queen comes forth
      instantly."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My very good lord, I would fain bring a bed-fellow with me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How, you irreverent rascal!" said Leicester.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The foul fiend seize ye both!" said Leicester, stung into uncontrollable
      passion by the recollections which this speech excited&mdash;"why stop you
      me with such follies?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Here is a crown for thee," said the Earl,&mdash;"make me rid of thee&mdash;the
      great bell rings."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.]
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      As he pursued this train of thought, the door of the apartment opened, and
      Varney rushed in.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thank God, my lord, that I have found you!" was his exclamation.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thank the devil, whose agent thou art," was the Earl's reply.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thank whom you will, my lord," replied Varney; "but hasten to the
      water-side. The Queen is on board, and asks for you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Go, say I am taken suddenly ill," replied Leicester; "for, by Heaven, my
      brain can sustain this no longer!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thou art a devil, Varney," said Leicester hastily; "but thou hast the
      mastery for the present&mdash;I follow thee."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;your
      hose are unbraced&mdash;permit me&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, the Earl resumed at once his air of command, and with it his
      self-possession&mdash;shook his dress into yet wilder disorder&mdash;passed
      before Varney with the air of a superior and master, and in his turn led
      the way to the river-side.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "How is this?" said Elizabeth hastily, looking at Varney; "hath your lord
      been ill?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      Varney bowed, and withdrew.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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 not 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;old and experienced as you
      may deem yourself&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      Lord Willoughby hid his disappointment under a smile&mdash;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&mdash;when
      the music sounded from a barge which accompanied them&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;What
      say you to this, my Lord of Sussex?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;But come, who speaks next in this case?&mdash;My Lord of
      Leicester, what say you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Am I then to consider myself as unmuzzled, please your Grace?" replied
      Leicester.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Surely, my lord&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;I would my
      nephew, Philip Sidney, were here; they are scarce ever out of his mouth&mdash;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&mdash;and Philip murmurs
      them, I think, even in his dreams."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You tantalize us, my lord," said the Queen&mdash;"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.&mdash;Master Tressilian, you are described to me as a
      worshipper of Minerva&mdash;remember you aught of these lines?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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:&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     "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."
</pre>
    <p>
      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,
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;their customs, their manners, the rules of
      their courts&mdash;-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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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:&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     "Fain would I climb, but that I fear to fall."
</pre>
    <p>
      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&mdash;were it not, Lady Paget?&mdash;to complete it for him.
      Try your rhyming faculties."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nay, then, we must sacrifice to the Muses ourselves," said Elizabeth.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The incense of no one can be more acceptable," said Lady Paget; "and your
      Highness will impose such obligation on the ladies of Parnassus&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hush, Paget," said the Queen, "you speak sacrilege against the immortal
      Nine&mdash;yet, virgins themselves, they should be exorable to a Virgin
      Queen&mdash;and therefore&mdash;let me see how runs his verse&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     'Fain would I climb, but that I fear to fall.'
</pre>
    <p>
      Might not the answer (for fault of a better) run thus?&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     'If thy mind fail thee, do not climb at all.'"
</pre>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Blount replied with equal sincerity&mdash;"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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What is the matter with you, Smith?" said Tressilian; "have you seen the
      devil?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "In God's name, speak sense," said Tressilian, "and say what you mean."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thou must needs have been mistaken," said Tressilian.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But the Earl of Sussex?" said Tressilian.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And how is that to be guarded against?" said Tressilian.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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&mdash;the excuse of his illness, and his being under
      diet, will, and must, cover the strangeness of such practice."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And thou," said Tressilian, "what dost thou think to make of thyself?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XVIII.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     The moment comes&mdash;
     It is already come&mdash;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."
     &mdash;SCHILLER'S WALLENSTEIN, BY COLERIDGE.
</pre>
    <p>
      When Leicester returned to his lodging, after 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I cannot deny it, Varney," said the Earl, rising and walking across the
      room; "my own ambition has been traitor to my love."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      He paused, and seemed unwilling to complete the sentence.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Of being myself what?" demanded Leicester; "speak out thy meaning,
      Varney."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;a lusty, noble,
      and gallant husband."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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&mdash;put sugared sonnets in her bosom,
      ay, and answer them too&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The better for you, my lord," said Varney&mdash;"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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Poor Amy!" said Leicester, with a deep sigh; "she desires so earnestly to
      be acknowledged in presence of God and man!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;which is, after all,
      not dimmer than when she was at Lidcote Hall&mdash;rather than diminish
      the least jot of her lord's honours and greatness by a premature attempt
      to share them."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I would be alone," said Leicester. "Leave me, and place my steel casket
      on the table. Be within summons."
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;"Alasco, I say, descend."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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 beard 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your prognostications have failed, Alasco," said the Earl, when they had
      exchanged salutations&mdash;"he is recovering."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Of what avail, then, is your mystery?" inquired the Earl.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Name it, I conjure you&mdash;name it, I command you!" said the Earl, his
      eyes brightening as he spoke.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thou dost but jest with me, father," said the Earl, astonished at the
      strain of enthusiasm in which the astrologer delivered his prediction.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Is it for him to jest who hath his eye on heaven, who hath his foot in
      the grave?" returned the old man solemnly.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;that thou art a cheat, and I thy silly prey and
      booty!"
    </p>
    <p>
      The old man exhibited some symptoms of emotion, but not more than the
      furious deportment of his patron might have extorted from innocence
      itself.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What means this violence, my lord?" he answered, "or in what can I have
      deserved it at your hand?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Give me proof," said the Earl vehemently, "that you have not tampered
      with mine enemies."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;earthly voice I have not heard. You
      are yourself aware I had no means of doing so; and yet I tell you&mdash;I
      who have been thus shut up in solitude and study&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Wherefore this distrust then, my son?" said the astrologer, assuming a
      tone of admonition; "the celestial intelligences brook not diffidence,
      even in their favourites."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Peace, father," answered Leicester, "I have erred in doubting thee. Not
      to mortal man, nor to celestial intelligence&mdash;under that which is
      supreme&mdash;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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The western&mdash;ha!" replied Leicester, "it is enough&mdash;the tempest
      does indeed brew in that quarter! Cornwall and Devon&mdash;Raleigh and
      Tressilian&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      He took a purse of gold from the strong casket which stood before him.
      "Have thou double the recompense which Varney promised. Be faithful&mdash;be
      secret&mdash;obey the directions thou shalt receive from my master of the
      horse, and grudge not a little seclusion or restraint in my cause&mdash;it
      shall be richly considered.&mdash;Here, Varney&mdash;conduct this
      venerable man to thine own lodging; tend him heedfully in all things, but
      see that he holds communication with no one."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Saw you my signal from the court beneath?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I did," said Alasco, for by such name he was at present called, "and
      shaped the horoscope accordingly."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And it passed upon the patron without challenge?" continued Varney.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will not," said Alasco peevishly. "I have been too much hurried up and
      down of late&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;"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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;so
      very perfect&mdash;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&mdash;thou art learned, and shalt have
      classical comfort:
    </p>
    <p>
      'Ne quisquam Ajacem possit superare nisi Ajax.'
    </p>
    <p>
      No one but thyself could have gulled thee; and thou hast gulled the whole
      brotherhood of the Rosy Cross besides&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thou art an hardened villain, Varney," replied Alasco; "many will do
      those things who dare not speak of them."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And many speak of them who dare not do them," answered Varney. "But be
      not wroth&mdash;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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "The Earl of Sussex's horoscope intimates," replied the astrologer, "that
      the sign of the ascendant being in combustion&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Away with your gibberish," replied Varney; "thinkest thou it is the
      patron thou speakest with?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;peace be with him! But in this retreat of mine shall I
      have the use of mine elaboratory?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thou art right, Master Varney," said the alchemist setting his teeth
      close and grinding them together&mdash;"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&mdash;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;&mdash;if
      all this is so, and if there remains but one step&mdash;one little step&mdash;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&mdash;one step betwixt dependence and the
      power of sovereignty&mdash;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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will make no more of that dose," said the alchemist, resolutely.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;even such a state of temper as would keep a bird from flying
      out of a cage were the door left open?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And this without danger to life?" said Varney, somewhat anxiously.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The prejudice of HER health!" repeated Alasco; "it is, then, a woman I am
      to use my skill upon?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, thou fool," replied Varney, "said I not it was a bird&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;most
      needful&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am not to be asked to affect the House of Life?" said the chemist.
    </p>
    <p>
      "On the contrary, we will have thee hanged if thou dost," replied Varney.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And I must," added Alasco, "have opportunity to do my turn, and all
      facilities for concealment or escape, should there be detection?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "All, all, and everything, thou infidel in all but the impossibilities of
      alchemy. Why, man, for what dost thou take me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, well," answered Varney hastily, "be stirring with grey light. It
      may be we shall not need thy medicine&mdash;do nought till I myself come
      down. Michael Lambourne shall guide you to the place of your destination."
      [See Note 7. Dr. Julio.]
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;So ho, Lambourne!" he called at another door, and Michael
      made his appearance with a flushed cheek and an unsteady step.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thou art drunk, thou villain!" said Varney to him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hark ye, scoundrel," said Varney, "be sober on the instant&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Art thou sober now, and dost thou comprehend me?" said Varney sternly.
    </p>
    <p>
      Lambourne bowed in acquiescence.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Enough, my lord&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do so, and deserve favour. Stay&mdash;ere thou goest fill me a cup of
      wine&mdash;not out of that flask, sirrah," as Lambourne was pouring out
      from that which Alasco had left half finished, "fetch me a fresh one."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;pah!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;nothing
      save fair water."
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XIX.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     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.    &mdash;HENRY IV. PART II.
</pre>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;I will stay and
      salute my worthy uncle here. Chesu! that good blood should ever be
      forgotten betwixt friends!&mdash;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?&mdash;shall
      we not collogue, I say?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;question the Queen's exchequer&mdash;God save her Majesty!&mdash;she
      is my good Lord's good mistress."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, kinsman," said mine host, "it is my business to sell wine to those
      who can buy it&mdash;so, Jack Tapster, do me thine office. But I would I
      knew how to come by money as lightly as thou dost, Mike."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;and yet, uncle, between you and me&mdash;he hath
      Potosi in that brain of his&mdash;'sblood! he can coin ducats faster than
      I can vent oaths."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thou art an ass, uncle, for as old as thou art.&mdash;Pull me not by the
      skirts, doctor, thou art an ass thyself to boot&mdash;so, being both
      asses, I tell ye I spoke but metaphorically."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sayest thou?" said Lambourne. "Thou art deceived now&mdash;no man shall
      see you, an I give the word.&mdash;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!&mdash;So sit down, old friend, and be merry; these are mine
      ingles&mdash;mine ancient inmates, and will betray no man."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Had you not better withdraw to a private apartment, nephew?" said Giles
      Gosling. "You speak strange matter," he added, "and there be
      intelligencers everywhere."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I care not for them," said the magnanimous Michael&mdash;"intelligencers?
      pshaw! I serve the noble Earl of Leicester.&mdash;Here comes the wine.&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I can say a hundred d&mdash;d lies besides, mercer," answered Lambourne;
      "what, one must not stand upon a good word for a friend!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Said I not so?" said the mercer, whose shallow brain was now overflowed
      in his turn; "where, then, where be this rascal pedlar?&mdash;there was a
      pedlar here but now, methinks.&mdash;Mine host, where the foul fiend is
      this pedlar?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hang him, a mechanical chuff!" said the mercer; "but for shame, it were a
      good deed to ease him of his wares&mdash;a set of peddling knaves, who
      stroll through the land, and hurt the established trader. There are good
      fellows in Berkshire yet, mine host&mdash;your pedlar may be met withal on
      Maiden Castle."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay," replied mine host, laughing, "and he who meets him may meet his
      match&mdash;the pedlar is a tall man."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Is he?" said Goldthred.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Is he?" replied the host; "ay, by cock and pie is he&mdash;the very
      pedlar he who raddled Robin Hood so tightly, as the song says,&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     '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.'"
