
                                Sir Walter Scott

                                   Kenilworth

                                   A Romance

 No scandal about Queen Elizabeth, I hope?
                                                                     The Critic.
 

                                  Introduction

A certain degree of success, real or supposed, in the delineation of Queen Mary,
naturally induced the Author to attempt something similar respecting »her sister
and her foe,« the celebrated Elizabeth. He will not, however, pretend to have
approached the task with the same feelings; for the candid Robertson himself
confesses having felt the prejudices with which a Scotsman is tempted to regard
the subject; and what so liberal a historian, avows, a poor romance-writer dares
not disown. But he hopes the influence of a prejudice, almost as natural to him
as his native air, will not be found to have greatly affected the sketch he has
attempted of England's Elizabeth. I have endeavoured to describe her as at once
a high-minded sovereign, and a female of passionate feelings, hesitating betwixt
the sense of her rank and the duty she owed her subjects on the one hand, and on
the other, her attachment to a nobleman, who, in external qualifications at
least, amply merited her favour. The interest of the story is thrown upon that
period when the sudden death of the first Countess of Leicester seemed to open
to the ambition of her husband the opportunity of sharing the crown of his
sovereign.
    It is possible that slander, which very seldom favours the memories of
persons in exalted stations, may have blackened the character of Leicester with
darker shades than really belonged to it. But the almost general voice of the
times attached the most foul suspicions to the death of the unfortunate
Countess, more especially as it took place so very opportunely for the
indulgence of her lover's ambition. If we can trust Ashmole's Antiquities of
Berkshire, there was but too much ground for the traditions which charge
Leicester with the murder of his wife. In the following extract of the passage
the reader will find the authority I had for the story of the romance: -
    »At the west end of the church are the ruins of a manor, anciently belonging
(as a cell or place of removal, as some report) to the monks of Abingdon. At the
Dissolution the said manor or lordship was conveyed to one -- Owen (I believe),
the possessor of Godstow then.
    In the hall, over the chimney, I find Abingdon arms cut in stone, viz. a
patonee between four martletts; and also another escutcheon, viz. a lion
rampant, and several mitres cut in stone about the house. There is also in the
said house a chamber called Dudley's chamber, where the Earl of Leicester's wife
was murdered; of which this is the story following: -
    Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, a very goodly personage, and singularly
well featured, being a great favourite to Queen Elizabeth, it was thought, and
commonly reported, that had he been a bachelor or widower the Queen would have
made him her husband; to this end, to free himself of all obstacles, he
commands, or perhaps, with fair flattering entreaties, desires his wife to
repose herself here at his servant Anthony Forster's house, who then lived in
the aforesaid manor-house; and also prescribed to Sir Richard Varney (a prompter
to this design), at his coming hither, that he should first attempt to poison
her, and if that did not take effect, then by any other way whatsoever to
dispatch her. This, it seems, was proved by the report of Dr. Walter Bayly,
sometime fellow of New College, then living in Oxford, and professor of physic
in that university; whom, because he would not consent to take away her life by
poison, the Earl endeavoured to displace him the court. This man, it seems,
reported for most certain, that there was a practice in Cumnor among the
conspirators to have poisoned this poor innocent lady a little before she was
killed, which was attempted after this manner: - They seeing the good lady sad
and heavy (as one that well knew by her other handling that her death was not
far off), began to persuade her that her present disease was abundance of
melancholy and other humours, etc., and therefore would needs counsel her to
take some potion, which she absolutely refusing to do, as still suspecting the
worst; whereupon they sent a messenger on a day (unawares to her) for Dr. Bayly,
and entreated him to persuade her to take some little potion by his direction,
and they would fetch the same at Oxford; meaning to have added something of
their own for her comfort, as the doctor upon just cause and consideration did
suspect, seeing their great importunity, and the small need the lady had of
physic, and therefore he peremptorily denied their request; misdoubting (as he
afterwards reported) lest, if they had poisoned her under the name of his
potion, he might after have been hanged for a colour of their sin, and the
doctor remained still well assured that this way taking no effect, she would not
long escape their violence, which afterwards happened thus. For Sir Richard
Varney above said (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
Abingdon 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 down stairs (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 farther 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 re-buried 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.«1
    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 rake, who determines to destroy
all his family, throws his wife down stairs, with this allusion to the supposed
murder of Leicester's Lady -
 
The only way to charm, a woman's tongue
Is, break her neck - a politician did it.
 
The reader will find I have borrowed several incidents as well as names from
Ashmole, and the more early authorities; but my first acquaintance with the
history was through the more pleasing medium, of verse. There is a period in
youth when the mere power of numbers has a more strong effect on ear and
imagination than in more advanced life. At this season of immature taste the
Author was greatly delighted with the poems of Mickle and Langhorne, poets who,
though by no means deficient in the higher branches of their art, were eminent
for their powers of verbal melody above most who have practised this department
of poetry. One of those pieces of Mickle, which the author was particularly
pleased with, is a ballad, or rather a species of elegy, on the subject of
Cumnor Hall, which, with others by the same author, were to be found in Evans's
Ancient Ballads (volume iv. page 130), to which work Mickle made liberal
contributions. The first stanza especially had a peculiar species of enchantment
for the youthful ear of the Author, the force of which is not even now entirely
spent; some others are sufficiently prosaic.
 

                                  Cumnor Hall

The dews of summer night did fall;
The moon, sweet regent of the sky,
Silver'd the walls of Cumnor Hall,
And many an oak that grew thereby.
 
Now nought was heard beneath the skies,
The sounds of busy life were still,
Save an unhappy lady's sighs,
That issued from that lonely pile.
 
Leicester, she cried, is this thy love
That thou so oft hast sworn to me,
To leave me in this lonely grove,
Immured in shameful privity?
 
No more thou com'st with lover's speed,
Thy once beloved bride to see;
But be she alive, or be she dead,
I fear, stern Earl, 's the same to thee.
 
Not so the usage I received
When happy in my father's hall;
No faithless husband then me grieved,
No chilling fears did me appal.
 
I rose up with the cheerful morn,
No lark more blithe, no flower more gay;
And like the bird that haunts the thorn,
So merrily sung the livelong day.
 
If that my beauty is but small,
Among court ladies all despised,
Why didst thou rend it from that hall,
Where, scornful Earl, it well was prized?
 
And when you first to me made suit,
How fair I was you oft would say!
And, proud of conquest, pluck'd the fruit,
Then left the blossom to decay.
 
Yes! now neglected and despised,
The rose is pale, the lily's dead;
But he that once their charms so prized,
Is sure the cause those charms are fled.
 
For know, when sick'ning grief doth prey,
And tender love's repaid with scorn,
The sweetest beauty will decay -
What floweret can endure the storm?
 
At court, I'm told, is beauty's throne,
Where every lady's passing rare,
That Eastern flowers, that shame the sun,
Are not so glowing, not so fair.
 
Then, Earl, why didst thou leave the beds
Where roses and where lilies vie,
To seek a primrose, whose pale shades
Must sicken when those gauds are by?
 
'Mong rural beauties I was one,
Among the fields wild flowers are fair;
Some country swain might me have won,
And thought my beauty passing rare.
 
But, Leicester (or I much am wrong),
Or 'tis not beauty lures thy vows;
Rather ambition's gilded crown
Makes thee forget thy humble spouse.
 
Then, Leicester, why, again I plead
(The injured surely may repine) -
Why didst thou wed a country maid,
When some fair princess might be thine?
 
Why didst thou praise my humble charms,
And, oh! then leave them to decay?
Why didst thou win me to thy arms,
Then leave to mourn the livelong day?
 
The village maidens of the plain
Salute me lowly as they go;
Envious they mark my silken train,
Nor think a Countess can have woe.
 
The simple nymphs! they little know
How far more happy's their estate;
To smile for joy than sigh for woe -
To be content than to be great.
 
How far less blessed 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 winked aside, and seem'd to say,
»Countess, prepare, thy end is near!«
 
And now, while happy peasants sleep,
Here I sit lonely and forlorn;
No one to soothe me as I weep,
Save Philomel on yonder thorn.
 
My spirits flag - my hopes decay -
Still that dread death-bell smites my ear;
And many a boding seems to say,
»Countess, prepare, thy end is near!«
 
Thus sore and sad that lady grieved
In Cumnor Hall so lone and drear;
And many a heartfelt sigh she heaved,
And let fall many a bitter tear.
 
And ere the dawn of day appear'd,
In Cumnor Hall, so lone and drear,
Full many a piercing scream was heard,
And many a cry of mortal fear.
 
The death-bell thrice was heard to ring,
An aerial voice was heard to call,
And thrice the raven flapp'd its wing
Around the towers of Cumnor Hall.
 
The mastiff howl'd at village door,
The oaks were shatter'd on the green;
Woe was the hour - for never more
That hapless Countess e'er was seen!
 
And in that Manor now no more
Is cheerful feast and sprightly ball;
For ever since that dreary hour
Have spirits haunted Cumnor Hall.
 
The village maids, with fearful glance,
Avoid the ancient moss-grown wall;
Nor ever lead the merry dance
Among the groves of Cumnor Hall.
 
Full many a traveller oft hath sigh'd,
And pensive wept the Countess' fall,
As wandering onwards they've espied
The haunted towers of Cumnor Hall.
 
    ABBOTSFORD, 1st March 1831.
 



                             Cumnor Hall or Place.

 
[In a valuable work, by Mr. Adlard, on Amy Robsart, the Earl of Leicester, and
Kenilworth, 8vo, London 1870, the author says that Cumnor Place was originally
one of the country seats of the Abbots of Abingdon, and that, on the dissolution
of the monasteries, it was granted by Henry VIII. to his physician George Owen.
At Owen's death in 1561 it was bought by Anthony Foster, and was occupied by him
for several years; and at his demise it passed into the hands of the Earl of
Leicester. The Place ultimately became the property of Lord Abingdon.
    »For a long period,« says Mr. Adlard, »Cumnor was deserted; the recollection
of Amy Dudley's melancholy end was revived amongst the ignorant villagers, whose
imaginations conjured up forms and horrors before unheard of, and hence arose
the legendary tales that have descended to the present time. Decay followed fast
on desertion, and, with the aid of the wanton and mischievous, before a century
had rolled away it had become almost a ruin.«
    »A few fine elms scattered here and there are all that is left to aid in
realising the former picturesque appearance of this retreat, where we are
privileged to sympathise with suffering innocence and blighted affection.«]
 

                                 Chapter First

 I am an innkeeper, and know my grounds,
 And study them; Brain o' man, I study them.
 I must have jovial guests to drive my ploughs,
 And whistling boys to bring my harvests home,
 Or I shall hear no flails thwack.
                                                                    The New Inn.
 
It is the privilege of tale-tellers to open their story in an inn, the free
rendezvous of all travellers, and where the humour of each displays itself,
without ceremony or restraint. This is especially 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.
Patronised by him, the characters of the company were placed in ready contrast;
and they seldom failed, during the emptying of a six-hooped pot, to throw off
reserve, and present themselves to each other, and to their landlord, with the
freedom of old acquaintance.
    The village of Cumnor, within three or four miles of Oxford, boasted, during
the eighteenth year 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 Tabbard
in Southwark, no one had excelled Giles Gosling in the power of pleasing his
guests of every description; and so great was his fame, that to have been in
Cumnor, without wetting a cup at the bonny Black Bear, would have been to avouch
one's-self utterly indifferent to reputation as a traveller. A country fellow
might as well return from London, without looking in the face of majesty. The
men of Cumnor were proud of their host, and their host was proud of his house,
his liquor, his daughter, and himself.
    It was in the courtyard of the inn which called this honest fellow landlord,
that a traveller alighted in the close of the evening, gave his horse, which
seemed to have made a long journey, to the hostler, and made some inquiry, which
produced the following dialogue betwixt the myrmidons of the bonny Black Bear.
    »What, ho! John Tapster.«
    »At hand, Will Hostler,« replied the man of the spigot, showing himself in
his costume of loose jacket, linen breeches, and green apron, half within and
half without a door, which appeared to descend to an outer cellar.
    »Here is a gentleman asks if you draw good ale,« continued the hostler.
    »Beshrew my heart else,« answered the tapster, »since there are but four
miles betwixt us and Oxford. - Marry, if my ale did not convince the heads of
the scholars, they would soon convince my pate with the pewter flagon.«
    »Call you that Oxford logic?« said the stranger, who had now quitted the
rein of his horse, and was advancing towards the inn door, when he was
encountered by the goodly form of Giles Gosling himself.
    »Is it logic you talk of, Sir Guest?« said the host; »why then, have at you
with a downright consequence -
 