</pre>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;And now tell me,
      Mike&mdash;my honest Mike, how wears the Hollands you won of me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, well, as you may see, Master Goldthred," answered Mike; "I will
      bestow a pot on thee for the handsel.&mdash;Fill the flagon, Master
      Tapster."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nay, now the pottle-pot is uppermost, with a witness!" said the mercer.
      "Tony Foster obey thy whistle! Alas! good Mike, go sleep&mdash;go sleep."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Content," said Lambourne.&mdash;"Here, uncle, hold stakes, and let one of
      your young bleed-barrels there&mdash;one of your infant tapsters&mdash;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.&mdash;Away with thee,
      child, for it is now sundown, and the wretch goeth to bed with the birds
      to save mutton-suet&mdash;faugh!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Shortly after this messenger was dispatched&mdash;an interval which was
      spent in drinking and buffoonery&mdash;he returned with the answer that
      Master Foster was coming presently.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Won, won!" said Lambourne, darting on the stakes.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not till he comes, if you please," said the mercer, interfering.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, 'sblood, he is at the threshold," replied Michael.&mdash;"What said
      he, boy?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Or to hell, I suppose," said Lambourne&mdash;"it is there he disposes of
      all that are not of the congregation."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Even so," said the boy; "I used the other phrase as being the more
      poetical."
    </p>
    <p>
      "An ingenious youth," said Michael; "shalt have a drop to whet thy
      poetical whistle. And what said Foster next?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "He called me back," answered the boy, "and bid me say you might come to
      him if you had aught to say to him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And what next?" said Lambourne.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Out, you diminutive pint-pot, whelped of an overgrown reckoning!" replied
      Lambourne&mdash;"out! But what said he then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "There is truth in what he said," replied Lambourne, as if speaking to
      himself&mdash;"my brain has played me its old dog's trick. But corragio&mdash;let
      him approach!&mdash;I have not rolled about in the world for many a day to
      fear Tony Foster, be I drunk or sober.&mdash;Bring me a flagon of cold
      water to christen my sack withal."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You withdrew yourself suddenly from the company," said the landlord to
      the guest.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was time, when the devil became one among you," replied the pedlar.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pooh&mdash;I talk not of the swaggering ruffian," replied the pedlar; "it
      is of the other, who, for aught I know&mdash;But when go they? or
      wherefore come they?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Marry, these are questions I cannot answer," replied the host. "But look
      you, sir, you have brought me a token from worthy Master Tressilian&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "True&mdash;very true," answered Wayland, for he it was; "an excellent
      device, but methinks something dangerous&mdash;for, say Foster should
      return?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Very possible indeed," replied the host.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Or say," continued Wayland, "the lady should render me cold thanks for my
      exertions?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "As is not unlikely," replied Giles Gosling. "I marvel Master Tressilian
      will take such heed of her that cares not for him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "In either case I were foully sped," said Wayland, "and therefore I do
      not, on the whole, much relish your device."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hold, hold," said Wayland; "tell me but one thing&mdash;goes yonder old
      man up to Cumnor?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;And look to thyself, old Albumazar; there is a malignant
      influence in thy horoscope, and it gleams from the constellation Ursa
      Major."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XX.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     CLOWN. You have of these pedlars, that have more in'em than
     you'd think, sister.&mdash;WINTER'S TALE, ACT IV., SCENE 3.
</pre>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "God ield thee, for mine is aw in littocks. Slocket with thy pack into
      gharn, mon&mdash;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&mdash;yonder be's her. Zhe will buy changes an zhe
      loikes stuffs."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;a brave general never thought of his retreat till
      he was defeated. I see two females in the old garden-house yonder&mdash;but
      how to address them? Stay&mdash;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,&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     "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."
</pre>
    <p>
      "What hath fortune sent us here for an unwonted sight, Janet?" said the
      lady.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is a lucky chance, girl," said the Countess; "we lead a heavy life
      here, and this may while off a weary hour."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, my gracious lady," said Janet; "but my father?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "He is not my father, Janet, nor I hope my master," answered the lady. "I
      say, call the man hither&mdash;I want some things."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;pray, dearest lady, let me bid the man begone!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will have thee bid him come hither," said the Countess;&mdash;"or stay,
      thou terrified fool, I will bid him myself, and spare thee a chiding."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;undo
      thy pack; if thou hast good wares, chance has sent thee hither for my
      convenience and thy profit."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
<div class="fig" style="width:65%;">
      <img src="images/0713m.jpg" alt="0713m " width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <h5>
      <a href="images/0713.jpg"><i>Original</i></a>
    </h5>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;and those roundells of gold fringe,
      drawn out with cyprus&mdash;and that short cloak of cherry-coloured fine
      cloth, garnished with gold buttons and loops;&mdash;is it not of an
      absolute fancy, Janet?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nay, my lady," replied Janet, "if you consult my poor judgment, it is,
      methinks, over-gaudy for a graceful habit."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "May I pray your ladyship to spare my poor father?" said Janet.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nay, but why should any one spare him that is so sparing of his own
      nature?" replied the lady.&mdash;"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.&mdash;And stay&mdash;hast thou
      no perfumes and sweet bags, or any handsome casting bottles of the newest
      mode?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ha!" said the Countess hastily; "that rumour, then, is true, Janet."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;God save her!&mdash;a
      husband, ere the Progress be over."
    </p>
    <p>
      "They lie like villains!" said the Countess, bursting forth impatiently.
    </p>
    <p>
      "For God's sake, madam, consider," said Janet, trembling with
      apprehension; "who would cumber themselves about pedlar's tidings?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Passably, madam," answered Wayland; "he hath at least no bodily
      complaint."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will take some of the medicine, Janet," said the Countess. "I too have
      sometimes that dark melancholy which overclouds the brain."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You shall not do so, madam," said Janet; "who shall answer that this
      fellow vends what is wholesome?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Maiden," he said, "thou hast the face of one who should love her
      mistress. She hath much need of faithful service."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And well deserves it at my hands," replied Janet; "but what of that?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Maiden, I am not altogether what I seem," said the pedlar, lowering his
      voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The less like to be an honest man," said Janet.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The more so," answered Wayland, "since I am no pedlar."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Get thee gone then instantly, or I will call for assistance," said Janet;
      "my father must ere this be returned."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How shall I know that?" said Janet.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Look me in the face," said Wayland Smith, "and see if thou dost not read
      honesty in my looks."
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;of
      him beware, for your own sake and that of your mistress. 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.&mdash;Hark, they enter the garden!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "For God's sake," said Foster, "speak low&mdash;come into the house&mdash;thou
      shalt have wine, or whatever thou wilt."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, old puckfoist, I will have it here," thundered the inebriated ruffian&mdash;"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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Fetch him wine, in the name of all the fiends!" said the alchemist.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;and let it be cool&mdash;I will have no wine mulled
      at the pile of the old burnt bishops. Or stay, let Leicester be king if he
      will&mdash;good&mdash;and Varney, villain Varney, grand vizier&mdash;why,
      excellent!&mdash;and what shall I be, then?&mdash;why, emperor&mdash;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&mdash;you old
      bishop-burning, blasphemous fanatic, answer me that."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will stick my knife to the haft in him," said Foster, in a low tone,
      which trembled with passion.
    </p>
    <p>
      "For the love of Heaven, no violence!" said the astrologer. "It cannot but
      be looked closely into.&mdash;Here, honest Lambourne, wilt thou pledge me
      to the health of the noble Earl of Leicester and Master Richard Varney?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will, mine old Albumazar&mdash;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.&mdash;Here goes it, up seyes&mdash;to Varney and
      Leicester two more noble mounting spirits&mdash;and more dark-seeking,
      deep-diving, high-flying, malicious, ambitious miscreants&mdash;well, I
      say no more, but I will whet my dagger on his heart-spone that refuses to
      pledge me! And so, my masters&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 jealous 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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXI.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     Vaulting ambition, that o'erleaps itself,
     And falls on t'other side.        &mdash;MACBETH.
</pre>
    <p>
      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&mdash;willingly listened to in the
      moments of courtly recreation&mdash;favoured with approaches even to
      familiar intimacy&mdash;looked up to by all who had aught to hope at court&mdash;courted
      by foreign ministers with the most flattering testimonies of respect from
      their sovereigns,&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;'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.]
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
<div class="fig" style="width:65%;">
      <img src="images/0725m.jpg" alt="0725m " width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <h5>
      <a href="images/0725.jpg"><i>Original</i></a>
    </h5>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;whispered in
      the presence-chamber&mdash;recommended from the pulpit&mdash;prayed for in
      the Calvinistic churches abroad&mdash;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&mdash;her
      actions more gracious, her looks more kind&mdash;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&mdash;to
      do justice to her and to myself&mdash;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&mdash;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!&mdash;Elizabeth to learn that she had been dallied with in such
      fashion, as a gay courtier might trifle with a country wench&mdash;we
      should then see, to our ruin, FURENS QUID FAEMINA!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.'&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "How, sirrah? my Countess term herself thy wife!&mdash;that may neither
      stand with my honour nor with hers."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is impossible," said the Earl, waving his hand; "I know neither
      authority nor entreaties would make her endure thy name for an hour.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Utter madness, Varney," answered the Earl; "the counterfeit would be
      confronted with Tressilian, and discovery become inevitable."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tressilian might be removed from court," said the unhesitating Varney.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And by what means?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Malicious fiend!" answered Leicester, "do you mock me in my misfortune?&mdash;Manage
      it as thou wilt."
    </p>
    <p>
      "If you are serious, my lord," said Varney, "you must set forth instantly
      and post for Cumnor Place."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;the
      hour, too, which I was encouraged to hope for. A King was the word&mdash;but
      how?&mdash;the crown matrimonial. All hopes of that are gone&mdash;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&mdash;Huntingdon is of my house.&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Alasco must then do his part," he said. "Sickness must serve her Majesty
      as an excuse for not receiving the homage of Mrs. Varney&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;the
      devil urges us both forward!"
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXII.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     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.
</pre>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      The Countess Amy viewed the subject in directly an opposite light.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;but it avails not
      speaking of him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;I will love him till my latest breath&mdash;I
      cannot cease to love him, even if I would, or if he&mdash;which, God
      knows, may chance&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I bought you some books, madam," said Janet, "from a lame fellow who sold
      them in the Market-place&mdash;and who stared something boldly, at me, I
      promise you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Let me see them, Janet," said the Countess; "but let them not be of your
      own precise cast,&mdash;How is this, most righteous damsel?&mdash;'A PAIR
      OF SNUFFERS FOR THE GOLDEN CANDLESTICK'&mdash;'HANDFULL OF MYRRH AND
      HYSSOP TO PUT A SICK SOUL TO PURGATION'&mdash;'A DRAUGHT OF WATER FROM THE
      VALLEY OF BACA'&mdash;'FOXES AND FIREBRANDS'&mdash;what gear call you
      this, maiden?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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"&mdash;"THE PASSTIME OF THE PEOPLE"&mdash;"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!&mdash;it is my
      noble Earl!&mdash;it is my Dudley!&mdash;every stroke of his horse's hoof
      sounds like a note of lordly music!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Varney?" said the disappointed Countess; "and to speak with me?&mdash;pshaw!