The horse to the rack,
And to fire with the sack.«
 
»Amen! with all my heart, my good host,« said the stranger; »let it be a quart
of your best canaries, and give me your good help to drink it.«
    »Nay, you are but in your accidence yet, Sir Traveller, if you call on your
host for help for such a sipping matter as a quart of sack - were it a gallon,
you might lack some neighbourly aid at my hand, and yet call yourself a toper.«
    »Fear me not,« said the guest, »I will do my devoir as becomes a man who
finds himself within five miles of Oxford; for I am not come from the field of
Mars to discredit myself amongst the followers of Minerva.«
    As he spoke thus, the landlord, with much semblance of hearty welcome,
ushered his guest into a large low chamber, where several persons were seated
together in different parties; some drinking, some playing at cards, some
conversing, and some whose business called them to be early risers on the
morning, concluding their evening meal, and conferring with the chamberlain
about their night's quarters.
    The entrance of a stranger procured him that general and careless sort of
attention which is usually paid on such occasions, from which the following
results were deduced: - The guest was one of those who, with a well-made person,
and features not in themselves unpleasing, are nevertheless so far from
handsome, that, whether from the expression of their features, or the tone of
their voice, or from their gait and manner, there arises, on the whole, a
disinclination to their society. The stranger's address was bold, without being
frank, and seemed eagerly and hastily to claim for him a degree of attention and
deference, which he feared would be refused, if not instantly vindicated as his
right. His attire was a riding-cloak, which, when open, displayed a handsome
jerkin overlaid with lace, and belted with a buff girdle, which sustained a
broadsword and a pair of pistols.
    »You ride well provided, sir,« said the host, looking at the weapons as he
placed on the table the mulled sack which the traveller had ordered.
    »Yes, mine host; I have found the use on't in dangerous times, and I do not,
like your modern grandees, turn off my followers the instant they are useless.«
    »Ay, sir?« said Giles Gosling; »then you are from the Low Countries, the
land of pike and caliver?«
    »I have been high and low, my friend, broad and wide, far and near; but here
is to thee in a cup of thy sack - fill thyself another to pledge me; and, if it
is less than superlative, e'en drink as you have brewed.«
    »Less than superlative?« said Giles Gosling, drinking off the cup, and
smacking his lips with an air of ineffable relish - »I know nothing of
superlative, nor is there such a wine at the Three Cranes, in the Vintry, to my
knowledge; but if you find better sack than that in the Sheres, or in the
Canaries either, I would I may never touch either pot or penny more. Why, hold
it up betwixt you and the light, you shall see the little motes dance in the
golden liquor like dust in the sunbeam. But I would rather draw wine for ten
clowns than one traveller. - I trust your honour likes the wine?«
    »It is neat and comfortable, mine host; but to know good liquor, you should
drink where the vine grows. Trust me, your Spaniard is too wise a man to send
you the very soul of the grape. Why, this now, which you account so choice, were
counted but as a cup of bastard at the Groyne, or at Port Saint Mary's. You
should travel, mine host, if you would be deep in the mysteries of the butt and
pottle-pot.«
    »In troth, Signior Guest,« said Giles Gosling, »if I were to travel only
that I might be discontented with that which I can get at home, methinks I
should go but on a fool's errand. Besides, I warrant you, there is many a fool
can turn his nose up at good drink without ever having been out of the smoke of
Old England; and so ever gramercy mine own fireside.«
    »This is but a mean mind of yours, mine host,« said the stranger; »I warrant
me, all your town's folk do not think so basely. You have gallants among you, I
dare undertake, that have made the Virginia voyage, or taken a turn in the Low
Countries at least. Come, cudgel your memory. Have you no friends in foreign
parts that you would gladly have tidings of?«
    »Troth, sir, not I,« answered the host, »since ranting Robin of Drysandford
was shot at the siege of the Brill. The devil take the caliver that fired the
ball, for a blither lad never filled a cup at midnight. But he is dead and gone,
and I know not a soldier, or a traveller, who is a soldier's mate, that I would
give a peeled codling for.«
    »By the mass, that is strange. What! so many of our brave English hearts are
abroad, and you, who seem to be a man of mark, have no friend, no kinsman, among
them!«
    »Nay, if you speak of kinsmen,« answered Gosling, »I have one wild slip of a
kinsman, who left us in the last year of Queen Mary; but he is better lost than
found.«
    »Do not say so, friend, unless you have heard ill of him lately. Many a wild
colt has turned out a noble steed. - His name, I pray you?«
    »Michael Lambourne!« answered the landlord of the Black Bear; »a son of my
sister's - there is little pleasure in recollecting either the name or the
connection.«
    »Michael Lambourne!« said the stranger, as if endeavouring to recollect
himself - »what, no relation to Michael Lambourne, the gallant cavalier who
behaved so bravely at the siege of Venlo, that Grave Maurice thanked him at the
head of the army! Men said he was an English cavalier and of no high
extraction.«
    »It could scarcely be my nephew,« said Giles Gosling, »for he had not the
courage of a hen-partridge for aught but mischief.«
    »Oh, many a man finds courage in the wars,« replied the stranger.
    »It may be,« said the landlord; »but I would have thought our Mike more
likely to lose the little he had.«
    »The Michael Lambourne whom I knew,« continued the traveller, »was a likely
fellow - went always gay and well-attired, and had a hawk's eye after a pretty
wench.«
    »Our Michael,« replied the host, »had the look of a dog with a bottle at its
tail, and wore a coat, every rag of which was bidding good day to the rest.«
    »Oh, men pick up good apparel in the wars,« replied the guest.
    »Our Mike,« answered the landlord, »was more like to pick it up in a
frippery warehouse, while the broker was looking another way; and, for the
hawk's eye you talk of, his was always after my stray spoons. He was tapster's
boy here in this blessed house for a quarter of a year; and between
misreckonings, miscarriages, mistakes, and misdemeanours, had he dwelt with me
for three months longer, I might have pulled down sign, shut up house, and given
the devil the key to keep.«
    »You would be sorry, after all,« continued the traveller, »were I to tell
you poor Mike Lambourne was shot at the head of his regiment at the taking of a
sconce near Maestricht?«
    »Sorry! - it would be the blithest news I ever heard of him, since it would
ensure me he was not hanged. But let him pass - I doubt his end will never do
such credit to his friends: were it so, I should say« - (taking another cup of
sack) - »Here's God rest him, with all my heart.«
    »Tush, man,« replied the traveller, »never fear but you will have credit by
your nephew yet, especially if he be the Michael Lambourne whom I knew, and
loved very nearly, or altogether, as well as myself. Can you tell me no mark by
which I could judge whether they be the same?«
    »Faith, none that I can think of,« answered Giles Gosling, »unless that our
Mike had the gallows branded on his left shoulder for stealing a silver
caudle-cup from Dame Snort of Hogsditch.«
    »Nay, there you lie like a knave, uncle,« said the stranger, slipping aside
his ruff, and turning down the sleeve of his doublet from his neck and shoulder;
»by this good day, my shoulder is as unscarred as thine own.«
    »What, Mike, boy - Mike!« - exclaimed the host; - »and is it thou, in good
earnest? Nay, I have judged so for this half-hour; for I knew no other person
would have ta'en half the interest in thee. But, Mike, an thy shoulder be
unscathed as thou sayest, thou must own that Goodman Thong, the hangman, was
merciful in his office, and stamped thee with a cold iron.«
    »Tush, uncle - truce with your jests. Keep them to season your sour ale, and
let us see what hearty welcome thou wilt give a kinsman who has rolled the world
around for eighteen years; who has seen the sun set where it rises, and has
travelled till the west has become the east.«
    »Thou hast brought back one traveller's gift with thee, Mike, as I well see;
and that was what thou least didst need to travel for. I remember well, among
thine other qualities, there was no crediting a word which came from thy mouth.«
    »Here's an unbelieving Pagan for you, gentlemen!« said Michael Lambourne,
turning to those who witnessed this strange interview betwixt uncle and nephew,
some of whom, being natives of the village, were no strangers to his juvenile
wildness. »This may be called slaying a Cumnor fatted calf for me with a
vengeance. - But, uncle, I come not from the husks and the swine-trough, and I
care not for thy welcome or no welcome; I carry that with me will make me
welcome, wend where I will.«
    So saying, he pulled out a purse of gold, indifferently well filled, the
sight of which produced a visible effect upon the company. Some shook their
heads, and whispered to each other, while one or two of the less scrupulous
speedily began to recollect him as a school-companion, a townsman, or so forth.
On the other hand, two or three grave sedate-looking persons shook their heads,
and left the inn, hinting, that if Giles Gosling wished to continue to thrive,
he should turn his thriftless, godless nephew adrift again, as soon as he could.
Gosling demeaned himself as if he were much of the same opinion; for even the
sight of the gold made less impression on the honest gentleman, than it usually
doth upon one of his calling.
    »Kinsman Michael,« he said, »put up thy purse. My sister's son shall be
called to no reckoning in my house for supper or lodging; and I reckon thou wilt
hardly wish to stay longer, where thou art e'en but too well known.«
    »For that matter, uncle,« replied the traveller, »I shall consult my own
needs and conveniences. Meantime, I wish to give the supper and sleeping cup to
those good townsmen, who are not too proud to remember Mike Lambourne, the
tapster's boy. If you will let me have entertainment for my money, so - if not,
it is but a short two minutes' walk to the Hare and Tabor, and I trust our
neighbours will not grudge going thus far with me.«
    »Nay, Mike,« replied his uncle, »as eighteen years have gone over thy head,
and I trust thou art somewhat amended in thy conditions, thou shalt not leave my
house at this hour, and shalt e'en have whatever in reason you list to call for.
But I would I knew that that purse of thine, which thou vapourest of, were as
well come by as it seems well filled.«
    »Here is an infidel for you, my good neighbours,« said Lambourne, again
appealing to the audience. »Here's a fellow will rip up his kinsman's follies of
a good score of years' standing - And for the gold, why, sirs, I have been where
it grew, and was to be had for the gathering. In the New World have I been, man
- in the Eldorado, where urchins play at cherry-pit with diamonds, and country
wenches thread rubies for necklaces, instead of rowan-tree berries; where the
pantiles are made of pure gold, and the paving stones of virgin silver.«
    »By my credit, friend Mike,« said young Laurence Goldthred, the cutting
mercer of Abingdon, »that were a likely coast to trade to. And what may lawns,
cypresses, and ribands fetch, where gold is so plenty?«
    »Oh, the profit were unutterable,« replied Lambourne, »especially when a
handsome young merchant bears the pack himself; for the ladies of that clime are
bona-robas, and being themselves somewhat sunburnt, they catch fire like tinder
at a fresh complexion like thine, with a head of hair inclining to be red.«
    »I would I might trade thither,« said the mercer, chuckling.
    »Why, and so thou mayst,« said Michael; »that is, if thou art the same
brisk boy who was partner with me at robbing the Abbot's orchard - 'tis but a
little touch of alchemy to decoct thy house and land into ready money, and that
ready money into a tall ship, with sails, anchors, cordage, and all things
conforming; then clap thy warehouse of goods under hatches, put fifty good
fellows on deck, with myself to command them, and so hoise topsails, and hey for
the New World!«
    »Thou hast taught him a secret, kinsman,« said Giles Gosling, »to decoct, an
that be the word, his pound into a penny, and his webs into a thread. - Take a
fool's advice, neighbour Goldthred. Tempt not the sea, for she is a devourer.
Let cards and cockatrices do their worst, thy father's bales may bide a banging
for a year or two, ere thou comest to the Spital; but the sea hath a bottomless
appetite, - she would swallow the wealth of Lombard Street in a morning, as
easily as I would a poached egg, and a cup of clary; - and for my kinsman's
Eldorado, never trust me if I do not believe he has found it in the pouches of
some such gulls as thyself. - But take no snuff in the nose about it; fall to
and welcome, for here comes the supper, and I heartily bestow it on all that
will take share, in honour of my hopeful nephew's return, always trusting that
he has come home another man. - In faith, kinsman, thou art as like my poor
sister as ever was son to mother.«
    »Not quite so like old Benedict Lambourne, her husband, though,« said the
mercer, nodding and winking. »Dost thou remember, Mike, what thou saidst when
the schoolmaster's ferule was over thee for striking up thy father's crutches? -
it is a wise child, saidst thou, that knows its own father. Dr. Bircham laughed
till he cried again, and his crying saved yours.«
    »Well, he made it up to me many a day after,« said Lambourne; »and how is
the worthy pedagogue?«
    »Dead,« said Giles Gosling, »this many a day since.«
    »That he is,« said the clerk of the parish; »I sat by his bed the whilst -
He passed away in a blessed frame, Morior - mortuus sum vel fui - mori - These
were hie latest words, and he just added, my last verb is conjugated.«
    »Well, peace be with him,« said Mike, »he owes me nothing.«
    »No, truly,« replied Goldthred; »and every lash which he laid on thee, he
always was wont to say, he spared the hangman a labour.«
    »One would have thought he left him little to do then,« said the clerk; »and
yet Goodman Thong had no sinecure of it with our friend, after all.«
    »Voto a dios!« exclaimed Lambourne, his patience appearing to fail him, as
he snatched his broad slouched hat from the table and placed it on his head, so
that the shadow gave the sinister expression of a Spanish bravo to eyes and
features which naturally boded nothing pleasant. »Harkee, my masters - all is
fair among friends, and under the rose; and I have already permitted my worthy
uncle here, and all of you, to use your pleasure with the frolics of my nonage.
But I carry sword and dagger, my good friends, and can use them lightly too upon
occasion - I have learned to be dangerous upon points of honour ever since I
served the Spaniard, and I would not have you provoke me to the degree of
falling foul.«
    »Why, what would you do?« said the clerk.
    »Ay, sir, what would you do?« said the mercer, bustling up on the other side
of the table.
    »Slit your throat, and spoil your Sunday's quavering, Sir Clerk,« said
Lambourne, fiercely; »cudgel you, my worshipful dealer in flimsy sarsenets, into
one of your own bales.«
    »Come, come,« said the host, interposing, »I will have no swaggering here -
Nephew, it will become you best to show no haste to take offence; and you,
gentlemen, will do well to remember, that if you are in an inn, still you are
the innkeeper's guests, and should spare the honour of his family. - I protest
your silly broils make me as oblivious as yourself; for yonder sits my silent
guest as I call him, who hath been my two days' inmate, and hath never spoken a
word, save to ask for his food and his reckoning - gives no more trouble than a
very peasant - pays his shot like a prince royal - looks but at the sum total of
the reckoning, and does not know what day he shall go away. Oh, 'tis a jewel of
a guest! and yet, hang-dog that I am, I have suffered him to sit by himself like
a castaway in yonder obscure nook, without so much as asking him to take bite or
sup along with us. It were but the right guerdon of my incivility, were he to
set off to the Hare and Tabor before the night grows older.«
    With his white napkin gracefully arranged over his left arm, his velvet cap
laid aside for the moment, and his best silver flagon in his right hand, mine
host walked up to the solitary guest whom he mentioned, and thereby turned upon
him the eyes of the assembled company.
    He was a man aged between twenty-five and thirty, rather above the middle
size, dressed with plainness and decency, yet bearing an air of ease, which
almost amounted to dignity, and which seemed to infer that his habit was rather
beneath his rank. His countenance was reserved and thoughtful, with dark hair
and dark eyes - the last, upon any momentary excitement, sparkled with uncommon
lustre, but on other occasions had the same meditative and tranquil cast which
was exhibited by his features. The busy curiosity of the little village had been
employed to discover his name and quality, as well as his business at Cumnor;
but nothing had transpired on either subject which could lead to its
gratification. Giles Gosling, head-borough of the place, and a steady friend to
Queen Elizabeth and the Protestant religion, was at one time inclined to suspect
his guest of being a Jesuit, or seminary priest, of whom Rome and Spain sent at
this time so many to grace the gallows in England. But it was scarce possible to
retain such a prepossession against a guest who gave so little trouble, paid his
reckoning so regularly, and who proposed, as it seemed, to make a considerable
stay at the bonny Black Bear.
    »Papists,« argued Giles Gosling, »are a pinching, close-fisted race, and
this man would have found a lodging with the wealthy squire at Bessellsey, or
with the old Knight at Wootton, or in some other of their Roman dens, instead of
living in a house of public entertainment, as every honest man and good
Christian should. Besides, on Friday, he stuck by the salt beef and carrot,
though there were as good spitchcocked eels on the board as ever were ta'en out
of the Isis.«
    Honest Giles, therefore, satisfied himself that his guest was no Roman, and
with all comely courtesy besought the stranger to pledge him in a draught of the
cool tankard, and honour with his attention a small collation which he was
giving to his nephew, in honour of his return, and, as he verily hoped, of his
reformation. The stranger at first shook his head, as if declining the courtesy;
but mine host proceeded to urge him with arguments founded on the credit of his
house, and the construction which the good people of Cumnor might put upon such
an unsocial humour.
    »By my faith, sir,« he said, »it touches my reputation that men should be
merry in my house, and we have ill tongues amongst us at Cumnor (as where be
there not?) who put an evil mark on men who pull their hat over their brows as
if they were looking back to the days that are gone, instead of enjoying the
blithe sunshiny weather which God hath sent us in the sweet looks of our
sovereign mistress, Queen Elizabeth, whom Heaven long bless and preserve!«
    »Why, mine host,« answered the stranger, »there is no treason, sure, in a
man's enjoying his own thoughts, under the shadow of his own bonnet? You have
lived in the world twice as long as I have, and you must know there are thoughts
that will haunt us in spite of ourselves, and to which it is in vain to say, be
gone, and let me be merry.«
    »By my sooth,« answered Giles Gosling, »if such troublesome thoughts haunt
your mind, and will not get them gone for plain English, we will have one of
Father Bacon's pupils from Oxford, to conjure them away with logic and with
Hebrew - Or, what say you to laying them in a glorious red sea of claret, my
noble guest? Come, sir, excuse my freedom. I am an old host, and must have my
talk. This peevish humour of melancholy sits ill upon you - it suits not with a
sleek boot, a hat of a 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 will banish thee from the joys of
blithesome company into the mists of melancholy and the land of little-ease.
Here be a set of good fellows willing to be merry; do not scowl on them like the
devil looking over Lincoln.«
    »You say well, my worthy host,« said the guest with a melancholy smile,
which, melancholy as it was, gave a very pleasant expression to his countenance
- »You say well, my jovial friend; and they that are moody like myself, should
not disturb the mirth of those who are happy - I will drink a round with your
guests with all my heart, rather than be termed a mar-feast.«
    So saying, he arose and joined the company, who, encouraged by the precept
and example of Michael Lambourne, and consisting chiefly of persons much
disposed to profit by the opportunity of a merry meal at the expense of their
landlord, had already made some inroads upon the limits of temperance, as was
evident from the tone in which Michael inquired after his old acquaintances in
the town, and the bursts of laughter with which each answer was received. Giles
Gosling himself was somewhat scandalised at the obstreperous nature of their
mirth, especially as he involuntarily felt some respect for his unknown guest.
He paused, therefore, at some distance from the table occupied by these noisy
revellers, and began to make a sort of apology for their license.
    »You would think,« he said, »to hear these fellows talk, that there was not
one of them who had not been bred to live by Stand and Deliver; and yet
to-morrow 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 shagged head of
hair, that looks like a curly water-dog's back, goes unbraced, wears his cloak
on one side, and affects a ruffianly vapouring humour - when in his shop at
Abingdon, he is, from his flat cap to his glistening shoes, as precise in his
apparel as if he was named for mayor. He talks of breaking parks, and taking the
highway, in such fashion that you would think he haunted every night betwixt
Hounslow and London; when in fact he may be found sound asleep on his
feather-bed, with a candle placed beside him on one side, and a Bible on the
other, to fright away the goblins.«
    »And your nephew, mine host, this same Michael Lambourne, who is lord of the
feast - is he, too, such a would-be ruffler as the rest of them?«
    »Why, there you push me hard,« said the host; »my nephew is my nephew, and
though he was a desperate Dick of yore, yet Mike may have mended like other
folks, you wot - And I would not have you think all I said of him, even now, was
strict gospel - I knew the wag all the while, and wished to pluck his plumes
from him - And now, sir, by what name shall I present my worshipful guest to
these gallants?«
    »Marry, mine host,« replied the stranger, »you may call me Tressilian.«
    »Tressilian?« answered my host of the Bear, »a worthy name; and, as I think,
of Cornish lineage; for what says the south proverb -
 