      But he comes with news from Leicester, so admit him instantly."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;Gracious Heaven! is he ill?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, madam, thank Heaven!" said Varney. "Compose yourself, and permit me
      to take breath ere I communicate my tidings."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;at least briefly, and in the gross."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Madam," answered Varney, "we are not alone, and my lord's message was for
      your ear only."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Leave us, Janet, and Master Foster," said the lady; "but remain in the
      next apartment, and within call."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;pray,
      Janet, pray; we have all need of prayers, and some of us more than others.
      Pray, Janet&mdash;I would pray myself, but I must listen to what goes on
      within&mdash;evil has been brewing, love&mdash;evil has been brewing. God
      forgive our sins, but Varney's sudden and strange arrival bodes us no
      good."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;she knew not why&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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!&mdash;undo the door!&mdash;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!&mdash;Foster, break open the
      door&mdash;I am detained here by a traitor! Use axe and lever, Master
      Foster&mdash;I will be your warrant!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      The door was unlocked and thrown open, and Janet and her father rushed in,
      anxious to learn the cause of these reiterated exclamations.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;her cheek and neck glowed like scarlet&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "In the Truth's name, what ails your ladyship?" said the former.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What, in the name of Satan, have you done to her?" said Foster to his
      friend.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Who, I?&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thou shalt never have an opportunity to do so," said the Countess.&mdash;"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&mdash;nay, more,
      my wedded lord's commands&mdash;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&mdash;HIM there&mdash;that very
      cloak-brushing, shoe-cleaning fellow&mdash;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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;"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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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; and thus even the patriarch Abraham
      feigned Sarah to be his sister when they went down to Egypt."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;"thou liest," she
      continued.&mdash;"Let me go, Janet&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Madam," said Varney, overwhelmed in spite of his effrontery, "I entreat
      you to believe yourself mistaken."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;what
      said I? important!&mdash;I would say interrupt his divine studies."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "To the affairs of hell," answered Varney, "for that is thy proper
      element.&mdash;Foster, we need thee at our conference."
    </p>
    <p>
      Foster slowly entered the room. Varney, following, barred the door, and
      they betook themselves to secret council.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the meanwhile, the Countess traversed the apartment, with shame and
      anger contending on her lovely cheek.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The villain," she said&mdash;"the cold-blooded, calculating slave!&mdash;But
      I unmasked him, Janet&mdash;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.&mdash;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?&mdash;But it is
      impossible&mdash;the villain has lied in all.&mdash;Janet, I will not
      remain here longer&mdash;I fear him&mdash;I fear thy father. I grieve to
      say it, Janet&mdash;but I fear thy father, and, worst of all, this odious
      Varney, I will escape from Cumnor."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Alas! madam, whither would you fly, or by what means will you escape from
      these walls?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do not think so, dear lady," said Janet; "my father is stern and strict
      in his temper, and severely true to his trust&mdash;but yet&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thou, my child?" said Foster, eagerly and apprehensively; "no, my child&mdash;it
      is not THOU shalt render the lady this service."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And why, I pray you," said Janet, "if it be fitting that the noble lady
      should partake of the cup at all?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why&mdash;why?" said the seneschal, hesitating, and then bursting into
      passion as the readiest mode of supplying the lack of all other reason&mdash;"why,
      because it is my pleasure, minion, that you should not! Get you gone to
      the evening lecture."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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"&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will not," answered Foster.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And for whom, then, is the precious beverage reserved, sir?" said the
      Countess.
    </p>
    <p>
      "For the devil, who brewed it!" answered Foster; and, turning on his heel,
      he left the chamber.
    </p>
    <p>
      Janet looked at her mistress with a countenance expressive in the highest
      degree of shame, dismay, and sorrow.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do not weep for me, Janet," said the Countess kindly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, madam," replied her attendant, in a voice broken by sobs, "it is not
      for you I weep; it is for myself&mdash;it is for that unhappy man. Those
      who are dishonoured before man&mdash;those who are condemned by God&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do you leave me, Janet?" said her mistress&mdash;"desert me in such an
      evil strait?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Desert you, madam!" exclaimed Janet; and running back to her mistress,
      she imprinted a thousand kisses on her hand&mdash;"desert you I&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "She has not, nor she shall not from my hands," replied Foster; "would you
      have me do murder in my daughter's presence?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I know not, gentlemen," said Foster, "where your designs tend to; but in
      one thing I am bound up,&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, Tony," said Varney, "that were a paradise to thy heart's content.&mdash;Debate
      the matter with him, Doctor Alasco; I will be with you anon."
    </p>
    <p>
      So speaking, Varney arose, and taking the flask from the table, he left
      the room.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, my son," said the Doctor, "and what is your inference from thence?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "That those," said Foster, "who distil poisons, and administer them in
      secrecy, can have no portion in those unspeakable riches."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;all
      that is evil escaped, by desiring its absence&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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,&mdash;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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Millennium is the reign of the Saints," said Foster, somewhat doubtfully.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Say it is the reign of the Sages, my son," answered Alasco; "or rather
      the reign of Wisdom itself."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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,&mdash;in thy very presence&mdash;and thine eyes shall witness the
      truth."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Varney!" said the adept&mdash;"Varney already returned! Hast thou&mdash;"
      he stopped short.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay," replied the alchemist, "as sure as men can be in these nice
      proportions, for there is diversity of constitutions."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What didst thou do to make her swallow it?" said Foster, shuddering.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And art thou not afraid," said Foster, "lest the dose be
      disproportioned?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "If so," replied Varney, "she will but sleep the sounder, and the fear of
      that shall not break my rest. Good night, my masters."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXIII.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     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?&mdash;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.
</pre>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;"Janet," she said, "I
      have drunk it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "God be praised!" said Janet hastily&mdash;"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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Janet," repeated the Countess again, "disturb me not&mdash;leave me at
      peace&mdash;let life pass quietly. I am poisoned."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "The house was silent," answered the lady&mdash;"thou gone&mdash;no other
      but he in the chamber&mdash;and he capable of every crime. I did but
      stipulate he would remove his hateful presence, and I drank whatever he
      offered.&mdash;But you spoke of escape, Janet; can I be so happy?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Are you strong enough to bear the tidings, and make the effort?" said the
      maiden.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;for my mind was not clear on the matter until this evening&mdash;I
      have ever declined. He was the pedlar who brought you goods&mdash;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.&mdash;But have you strength of body?&mdash;have you courage of
      mind?&mdash;can you undertake the enterprise?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "She that flies from death," said the lady, "finds strength of body&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "In God's name, then, lady," said Janet, "I must bid you adieu, and to
      God's charge I must commit you!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Will you not fly with me, then, Janet?" said the Countess, anxiously. "Am
      I to lose thee? Is this thy faithful service?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;'Ah,
      my brethren, there be many Zedekiahs among you&mdash;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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;for, perhaps, in the
      confusion of her mind this very obvious subject of deliberation had not
      occurred to the Countess&mdash;-Janet ventured to add, "Probably to your
      father's house, where you are sure of safety and protection?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And whither will you, then, madam?" said Janet.
    </p>
    <p>
      "To Kenilworth, girl," said the Countess, boldly and freely. "I will see
      these revels&mdash;these princely revels&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I pray God you may be a welcome one!" said Janet hastily.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You abuse my situation, Janet," said the Countess, angrily, "and you
      forget your own."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thou thinkest I would disgrace him," said the Countess; "nay, let go my
      arm, I can walk without aid and work without counsel."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "For God's sake, madam, spare my father in your report," said Janet; "let
      my services, however poor, be some atonement for his errors!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And what is that?" said the lady.
    </p>
    <p>
      "That you left your father's house&mdash;but I shall offend you again if I
      go on," said Janet, interrupting herself.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;indeed it shall, for I will live with spotless
      fame, or I shall cease to live.&mdash;I am accounted, then, the paramour
      of my Leicester?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "They do well to speak low," said the Countess, "who would mention the
      illustrious Dudley as the accomplice of such a wretch as Varney.&mdash;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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Now, may God grant it, dear lady!" said Janet&mdash;"not that I may go
      with gayer apparel, but that we may both wear our kirtles over lighter
      hearts."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Is all safe?" said Janet to him anxiously, as he approached them with
      caution.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;they understand the disease."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Amen! dearest Janet," replied Wayland; "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      The lady endeavoured to comfort her guide, observing that the dawn would
      enable him to make more speed.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXIV.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     RICHARD. A horse!&mdash;A horse!&mdash;my kingdom for a horse!
     CATESBY......My lord, I'll help you to a horse.  &mdash;RICHARD III.
</pre>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, ay," said Wayland, speaking at a venture; "and thou BACON, thou
      knowest."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Noa, noa," said the lad; "bide ye&mdash;bide ye&mdash;it was PEAS a
      should ha said."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, well," answered Wayland, "Peas be it, a God's name! though Bacon
      were the better password."
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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!&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      When the mercer had recovered breath and audacity enough to confront them,
      he ordered Wayland, in a menacing tone, to deliver up his palfrey.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Haro and help, and hue and cry, every true man!" said the mercer. "I am
      withstood in seeking to recover mine own."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "To the devil with thy conscience!" said the dismayed mercer. "Wouldst
      thou have a bride walk to church on foot?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thou mayest take her on thy crupper, Sir Goldthred," answered Wayland;
      "it will take down thy steed's mettle."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And how if you&mdash;if you forget to leave my horse, as you propose?"
      said Goldthred, not without hesitation, for his soul was afraid within
      him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My pack shall be pledged for it&mdash;yonder it lies with Giles Gosling,
      in his chamber with the damasked leathern hangings, stuffed full with
      velvet, single, double, treble-piled&mdash;rash-taffeta, and parapa&mdash;shag,
      damask, and mocado, plush, and grogram&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hold! hold!" exclaimed the mercer; "nay, if there be, in truth and
      sincerity, but the half of these wares&mdash;but if ever I trust bumpkin
      with bonny Bayard again!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "As you list for that, good Master Goldthred, and so good morrow to you&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Draw your sword," answered the lady, "and pierce my bosom with it, rather
      than I should fall into his hands!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;(put on, I pray you)&mdash;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&mdash;(I pray you heartily to put on)&mdash;he
      did the great robbery of the west country grazier. It is not that I fear
      either Varney or Lambourne in a good cause&mdash;(your palfrey will go yet
      faster if you urge him)&mdash;but yet&mdash;(nay, I pray you let him not
      break off into a gallop, lest they should see we fear them, and give chase&mdash;keep
      him only at the full trot)&mdash;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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are revellers," said Varney, "designing for Kenilworth?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "RECTE QUIDEM, DOMINE SPECTATISSIME," answered one of the party.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;"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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The devil he has!" answered Varney, whose laugh, however, never exceeded
      a sarcastic smile.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is even as the juvenal hath said," added the masker who spoke first;
      "Our major devil&mdash;for this is but our minor one&mdash;is even now at
      LUCINA, FER OPEM, within that very TUGURIUM."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "GAUDET NOMINE SIBYLLAE," said the first speaker; "she is called Sibyl
      Laneham, wife of Master Robert Laneham&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Wayland was about to hazard a reply to this alarming inquiry, when the
      little diablotin again thrust in his oar.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;you would think he had AEtna in his abdomen."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;and so, as the play says, 'God be with Your labour!'"
    </p>
    <p>
      Thus speaking, he struck his horse with the spurs, and rode on his way.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Either Flibbertigibbet," answered Wayland Smith, "or else an imp of the
      devil in good earnest."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thou shouldst have said my waggish face and sweet company," said Dickie;
      "but how wilt thou travel with us&mdash;I mean in what character?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "E'en in that thou hast assigned me, to be sure&mdash;as a juggler; thou
      knowest I am used to the craft," answered Wayland.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, she, man!&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Let me hear her instantly," said the boy, "I love the lute rarely; I love
      it of all things, though I never heard it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then how canst thou love it, Flibbertigibbet?" said Wayland.
    </p>
    <p>
      "As knights love ladies in old tales," answered Dickie&mdash;"on hearsay."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And when shall we reach Kenilworth? said the Countess, with an agitation
      which she in vain attempted to conceal.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;faith, I'll believe in your relationship when the crow's egg
      is hatched into a cygnet."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Go to," said Wayland, "thou art a prating boy, and should be breeched for
      thine assurance."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well," said the imp, drawing off, "all I say is&mdash;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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXV.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     Hark, the bells summon, and the bugle calls,
     But she the fairest answers not&mdash;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?
     &mdash;THE GLASS SLIPPER.
</pre>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;what wouldst thou counsel?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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&mdash;here is something that will
      make thee rich amends."
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will&mdash;I will," said the lady hastily. "Begone, begone instantly!&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 byroads, 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;the minstrels hummed their
      songs&mdash;the licensed jester whooped betwixt mirth and madness, as he
      brandished his bauble&mdash;the morrice-dancers jangled their bells&mdash;the
      rustics hallooed and whistled&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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
      bypath, which brought them into the highway again, after having given them
      the opportunity of traversing a considerable way with greater ease and
      rapidity.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;little
      Master Recorder, since that is the word, will be greater now than ever."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I envious?&mdash;beshrew thy heart for the word!" replied the handicraft.
      "But she will give all to the Earl of Leicester anon, methinks."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;I
      am his wife&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXVI.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     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.
     &mdash;MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM.
</pre>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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. he 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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:&mdash;"What,
      how now, my masters?" (to himself)&mdash;"Here's a stir&mdash;here's a
      coil."&mdash;(Then to Wayland)&mdash;"You are a loitering knave, and shall
      have no entrance."&mdash;(Again to himself)&mdash;"Here's a throng&mdash;here's
      a thrusting.&mdash;I shall ne'er get through with it&mdash;Here's a&mdash;humph&mdash;ha."&mdash;(To
      Wayland)&mdash;"Back from the gate, or I'll break the pate of thee."&mdash;(Once
      more to himself)&mdash;"Here's a&mdash;no&mdash;I shall never get through
      it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Stand still," whispered Flibbertigibbet into Wayland's ear, "I know where
      the shoe pinches, and will tame him in an instant."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is even so," he said, with a thundering sound of exultation&mdash;"it
      is even so, my little dandieprat. But who the devil could teach it thee?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do not thou care about that," said Flibbertigibbet&mdash;"but&mdash;" 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&mdash;in with you! and
      take heed how you come too late another day when I chance to be porter."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;"Commands? I may indeed claim right to command,
      but who is there will obey me!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Friend," said the Countess, "be not insolent&mdash;my business with the
      Earl is most urgent."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      In fact, from the conduct of the lady during the journey&mdash;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&mdash;Wayland had
      formed the not improbable opinion that the difficulties of her situation
      had in some degree affected her understanding.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXVII.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     In my time I have seen a boy do wonders.
     Robin, the red tinker, had a boy
     Would ha run through a cat-hole. &mdash;THE COXCOMB.
</pre>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ha! is it thou, my minikin&mdash;my miller's thumb&mdash;my prince of
      cacodemons&mdash;my little mouse?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That's right&mdash;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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, ay!" answered the boy&mdash;"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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, what good would it do thee, thou silly elf?" said Wayland.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, stand ye on these terms?" said the boy. "Well, I care not greatly
      about the matter&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nay, but, Dickie," said Wayland, who knew the boy's restless and
      intriguing disposition too well not to fear his enmity&mdash;"stay, my
      dear Dickie&mdash;part not with old friends so shortly! Thou shalt know
      all I know of the lady one day."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay!" said Dickie; "and that day may prove a nigh one. Fare thee well,
      Wayland&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 fantastic and grotesque forms, fell down with
      ceaseless sound into the great basins of Italian marble.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;but still Amy,
      unequalled in loveliness by aught which had ever visited his eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tressilian," she said, at length, "why come you here?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "The wife of Varney!" she replied, with all the emphasis of scorn. "With
      what base name, sir, does your boldness stigmatize the&mdash;the&mdash;the&mdash;"
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      She looked on him with eyes in which anger sparkled through her tears, but
      only repeated the word "wretch!" with a scornful emphasis.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "In your apartment?" repeated Amy&mdash;"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&mdash;I know not where to go&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I see&mdash;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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ask me anything for which you can allege reason," said Tressilian; "but
      demand not of me&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, limit not your boon, dear Edmund!" exclaimed the Countess&mdash;"you
      once loved that I should call you so&mdash;limit not your boon to reason;
      for my case is all madness, and frenzy must guide the counsels which alone
      can aid me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, no!" she exclaimed, sinking on one knee before him, "I am not mad&mdash;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&mdash;even by yours, Tressilian&mdash;by yours, whom I
      have honoured, respected&mdash;all but loved&mdash;and yet loved, too&mdash;loved,
      too, Tressilian&mdash;though not as you wished to be."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;of
      you in especial, Tressilian&mdash;will be ruin&mdash;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&mdash;that she is happy herself, and has the means to make you
      so. It is surely worth your patience, for so short a space?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will upon my honour," said Tressilian; "but when that space is expired&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then that space is expired," she said, interrupting him, "you are free to
      act as your judgment shall determine."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Is there nought besides which I can do for you, Amy?" said Tressilian.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nothing," said she, "save to leave me,&mdash;that is, if&mdash;I blush to
      acknowledge my helplessness by asking it&mdash;if you can spare me the use
      of this apartment for the next twenty-four hours."
    </p>
    <p>
      "This is most wonderful!" said Tressilian; "what hope or interest can you
      have in a Castle where you cannot command even an apartment?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
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      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXVIII.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     What, man, ne'er lack a draught, when the full can
     Stands at thine elbow, and craves emptying!&mdash;
     Nay, fear not me, for I have no delight
     To watch men's vices, since I have myself
     Of virtue nought to boast of&mdash;I'm a striker,
     Would have the world strike with me, pell-mell, all.
     &mdash;PANDEMONIUM.
</pre>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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:&mdash;"What, no grudge
      between us, I hope, upon old scores, Master Tressilian?&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I desire none of your intimacy," said Tressilian&mdash;"keep company with
      your mates."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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; "but if," he continued, "thou art varlet of the
      chambers, and lackest a fee, there is one to leave mine unmolested."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;why, you owe it me&mdash;and so e'en make your chamber
      serve you and that same bird in bower beside&mdash;it's all one to Mike
      Lambourne."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Make way, sir," said Tressilian, unable to bridle his indignation, "you
      have had your fee."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Um!" said Lambourne, giving place, however, while he sulkily muttered
      between his teeth, repeating Tressilian's words, "Make way&mdash;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&mdash;mind that."
    </p>
    <p>
      He spoke louder and louder, as Tressilian, by whom he felt himself
      overawed, got farther and farther out of hearing.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am no dog in the manger; but I will not carry coals neither&mdash;mind
      that, Master Tressilian; and I will have a peep at this wench whom you
      have quartered so commodiously in your old haunted room&mdash;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&mdash;trundle him downstairs like a turnip!
      Ay, but your virtuous gentlemen take strange privileges over us, who are
      downright servants of our senses. Well&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXIX.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     Now fare thee well, my master&mdash;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&mdash;THE SHIPWRECK.
</pre>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;in jolly society truly, the hall on the one hand,
      and the kitchen on the other!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Peace, this is no time for jesting," answered Tressilian sternly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;she
      will have none of your aid&mdash;commands you not to be named to her&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Is it possible," said Tressilian. "But she may have hopes the Earl will
      exert his influence in her favour over his villainous dependant."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;but no&mdash;a plague on it&mdash;I
      must have left it in my dog-hole, in the hay-loft yonder, where I am to
      sleep."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;it
      might fall into wrong hands&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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!&mdash;Then there is the Doctor
      and Varney.&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;it was well earned, I trow; but she is a lovely
      creature, and&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;there
      was no shadow on the wall; he ascended a few yards farther&mdash;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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sayest thou me so?&mdash;Come hither, Lawrence Staples."
    </p>
    <p>
      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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And what juggling trick art thou playing in this tower? Thy gang," said
      Lambourne, "lie over against Clinton's buildings."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I came here to see my sister," said the juggler, "who is in Master
      Tressilian's chamber, just above."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;uds
      daggers and death!&mdash;I will see thee out of the Castle, for this is a
      more main concern than thy jugglery."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But, please your worship," said Wayland, "I am to enact Arion in the
      pageant upon the lake this very evening."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will act it myself by Saint Christopher!" said Lambourne. "Orion,
      callest thou him?&mdash;I will act Orion, his belt and his seven stars to
      boot. Come along, for a rascal knave as thou art&mdash;follow me! Or stay&mdash;Lawrence,
      do thou bring him along."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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!&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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&mdash;we'll
      pass his name, Lawrence&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;that
      is, a great little man, or a little great man, my dear Lawrence&mdash;and
      his name begins with V, and what believes he? Why, nothing, honest
      Lawrence&mdash;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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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!&mdash;for the noble Leicester!&mdash;for
      the worshipful Master Varney!&mdash;and for Michael Lambourne, that can
      turn them all round his finger!"
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, he walked downstairs, and across the inner court.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;"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."
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXX.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     Now bid the steeple rock&mdash;she comes, she comes!&mdash;
     Speak for us, bells&mdash;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&mdash;but that craves wit,
     And I'm a rough-hewn soldier.&mdash;THE VIRGIN QUEEN&mdash;A TRAGI-COMEDY.
</pre>
    <p>
      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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;in blue, green, and
      crimson, with carnation ribbons, and yellow roses in his shoes!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;gayer than thine own. I'll be judged by Tressilian."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I agree&mdash;I agree," said Walter Raleigh. "Judge betwixt us,
      Tressilian, for the love of heaven!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But why gettest thou not on thy braveries, Tressilian?" said Raleigh.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;you will have instant
      redress."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nay, it is not worth while, since you can spare me room," replied
      Tressilian&mdash;"I would not be troublesome. Has any one come hither with
      you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;God bless the mark!&mdash;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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "And what has detained them so long at Warwick?" said Tressilian,
      unwilling that their conversation should return to his own affairs.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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&mdash;though
      I see not what thou Tressilian, canst do with thy riding-dress and boots."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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, feathers, 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;or, to use a singular expression, the whisper of an
      immense multitude.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mass!" answered Blount, "I hear it rather as I used to hear mine own kine
      lowing from the close of Wittenswestlowe."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "We shall have him at that presently," said Tressilian, "if you spare not
      your wit."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tush, I care not," answered Raleigh; "but thou too, Tressilian, hast
      turned a kind of owl, that flies only by night&mdash;hast exchanged thy
      songs for screechings, and good company for an ivy-tod."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But what manner of animal art thou thyself, Raleigh," said Tressilian,
      "that thou holdest us all so lightly?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Who&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;But hark,
      what a dead silence hath fallen on them at once!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      "The Queen whispered to HIM!" said Blount, in a kind of soliloquy; "Good
      God, to what will this world come!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      The train, male and female, who attended immediately upon the Queen's
      person, were, of course, of the bravest and the fairest&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Thus marshalled, the cavalcade approached the Gallery-tower, which formed,
      as we have often observed, the extreme barrier of the Castle.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was now the part of the huge porter to step forward; but the lubbard
      was so overwhelmed with confusion of spirit&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     "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&mdash;nay, stay&mdash;what vision have we here?
     What dainty darling's this&mdash;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;&mdash;
     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.]