'By Pol, Tre, and Pen,
You may know the Cornish men.
 
Shall I say the worthy Mr. Tressilian of Cornwall?«
    »Say no more than I have given you warrant for, mine host, and so shall you
be sure you speak no more than is true. A man may have one of those honourable
prefixes to his name, yet be born far from Saint Michael's Mount.«
    Mine host pushed his curiosity no farther, but presented Mr. Tressilian to
his nephew's company, who, after exchange of salutations, and drinking to the
health of their new companion, pursued the conversation in which he found them
engaged, seasoning it with many an intervening pledge.
 

                                 Chapter Second

            Talk you of young Master Lancelot?
                                                             Merchant of Venice.
 
After some brief interval, Master Goldthred, at the earnest instigation of mine
host, and the joyous concurrence of his guests, indulged the company with the
following morsel of melody: -
 
Of all the birds on bush or tree,
Commend me to the owl,
Since he may best ensample be
To those the cup that trowl.
 
For when the sun hath left the west,
He chooses the tree that he loves the best,
And he whoops out his song, and he laughs at his jest,
Then though hours be late, and weather foul,
We'll drink to the health of the bonny, bonny owl.
 
The lark is but a bumpkin fowl,
He sleeps in his nest till morn;
But my blessing upon the jolly owl,
That all night blows his horn.
Then up with your cup till you stagger in speech,
And match me this catch though you swagger and screech.
And drink till you wink, my merry men each,
For though hours be late, and weather be foul,
We'll drink to the health of the bonny, bonny owl.
 
»There is savour in this, my hearts,« said Michael, when the mercer had finished
his song, »and some goodness seems left among you yet - but what a bead-roll you
have read me of old comrades, and to every man's name tacked some ill-omened
motto! And so Swashing Will of Wallingford hath bid us good-night?«
    »He died the death of a fat buck,« said one of the party, »being shot with a
crossbow bolt, by old Thatcham, the Duke's stout park-keeper at Donington
Castle.«
    »Ay, ay, he always loved venison well,« replied Michael, »and a cup of
claret to boot - and so here's one to his memory. Do me right, my masters.«
    When the health of this departed worthy had been duly honoured, Lambourne
proceeded to inquire after Prance of Padworth.
    »Pranced off - made immortal ten years since,« said the mercer; »marry, sir,
Oxford Castle and Goodman Thong, and a tenpenny-worth of cord best know how.«
    »What, so they hung poor Prance high and dry? so much for loving to walk by
moonlight - a cup to his memory, my masters - all merry fellows like moonlight.
What has become of Hal with the plume? - he who lived near Yattenden, and wore
the long feather - I forget his name.«
    »What, Hal Hempseed?« replied the mercer, »why, you may remember, he was a
sort of a gentleman, and would meddle in state matters, and so he got into the
mire about the Duke of Norfolk's matter these two or three years since, fled the
country with a pursuivant's warrant at his heels, and has never since been heard
of.«
    »Nay, after these baulks,« said Michael Lambourne, »I need hardly inquire
after Tony Foster; for when ropes, and crossbow shafts, and pursuivant's
warrants, and such like gear, were so rife, Tony could hardly 'scape them.«
    »Which Tony Foster mean you?« said the innkeeper.
    »Why, he they called Tony Fire-the-Fagot, because he brought a light to
kindle the pile round Lattimer and Ridley, when the wind blew out Jack Thong's
torch, and no man else would give him light for love or money.«
    »Tony Foster lives and thrives,« said the host. - »But, kinsman, I would not
have you call him Tony Fire-the-Fagot, if you would not brook the stab.«
    »How! is he grown ashamed on't?« said Lambourne; »why he was wont to boast
of it, and say he liked as well to see a roasted heretic as a roasted ox.«
    »Ay, but, kinsman, that was in Mary's time,« replied the landlord, »when
Tony's father was Reeve here to the Abbot of Abingdon. But since that, Tony
married a pure precisian, and is as good a Protestant, I warrant you, as the
best.«
    »And looks grave, and holds his head high, and scorns his old companions,«
said the mercer.
    »Then he hath prospered, I warrant him,« said Lambourne; »for ever when a
man hath got nobles of his own, he keeps out of the way of those whose
exchequers lie in other men's purchase.«
    »Prospered, quotha!« said the mercer; »why, you remember Cumnor Place, the
old mansion-house beside the churchyard?«
    »By the same token, I robbed the orchard three times - what of that? - It
was the old Abbot's residence when there was plague or sickness at Abingdon.«
    »Ay,« said the host, »but that has been long over; and Anthony Foster hath a
right in it, and lives there by some grant from a great courtier, who had the
church-lands from the crown; and there he dwells, and has as little to do with
any poor wight in Cumnor, as if he were himself a belted knight.«
    »Nay,« said the mercer, »it is not altogether pride in Tony neither - there
is a fair lady in the case, and Tony will scarce let the light of day look on
her.«
    »How!« said Tressilian, who now for the first time interfered in their
conversation, »did ye not say this Foster was married and to a precisian?«
    »Married he was, and to as bitter a precisian as ever ate flesh in Lent; and
a cat-and-dog life she led with Tony, as men said. But she is dead, rest be with
her, and Tony hath but a slip of a daughter; so it is thought he means to wed
this stranger, that men keep such a coil about.«
    »And why so? - I mean, why do they keep a coil about her?« said Tressilian.
    »Why, I wot not,« answered the host, »except that men say she is as
beautiful as an angel, and no one knows whence she comes, and every one wishes
to know why she is kept so closely mewed up. For my part, I never saw her - you
have, I think, Master Goldthred?«
    »That I have, old boy,« said the mercer. »Look you, I was riding hither from
Abingdon - I passed under the east oriel window of the old mansion, where all
the old saints and histories and such like are painted - It was not the common
path I took, but one through the Park; for the postern-door was upon the latch,
and I thought I might take the privilege of an old comrade to ride across
through the trees, both for shading, as the day was somewhat hot, and for
avoiding of dust, because I had on my peach-coloured doublet, pinked out with
cloth of gold.«
    »Which garment,« said Michael Lambourne, »thou wouldst willingly make
twinkle in the eyes of a fair dame. Ah! villain, thou wilt never leave thy old
tricks.«
    »Not so - not so,« said the mercer, with a smirking laugh; »not altogether
so - but curiosity, thou knows, and a strain of compassion withal, - for the
poor young lady sees nothing from morn to even but Tony Foster, with his
scowling black brows, his bull's head, and his bandy legs.«
    »And thou wouldst willingly show her a dapper body, in a silken jerkin - a
limb like a short-legged hen's, in a cordovan boot, and a round, simpering,
what-d'ye-lack sort of a countenance, set off with a velvet bonnet, a Turkey
feather, and a gilded brooch? Ah! jolly mercer, they who have good wares are
fond to show them! Come, gentles, let not the cup stand - here's to long spurs,
short boots, full bonnets, and empty skulls!«
    »Nay, now you are jealous of me, Mike,« said Goldthred; »and yet my luck was
but what might have happened to thee, or any man.«
    »Marry, confound thine impudence,« retorted Lambourne; »thou wouldst not
compare thy pudding face and sarsenet manners to a gentleman and a soldier?«
    »Nay, my good sir,« said Tressilian, »let me beseech you will not interrupt
the gallant citizen; methinks he tells his tale so well, I could hearken to him
till midnight.«
    »It's more of your favour than of my desert,« answered Master Goldthred;
»but since I give you pleasure, worthy Master Tressilian, I shall proceed,
maugre all the gibes and quips of this valiant soldier, who, peradventure, hath
had more cuffs than crowns in the Low Countries. - And so, sir, as I passed
under the great painted window, leaving my rein loose on my ambling palfrey's
neck, partly for mine ease, and partly that I might have the more leisure to
peer about, I hears me the lattice open; and never credit me, sir, if there did
not stand there the person of as fair a woman as ever crossed mine eyes; and I
think I have looked on as many pretty wenches, and with as much judgment, as
other folks.«
    »May I ask her appearance, sir?« said Tressilian.
    »Oh, sir,« replied Master Goldthred, »I promise you, she was in
gentlewoman's attire - a very quaint and pleasing dress, that might have served
the Queen herself; for she had a forepart with body and sleeves, of
ginger-coloured satin, which, in my judgment, must have cost by the yard some
thirty shillings, lined with murrey taffeta, and laid down and guarded with two
broad laces of gold and silver. And her hat, sir, was truly the best fashioned
thing that I have seen in these parts, being of tawny taffeta, embroidered with
scorpions of Venice gold, and having a border garnished with gold fringe; - I
promise you, sir, an absolute and all-surpassing device. Touching her skirts,
they were in the old pass-devant fashion.«
    »I did not ask you of her attire, sir,« said Tressilian, who had shown some
impatience during their conversation, »but of her complexion - the colour of her
hair, her features.«
    »Touching her complexion,« answered the mercer, »I am not so special
certain; but I marked that her fan had an ivory handle curiously inlaid; - and
then again, as to the colour of her hair, why, I can warrant, be its hue what it
might, that she wore above it a net of green silk, parcel twisted with gold.«
    »A most mercer-like memory,« said Lambourne; »the gentleman asks him of the
lady's beauty, and he talks of her fine clothes.«
    »I tell thee,« said the mercer, somewhat disconcerted, »I had little time to
look at her; for just as I was about to give her the good time of day, and for
that purpose had puckered my features with a smile« -
    »Like those of a jackanape simpering at a chestnut« said Michael Lambourne.
    - »Up started of a sudden,« continued Goldthred, without heeding the
interruption, »Tony Foster himself, with a cudgel in his hand« -
    »And broke thy head across, I hope, for thine impertinence,« said his
entertainer.
    »That were more easily said than done,« answered Goldthred indignantly; »no,
no - there was no breaking of heads - it's true, he advanced his cudgel, and
spoke of laying on, and asked why I did not keep the public road, and such like;
and I would have knocked him over the pate handsomely for his pains, only for
the lady's presence, who might have swooned, for what I know.«
    »Now, out upon thee for a faint-spirited slave!« said Lambourne; »what
adventurous knight ever thought of the lady's terror, when he went to thwack
giant, dragon, or magician, in her presence, and for her deliverance? But why
talk to thee of dragons, who would be driven back by a dragon-fly? There thou
hast missed the rarest opportunity!«
    »Take it thyself, then, bully Mike,« answered Goldthred. - »Yonder is the
enchanted manor, and the dragon, and the lady, all at thy service, if thou
darest venture on them.«
    »Why, so I would for a quartern of sack,« said the soldier - »Or stay - I am
foully out of linen - wilt thou bet a piece of Hollands against these five
angels, that I go not up to the Hall to-morrow, and force Tony Foster to
introduce me to his fair guest?«
    »I accept your wager,« said the mercer; »and I think, though thou hadst even
the impudence of the devil, I shall gain on thee this bout. Our landlord here
shall hold stakes, and I will stake down gold till I send the linen.«
    »I will hold stakes on no such matter,« said Gosling. »Good now, my kinsman,
drink your wine in quiet, and let such ventures alone. I promise you, Master
Foster hath interest enough to lay you up in lavender at the Castle of Oxford,
or to get your legs made acquainted with the town-stocks.«
    »That would be but renewing an old intimacy; for Mike's shins and the town's
wooden pinfold have been well known to each other ere now,« said the mercer;
»but he shall not budge from his wager, unless he means to pay forfeit.«
    »Forfeit?« said Lambourne; »I scorn it. I value Tony Foster's wrath no more
than a shelled pea-cod; and I will visit his Lindabrides, by Saint George, be he
willing or no!«
    »I would gladly pay your halves of the risk, sir,« said Tressilian, »to be
permitted to accompany you on the adventure.«
    »In what would that advantage you, sir?« answered Lambourne.
    »In nothing, sir,« said Tressilian, »unless to mark the skill and valour
with which you conduct yourself. I am a traveller, who seeks for strange
rencounters and uncommon passages, as the knights of yore did after adventures
and feats of arms.«
    »Nay, if it pleasures you to see a trout tickled,« answered Lambourne, »I
care not how many witness my skill. And so here I drink success to my
enterprise; and he that will not pledge me on his knees is a rascal, and I will
cut his legs off by the garters!«
    The draught which Michael Lambourne took upon this occasion had been
preceded by so many others, that reason tottered on her throne. He swore one or
two incoherent oaths at the mercer, who refused, reasonably enough, to pledge
him to a sentiment which inferred the loss of his own wager.
    »Wilt thou chop logic with me,« said Lambourne, »thou knave, with no more
brains than a skein of ravelled silk? By Heaven, I will cut thee into fifty
yards of galloon lace!«
    But as he attempted to draw his sword for this doughty purpose, Michael
Lambourne was seized upon by the tapster and the chamberlain, and conveyed to
his own apartment, there to sleep himself sober at his leisure.
    The party then broke up, and the guests took their leave; much more to the
contentment of mine host than of some of the company, who were unwilling to quit
good liquor, when it was to be had for free cost, so long as they were able to
sit by it. They were, however, compelled to remove; and go at length they did,
leaving Gosling and Tressilian in the empty apartment.
    »By my faith,« said the former, »I wonder where our great folks find
pleasure, when they spend their means in entertainments, and in playing mine
host without sending in a reckoning. It is what I but rarely practise; and
whenever I do, by Saint Julian, it grieves me beyond measure. Each of these
empty stoups, now, which my nephew and his drunken comrades have swilled off,
should have been a matter of profit to one in my line, and I must set them down
a dead loss. I cannot, for my heart, conceive the pleasure of noise, and
nonsense, and drunken freaks, and drunken quarrels, and smut, and blasphemy, and
so forth, when a man loses money instead of gaining by it. And yet many a fair
estate is lost in upholding such a useless course, and that greatly contributes
to the decay of publicans; for who the devil do you think would pay for drink at
the Black Bear, when he can have it for nothing at my Lord's or the Squire's?«
    Tressilian perceived that the wine had made some impression even on the
seasoned brain of mine host, which was chiefly to be inferred from his
declaiming against drunkenness. As he himself had carefully avoided the bowl, he
would have availed himself of the frankness of the moment, to extract from
Gosling some farther information upon the subject of Anthony Foster, and the
lady whom the mercer had seen in the mansion-house; but his inquiries only set
the host upon a new theme of declamation against the wiles of the fair sex, in
which he brought at full length the whole wisdom of Solomon to reinforce his
own. Finally, he turned his admonitions, mixed with much objurgation, upon his
tapsters and drawers, who were employed in removing the relics of the
entertainment, and restoring order to the apartment; and at length, joining
example to precept, though with no good success, he demolished a salver with
half a score of glasses, in attempting to show how such service was done at the
Three Cranes in the Vintry, then the most topping tavern in London. This last
accident so far recalled him to his better self, that he retired to his bed,
slept sound, and awoke a new man in the morning.
 