</pre>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      [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 Princely 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.]
    </p>
    <p>
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      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
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    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXXI.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     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.      &mdash;BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.
</pre>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      [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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."&mdash;MELVILLE'S
      MEMOIRS, BANNATYNE EDITION, p. 120.]
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "A poet, if it please your Grace," replied Raleigh.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It must have been when the sun dazzled both their eyes and their
      judgment," answered Raleigh.
    </p>
    <p>
      Elizabeth smiled, and proceeded, "I asked that slovenly fellow's name, and
      you only told me his profession."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;my
      Lord of Leicester's man, I mean&mdash;the Paris of this Devonshire tale?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;is the lady here, my lord?" his answer was ready&mdash;"Gracious
      madam, she is not."
    </p>
    <p>
      Elizabeth bent her brows and compressed her lips. "Our orders were strict
      and positive, my lord," was her answer&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "And should have been obeyed, good my liege," replied Leicester, "had they
      been expressed in the form of the lightest wish. But&mdash;Varney, step
      forward&mdash;this gentleman will inform your Grace of the cause why the
      lady" (he could not force his rebellious tongue to utter the words&mdash;HIS
      WIFE) "cannot attend on your royal presence."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "This alters the matter," said the Queen, taking the certificates in her
      hand, and glancing at their contents.&mdash;"Let Tressilian come forward.&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How, sir!" said the Queen&mdash;"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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;"Madam&mdash;Madam,
      your Grace calls on me to admit evidence which ought to be proved valid by
      those who found their defence upon them."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Varney hastened to reply, preventing Leicester&mdash;"So please your
      Majesty, my young Lord of Oxford, who is here in presence, knows Master
      Anthony Foster's hand and his character."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And who speaks to the Doctor's certificate?" said the Queen. "Alasco,
      methinks, is his name."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will lay down my head on the block," answered Tressilian.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;if
      thou hast sense to understand me&mdash;wilt thou, if thou shalt fail in
      this improbable attempt of thine, render me a good and sufficient reason
      why thou dost undertake it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;he could not positively&mdash;that
      is, in certain events&mdash;explain the reasons and grounds on which he
      acted."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Now, by the soul of King Henry," said the Queen, "this is either
      moonstruck madness or very knavery!&mdash;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.&mdash;We
      wish we had seen the beauty which could make such havoc in a wise man's
      brain."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?&mdash;methought she glanced an eye at me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Twenty&mdash;twenty eye-glances she sent! and I told her all&mdash;how
      thou wert a brave soldier, and a&mdash;But for God's sake, get off
      Tressilian!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will&mdash;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&mdash;what besides, dearest
      Walter?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "An all unutterable-codshead. For God's sake, begone!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
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      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXXII.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     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?&mdash;Kings do their best; and they and we
     Must answer for the intent, and not the event.&mdash;OLD PLAY.
</pre>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;Your sword,
      my Lord of Leicester."
    </p>
    <p>
      The Earl unbuckled his sword, and taking it by the point, presented on
      bended knee the hilt to Elizabeth.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;were
      my godson Harrington here, he could tell me the passage&mdash;even trim my
      hair, and arrange my head-gear, in such a steel mirror as this is.&mdash;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."
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     [The incident alluded to occurs in the poem of Orlando Innamorato
     of Boiardo, libro ii. canto 4, stanza 25.

     "Non era per ventura," etc.
</pre>
    <p>
      It may be rendered thus:&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     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.
</pre>
    <p>
      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.]
    </p>
    <p>
      Varney arose and retired, making a deep obeisance to the Sovereign who had
      done him so much honour.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;" And then he
      stopped.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;for we ascribe his conduct to no
      malice&mdash;should we choose this moment to do him grace."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I were no woman to refuse you such a boon," said the Queen, smiling.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sir Richard Varney, surely&mdash;the friend of my Lord of Leicester&mdash;surely
      he has merit," replied the Duchess.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      The discourse became then more general, and soon after there was a summons
      to the banquet.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      The livery cupboards were loaded with plate of the richest description,
      and the most varied&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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!&mdash;Health and
      honour to Sir Richard!&mdash;Never was a more worthy knight dubbed!"&mdash;then,
      suddenly sinking his voice, he added&mdash;"since the valiant Sir Pandarus
      of Troy,"&mdash;a winding-up of his clamorous applause which set all men
      a-laughing who were within hearing of it.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "How! Sir Richard," said Leicester, smiling, "your new rank scarce suits
      the humility of this attendance."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thou art a grateful fellow," said Leicester; "but I must not allow you to
      do what would abate you in the opinion of others."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am not afraid of men's misconstruction," he said, in answer to
      Leicester's remark, "since there is not&mdash;(permit me to undo the
      collar)&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It might, indeed, so have been"&mdash;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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I think so, my lord, according to the calendar," answered Varney.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Many learned and great men have thought otherwise," said Varney; "and,
      not to flatter your lordship, my own opinion leans that way."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;he
      would not use a plainer term&mdash;though not overcome, was evidently
      combust, I think he said, or retrograde."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;I
      would fain feel my eyes heavy ere I closed them."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, my good lord," said Varney; "of what can they else, since it is so
      strongly manifested?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "She is indeed my good and gracious mistress," said Leicester, after
      another pause; "but it is written, 'Put not thy trust in princes.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, but," said Leicester, turning himself in his bed, "the hundredth man
      knows better. Thou, for example, knowest the obstacle that cannot be
      overleaped."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It must, my lord, if the stars speak true," said Varney composedly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What, talkest thou of them," said Leicester, "that believest not in them
      or in aught else?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;from the Low Countries&mdash;from Switzerland&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I know not that, my lord," said Varney; "the Countess is indisposed."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Villain!" said Leicester, starting up on his couch, and seizing the sword
      which lay on the table beside him, "go thy thoughts that way?&mdash;thou
      wouldst not do murder?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;lovely
      and beloved as she is&mdash;surely your lordship must hold her to be
      mortal? She may die, and your lordship's hand become once more your own."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Away! away!" said Leicester; "let me have no more of this."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good night, my lord," said Varney, seeming to understand this as a
      command to depart; but Leicester's voice interrupted his purpose.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nay, now, Varney, thou art stark mad," said Leicester.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?&mdash;ay,
      and be no hindrance to prevent the husband from conjoining himself
      afterwards with a more suitable partner?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have heard of such things in Germany," said Leicester.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      Leicester was silent for a moment, then sighed, and said, "It is
      impossible. Good night, Sir Richard Varney&mdash;yet stay. Can you guess
      what meant Tressilian by showing himself in such careless guise before the
      Queen to-day?&mdash;to strike her tender heart, I should guess, with all
      the sympathies due to a lover abandoned by his mistress and abandoning
      himself."
    </p>
    <p>
      Varney, smothering a sneering laugh, answered, "He believed Master
      Tressilian had no such matter in his head."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How!" said Leicester; "what meanest thou? There is ever knavery in that
      laugh of thine, Varney."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I only meant, my lord," said Varney, "that Tressilian has taken the sure
      way to avoid heart-breaking. He hath had a companion&mdash;a female
      companion&mdash;a mistress&mdash;a sort of player's wife or sister, as I
      believe&mdash;with him in Mervyn's Bower, where I quartered him for
      certain reasons of my own."
    </p>
    <p>
      "A mistress!&mdash;meanest thou a paramour?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, my lord; what female else waits for hours in a gentleman's chamber?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Grace!" said Leicester; "what meanest thou by that epithet?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It came unawares, my lord; and yet it sounds so very natural that I
      cannot recall it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is thine own preferment that hath turned thy brain," said Leicester,
      laughing; "new honours are as heady as new wine."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.]
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXXIII.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     Here stands the victim&mdash;there the proud betrayer,
     E'en as the hind pull'd down by strangling dogs
     Lies at the hunter's feet&mdash;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.       &mdash;THE WOODSMAN.
</pre>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;a single spark, which
      is instantly swallowed up by surrounding darkness&mdash;a precarious glow,
      which rises but for a brief space into the air, that its fall may be the
      lower? O Leicester! after all&mdash;all that thou hast said&mdash;hast
      sworn&mdash;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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, my Countess," murmured a whisper in reply.
    </p>
    <p>
      She threw open the door, and exclaiming, "Leicester!" flung her arms
      around the neck of the man who stood without, muffled in his cloak.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No&mdash;not quite Leicester," answered Michael Lambourne, for he it was,
      returning the caress with vehemence&mdash;"not quite Leicester, my lovely
      and most loving duchess, but as good a man."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;or most
      lovely Countess of clouts, and divine Duchess of dark corners&mdash;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&mdash;-like thy present
      as little"&mdash;(he made a step towards her, and staggered)&mdash;"as
      little as&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Stand back!" said the Countess; "do not approach nearer to me on thy
      peril!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "My peril!&mdash;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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good friend," said the Countess, in great terror at the ruffian's
      determined and audacious manner, "I prithee begone, and leave me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And so I will, pretty one, when we are tired of each other's company&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What the devil's noise is this in the ward?" he said. "What! man and
      woman together in the same cell?&mdash;that is against rule. I will have
      decency under my rule, by Saint Peter of the Fetters!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Get thee downstairs, thou drunken beast," said Lambourne; "seest thou not
      the lady and I would be private?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good sir, worthy sir!" said the Countess, addressing the jailer, "do but
      save me from him, for the sake of mercy!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "A wench! Where is she?" said the officer.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nay, go not to it again," said the sewer, "or I will call for him shall
      tame you both, and that is Master Varney&mdash;Sir Richard, I mean. He is
      stirring, I promise you; I saw him cross the court just now."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Didst thou, by G&mdash;!" 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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What hast thou done to him?" said the sewer, speaking aside to the
      jailer; "his face is fearfully swelled."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is but the imprint of the key of my cabinet&mdash;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.&mdash;And so,
      mistress, leave off your wailing.&mdash;Why! why, surely, there was a
      woman here!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXXIV.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     Have you not seen the partridge quake,
     Viewing the hawk approaching nigh?
     She cuddles close beneath the brake,
     Afraid to sit, afraid to fly,   &mdash;PRIOR.
</pre>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, Dudley," said Elizabeth, yet it was with broken accents&mdash;"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&mdash;but it cannot&mdash;cannot
      be. Delay the chase&mdash;delay it for half an hour&mdash;and leave me, my
      lord."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How! leave you, madam?" said Leicester,&mdash;"has my madness offended
      you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, Leicester, not so!" answered the Queen hastily; "but it is madness,
      and must not be repeated. Go&mdash;but go not far from hence; and meantime
      let no one intrude on my privacy."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;were it BUT possible!&mdash;but no&mdash;no;
      Elizabeth must be the wife and mother of England alone."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What may this mean?" she said; "this is a stronger passion than befits
      the occasion. Stand up, damsel&mdash;what wouldst thou have with us?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your protection, madam," faltered forth the unhappy petitioner.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I request&mdash;I implore," stammered forth the unfortunate Countess&mdash;"I
      beseech your gracious protection&mdash;against&mdash;against one Varney."
      She choked well-nigh as she uttered the fatal word, which was instantly
      caught up by the Queen.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What, Varney&mdash;Sir Richard Varney&mdash;the servant of Lord
      Leicester! what, damsel, are you to him, or he to you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I&mdash;I&mdash;was his prisoner&mdash;and he practised on my life&mdash;and
      I broke forth to&mdash;to&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "To throw thyself on my protection, doubtless," said Elizabeth. "Thou
      shalt have it&mdash;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&mdash;"thou art
      Amy, daughter of Sir Hugh Robsart of Lidcote Hall?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Forgive me&mdash;forgive me, most gracious Princess!" said Amy, dropping
      once more on her knee, from which she had arisen.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;thy look confesses it&mdash;cheated Master
      Tressilian&mdash;thy blush avouches it&mdash;and married this same
      Varney."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;of that
      most deliberate villain! I am not the wife of Varney! I would rather be
      the bride of Destruction!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;"tell
      me, woman&mdash;for, by God's day, I WILL know&mdash;whose wife, or whose
      paramour, art thou! Speak out, and be speedy. Thou wert better dally with
      a lioness than with Elizabeth."