                                 Chapter Third

 Nay, I'll hold touch - the game shall be play'd out,
 It ne'er shall stop for me, this merry wager;
 That which I say when gamesome, I'll avouch
 In my most sober mood, ne'er trust me else.
                                                               The Hazard-Table.
 
»And how doth your kinsman, good mine host?« said Tressilian, when Giles Gosling
first appeared in the public room on the morning following the revel which we
described in the last chapter. »Is he well, and will he abide by his wager?«
    »For well, sir, he started two hours since, and has visited I know not what
purlieus of his old companions; hath but now returned, and is at this instant
breakfasting on new-laid eggs and muscadine; and for his wager, I caution you as
a friend to have little to do with that, or indeed aught that Mike proposes.
Wherefore, I counsel you to a warm breakfast upon a culiss, which shall restore
the tone of the stomach; and let my nephew and Master Goldthred swagger about
their wager as they list.«
    »It seems to me, mine host,« said Tressilian, »that you know not well what
to say about this kinsman of yours; and that you can neither blame nor commend
him without some twinge of conscience.«
    »You have spoken truly, Master Tressilian,« replied Giles Gosling. »There is
natural affection whimpering into one ear, Giles, Giles, why wilt thou take away
the good name of thy own nephew? Wilt thou defame thy sister's son, Giles
Gosling? wilt thou defoul thine own nest, dishonour thine own blood? And then,
again, comes Justice, and says, Here is a worthy guest as ever came to the bonny
Black Bear; one who never challenged a reckoning (as I say to your face you
never did, Master Tressilian - not that you have had cause), one who knows not
why he came, so far as I can see, or when he is going away; and wilt thou, being
a publican, having paid scot and lot these thirty years in the town of Cumnor,
and being at this instant head-borough, wilt thou suffer this guest of guests,
this man of men, this six-hooped pot (as I may say) of a traveller, to fall into
the meshes of thy nephew, who is known for a swasher and a desperate Dick, a
carder, and a dicer, a professor of the seven damnable sciences, if ever man
took degrees in them? No, by Heaven! I might wink, and let him catch such a
small butterfly as Goldthred; but thou, my guest, shalt be forewarned,
forearmed, so thou wilt but listen to thy trusty host.«
    »Why, mine host, thy counsel shall not be cast away,« replied Tressilian;
»however, I must uphold my share in this wager, having once passed my word to
that effect. But, lend me, I pray, some of thy counsel - This Foster, who or
what is he, and why makes he such mystery of his female inmate?«
    »Troth,« replied Gosling, »I can add but little to what you heard last
night. He was one of Queen Mary's Papists, and now he is one of Queen
Elizabeth's Protestants; he was an on-hanger of the Abbot of Abingdon, and now
he lives as master of the Manor-house. Above all, he was poor and is rich. Folk
talk of private apartments in his old waste mansion-house, bedizened fine enough
to serve the Queen, God bless her. Some men think he found a treasure in the
orchard, some that he sold himself to the devil for treasure, and some say that
he cheated the Abbot out of the church plate, which was hidden in the old
Manor-house at the Reformation. Rich, however, he is, and God and his
conscience, with the devil perhaps besides, only know how he came by it. He has
sulky ways too, breaking off intercourse with all that are of the place, as if
he had either some strange secret to keep, or held himself to be made of another
clay than we are. I think it likely my kinsman and he will quarrel, if Mike
thrust his acquaintance on him; and I am sorry that you, my worthy Master
Tressilian, will still think of going in my nephew's company.«
    Tressilian again answered him, that he would proceed with great caution, and
that he should have no fears on his account; in short, he bestowed on him all
the customary assurances with which those who are determined on a rash action,
are wont to parry the advice of their friends.
    Meantime, the traveller accepted the landlord's invitation, and had just
finished the excellent breakfast which was served to him and Gosling by pretty
Cicely, the beauty of the bar, when the hero of the preceding night, Michael
Lambourne, entered the apartment. His toilette had apparently cost him some
labour, for his clothes, which differed from those he wore on his journey, were
of the newest fashion, and put on with great attention to the display of his
person.
    »By my faith, uncle,« said the gallant, »you made a wet night of it, and I
feel it followed by a dry morning. I will pledge you willingly in a cup of
bastard. - How, my pretty coz, Cicely! why, I left you but a child in the
cradle, and there thou stand'st in thy velvet waistcoat, as tight a girl as
England's sun shines on. Know thy friends and kindred, Cicely, and come hither,
child, that I may kiss thee, and give thee my blessing.«
    »Concern not yourself about Cicely, kinsman,« said Giles Gosling, »but e'en
let her go her way, o' God's name; for although your mother were her father's
sister, yet that shall not make you and her cater-cousins.«
    »Why, uncle,« replied Lambourne, »think'st thou I am an infidel, and would
harm those of mine own house?«
    »It is for no harm that I speak, Mike,« answered his uncle, »but a simple
humour of precaution which I have. True, thou art as well gilded as a snake when
he casts his old slough in the spring-time, but for all that, thou creepest not
into my Eden. I will look after mine Eve, Mike, and so content thee - But how
brave thou be'st, lad! To look on thee now, and compare thee with Master
Tressilian here, in his sad-coloured riding-suit, who would not say that thou
wert the real gentleman, and he the tapster's boy?«
    »Troth, uncle,« replied Lambourne, »no one would say so but one of your
country breeding, that knows no better. I will say, and I care not who hears me,
there is something about the real gentry that few men come up to that are not
born and bred to the mystery. I wot not where the trick lies; but although I can
enter an ordinary with as much audacity, rebuke the waiters and drawers as
loudly, drink as deep a health, swear as round an oath, and fling my gold as
freely about as any of the jingling spurs and white feathers that are around me,
- yet, hang me if I can ever catch the true grace of it, though I have practised
an hundred times. The man of the house sets me lowest at the board, and carves
to me the last; and the drawer says, - Coming, friend, without any more
reverence or regardful addition. But hang it, let it pass; care killed a cat. I
have gentry enough to pass the trick on Tony Fire-the-Fagot, and that will do
for the matter in hand.«
    »You hold your purpose, then, of visiting your old acquaintance!« said
Tressilian to the adventurer.
    »Ay, sir,« replied Lambourne; »when stakes are made, the game must be
played; that is gamester's law, all over the world. You, sir, unless my memory
fails me (for I did steep it somewhat too deeply in the sack-butt), took some
share in my hazard.«
    »I propose to accompany you in your adventure,« said Tressilian, »if you
will do me so much grace as to permit me; and I have staked my share of the
forfeit in the hands of our worthy host.«
    »That he hath,« answered Giles Gosling, »in as fair Harry-nobles as ever
were melted into sack by a good fellow. So, luck to your enterprise, since you
will needs venture on Tony Foster; but, by my credit, you had better take
another draught before you depart, for your welcome at the Hall, yonder, will be
somewhat of the driest. And if you do get into peril, beware of taking to cold
steel; but send for me, Giles Gosling the head-borough, and I may be able to
make something out of Tony yet, for as proud as he is.«
    The nephew dutifully obeyed his uncle's hint, by taking a second powerful
pull at the tankard, observing, that his wit never served him so well as when he
had washed his temples with a deep morning's draught; - and they set forth
together for the habitation of Anthony Foster.
    The village of Cumnor is pleasantly built on a hill, and in a wooded park
closely adjacent was situated the ancient mansion occupied at this time by
Anthony Foster, of which the ruins may be still extant. The park was then full
of large trees, and, in particular, of ancient and mighty oaks, which stretched
their giant arms over the high walls surrounding the demesne, thus giving it a
melancholy, secluded, and monastic appearance. The entrance to the park lay
through an old-fashioned gateway in the outer wall, the door of which was formed
of two huge oaken leaves, thickly studded with nails, like the gate of an old
town.
    »We shall be finely holped up here,« said Michael Lambourne, looking at the
gateway and gate, »if this fellow's suspicious humour should refuse us admission
altogether, as it is like he may, in case this linsey-wolsey fellow of a
mercer's visit to his premises has disquieted him. But, no,« he added, pushing
the huge gate, which gave way, »the door stands invitingly open, and here we are
within the forbidden ground, without other impediment than the passive
resistance of a heavy oak door, moving on rusty hinges.«
    They stood now in an avenue overshadowed by such old trees as we have
described, and which had been bordered at one time by high hedges of yew and
holly. But these, having been untrimmed for many years, had run up into great
bushes, or rather dwarf-trees, and now encroached with their dark and melancholy
boughs upon the road which they once had screened. The avenue itself was grown
up with grass, and, in one or two places, interrupted by piles of withered
brushwood, which had been lopped from the trees cut down in the neighbouring
park, and was here stacked for drying. Formal walks and avenues, which, at
different points, crossed this principal approach, were, in like manner, choked
up and interrupted by piles of brushwood and billets, and in other places by
underwood and brambles. Besides the general effect of desolation which is so
strongly impressed, whenever we behold the contrivances of man wasted and
obliterated by neglect, and witness the marks of social life effaced gradually
by the influence of vegetation, the size of the trees, and the outspreading
extent of their boughs, diffused a gloom over the scene, even when the sun was
at the highest, and made a proportional impression on the mind of those who
visited it. This was felt even by Michael Lambourne, however alien his habits
were to receiving any impressions, excepting from things which addressed
themselves immediately to his passions.
    »This wood is as dark as a wolf's mouth,« said he to Tressilian, as they
walked together slowly along the solitary and broken approach, and had just come
in sight of the monastic front of the old mansion, with its shafted windows,
brick walls overgrown with ivy and creeping shrubs, and twisted stalks of
chimneys of heavy stone-work. »And yet,« continued Lambourne, »it is fairly done
on the part of Foster too; for since he chooses not visitors, it is right to
keep his place in a fashion that will invite few to trespass upon his privacy.
But had he been the Anthony I once knew him, these sturdy oaks had long since
become the property of some honest woodmonger, and the manor-close here had
looked lighter at midnight than it now does at noon, while Foster played fast
and loose with the price, in some cunning corner in the purlieus of
Whitefriars.«
    »Was he then such an unthrift?« asked Tressilian.
    »He was,« answered Lambourne, »like the rest of us, no saint, and no saver.
But what I liked worst of Tony was, that he loved to take his pleasure by
himself, and grudged, as men say, every drop of water that went past his own
mill. I have known him deal with such measures of wine when he was alone, as I
would not have ventured on with aid of the best toper in Berkshire; - that, and
some sway towards superstition, which he had by temperament, rendered him
unworthy the company of a good fellow. And now he has earthed himself here, in a
den just befitting such a sly fox as himself.«
    »May I ask you, Master Lambourne,« said Tressilian, »since your old
companion's humour jumps so little with your own, wherefore you are so desirous
to renew acquaintance with him?«
    »And may I ask you, in return, Master Tressilian,« answered Lambourne,
»wherefore you have shown yourself so desirous to accompany me on this party?«
    »I told you my motive,« said Tressilian, »when I took share in your wager, -
it was simple curiosity.«
    »La you there now!« answered Lambourne: »see how you civil and discreet