    </p>
    <p>
      Urged to this extremity, dragged as it were by irresistible force to the
      verge of the precipice which she saw, but could not avoid&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;thou dost belie him&mdash;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&mdash;come with me instantly!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Leicester," said Elizabeth, in a voice which trembled with passion,
      "could I think thou hast practised on me&mdash;on me thy Sovereign&mdash;on
      me thy confiding, thy too partial mistress, the base and ungrateful
      deception which thy present confusion surmises&mdash;by all that is holy,
      false lord, that head of thine were in as great peril as ever was thy
      father's!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What! my lords," said Elizabeth, looking around, "we are defied, I think&mdash;defied
      in the Castle we have ourselves bestowed on this proud man!&mdash;My Lord
      Shrewsbury, you are Marshal of England, attach him of high treason."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Whom does your Grace mean?" said Shrewsbury, much surprised, for he had
      that instant joined the astonished circle.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Whom should I mean, but that traitor Dudley, Earl of Leicester!&mdash;Cousin
      of Hunsdon, order out your band of gentlemen pensioners, and take him into
      instant custody. I say, villain, make haste!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Patient&mdash;God's life!" exclaimed the Queen&mdash;"name not the word
      to me; thou knowest not of what he is guilty!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;he is guiltless; no one can lay
      aught to the charge of the noble Leicester!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, minion," answered the Queen, "didst not thou thyself say that the
      Earl of Leicester was privy to thy whole history?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Woman!" said Elizabeth, "I will know who has moved thee to this; or my
      wrath&mdash;and the wrath of kings is a flaming fire&mdash;shall wither
      and consume thee like a weed in the furnace!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What means this saucy intrusion?" said Elizabeth.
    </p>
    <p>
      Varney, with the air of a man altogether overwhelmed with grief and
      confusion, prostrated himself before her feet, exclaiming, "Pardon, my
      Liege, pardon!&mdash;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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;to deal with her as the worst of criminals&mdash;"but
      spare," she exclaimed, "my sight and hearing what will destroy the little
      judgment I have left&mdash;the sight of that unutterable and most
      shameless villain!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, worse than sorrow, madam, and worse than injury&mdash;he has sown
      dissension where most there should be peace. I shall go mad if I look
      longer on him!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Beshrew me, but I think thou art distraught already," answered the Queen.&mdash;"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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.&mdash;Hunsdon, look to it that none have speech of
      her."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My Lord of Hunsdon," said the Dean of St. Asaph&mdash;"I speak it not in
      defamation of his more noble qualities&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;I hope there is no sin in that
      affirmation&mdash;I question if it were much cooled by mixing with that of
      Tudor."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;so at least it seemed to
      Elizabeth&mdash;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&mdash;thou hast sense and the use of speech, at least, which
      elsewhere we look for in vain."
    </p>
    <p>
      As she said this, she darted another resentful glance towards Leicester,
      while the wily Varney hastened to tell his own story.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;which indeed I dragged from her as
      by the rack&mdash;she instantly recalled and forswore. But how came she
      hither? Why had you her not in safe-keeping?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "We have heard so, indeed," said Elizabeth, "and give faith to the
      saying."
    </p>
    <p>
      "May your Grace then be pleased," said Varney, "to command my unfortunate
      wife to be delivered into the custody of her friends?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;such things we have heard do
      occur, even betwixt a loving couple&mdash;you may make it up, without
      further scandal to our court or trouble to ourselves."
    </p>
    <p>
      Varney bowed low, and made no other answer.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Blount took an opportunity to whisper into Raleigh's ear, "This storm came
      like a levanter in the Mediterranean."
    </p>
    <p>
      "VARIUM ET MUTABILE," answered Raleigh, in a similar tone.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thou wouldst have instructed him!" said Raleigh.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXXV.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     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.    &mdash;DOUGLAS.
</pre>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;it puts me
      beyond my patience."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Is her resentment, then, so implacable?" said Varney.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay," answered Varney; "the Italians say right&mdash;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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Leicester sighed, and was silent for a moment, ere he replied.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;under what mad impulse
      I know not&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "We must do something, my lord," said Varney, "and that speedily."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, Varney," said Leicester; "I have thought upon what is to be done, and
      I will myself speak with Amy."
    </p>
    <p>
      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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But, my lord&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      They hastily entered, and shut the door behind them.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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. She turned hastily
      round, and fixing her eye on Varney, exclaimed, "Wretch! art thou come to
      frame some new plan of villainy?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not in my body, Amy," was his answer.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then I will be well too. O Dudley! I have been ill!&mdash;very ill, since
      we last met!&mdash;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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Alas, Amy," said Leicester, "thou hast undone me!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I, my lord?" said Amy, her cheek at once losing its transient flush of
      joy&mdash;"how could I injure that which I love better than myself?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I would not upbraid you, Amy," replied the Earl; "but are you not here
      contrary to my express commands&mdash;and does not your presence here
      endanger both yourself and me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;only that if it might be
      otherwise, I would not willingly return THITHER; yet if it concern your
      safety&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "We will think, Amy, of some other retreat," said Leicester; "and you
      shall go to one of my northern castles, under the personage&mdash;it will
      be but needful, I trust, for a very few days&mdash;of Varney's wife."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;and of all men, the bride
      of that Varney?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Madam, I speak it in earnest&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;you must do what your own
      impatient folly hath rendered necessary&mdash;I command you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      Leicester was silent, but stood looking eagerly on Amy, with eyes which
      seemed suddenly to glow as much with suspicion as displeasure.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Peace, Varney," said Leicester; "by Heaven I will strike my dagger into
      thee if again thou namest Tressilian as a partner of my counsels!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;this person I would say&mdash;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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Leicester was silent, but bent his head towards the Countess, as an
      intimation that she was at liberty to proceed.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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&mdash;have but a little patience, and Amy's life will
      not long darken your brighter prospects."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;but
      let her take my head, as she has threatened."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;I have allies&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;since
      it must be called so&mdash;as safe as may be; it will be fraught with
      enough of danger, do what we will.&mdash;Varney, we must hence.&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "She has brought me to the crisis," he muttered&mdash;"she or I am lost.
      There was something&mdash;I wot not if it was fear or pity&mdash;that
      prompted me to avoid this fatal crisis. It is now decided&mdash;she or I
      must PERISH."
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thanks, good Master Serving-man," said the boy, and was out of sight in
      an instant.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0036" id="link2HCH0036">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXXVI.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     I have said
     This is an adulteress&mdash;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.   &mdash;WINTER'S TALE.
</pre>
    <p>
      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&mdash;"There are many of them close bounden to me, and especially
      those in good estate and high office&mdash;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&mdash;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.&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Alas! my lord," said Varney, with well-acted passion, and then resumed
      the same look of despondency which Leicester had before noted.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;upon the powerful Northumberland&mdash;the splendid
      Westmoreland;&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I care not," said Leicester desperately&mdash;"I care not. Shame is
      behind me, ruin before me; I must on."
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My speech is soon made, my lord&mdash;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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thou knowest it is!" replied Leicester. "What needs so fruitless a
      question?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "What means this?" said Leicester, with eyes sternly fixed on his
      dependant; "of whom dost thou dare to speak?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thou mayest happen to deserve it at my hand," said the Earl; "but speak
      on, I will hear thee."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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"&mdash;he spoke these words with the most stern decision&mdash;"you
      speak of the Countess of Leicester."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thou speakest wild madness, Varney, with the sober face of a preacher.
      Where, or how, could they communicate together?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thou met'st him, villain! and why didst thou not strike him dead?"
      exclaimed Leicester.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      Leicester seemed struck dumb with surprise. At length he answered, "What
      other evidence hast thou of this, Varney, save thine own assertion?&mdash;for,
      as I will punish deeply, I will examine coolly and warily. Sacred Heaven!&mdash;but
      no&mdash;I will examine coldly and warily&mdash;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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And wherefore was I not told of all this?" said Leicester sternly. "Why
      did all of ye&mdash;and in particular thou, Varney&mdash;keep back from me
      such material information?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Questionless, my lord," answered Varney, "Had I thought otherwise, I had
      been no keeper of the secret. But here lies the rub&mdash;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&mdash;Killigrew and Lambsbey are
      scouring the country in quest of him. The host is rewarded with a ring for
      keeping counsel&mdash;your lordship may have noted it on Tressilian's hand&mdash;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&mdash;I dare not say in what place."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Speak, I command thee," said Leicester&mdash;"speak, while I retain sense
      enough to hear thee."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Amy, thou wouldst say," answered Leicester; "but it is false, false as
      the smoke of hell! Ambitious she may be&mdash;fickle and impatient&mdash;'tis
      a woman's fault; but false to me!&mdash;never, never. The proof&mdash;the
      proof of this!" he exclaimed hastily.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Was Tressilian there with her?" said Leicester, in the same hurried tone.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, my lord. You may remember," answered Varney, "that he was that night
      placed with Sir Nicholas Blount, under a species of arrest."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Did Carrol, or the other fellows, know who she was?" demanded Leicester.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      He gave the glove, which had the Bear and Ragged Staff, the Earl's
      impress, embroidered upon it in seed-pearls.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I do&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your lordship," said Varney, "might yet further inquire of the lady
      herself respecting the truth of these passages."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It needs not&mdash;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&mdash;gracious
      Heaven!&mdash;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!&mdash;And thou,
      villain, why didst thou not speak sooner?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?&mdash;can falsehood use thus boldly the language of truth?&mdash;can
      infamy thus assume the guise of purity? Varney, thou hast been my servant
      from a child. I have raised thee high&mdash;can raise thee higher. Think,
      think for me!&mdash;thy brain was ever shrewd and piercing&mdash;may she
      not be innocent? Prove her so, and all I have yet done for thee shall be
      as nothing&mdash;nothing, in comparison of thy recompense!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;"Yet wherefore, if guilty, should
      she have perilled herself by coming hither? Why not rather have fled to
      her father's, or elsewhere?&mdash;though that, indeed, might have
      interfered with her desire to be acknowledged as Countess of Leicester."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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,&mdash;Speak not for
      her, Varney! I will have her blood!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "My lord," replied Varney, "the wildness of your distress breaks forth in
      the wildness of your language."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I say, speak not for her!" replied Leicester; "she has dishonoured me&mdash;she
      would have murdered me&mdash;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&mdash;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!&mdash;Force
      it open, Varney&mdash;force the hinges open with thy poniard!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;consigned thyself to an early and timeless
      death, and me to misery and remorse for ever!&mdash;Tell me not of
      forgiveness, Varney&mdash;she is doomed!"
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, he left the room, and rushed into an adjacent closet, the door
      of which he locked and bolted.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;they
      are rather too rich vails for the drudges who dress the chamber."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0037" id="link2HCH0037">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXXVII.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     You have displaced the mirth, broke the good meeting
     With most admired disorder.      &mdash;MACBETH.
</pre>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Has Masters seen her?" said the Earl.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But Tressilian?" said Leicester.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, by my soul," answered Leicester; "I will take vengeance on him with
      mine own hand!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;I will
      take care he returns not hither to tell tales."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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,&mdash;the property and
      subject of my servant?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;impeach your wife and her paramour of adultery&mdash;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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;let her die!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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 grasp his hand, until, with an
      effort at calm decision, he was able to articulate, "Be it so&mdash;she
      dies! But one tear might be permitted."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;"not a tear&mdash;the time permits it not. Tressilian must
      be thought of&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "That indeed is a name," said the Earl, "to convert tears into blood.