gentlemen think to use us who live by the free exercise of our wits! Had I
answered your question by saying that it was simple curiosity which led me to
visit my old comrade Anthony Foster, I warrant you had set it down for an
evasion, and a turn of my trade. But any answer, I suppose, must serve my turn.«
    »And wherefore should not bare curiosity,« said Tressilian, »be a sufficient
reason for my taking this walk with you?«
    »Oh, content yourself, sir,« replied Lambourne; »you cannot put the change
on me so easy as you think, for I have lived among the quick-stirring spirits of
the age too long, to swallow chaff for grain. You are a gentleman of birth and
breeding - your bearing makes it good; of civil habits and fair reputation -
your manners declare it, and my uncle avouches it; and yet you associate
yourself with a sort of scant-of-grace, as men call me; and, knowing me to be
such, you make yourself my companion in a visit to a man whom you are a stranger
to, - and all out of mere curiosity, forsooth! - The excuse, if curiously
balanced, would be found to want some scruples of just weight, or so.«
    »If your suspicions were just,« said Tressilian, »you have shown no
confidence in me to invite or deserve mine.«
    »Oh, if that be all,« said Lambourne, »my motives lie above water. While
this gold of mine lasts,« - taking out his purse, chucking it into the air, and
catching it as it fell, - »I will make it buy pleasure, and when it is out, I
must have more. Now, if this mysterious Lady of the Manor - this fair
Lindabrides of Tony Fire-the-Fagot, be so admirable a piece as men say, why
there's 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 groats into fair rose-nobles again.«
    »A comfortable proposal truly,« said Tressilian; »but I see not what chance
there is of accomplishing it.«
    »Not to-day or perchance to-morrow,« answered Lambourne; »I expect not to
catch the old jack till I have disposed my ground baits handsomely. But I know
something more of his affairs this morning than I did last night, and I will so
use my knowledge that he shall think it more perfect than it is. - Nay, without
expecting either pleasure or profit, or both, I had not stepped a stride within
this manor, I can tell you; for I promise you I hold our visit not altogether
without risk. But here we are, and we must make the best on't.«
    While he thus spoke, they had entered a large orchard which surrounded the
house on two sides, though the trees, abandoned by the care of man, were
over-grown and mossy, and seemed to bear little fruit. Those which had been
formerly trained as espaliers, had now resumed their natural mode of growing,
and exhibited grotesque forms, partaking of the original training which they had
received. The greater part of the ground, which had once been parterres and
flower-gardens, was suffered in like manner to run to waste, excepting a few
patches which had been dug up, and planted with ordinary pot-herbs. Some
statues, which had ornamented the garden in its days of splendour, were now
thrown down from their pedestals and broken in pieces, and a large summer-house,
having a heavy stone front, decorated with carving, representing the life and
actions of Samson, was in the same dilapidated condition.
    They had just traversed this garden of the sluggard, and were within a few
steps of the door of the mansion, when Lambourne had ceased speaking; a
circumstance very agreeable to Tressilian, as it saved him the embarrassment of
either commenting upon or replying to the frank avowal which his companion had
just made of the sentiments and views which induced him to come hither.
Lambourne knocked roundly and boldly at the huge door of the mansion, observing
at the same time, he had seen a less strong one upon a county jail. It was not
until they had knocked more than once, that an aged sour-visaged domestic
reconnoitred them through a small square hole in the door, well secured with
bars of iron, and demanded what they wanted.
    »To speak with Master Foster instantly, on pressing business of the state,«
was the ready reply of Michael Lambourne.
    »Methinks you will find difficulty to make that good,« said Tressilian in a
whisper to his companion, while the servant went to carry the message to his
master.
    »Tush,« replied the adventurer; »no soldier would go on were he always to
consider when and how he should come off. Let us once obtain entrance, and all
will go well enough.«
    In a short time the servant returned, and drawing with a careful hand both
bolt and bar, opened the gate, which admitted them through an archway into a
square court, surrounded by buildings. Opposite to the arch was another door,
which the serving-man in like manner unlocked, and thus introduced them into a
stone-paved parlour, where there was but little furniture, and that of the
rudest and most ancient fashion. The windows were tall and ample, reaching
almost to the roof of the room, which was composed of black oak; those opening
to the quadrangle were obscured by the height of the surrounding buildings, and,
as they were traversed with massive shafts of solid stone-work, and thickly
painted with religious devices, and scenes taken from Scripture history, by no
means admitted light in proportion to their size; and what did penetrate through
them, partook of the dark and gloomy tinge of the stained glass.
    Tressilian and his guide had time enough to observe all these particulars,
for they waited some space in the apartment ere the present master of the
mansion at length made his appearance. Prepared as he was to see an inauspicious
and ill-looking person, the ugliness of Anthony Foster considerably exceeded
what Tressilian had anticipated. He was of middle stature, built strongly, but
so clumsily as to border on deformity, and to give all his motions the ungainly
awkwardness of a left-legged and left-handed man. His hair, in arranging which,
men at that time, as at present, were very nice and curious, instead of being
carefully cleaned and disposed into short curls, or else set up on end, as is
represented in old paintings, in a manner resembling that used by fine gentlemen
of our own day, escaped in sable negligence from under a furred bonnet, and hung
in elf-locks, which seemed strangers to the comb, over his rugged brows, and
around his very singular and unprepossessing countenance. His keen dark eyes
were deep set beneath broad and shaggy eyebrows, and as they were usually bent
on the ground, seemed as if they were themselves ashamed of the expression
natural to them, and were desirous to conceal it from the observation of men. At
times, however, when, more intent on observing others, he suddenly raised them,
and fixed them keenly on those with whom he conversed, they seemed to express
both the fiercer passions, and the power of mind which could at will suppress or
disguise the intensity of inward feeling. The features which corresponded with
these eyes and this form were irregular, and marked so as to be indelibly fixed
on the mind of him who had once seen them. Upon the whole, as Tressilian could
not help acknowledging to himself, the Anthony Foster who now stood before them
was the last person, judging from personal appearance, upon whom one would have
chosen to intrude an unexpected and undesired visit. His attire was a doublet of
russet leather, like those worn by the better sort of country folk, girt with a
buff belt, in which was stuck on the right side a long knife or dudgeon dagger,
and on the other a cutlass. He raised his eyes as he entered the room, and fixed
a keenly penetrating glance upon his two visitors, then cast them down as if
counting his steps, while he advanced slowly into the middle of the room, and
said, in a low and smothered tone of voice, »Let me pray you, gentlemen, to tell
me the cause of this visit.«
    He looked as if he expected the answer from Tressilian; so true was
Lambourne's observation, that the superior air of breeding and dignity shone
through the disguise of an inferior dress. But it was Michael who replied to
him, with the easy familiarity of an old friend, and a tone which seemed
unembarrassed by any doubt of the most cordial reception.
    »Ha! my dear friend and ingle, Tony Foster!« he exclaimed, seizing upon the
unwilling hand, and shaking it with such emphasis as almost to stagger the
sturdy frame of the person whom he addressed; »how fares it with you for many a
long year? - What! have you altogether forgotten your friend, gossip, and
playfellow, Michael Lambourne?«
    »Michael Lambourne!« said Foster, looking at him a moment; then dropping his
eyes, and with little ceremony extricating his hand from the friendly grasp of
the person by whom he was addressed, »are you Michael Lambourne?«
    »Ay; sure as you are Anthony Foster,« replied Lambourne.
    »'Tis well,« answered his sullen host; »and what may Michael Lambourne
expect from his visit hither?«
    »Voto a Dios,« answered Lambourne, »I expected a better welcome than I am
like to meet, I think.«
    »Why, thou gallows-bird - thou jail-rat - thou friend of the hangman and his
customers,« replied Foster, »hast thou the assurance to expect countenance from
any one whose neck is beyond the compass of a Tyburn tippet?«
    »It may be with me as you say,« replied Lambourne; »and suppose I grant it
to be so for argument's sake, I were still good enough society for mine ancient
friend Anthony Fire-the-Fagot, though he be, for the present, by some
indescribable title, the master of Cumnor Place.«
    »Hark you, Michael Lambourne,« said Foster; »you are a gambler now, and live
by the counting of chances - Compute me the odds that I do not, on this instant,
throw you out of that window into the ditch there.«
    »Twenty to one that you do not,« answered the sturdy visitor.
    »And wherefore, I pray you?« demanded Anthony Foster, setting his teeth, and
compressing his lips, like one who endeavours to suppress some violent internal
emotion.
    »Because,« said Lambourne, coolly, »you dare not for your life lay a finger
on me. I am younger and stronger than you, and have in me a double portion of
the fighting devil, though not, it may be, quite so much of the undermining
fiend, that finds an underground way to his purpose - who hides halters under
folk's pillows, and who puts ratsbane into their porridge, as the stage-play
says.«
    Foster looked at him earnestly, then turned away, and paced the room twice,
with the same steady and considerate pace with which he had entered it; then
suddenly came back, and extended his hand to Michael Lambourne, saying, »Be not
wroth with me, good Mike; I did but try whether thou hadst parted with aught of
thine old and honourable frankness, which your enviers and backbiters called
saucy impudence.«
    »Let them call it what they will,« said Michael Lambourne, »it is the
commodity we must carry through the world with us. - Uds daggers! I tell thee,
man, mine own stock of assurance was too small to trade upon; I was fain to take
in a ton or two more of brass at every port where I touched in the voyage of
life; and I started overboard what modesty and scruples I had remaining, in
order to make room for the stowage.«
    »Nay, nay,« replied Foster, »touching scruples and modesty, you sailed hence
in ballast. - But who is this gallant, honest Mike? - is he a Corinthian - a
cutter like thyself?«
    »I prithee, know Master Tressilian, bully Foster,« replied Lambourne,
presenting his friend in answer to his friend's question; »know him and honour
him, for he is a gentleman of many admirable qualities; and though he traffics
not in my line of business, at least so far as I know, he has, nevertheless, a
just respect and admiration for artists of our class. He will come to in time,
as seldom fails; but as yet he is only a Neophyte, only a proselyte, and
frequents the company of cocks of the game, as a puny fencer does the schools of
the masters, to see how a foil is handled by the teachers of defence.«
    »If such be his quality, I will pray your company in another chamber, honest
Mike, for what I have to say to thee is for thy private ear. - Meanwhile, I pray
you, sir, to abide us in this apartment, and without leaving it - there be those
in this house who would be alarmed by the sight of a stranger.«
    Tressilian acquiesced, and the two worthies left the apartment together, in
which he remained alone to await their return.2
 

                                 Chapter Fourth

 Not serve two masters? - Here's a youth will try it -
 Would fain serve God, yet give the devil his due:
 Says grace before he doth a deed of villainy,
 And returns his thanks devoutly when 'tis acted.
                                                                       Old Play.
 