      Varney, I have thought on this, and I have determined&mdash;neither
      entreaty nor argument shall move me&mdash;Tressilian shall be my own
      victim."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thou shalt order me in what thou wilt," said Leicester, "only thwart me
      not in this."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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&mdash;not thine own looks and
      language shall be more impenetrable than mine. Hast thou aught else to
      say?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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;&mdash;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.&mdash;How
      now, Masters, what thinkest thou of the runaway bride?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;some
      Countess or Princess perchance. God help them, such are often the
      hallucinations of these infirm persons!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;What
      think you, my lord?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is pity indeed," said the Earl, repeating the words like a task which
      was set him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
<div class="fig" style="width:65%;">
      <img src="images/0137m.jpg" alt="0137m " width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <h5>
      <a href="images/0137.jpg"><i>Original</i></a>
    </h5>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      In this symbolical dance were represented the conflicts which had taken
      place among the various nations which had anciently inhabited Britain.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0038" id="link2HCH0038">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXXVIII.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     How is't with me, when every noise appals me?  &mdash;MACBETH.
</pre>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Who are you, or what do you want with me?" said Leicester, not without
      betraying, by his accents, the hurried state of his spirits.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      He would have hurried away, but the mask still detained him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How! my honour? Who dare impeach it?" said Leicester.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your own conduct alone can furnish grounds for accusing it, my lord, and
      it is that topic on which I would speak with you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are insolent," said Leicester, "and abuse the hospitable license of
      the time, which prevents me from having you punished. I demand your name!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Edmund Tressilian of Cornwall," answered the mask. "My tongue has been
      bound by a promise for four-and-twenty hours. The space is passed,&mdash;I
      now speak, and do your lordship the justice to address myself first to
      you."
    </p>
    <p>
      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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Justice, my lord," answered Tressilian, calmly but firmly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Justice," said Leicester, "all men are entitled to. YOU, Master
      Tressilian, are peculiarly so, and be assured you shall have it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No," answered Leicester sternly, "not under a roof, and that roof mine
      own. We will meet under the free cope of heaven."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "A shorter time will, I trust, suffice," answered Leicester. "Meet me in
      the Pleasance when the Queen has retired to her chamber."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Enough," said Tressilian, and withdrew; while a sort of rapture seemed
      for the moment to occupy the mind of Leicester.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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&mdash;to my task! I will not sink under it now, since midnight,
      at farthest, will bring me vengeance."
    </p>
    <p>
      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?
    </p>
    <p>
      New tortures awaited him as soon as he had rejoined Elizabeth.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;you know what are his proper attributes&mdash;think
      you he is capable of playing his lady such a knave's trick?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hear him, my ladies," said Elizabeth; "like all his sex, he would excuse
      their cruelty by imputing fickleness to us."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "How came he to leave the Castle after the watch was set?" said Leicester.
      "I thought he went not till daybreak."
    </p>
    <p>
      "He gave satisfactory reasons, as I understand," said the domestic, "to
      the guard, and, as I hear, showed your lordship's signet&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "True&mdash;true," said the Earl; "yet he has been hasty. Do any of his
      attendants remain behind?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Bid him come hither instantly," said Leicester; "I have a message to his
      master."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;one victim is enough at once, and that victim already waits me."
    </p>
    <p>
      He seized upon writing materials, and hastily traced these words:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "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,
    </p>
    <p>
      "R. LEICESTER.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Given at our Castle of Kenilworth, the tenth of July, in the year of
      Salvation one thousand five hundred and seventy-five."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What is thy capacity of service?" said the Earl.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Equerry to your lordship's master of the horse," answered Lambourne, with
      his customary assurance.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Does my commission reach no further?" said Lambourne.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No," answered Leicester; "but it deeply concerns me that it be carefully
      as well as hastily executed."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will spare neither care nor horse-flesh," answered Lambourne, and
      immediately took his leave.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;But come forth, Bayard,"
      he added, leading his horse into the courtyard, "for your flanks and my
      spurs must be presently acquainted."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have been fooled by my own generosity," he said, "if I have suffered
      the villain to escape me&mdash;ay, and perhaps to go to the rescue of the
      adulteress, who is so poorly guarded."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Have I not some apparent cause?" answered Leicester, perceiving that
      Tressilian paused for a reply.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No matter for my thoughts, sir," said the Earl; "proceed. You have as yet
      spoken of yourself only&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ha," said Leicester, "remember you to whom you speak?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;if
      she be not transferred to some place of seclusion better fitted for bad
      designs. This must be reformed, my lord&mdash;I speak it as authorized by
      her father&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;Villain, draw and defend thyself!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      At the same time a voice from the portico said, "The jackanape is right&mdash;they
      are tilting here."
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;'twere pity
      almost we should find them&mdash;the penalty is chopping off a hand, is it
      not?&mdash;'twere hard to lose hand for handling a bit of steel, that
      comes so natural to one's gripe."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thou art a brawler thyself, George," said another; "but take heed, for
      the law stands as thou sayest."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hush, thou knave!" said a third; "how knowest thou who may be within
      hearing?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nay, then," said Hunsdon, "I will be glad of your lordship's company."
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0039" id="link2HCH0039">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXXIX.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     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.
     &mdash;BEN JONSON, MASQUE OF OWLS.
</pre>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It shall not need, my lord," said Tressilian. "God judge betwixt us! and
      your blood, if you fall, be on your own head."
    </p>
    <p>
      He had scarce completed the sentence when they instantly closed in combat.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No cause!" exclaimed the Earl, "no cause!&mdash;but why parley with such
      a slave? Die a liar, as thou hast lived!"
    </p>
    <p>
      He had withdrawn his arm for the purpose of striking the fatal blow, when
      it was suddenly seized from behind.
    </p>
    <p>
      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
      off 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Much&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;changed colour as he looked on the superscription&mdash;undid
      with faltering hand the knot which secured it&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "My lord," said Tressilian, "you have done me great wrong, but something
      within my breast ever whispered that it was by egregious error."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;Wretched boy, why comes this letter
      now, and where has the bearer lingered?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The villains!" exclaimed Leicester; "but oh, that worst of villains,
      Varney!&mdash;and she is even now in his power!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "But not, I trust in God," said Tressilian, "with any commands of fatal
      import?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;she
      must now be safe."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The SEDUCER of Amy!" replied Leicester, with a voice like thunder; "say
      her husband!&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, he unbound his horse from the tree, threw himself into the
      saddle, and rode at full gallop towards the Castle.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0040" id="link2HCH0040">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XL.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     High o'er the eastern steep the sun is beaming,
     And darkness flies with her deceitful shadows;&mdash;
     So truth prevails o'er falsehood.   &mdash;OLD PLAY.
</pre>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      When he reached the base-court, appearances were the same&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;and you are called for;
      but whether the matter be treason or worse, no one knows."
    </p>
    <p>
      "He speaks true, by Heaven!" said Raleigh, who that instant appeared; "you
      must immediately to the Queen's presence."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Be not rash, Raleigh," said Blount, "remember his boots.&mdash;For
      Heaven's sake, go to my chamber, dear Tressilian, and don my new
      bloom-coloured silken hose; I have worn them but twice."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pshaw!" answered Tressilian; "do thou take care of this boy, Blount; be
      kind to him, and look he escapes you not&mdash;much depends on him."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nobody," he said, "calls me to these mysteries&mdash;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.&mdash;Whence come ye, my fair-favoured little gossip?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "From the Fens," answered the boy.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And what didst thou learn there, forward imp?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "To catch gulls, with their webbed feet and yellow stockings," said the
      boy.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Umph!" said Blount, looking down on his own immense roses. "Nay, then,
      the devil take him asks thee more questions."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;you are an accomplice in this deception which has been
      practised on us&mdash;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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not, gracious madam, that this poor lady was Countess of Leicester."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nor shall any one know her for such," said Elizabeth. "Death of my life!
      Countess of Leicester!&mdash;I say Dame Amy Dudley; and well if she have
      not cause to write herself widow of the traitor Robert Dudley."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And will he be the better for thy intercession," said the Queen, leaving
      Tressilian, who slowly arose, and rushing to Leicester, who continued
      kneeling&mdash;"the better for thy intercession, thou doubly false&mdash;thou
      doubly forsworn;&mdash;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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Burleigh here ventured to interpose.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Madam," he said, "remember that you are a Queen&mdash;Queen of England&mdash;mother
      of your people. Give not way to this wild storm of passion."
    </p>
    <p>
      Elizabeth turned round to him, while a tear actually twinkled in her proud
      and angry eye. "Burleigh," she said, "thou art a statesman&mdash;thou dost
      not, thou canst not, comprehend half the scorn, half the misery, that man
      has poured on me!"
    </p>
    <p>
      With the utmost caution&mdash;with the deepest reverence&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Madam," he said, "I am a statesman, but I am also a man&mdash;a man
      already grown old in your councils&mdash;who have not and cannot have a
      wish on earth but your glory and happiness; I pray you to be composed."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah! Burleigh," said Elizabeth, "thou little knowest&mdash;" here her
      tears fell over her cheeks in despite of her.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I do&mdash;I do know, my honoured sovereign. Oh, beware that you lead not
      others to guess that which they know not!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ha!" said Elizabeth, pausing as if a new train of thought had suddenly
      shot across her brain. "Burleigh, thou art right&mdash;thou art right&mdash;anything
      but disgrace&mdash;anything but a confession of weakness&mdash;anything
      rather than seem the cheated, slighted&mdash;'sdeath! to think on it is
      distraction!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;" 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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Burleigh stooped to kiss her hand with affection, and&mdash;rare in the
      annals of courts&mdash;a tear of true sympathy dropped from the eye of the
      minister on the hand of his Sovereign.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Our Sovereign is her noble self once more," whispered Burleigh to
      Walsingham; "mark what she does, and take heed you thwart her not."
    </p>
    <p>
      She then approached Leicester, and said with calmness, "My Lord
      Shrewsbury, we discharge you of your prisoner.&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      Accordingly, she extorted, by successive questions, the whole history of
      his first acquaintance with Amy Robsart&mdash;their marriage&mdash;his
      jealousy&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.&mdash;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&mdash;one wife
      at a time was insufficient, and he designed US the honour of his left
      hand. Now, is not this too insolent&mdash;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.&mdash;My Lord of
      Leicester, we command your close attendance on us."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;we are to
      solemnize the noble owner's marriage."
    </p>
    <p>
      There was an universal expression of surprise.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;tread not
      on a crushed worm."
    </p>
    <p>
      "A worm, my lord?" said the Queen, in the same tone; "nay, a snake is the
      nobler reptile, and the more exact similitude&mdash;the frozen snake you
      wot of, which was warmed in a certain bosom&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "For your own sake&mdash;for mine, madam," said the Earl&mdash;"while
      there is yet some reason left in me&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Speak aloud, my lord," said Elizabeth, "and at farther distance, so
      please you&mdash;your breath thaws our ruff. What have you to ask of us?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Permission," said the unfortunate Earl humbly, "to travel to Cumnor
      Place."
    </p>
    <p>
      "To fetch home your bride belike?&mdash;Why, ay&mdash;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.&mdash;Whom wouldst thou have to be in commission with thee,
      Tressilian?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Tressilian, with humble deference, suggested the name of Raleigh.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;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&mdash;bring the lady here in all
      honour&mdash;lose no time, and God be with you!"