The room into which the Master of Cumnor Place conducted his worthy visitant,
was of greater extent than that in which they had at first conversed, and had
yet more the appearance of dilapidation. Large oaken presses, filled with
shelves of the same wood, surrounded the room, and had, at one time, served for
the arrangement of a numerous collection of books, many of which yet remained,
but torn and defaced, covered with dust, deprived of their costly clasps and
bindings, and tossed together in heaps upon the shelves, as things altogether
disregarded, and abandoned to the pleasure of every spoiler. The very presses
themselves seemed to have incurred the hostility of those enemies of learning,
who had destroyed the volumes with which they had been heretofore filled. They
were in several places dismantled of their shelves, and otherwise broken, and
damaged, and were moreover, mantled with cobwebs, and covered with dust.
    »The men who wrote these books,« said Lambourne, looking round him, »little
thought whose keeping they were to fall into.«
    »Nor what yeoman's service they were to do me,« quoth Anthony Foster - »the
cook hath used them for scouring his pewter, and the groom hath had nought else
to clean my boots with this many a month past.«
    »And yet,« said Lambourne, »I have been in cities where such learned
commodities would have been deemed too good for such offices.«
    »Pshaw, pshaw,« answered Foster, »they are Popish trash, every one of them,
- private studies of the mumping old Abbot of Abingdon. The nineteenthly of a
pure gospel sermon were worth a cart-load of such rakings of the kennel of
Rome.«
    »Gad-a-mercy, Master Tony Fire-the-Fagot!« said Lambourne, by way of reply.
    Foster scowled darkly at him, as he replied, »Hark ye, friend Mike; forget
that name, and the passage which it relates to, if you would not have our newly
revived comradeship die a sudden, and a violent death.«
    »Why,« said Michael Lambourne, »you were wont to glory in the share you had
in the death of the two old heretical bishops.«
    »That,« said his comrade, »was while I was in the gall of bitterness and
bond of iniquity, and applies not to my walk or my ways, now that I am called
forth into the lists. Mr. Melchisedek Maultext compared my misfortune in that
matter to that of the Apostle Paul, who kept the clothes of the witnesses who
stoned Saint Stephen. He held forth on the matter three Sabbaths past, and
illustrated the same by the conduct of an honourable person present, meaning
me.«
    »I prithee peace, Foster,« said Lambourne, »for I know not how it is, I have
a sort of creeping comes over my skin when I hear the Devil quote Scripture; and
besides, man, how couldst thou have the heart to quit that convenient old
religion, which you could so slip off or on as easily as your glove? Do I not
remember how you were wont to carry your conscience to confession, as duly as
the month came round? and when thou hadst it scoured, and burnished, and
whitewashed by the priest, thou wert ever ready for the worst villainy which
could be devised, like a child who is always readiest to rush into the mire when
he has got his Sunday's clean jerkin on.«
    »Trouble not thyself about my conscience,« said Foster, »it is a thing thou
canst not understand, having never had one of thine own; but let us rather to
the point, and say to me in one word, what is thy business with me, and what
hopes have drawn thee hither?«
    »The hope of bettering myself, to be sure,« answered Lambourne, »as the old
woman said, when she leapt over the bridge at Kingston. Look you, this purse has
all that is left of as round a sum as a man would wish to carry in his
slop-pouch. You are here well established, it would seem, and, as I think, well
befriended, for men talk of your being under some special protection; nay, stare
not like a pig that is stuck, mon, thou canst not dance in a net and they not
see thee. Now I know such protection is not purchased for nought; you must have
services to render for it, and in these I propose to help thee.«
    »But how if I lack no assistance from thee, Mike? I think thy modesty might
suppose that were a case possible.«
    »That is to say,« retorted Lambourne, »that you would engross the whole
work, rather than divide the reward - but be not over-greedy, Anthony.
Covetousness bursts the sack, and spills the grain. Look you, when the huntsman
goes to kill a stag, he takes with him more dogs than one. - He has the stanch
lyme-hound to track the wounded buck over hill and dale, but he hath also the
fleet gaze-hound to kill him at view. Thou art the lyme-hound, I am the
gaze-hound, and thy patron will need the aid of both, and can well afford to
requite it. Thou hast deep sagacity - an unrelenting purpose - a steady
long-breathed malignity of nature, that surpasses mine. But then, I am the
bolder, the more ready, both at action and expedient. Separate, our properties
are not so perfect; but unite them, and we drive the world before us. How sayest
thou - shall we hunt in couples?«
    »It is a currish proposal - thus to thrust thyself upon my private matters,«
replied Foster; »but thou wert ever an ill-nurtured whelp.«
    »You shall have no cause to say so, unless you spurn my courtesy,« said
Michael Lambourne; »but if so, keep thee well from me, Sir Knight, as the
romance has it. I will either share your counsels or traverse them; for I have
come here to be busy, either with thee or against thee.«
    »Well,« said Anthony Foster, »since thou dost leave me so fair a choice, I
will rather be thy friend than thine enemy. Thou art right; I can prefer thee to
the service of a patron, who has enough of means to make us both, and an hundred
more. And, to say truth, thou art well qualified for his service. Boldness and
dexterity he demands - the justice-books bear witness in thy favour; no starting
at scruples in his service - why, who ever suspected thee of a conscience? - an
assurance he must have, who would follow a courtier - and thy brow is as
impenetrable as a Milan visor. There is but one thing I would fain see amended
in thee.«
    »And what is that, my most precious friend Anthony?« replied Lambourne; »for
I swear by the pillow of the Seven Sleepers, I will not be slothful in amending
it.«
    »Why, you gave a sample of it even now,« said Foster. »Your speech twangs
too much of the old stamp, and you garnish it ever and anon with singular oaths
that savour of Papistrie. Besides, your exterior man is altogether too deboshed
and irregular to become one of his lordship's followers, since he has a
reputation to keep up in the eye of the world. You must somewhat reform your
dress, upon a more grave and composed fashion; wear your cloak on both
shoulders, and your falling band unrumpled and well starched - You must enlarge
the brim of your beaver, and diminish the superfluity of your trunk-hose - go to
church, or, which will be better, to meeting, at least once a-month - protest
only upon your faith and conscience - lay aside your swashing look, and never
touch the hilt of your sword, but when you would draw the carnal weapon in good
earnest.«
    »By this light, Anthony, thou art mad,« answered Lambourne, »and hast
described rather the gentleman-usher to a puritan's wife, than the follower of
an ambitious courtier! Yes, such a thing as thou wouldst make of me, should wear
a book at his girdle, instead of a poniard, and might just be suspected of
manhood enough to squire a proud dame-citizen to the lecture at Saint
Antonlin's, and quarrel in her cause with any flat-capp'd thread-maker that
would take the wall of her. He must ruffle it in another sort that would walk to
court in a nobleman's train.«
    »Oh, content you, sir,« replied Foster, »there is a change since you knew
the English world; and there are those who can hold their way through the
boldest courses, and the most secret, and yet never a swaggering word, or an
oath, or a profane word in their conversation.«
    »That is to say,« replied Lambourne, »they are in a trading copartnery, to
do the devil's business without mentioning his name in the firm? - Well, I will
do my best to counterfeit rather than lose ground in this new world, since thou
sayest it is grown so precise. But, Anthony, what is the name of this nobleman,
in whose service I am to turn hypocrite?«
    »Aha! Master Michael, are you there with your bears?« said Foster, with a
grim smile; »and this is the knowledge you pretend of my concernments? - How
know you now there is such a person in rerum natura, and that I have not been
putting a jape upon you all this time?«
    »Thou put a jape upon 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
call'st them, as through the filthy horn of an old stable lantern.«
    At this moment their conversation was interrupted by a scream from the next
apartment.
    »By the holy cross of Abingdon,« exclaimed Anthony Foster, forgetting his
Protestantism in his alarm, »I am a ruined man!«
    So saying, he rushed into the apartment whence the scream issued, followed
by Michael Lambourne. But to account for the sounds which interrupted their
conversation, it is necessary to recede a little way in our narrative.
    It has been already observed, that when Lambourne accompanied Foster into
the library, they left Tressilian alone in the ancient parlour. His dark eye
followed them forth of the apartment with a glance of contempt, a part of which
his mind instantly transferred to himself for having stooped to be even for a
moment their familiar companion. »These are the associates, Amy,« - it was thus
he communed with himself, - »to which thy cruel levity - thine unthinking and
most unmerited falsehood has condemned him, of whom his friends once hoped for
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 parents - to
thy God. I cannot bid the bright star again sparkle in the sphere it has shot
from, but« -
    A slight noise in the apartment interrupted his reverie; he looked round,
and in the beautiful and richly-attired female who entered at that instant by a
side-door, he recognised the object of his search. The first impulse arising
from this discovery urged him to conceal his face with the collar of his cloak,
until he should find a favourable moment of making himself known. But his
purpose was disconcerted by the young lady (she was not above eighteen years
old), who ran joyfully towards him, and pulling him by the cloak, said
playfully, »Nay, my sweet friend, after I have waited for you so long, you come
not to my bower to play the masquer - You are arraigned of treason to true love
and fond affection; and you must stand up at the bar, and answer it with face
uncovered - how say you, guilty or not?«
    »Alas, Amy!« said Tressilian, in a low and melancholy tone, as he suffered
her to draw the mantle from his face. The sound of his voice, and still more the
unexpected sight of his face, changed in an instant the lady's playful mood -
She staggered back, turned as pale as death, and put her hands before her face.
Tressilian was himself for a moment much overcome, but seeming suddenly to
remember the necessity of using an opportunity which might not again occur, he
said in a low tone, »Amy, fear me not.«
    »Why should I fear you?« said the lady, withdrawing her hands from her
beautiful face, which was now covered with crimson, - »why should I fear you,
Mr. Tressilian? - or wherefore have you intruded yourself into my dwelling,
uninvited, sir, and unwished for?«
    »Your dwelling, Amy!« said Tressilian. »Alas! is a prison your dwelling? - a
prison, guarded by one of the most sordid of men, but not a greater wretch than
his employer!«
    »This house is mine,« said Amy, »mine while I choose to inhabit it - If it
is my pleasure to live in seclusion, who shall gainsay me?«
    »Your father, maiden,« answered Tressilian, »your brokenhearted father; who
despatched me in quest of you with that authority which he cannot exert in
person. Here is his letter, written while he blessed his pain of body which
somewhat stunned the agony of his mind.«
    »The pain! - is my father then ill?« said the lady.
    »So ill,« answered Tressilian, »that even your utmost haste may not restore
him to health, but all shall be instantly prepared for your departure the
instant you yourself will give consent.«
    »Tressilian,« answered the lady, »I cannot, I must not, I dare not leave
this place. Go back to my father - tell him I will obtain leave to see him
within twelve hours from hence. Go back, Tressilian - tell him I am well, I am
happy - happy could I think he was so - tell him not to fear that I will come,
and in such a manner that all the grief Amy has given him shall be forgotten -
the poor Amy is now greater than she dare name. - Go, good Tressilian - I have
injured thee too, but believe me I have power to heal the wounds I have caused -
I robbed you of a childish heart, which was not worthy of you, and I can repay
the loss with honours and advancement.«
    »Do you say this to me, Amy? - Do you offer me pageants of idle ambition,
for the quiet peace you have robbed me of? - But be it so - I came not to
upbraid, but to serve and to free you. - You cannot disguise it from me; you are
a prisoner. Otherwise your kind heart - for it was once a kind heart - would
have been already at your father's bed-side. - Come - poor, deceived, unhappy
maiden! - all shall be forgot - all shall be forgiven. Fear not my importunity
for what regarded our contract - It was a dream, and I have awake - But come -
your father yet lives - Come, and one word of affection - one tear of penitence,
will efface the memory of all that has passed.«
    »Have I not already said, Tressilian,« replied she, »that I will surely come
to my father, and that without farther delay than is necessary to discharge
other and equally binding duties - Go, carry him the news - I come as sure as
there is light in heaven - that is, when I obtain permission.«
    »Permission! - permission to visit your father on his sick-bed, perhaps on
his death-bed!« repeated Tressilian impatiently; »and permission from whom? -
From the villain who, under disguise of friendship, abused every duty of
hospitality, and stole thee from thy father's roof!«
    »Do him no slander, Tressilian! - He whom thou speakest of wears a sword as
sharp as thine - sharper, vain man - for the best deeds thou hast ever done in
peace or war, were as unworthy to be named with his, as thy obscure rank to
match itself with the sphere he moves in. - Leave me! Go, do mine errand to my
father, and when he next sends to me, let him choose a more welcome messenger.«
    »Amy,« replied Tressilian, calmly, »thou canst not move me by thy
reproaches. - Tell me one thing, that I may bear at least one ray of comfort to
my aged friend - This rank of his which thou dost boast - dost thou share it
with him, Amy? - Does he claim a husband's right to control thy motions?«
    »Stop thy base unmannered tongue!« said the lady; »to no question that
derogates from my honour do I deign an answer.«
    »You have said enough in refusing to reply,« answered Tressilian; »and mark
me, unhappy as thou art, I am armed with thy father's full authority to command
thy obedience, and I will save thee from the slavery of sin and of sorrow, even
despite of thyself, Amy.«
    »Menace no violence here!« exclaimed the lady, drawing back from him, and
alarmed at the determination expressed in his look and manner; »threaten me not,
Tressilian, for I have means to repel force.«
    »But not, I trust, the wish to use them in so evil a cause?« said
Tressilian. »With thy will - thine uninfluenced, free, and natural will, Amy,
thou canst not choose this state of slavery and dishonour - thou hast been bound
by some spell - entrapped by some deceit - art now detained by some compelled
vow. - But thus I break the charm - Amy, in the name of thine excellent, thy
broken-hearted father, I command thee to follow me!«
    As he spoke, he advanced and extended his arm, as with the purpose of laying
hold upon her. But she shrunk back from his grasp and uttered the scream which,
as we before noticed, brought into the apartment Lambourne and Foster.
    The latter exclaimed, as soon as he entered, »Fire and fagot! what have we
here?« Then, addressing the lady in a tone betwixt entreaty and command, he
added, »Uds precious! madam, what make you here out of bounds? - Retire - retire
- there is life and death in this matter. - And you, friend, whoever you may be,
leave this house - out with you, before my dagger's hilt and your costard become
acquainted - Draw, Mike, and rid us of the knave!«
    »Not I, on my soul,« replied Lambourne; »he came hither in my company, and
he is safe from me by cutter's law, at least till we meet again. - But hark ye,
my Cornish comrade, you have brought a Cornish flaw of wind with you hither, a
hurricanoe as they call it in the Indies. Make yourself scarce - depart - vanish
- or we'll have you summoned before the Mayor of Halgaver, and that before
Dudman and Ramhead meet.«3
    »Away, base groom!« said Tressilian - »And you, madam, fare you well - what
life lingers in your father's bosom will leave him at the news I have to tell.«
    He departed, the lady saying faintly as he left the room, »Tressilian, be
not rash - say no scandal of me.«
    »Here is proper gear,« said Foster. »I pray you go to your chamber, my lady,
and let us consider how this is to be answered - nay, tarry not.«
    »I move not at your command, sir,« answered the lady.
    »Nay, but you must, fair lady,« replied Foster; »excuse my freedom, but, by
blood and nails, this is no time to strain courtesies - you must go to your
chamber. - Mike, follow that meddling coxcomb, and as you desire to thrive, see
him safely clear of the premises, while I bring this headstrong lady to reason.
- Draw thy tool, man, and after him.«
    »I'll follow him,« said Michael Lambourne, »and see him fairly out of
Flanders - But for hurting a man I have drunk my morning's draught withal, 'tis
clean against my conscience.« So saying, he left the apartment.
    Tressilian, meanwhile, with hasty steps, pursued the first path which
promised to conduct him through the wild and overgrown part in which the mansion
of Foster was situated. Haste and distress of mind led his steps astray, and
instead of taking the avenue which led towards the village, he chose another,
which, after he had pursued it for some time with a hasty and reckless step,
conducted him to the other side of the demesne, where a postern-door opened
through the wall, and led into the open country.
    Tressilian paused an instant. It was indifferent to him by what road he left
a spot now so odious to his recollections; but it was probable that the
postern-door was locked, and his retreat by that pass rendered impossible.
    »I must make the attempt, however,« he said to himself; »the only means of
reclaiming this lost - this miserable - this still most lovely and most unhappy
girl - must rest in her father's appeal to the broken laws of his country - I
must haste to apprise him of this heartrending intelligence.«
    As Tressilian, thus conversing with himself, approached to try some means of
opening the door, or climbing over it, he perceived there was a key put into the
lock from the outside. It turned round, the bolt revolved, and a cavalier who
entered, muffled in his riding cloak, and wearing a slouched hat, with a
drooping feather, stood at once within four yards of him who was desirous of
going out. They exclaimed at once, in tones of resentment and surprise, the one
»Varney!« the other »Tressilian!«
    »What make you here?« was the stern question put by the stranger to
Tressilian, when the moment of surprise was passed, - »What make you here, where
your presence is neither expected nor desired?«
    »Nay, Varney,« replied Tressilian, »what make you here? Are you come to
triumph over the innocence you have destroyed, as the vulture or carrion-crow
comes to batten on the lamb, whose eyes it has first plucked out? - Or are you
come to encounter the merited vengeance of an honest man? - Draw, dog, and
defend thyself!«
    Tressilian drew his sword as he spoke, but Varney only laid his hand on the
hilt of his own, as he replied, »Thou art mad, Tressilian - I own appearances
are against me, but by every oath a priest can make, or a man can swear,
Mistress Amy Robsart hath had no injury from me; and in truth I were somewhat
loath to hurt you in this cause - Thou know'st I can fight.«
    »I have heard thee say so, Varney,« replied Tressilian; »but now, methinks,
I would fain have some better evidence than thine own word.«
    »That shall not be lacking, if blade and hilt be but true to me,« answered
Varney; and drawing his sword with the right hand, he threw his cloak around his
left, and attacked Tressilian with a vigour which for a moment seemed to give
him the advantage of the combat. But this advantage lasted not long. Tressilian
added to a spirit determined on revenge, a hand and eye admirably well adapted
to the use of the rapier; so that Varney, finding himself hard pressed in his
turn, endeavoured to avail himself of his superior strength, by closing with his
adversary. For this purpose he hazarded the receiving one of Tressilian's passes
in his cloak, wrapt 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 despatching him. But Tressilian was
on his guard, and unsheathing his poniard, parried with the blade of that weapon
the home-thrust which would otherwise have finished the combat, and, in the
struggle which followed, displayed so much address, as might have confirmed the
opinion that he drew his origin from Cornwall, whose natives are such masters in
the art of wrestling, as, were the games of antiquity revived, might enable them
to challenge all Europe to the ring. Varney, in his ill-advised attempt,
received a fall so sudden and violent, that his sword flew several paces from
his hand, and ere he could recover his feet, that of his antagonist was pointed
to his throat.
    »Give me the instant means of relieving the victim of thy treachery,« said
Tressilian, »or take the last look of your Creator's blessed sun!«
    And while Varney, too confused or too sullen to reply, made a sudden effort
to arise, his adversary drew back his arm, and would have executed his threat,
but that the blow was arrested by the grasp of Michael Lambourne, who, directed
by the clashing of swords, had come up just in time to save the life of Varney.
    »Come, come, comrade,« said Lambourne, »here is enough done and more than
enough - put up your fox, and let us be jogging - The Black Bear growls for us.«
    »Off, abject!« said Tressilian, striking himself free of Lambourne's grasp;
»darest thou come betwixt me and mine enemy?«
    »Abject! abject!« repeated Lambourne; »that shall be answered with cold
steel whenever a bowl of sack has washed out memory of the morning's draught
that we had together. In the meanwhile, do you see, shog - tramp - begone - we
are two to one.«
    He spoke truth, for Varney had taken the opportunity to regain his weapon,
and Tressilian perceived it was madness to press the quarrel farther against
such odds. He took his purse from his side, and taking out two gold nobles,
flung them to Lambourne; »There, caitiff, is thy morning wage - thou shalt not
say thou hast been my guide unhired. Varney, farewell - we shall meet where
there are none to come betwixt us.« So saying, he turned round and departed
through the postern-door.
    Varney seemed to want the inclination, or perhaps the power (for his fall
had been a severe one) to follow his retreating enemy. But he glared darkly as
he disappeared, and then addressed Lambourne; »Art thou a comrade of Foster's,
good fellow?«
    »Sworn friends, as the haft is to the knife,« replied Michael Lambourne.
    »Here is a broad piece for thee - follow yonder fellow, and see where he
takes earth, and bring me word up to the mansion house here. Cautious and
silent, thou knave, as thou valuest thy throat.«
    »Enough said,« replied Lambourne; »I can draw on a scent as well as a
sleuth-hound.«
    »Begone then,« said Varney, sheathing his rapier; and, turning his back on
Michael Lambourne, he walked slowly towards the house. Lambourne stopped but an
instant to gather the nobles which his late companion had flung towards him so
unceremoniously, and muttered to himself, while he put them up in his purse
along with the gratuity of Varney, »I spoke to yonder gulls of Eldorado - By
Saint Anthony, there is no Eldorado for men of our stamp equal to bonny Old
England! It rains nobles, by Heaven - they lie on the grass as thick as
dew-drops - you may have them for gathering. And if I have not my share of such
glittering dew-drops, may my sword melt like an icicle!«
 