    </p>
    <p>
      They bowed, and left the presence,
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Accordingly, on the following day the whole conduct of the Earl displayed
      so much dignified equanimity&mdash;he seemed so solicitous about the
      accommodations and amusements of his guests, yet so indifferent to their
      personal demeanour towards him&mdash;so respectfully distant to the Queen,
      yet so patient of her harassing displeasure&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0041" id="link2HCH0041">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XLI.
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     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. &mdash;MICKLE.
</pre>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;ORA PRO NOBIS. No, it runs not so&mdash;deliver
      us from evil&mdash;ay, so it goes."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;What
      ho! holy man, most blessed penitent!&mdash;awake&mdash;awake! The devil
      has not discharged you from service yet."
    </p>
    <p>
      As Varney at the same time shook the sleeper by the arm, it changed the
      current of his ideas, and he roared out, "Thieves!&mdash;thieves! I will
      die in defence of my gold&mdash;my hard-won gold&mdash;that has cost me so
      dear. Where is Janet?&mdash;Is Janet safe?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Safe enough, thou bellowing fool!" said Varney; "art thou not ashamed of
      thy clamour?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, thou fool, it is but to escort thy charge back to Cumnor Place."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Is that indeed all?" said Foster; "thou lookest deadly pale, and thou art
      not moved by trifles&mdash;is that indeed all?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, that&mdash;and maybe a trifle more," said Varney.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, that trifle more!" said Foster; "still thou lookest paler and paler."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Heed not my countenance," said Varney; "you see it by this wretched
      light. Up and be doing, man. Think of Cumnor Place&mdash;thine own proper
      copyhold. Why, thou mayest found a weekly lectureship, besides endowing
      Janet like a baron's daughter. Seventy pounds and odd."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "All, man&mdash;squirrels and all. No gipsy shall cut the value of a broom&mdash;no
      boy so much as take a bird's nest&mdash;without paying thee a quittance.&mdash;Ay,
      that is right&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.&mdash;Ay, that is right&mdash;forget not your
      pistols. Come now, and let us away."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Whither?" said Anthony.
    </p>
    <p>
      "To my lady's chamber; and, mind, she MUST along with us. Thou art not a
      fellow to be startled by a shriek?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is false!" said the Countess; "thou hast stolen the warrant&mdash;thou,
      who art capable of every villainy, from the blackest to the basest!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Compel! Thou darest not put it to that issue, base as thou art!"
      exclaimed the unhappy Countess.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, madam, wives must obey their husbands&mdash;-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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;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&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay," replied Varney, "said he so, indeed? You know all, then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "All&mdash;all; and you were as wise to make a friend of me while the
      weather is fair betwixt us."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And was there no one present," said Varney, "when my lord so spoke?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;whose apprentice you have been, Michael&mdash;who
      has taught you the depths and shallows of court intrigue?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "She sleeps," said Foster. "I would we were home&mdash;her strength is
      exhausted."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Rest will restore her," answered Varney. "She shall soon sleep sound and
      long. We must consider how to lodge her in safety."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;for
      they hate this lady cordially."
    </p>
    <p>
      "We will not trust them, however, friend Anthony," said Varney; "We must
      secure her in that stronghold where you keep your gold."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My gold!" said Anthony, much alarmed; "why, what gold have I? God help
      me, I have no gold&mdash;I would I had!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;somewhat
      too much of that has she learned already, an it please your ladyship."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, ay," muttered Foster, "'tis but reasonable; but, under favour, you go
      not to your gew-gaw toy-house yonder&mdash;you will sleep to-night in
      better security."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I would it were in my grave," said the Countess; "but that mortal
      feelings shiver at the idea of soul and body parting."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But does he come hither?&mdash;does he indeed, good Foster?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, ay, good Foster!" replied the other. "But what Foster shall I be
      to-morrow when you speak of me to my lord&mdash;though all I have done was
      to obey his own orders?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You shall be my protector&mdash;a rough one indeed&mdash;but still a
      protector," answered the Countess. "Oh that Janet were but here!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "She is better where she is," answered Foster&mdash;"one of you is enough
      to perplex a plain head. But will you taste any refreshment?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh no, no&mdash;my chamber&mdash;my chamber! I trust," she said
      apprehensively, "I may secure it on the inside?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How!&mdash;what mean you?" said Foster&mdash;"run away&mdash;fled with my
      forty pounds, that should have been multiplied a thousand-fold? I will
      have Hue and Cry!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will tell thee a surer way," said Varney.
    </p>
    <p>
      "How!&mdash;which way?" exclaimed Foster; "I will have back my forty
      pounds&mdash;I deemed them as surely a thousand times multiplied&mdash;I
      will have back my in-put, at the least."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Go hang thyself, then, and sue Alasco in the Devil's Court of Chancery,
      for thither he has carried the cause."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How!&mdash;what dost thou mean is he dead?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "SANCTA MARIA!" said Foster&mdash;"I mean, God in His mercy preserve us
      from covetousness and deadly sin!&mdash;Had he not had projection, think
      you? Saw you no ingots in the crucibles?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nay, I looked not but at the dead carrion," answered Varney; "an ugly
      spectacle&mdash;he was swollen like a corpse three days exposed on the
      wheel. Pah! give me a cup of wine."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will go," said Foster, "I will examine myself&mdash;" He took the lamp,
      and hastened to the door, but there hesitated and paused. "Will you not go
      with me?" said he to Varney.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How TWO sops&mdash;what mean you?" said Foster&mdash;"what mean you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You will know in time," said Varney;&mdash;"and then this other banquet&mdash;but
      thou wilt esteem Her too choice a morsel for the fiend's tooth&mdash;she
      must have her psalms, and harps, and seraphs."
    </p>
    <p>
      Anthony Foster heard, and came slowly back to the table. "God! Sir
      Richard, and must that then be done?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, in very truth, Anthony, or there comes no copyhold in thy way,"
      replied his inflexible associate.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I always foresaw it would land there!" said Foster. "But how, Sir
      Richard, how?&mdash;for not to win the world would I put hands on her."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I cannot blame thee," said Varney; "I should be reluctant to do that
      myself. We miss Alasco and his manna sorely&mdash;ay, and the dog
      Lambourne."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, where tarries Lambourne?" said Anthony.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;yonder gimcrack of thine, will
      remain secure in appearance, will it not, though the supports are
      withdrawn beneath?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ay, marry, will it," said Foster; "so long as it is not trodden on."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But were the lady to attempt an escape over it," replied Varney, "her
      weight would carry it down?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "A mouse's weight would do it," said Foster.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Perhaps she is resolved," said Foster, "to await her husband's return."
    </p>
    <p>
      "True!&mdash;most true!" said Varney, rushing out; "I had not thought of
      that before."
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;a heavy fall&mdash;a faint groan&mdash;and all was over.
    </p>
    <p>
      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?&mdash;is the deed done?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "O God, forgive us!" replied Anthony Foster.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, thou fool," said Varney, "thy toil is ended, and thy reward secure.
      Look down into the vault&mdash;what seest thou?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I see only a heap of white clothes, like a snowdrift," said Foster. "O
      God, she moves her arm!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hurl something down on her&mdash;thy gold chest, Tony&mdash;it is an
      heavy one."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Varney, thou art an incarnate fiend!" replied Foster.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There needs nothing more&mdash;she is gone!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "So pass our troubles," said Varney, entering the room; "I dreamed not I
      could have mimicked the Earl's call so well."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;it
      is a seething of the kid in the mother's milk!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thou art a fanatical ass," replied Varney; "let us now think how the
      alarm should be given&mdash;the body is to remain where it is."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Varney, upon a second examination, made very little mystery either of the
      crime or of its motives&mdash;-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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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 bonds in his death."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.]
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_NOTE" id="link2H_NOTE">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      NOTES.
    </h2>
    <p>
      Note 1. Ch. III.&mdash;FOSTER, LAMBOURNE, AND THE BLACK BEAR.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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:&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     "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.
</pre>
    <p>
      "These verses following are writ at length, two by two, in praise of him:&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     "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."
</pre>
    <p>
      The arms over it thus:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      Quart. I. 3 HUNTER'S HORNS stringed.
    </p>
    <p>
      II. 3 PINIONS with their points upwards.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The crest is a STAG couchant, vulnerated through the neck by a broad
      arrow; on his side is a MARTLETT for a difference."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Note 2. Ch. XIII.&mdash;LEGEND OF WAYLAND SMITH.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."&mdash;GOUGH'S edition of CAMDEN'S BRITANNIA, vol.i.,
      p. 221.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Note 3. Ch. XIV.&mdash;LEICESTER AND SUSSEX.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Note 4. Ch. XIV.&mdash;SIR WALTER RALEIGH.
    </p>
    <p>
      Among the attendants and adherents of Sussex, we have ventured to
      introduce the celebrated Raleigh, in the dawn of his court favour.
    </p>
    <p>
      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:&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     The enemy to the stomach, and the word of disgrace,
     Is the name of the gentleman with the bold face.
</pre>
    <p>
      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.&mdash;See
      AUBREY'S CORRESPONDENCE, vol.ii., part ii., p.500.
    </p>
    <p>
      Note 5. Ch. XV.&mdash;COURT FAVOUR OF SIR WALTER RALEIGH.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Note 6. Ch. XVII.&mdash;ROBERT LANEHAM.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Note 7. Ch. XVIII.&mdash;DR. JULIO.
    </p>
    <p>
      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:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;-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&mdash;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."&mdash;PARSONS' LEICESTER'S COMMONWEALTH, p.23.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Note 8. Ch. XXXII.&mdash;FURNITURE OF KENILWORTH.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      EXTRACTS FROM KENILWORTH INVENTORY, A.D. 1584.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      A gilte salte like a swann, mother of perle. Pois xxx oz. iij quarters.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      A green barge-cloth, embrother'd with white lions and beares.
    </p>
    <p>
      A perfuming pann, of silver. Pois xix oz.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the halle. Tabells, long and short, vj. Formes, long and short, xiiij.
    </p>
    <p>
      HANGINGS. (These are minutely specified, and consisted of the following
      subjects, in tapestry, and gilt, and red leather.)
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.)
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      A chaise of crymson sattin, suteable.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.]
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      (There were eleven down beds and ninety feather beds, besides thirty-seven
      mattresses.)
    </p>
    <p>
      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.)
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      A square stoole and a foote stoole, of crimson velvet, fringed and
      garnished suteable.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      A square cushen, of the like velvet, embr. suteable to the long cushen.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.)
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      PICTURES. (Chiefly described as having curtains.)
    </p>
    <p>
      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 Wm. Mildmay. Sr. Wm. Pickering. Edwin
      Abp. of York.
    </p>
    <p>
      A tabell of an historie of men, women, and children, moulden in wax.
    </p>
    <p>
      A little foulding table of ebanie, garnished with white bone, wherein are
      written verses with lres. of goulde.
    </p>
    <p>
      A table of my Lord's armes.
    </p>
    <p>
      Fyve of the plannetts, painted in frames.
    </p>
    <p>
      Twentie-three cardes, [That is charts.] or maps of countries.
    </p>
    <p>
      INSTRUMENTS. (I shall give two specimens.)
    </p>
    <p>
      An instrument of organs, regall, and virginalls, covered with crimson
      velvet, and garnished with goulde lace.
    </p>
    <p>
      A fair pair of double virginalls.
    </p>
    <p>
      CABONETTS.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      (Another of purple velvet. A desk of red leather.)
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      (Another of bone and ebanie. A pair of tabells of bone.)
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Note to Ch. XLI.&mdash;DEATH OF THE EARL OF LEICESTER.
    </p>
    <p>
      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:&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     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.
</pre>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">





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