                                 Chapter Fifth

 -- 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 other's passion.
                                                       The Deceiver - a Tragedy.
 
Anthony Foster was still engaged in debate with his fair guest, who treated with
scorn every entreaty and request that she would retire to her own apartment,
when a whistle was heard at the entrance-door of the mansion.
    »We are fairly sped now,« said Foster; »yonder is thy lord's signal, and
what to say about the disorder which has happened in this household, by my
conscience, I know not. Some evil fortune dogs the heels of that unhanged rogue
Lambourne, and he has 'scaped the gallows against every chance, to come back and
be the ruin of me!«
    »Peace, sir,« said the lady, »and undo the gate to your master. - My lord!
my dear lord!« she then exclaimed, hastening to the entrance of the apartment;
then added, with a voice expressive of disappointment, - »Pooh! it is but
Richard Varney!«
    »Ay, madam,« said Varney, entering and saluting the lady with a respectful
obeisance, which she returned with a careless mixture of negligence and of
displeasure. »It is but Richard Varney; but even the first grey cloud should be
acceptable, when it lightens in the east, because it announces the approach of
the blessed sun.«
    »How! comes my lord hither to-night?« said the lady, in joyful, yet startled
agitation; and Anthony Foster caught up the word, and echoed the question.
Varney replied to the lady, that his lord purposed to attend her, and would have
proceeded with some compliment, when, running to the door of the parlour, she
called aloud, »Janet - Janet - come to my tiring-room instantly.« Then returning
to Varney, she asked if her lord sent any farther commendations to her.
    »This letter, honoured madam,« said he, taking from his bosom a small parcel
wrapt in scarlet silk, »and with it a token to the Queen of his Affections.«
With eager speed the lady hastened to undo the silken string which surrounded
the little packet, and failing to unloose readily the knot with which it was
secured, she again called loudly on Janet, »Bring me a knife - scissors - aught
that may undo this envious knot!«
    »May not my poor poniard serve, honoured madam?« said Varney, presenting a
small dagger of exquisite workmanship, which hung in his turkey-leather
sword-belt.
    »No, sir,« replied the lady, rejecting the instrument which he offered -
»Steel poniard shall cut no true love-knot of mine.«
    »It has cut many, however,« said Anthony Foster, half aside, and looking at
Varney. By this time the knot was disentangled without any other help than the
neat and nimble fingers of Janet, a simply-attired pretty maiden, the daughter
of Anthony Foster, who came running at the repeated call of her mistress. A
necklace of orient pearl, the companion of a perfumed billet, was now hastily
produced from the packet. The lady gave the one, after a slight glance, to the
charge of her attendant, while she read, or rather devoured, the contents of the
other.
    »Surely, lady,« said Janet, gazing with admiration at the neck-string of
pearls, »the daughters of Tyre wore no fairer neck-jewels than those - And then
the posy, For a neck that is fairer, - each pearl is worth a freehold.«
    »Each word in this dear paper, is worth the whole string, my girl - But come
to my tiring-room, girl; we must be brave, my lord comes hither to-night. - He
bids me grace you, Master Varney, and to me his wish is a law. - I bid you to a
collation in my bower this afternoon, and you too, Master Foster. Give orders
that all is fitting, and that suitable preparations be made for my lord's
reception to-night.« With these words she left the apartment.
    »She takes state on her already,« said Varney, »and distributes the favour
of her presence, as if she were already the partner of his dignity. - Well - it
is wise to practise beforehand the part which fortune prepares us to play - the
young eagle must gaze at the sun, ere he soars on strong wing to meet it.«
    »If holding her head aloft,« said Foster, »will keep her eyes from dazzling,
I warrant you the dame will not stoop her crest. She will presently soar beyond
reach of my whistle, Master Varney. I promise you, she holds me already in
slight regard.«
    »It is thine own fault, thou sullen uninventive companion,« answered Varney,
»who know'st no mode of control, save downright brute force. - Canst thou not
make home pleasant to her, with music and toys? Canst thou not make the
out-of-doors frightful to her, with tales of goblins? Thou livest here by the
churchyard, and hast not even wit enough to raise a ghost, to scare thy females
into good discipline.«
    »Speak not thus, Master Varney,« said Foster; »the living I fear not, but I
trifle not nor toy with my dead neighbours of the churchyard. I promise you, it
requires a good heart to live so near it: worthy Master Holdforth, the
afternoon's lecturer of Saint Antonlin's, had a sore fright there the last time
he came to visit me.«
    »Hold thy superstitious tongue!« answered Varney; »and while thou talk'st of
visiting, answer me, thou paltering knave, how came Tressilian to be at the
postern-door?«
    »Tressilian!« answered Foster, »what know I of Tressilian? - I never heard
his name.«
    »Why, villain, it was the very Cornish chough to whom old Sir Hugh Robsart
destined his pretty Amy, and hither the hot-brained fool has come to look after
his fair runaway: there must be some order taken with him, for he thinks he hath
wrong, and is not the mean hind that will sit down with it. Luckily he knows not
of my lord, but thinks he has only me to deal with. But how, in the fiend's
name, came he hither?«
    »Why, with Mike Lambourne, an you must know,« answered Foster.
    »And who is Mike Lambourne?« demanded Varney. »By Heaven! thou wert best set
up a bush over thy door, and invite every stroller who passes by, to see what
thou shouldst keep secret even from the sun and air.«
    »Ay! ay! this is a court-like requital of my service to you, Master Richard
Varney,« replied Foster. »Didst thou not charge me to seek out for thee a fellow
who had a good sword, and an unscrupulous conscience? and was I not busying
myself to find a fit man - for, thank Heaven, my acquaintance lies not amongst
such companions - when, as Heaven would have it, this tall fellow, who is in all
his 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!«
    »And did he,« said Varney, »being such a fellow as thyself, only lacking, I
suppose, thy present humour of hypocrisy, which lies as thin over thy hard
ruffianly heart as gold lacquer upon rusty iron - did he, I say, bring the
saintly, sighing Tressilian in his train?«
    »They came together, by Heaven!« said Foster; »and Tressilian - to speak
Heaven's truth - obtained a moment's interview with our pretty moppet, while I
was talking apart with Lambourne.«
    »Improvident villain! we are both undone,« said Varney. »She has of late
been casting many a backward look to her father's halls, whenever her lordly
lover leaves her alone. Should this preaching fool whistle her back to her old
perch, we were but lost men.«
    »No fear of that, my master,« replied Anthony Foster; »she is in no mood to
stoop to his lure, for she yelled out on seeing him as if an adder had stung
her.«
    »That is good. - Canst thou not get from thy daughter an inkling of what
passed between them, good Foster?«
    »I tell you plain, Master Varney,« said Foster, »my daughter shall not enter
our purposes, or walk in our paths. They may suit me well enough, who know how
to repent of my misdoings; but I will not have my child's soul committed to
peril either for your pleasure or my lord's. I may walk among snares and
pit-falls myself, because I have discretion, but I will not trust the poor lamb
among them.«
    »Why, thou suspicions fool, I were as averse as thou art that thy baby-faced
girl should enter into my plans, or walk to hell at her father's elbow. But
indirectly thou mightst gain some intelligence of her.«
    »And so I did, Master Varney,« answered Foster; »and she said her lady
called out upon the sickness of her father.«
    »Good!« replied Varney; »that is a hint worth catching, and I will work upon
it. But the country must be rid of this Tressilian - I would have cumbered no
man about the matter, for I hate him like strong poison - his presence is
hemlock to me - and this day I had been rid of him, but that my foot slipped,
when, to speak truth, had not thy comrade yonder come to my aid, and held his
hand, I should have known by this time whether you and I have been treading the
path to heaven or hell.«
    »And you can speak thus of such a risk!« said Foster. »You keep a stout
heart, Master Varney - for me, if I did not hope to live many years, and to have
time for the great work of repentance, I would not go forward with you.«
    »Oh! thou shalt live as long as Methuselah,« said Varney, »and amass as much
wealth as Solomon; and thou shalt repent so devoutly, that thy repentance shall
be more famous than thy villainy, - and that is a bold word. But for all this,
Tressilian must be looked after. - Thy ruffian yonder is gone to dog him. It
concerns our fortunes, Anthony.«
    »Ay, ay,« said Foster, sullenly, »this it is to be leagued with one who
knows not even so much of Scripture, as that the labourer is worthy of his hire.
I must, as usual, take all the trouble and risk.«
    »Risk! and what is the mighty risk, I pray you?« answered Varney. »This
fellow will come prowling again about your demesne or into your house, and if
you take him for a housebreaker, 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 will blame him?«
    »Ay, I have mastiff's work and mastiff's wage among you,« said Foster. »Here
have you, Master Varney, secured a good freehold estate out of this old
superstitious foundation; and I have but a poor lease of this mansion under you,
voidable at your honour's pleasure.«
    »Ay, and thou wouldst fain convert thy leasehold into a copyhold - the thing
may chance to happen, Anthony Foster, if thou dost good service for it. But
softly, good Anthony - it is not the lending a room or two of this old house for
keeping my lord's pretty paroquet - nay, it is not the shutting thy doors and
windows to keep her from flying off, that may deserve it. Remember, the manor
and tithes are rated at the clear annual value of seventy-nine pounds five
shillings and fivepence halfpenny, besides the value of the wood. Come, come,
thou must be conscionable; great and secret service may deserve both this and a
better thing. - And now let thy knave come and pluck off my boots. - Get us some
dinner and a cup of thy best wine. - I must visit this mavis, brave in apparel,
unruffled in aspect, and gay in temper.«
    They parted, and at the hour of noon, which was then that of dinner, they
again met at their meal, Varney gaily dressed like a courtier of the time, and
even Anthony Foster improved in appearance as far as dress could amend an
exterior so unfavourable.
    This alteration did not escape Varney. When the meal was finished, the cloth
removed, and they were left to their private discourse - »Thou art gay as a
goldfinch, Anthony,« said Varney, looking at his host; »methinks, thou wilt
whistle a jig anon - but I crave your pardon, that would secure your ejection
from the congregation of the zealous botchers, the pure-hearted weavers, and the
sanctified bakers of Abingdon, who let their ovens cool while their brains get
heated.«
    »To answer you in the spirit, Master Varney,« said Foster, »were - excuse
the parable - to fling sacred and precious things before swine. So I will speak
to thee in the language of the world, which he, who is King of the World, hath
taught thee to understand, and to profit by in no common measure.«
    »Say what thou wilt, honest Tony,« replied Varney; »for be it according to
thine absurd faith, or according to thy most villainous practice, it cannot
choose but be rare matter to qualify this cup of Alicant. Thy conversation is
relishing and poignant, and beats caviare, dried neat's tongue, and all other
provocatives that give savour to good liquor.«
    »Well, then, tell me,« said Anthony Foster, »is not our good lord and
master's turn better served, and his antechamber more suitably filled with
decent, God-fearing men, who will work his will and their own profit quietly,
and without worldly scandal, than that he should be manned, and attended, and
followed by such open debauchers and ruffianly swordsmen as Tidesly, Killigrew,
this fellow Lambourne, whom you have put me to seek out for you, and other such
who bear the gallows in their face and murder in their right hand - who are a
terror to peaceable men, and a scandal to my lord's service?«
    »Oh, content you, good Master Anthony Foster,« answered Varney; »he that
flies at all manner of game must keep all kinds of hawks, both short and long
winged. The course my lord holds is no easy one, and he must stand provided at
all points with trusty retainers to meet each sort of service. He must have his
gay courtier, like myself, to ruffle it in the presence-chamber, and to lay hand
on hilt when any speaks in disparagement of my lord's honour« -
    »Ay,« said Foster, »and to whisper a word for him into a fair lady's ear,
when he may not approach her himself.«
    »Then,« said Varney, going on without appearing to notice the interruption,
»he must have his lawyers - deep subtle pioneers - to draw his contracts, his
pre-contracts, and his post-contracts, and to find the way to make the most of
grants of church-lands and commons, and licenses for monopoly - And he must have
physicians who can spice a cup or a caudle - And he must have his cabalists,
like Dee and Allan, for conjuring up the devil - And he must have ruffling
swordsmen, who would fight the devil when he is raised and at the wildest - And
above all, without prejudice to others, he must have such godly, innocent,
puritanic souls as thou, honest Anthony, who defy Satan, and do his work at the
same time.«
    »You would not say, Master Varney,« said Foster, »that our good lord and
master, whom I hold to be fulfilled in all nobleness, would use such base and
sinful means to rise, as thy speech points at?«
    »Tush, man,« said Varney, »never look at me with so sad a brow - you trap me
not - nor am I in your power, as your weak brain may imagine, because I name to
you freely the engines, the springs, the screws, the tackle and braces, by which
great men rise in stirring times - Sayest thou our good lord is fulfilled of all
nobleness? - Amen, and so be it - he has the more need to have those about him
who are unscrupulous in his service, and who, because they know that his fall
will overwhelm and crush them, must wager both blood and brain, soul and body,
in order to keep him aloft; and this I tell thee, because I care not who knows
it.«
    »You speak truth, Master Varney,« said Anthony Foster; »he that is head of a
party, is but a boat on a wave, that raises not itself, but is moved upward by
the billow which it floats upon.«
    »Thou art metaphorical, honest Anthony,« replied Varney; »that velvet
doublet hath made an oracle of thee - we will have thee to Oxford to take the
degrees in the arts. - And, in the meantime, hast thou arranged all the matters
which were sent from London, and put the western chambers into such fashion as
may answer my lord's humour?«
    »They may serve a king on his bridal-day,« said Anthony; »and I promise you
that Dame Amy sits in them yonder, as proud and gay as if she were the Queen of
Sheba.«
    »'Tis the better, good Anthony,« answered Varney. »We must found our future
fortunes on her good liking.«
    »We build on sand then,« said Anthony Foster; »for supposing that she sails
away to court in all her lord's dignity and authority, how is she to look back
upon me, who am her jailer as it were, to detain her here against her will,
keeping her a caterpillar on an old wall, when she would fain be a painted
butterfly in a court garden?«
    »Fear not her displeasure, man,« said Varney. »I will show her that all thou
hast done in this matter was good service, both to my lord and her; and when she
chips the egg-shell and walks alone, she shall own we have hatched her
greatness.«
    »Look to yourself, Master Varney,« said Foster, »you may misreckon foully in
this matter - She gave you but a frosty reception this morning, and, I think,
looks on you, as well as me, with an evil eye.«
    »You mistake her, Foster - you mistake her utterly - To me she is bound by
all the ties which can secure her to one who has been the means of gratifying
both her love and ambition. Who was it that took the obscure Amy Robsart, the
daughter of an impoverished and dotard knight - the destined bride of a
moon-struck, moping enthusiast like Edmund Tressilian, from her lowly fates, and
held out to her in prospect the brightest fortune in England, or perchance in
Europe? Why, man, it was I, as I have often told thee, that found opportunity
for their secret meeting - It was I who watched the wood while he beat for the
deer - It was I who, to this day, am blamed by her family as the companion of
her flight, and were I in their neighbourhood, would be fain to wear a shirt of
better stuff than Holland linen, lest my ribs should be acquainted with Spanish
steel. Who carried their letters? - I. Who amused the old knight and Tressilian?
- I. Who planned her escape? - it was I. It was I, in short, Dick Varney, who
pulled this pretty little daisy from its lowly nook, and placed it in the
proudest bonnet in Britain.«
    »Ay, Master Varney,« said Foster, »but it may be she thinks, that had the
matter remained with you, the flower had been stuck so slightly into the cap,
that the first breath of a changeable breeze of passion had blown the poor daisy
to the common.«
    »She should consider,« said Varney, smiling, »the true faith I owed my lord
and master prevented me at first from counselling marriage - and yet I did
counsel marriage when I saw she would not be satisfied without the - the
sacrament, or the ceremony - which callest thou it, Anthony?«
    »Still she has you at feud on another score,« said Foster; »and I tell it
you that you may look to yourself in time - She would not hide her splendour in
this dark lantern of an old monastic house, but would fain shine a countess
amongst countesses.«
    »Very natural, very right,« answered Varney; »but what have I to do with
that? - she may shine through horn or through crystal at my lord's pleasure, I
have nought to say against it.«
    »She deems that you have an oar upon that side of the boat, Master Varney,«
replied Foster, »and that you can pull it or no, at your good pleasure. In a
word, she ascribes the secrecy and obscurity in which she is kept, to your
secret counsel to my lord, and to my strict agency; and so she loves us both as
a sentenced man loves his judge and his jailer.«
    »She must love us better ere she leave this place, Anthony,« answered
Varney. »If I have counselled for weighty reasons that she remain here for a
season, I can also advise her being brought forth in the full blow of her
dignity. But I were mad to do so, holding so near a place to my lord's person,
were she mine enemy. Bear this truth in upon her as occasion offers, Anthony,
and let me alone for extolling you in her ear, and exalting you in her opinion -
Ka me, ka thee - it is a proverb all over the world - The lady must know her
friends, and be made to judge of the power they have of being her enemies -
meanwhile, watch her strictly, but with all the outward observance that thy
rough nature will permit. 'Tis an excellent thing that sullen look and bull-dog
humour of thine; thou shouldst thank God for it, and so should my lord; for when
there is aught harsh or hard-natured to be done, thou dost it as if it flowed
from thine own natural doggedness, and not from orders, and so my lord escapes
the scandal. - But, hark - some one knocks at the gate. - Look out of the window
- let no one enter - this were an ill night to be interrupted.«
    »It is he whom we spoke of before dinner,« said Foster, as he looked through
the casement; »it is Michael Lambourne.«
    »Oh, admit him, by all means,« said the courtier, »he comes to give some
account of his guest - it imports us much to know the movements of Edmund
Tressilian - Admit him, I say, but bring him not hither - I will come to you
presently in the Abbot's library.«
    Foster left the room, and the courtier, who remained behind, paced the
parlour more than once in deep thought, his arms folded on his bosom, until at
length he gave vent to his meditations in broken words, which we have somewhat
enlarged and connected, that his soliloquy may be intelligible to the reader.
    »'Tis true,« he said, suddenly stopping, and resting his right hand on the
table at which they had been sitting, »this base churl hath fathomed the very
depth of my fear, and I have been unable to disguise it from him. - She loves me
not - I would it were as true that I loved not her! - Idiot that I was, to move
her in my own behalf, when wisdom bade me be a true broker to my lord! - And
this fatal error has placed me more at her discretion than a wise man would
willingly be at that of the best piece of painted Eve's flesh of them all. Since
the hour that my policy made so perilous a slip, I cannot look at her without
fear, and hate, and fondness, so strangely mingled, that I know not whether,
were it at my choice, I would rather possess or ruin her. But she must not leave
this retreat until I am assured on what terms we are to stand. My lord's
interest - and so far it is mine own - for if he sinks, I fall in his train -
demands concealment of this obscure marriage - and besides I will not lend her
my arm to climb to her chair of state, that she may set her foot on my neck when
she is fairly seated. I must work an interest in her, either through love or
through fear - and who knows but I may yet reap the sweetest and best revenge
for her former scorn? - that were indeed a masterpiece of court-like art! - Let
me but once be her counsel-keeper - let her confide to me a secret, did it but
concern the robbery of a linnet's nest, and, fair Countess, thou art mine own!«
He again paced the room in silence, stopped, filled and drank a cup of wine, as
if to compose the agitation of his mind; and muttering, »Now for a close heart,
and an open and unruffled brow,« he left the apartment.
 

                                 Chapter Sixth

 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.4
                                                                         Mickle.
 
Four apartments, which occupied the western side of the old quadrangle at Cumnor
Place, had been fitted up with extraordinary splendour. This had been the work
of several days prior to that on which our story opened. Workmen sent from
London, and not permitted to leave the premises until the work was finished, had
converted the apartments in that side of the building, from the dilapidated
appearance of a dissolved monastic house, into the semblance of a royal palace.
A mystery was observed in all these arrangements; the workmen came thither and
returned by night, and all measures were taken to prevent the prying curiosity
of the villagers from observing or speculating upon the changes which were
taking place in the mansion of their once indigent, but now wealthy neighbour,
Anthony Foster. Accordingly, the secrecy desired was so far preserved, that
nothing got abroad but vague and uncertain reports, which were received and
repeated, but without much credit being attached to them.
    On the evening of which we treat, the new and highly decorated suite of
rooms were, for the first time, illuminated, and that with a brilliancy which
might have been visible half-a-dozen miles off, had not oaken shutters,
carefully secured with bolt and padlock, and mantled with long curtains of silk
and of velvet, deeply fringed with gold, prevented the slightest gleam of
radiance from being seen without.
    The principal apartments, as we have seen, were four in number, each opening
into the other. Access was given to them by a large scale staircase as they were
then called, of unusual length and height, which had its landing-place at the
door of an antechamber, shaped somewhat like a gallery. This apartment the Abbot
had used as an occasional council room, but it was now beautifully wainscoted
with dark foreign wood of a brown colour, and bearing a high polish, said to
have been brought from the Western Indies, and to have been wrought in London
with infinite difficulty, and much damage to the tools of the workmen. The dark
colour of this finishing was relieved by the number of lights in silver sconces,
which hung against the walls, and by six large and richly-framed pictures, by
the first masters of the age. A massy oaken table, placed at the lower end of
the apartment, served to accommodate such as chose to play at the then
fashionable game of shovel-board; and there was at the other end an elevated
gallery for the musicians or minstrels, who might be summoned to increase the
festivity of the evening.
    From this antechamber opened a banqueting-room of moderate size, but
brilliant enough to dazzle the eyes of the spectator with the richness of its
furniture. The walls, lately so bare and ghastly, were now clothed with hangings
of sky-blue velvet and silver; the chairs were of ebony, richly carved, with
cushions corresponding to the hangings; and the place of the silver sconces
which enlightened the antechamber was supplied by a huge chandelier of the same
precious metal. The floor was covered with a Spanish foot-cloth, or carpet, on
which flowers and fruits were represented in such glowing and natural colours,
that you hesitated to place the foot on such exquisite workmanship. The table,
of old English oak, stood ready covered with the finest linen, and a large
portable court cupboard was placed with the leaves of its embossed folding-doors
displayed, showing the shelves within, decorated with a full display of plate
and porcelain. In the midst of the table stood a salt-cellar of Italian
workmanship - a beautiful and splendid piece of plate about two feet high,
moulded into a representation of the giant Briareus, whose hundred hands of
silver presented to the guest various sorts of spices, or condiments, to season
their food withal.
    The third apartment was called the withdrawing-room. It was hung with the
finest tapestry, representing the fall of Phaeton; for the looms of Flanders
were now much occupied on classical subjects. The principal seat of this
apartment was a chair of state, raised a step or two from the floor, and large
enough to contain two persons. It was surmounted by a canopy, which, as well as
the cushions, side-curtains, and the very foot-cloth, 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
needlework, supplied the place of chairs in this apartment, which contained
musical instruments, embroidery frames, and other articles for ladies' pastime.
Besides lesser lights, the withdrawing-room was illuminated by four tall torches
of virgin wax, each of which was placed in the grasp of a statue, representing
an armed Moor, who held in his left arm a round buckler of silver, highly
polished, interposed betwixt his breast and the light, which was thus
brilliantly reflected as from a crystal mirror.
    The sleeping chamber belonging to this splendid suite of apartments, was
decorated in a taste less showy, but not less rich, than had been displayed in
the others. Two silver lamps, fed with perfumed oil, diffused at once a
delicious odour and a trembling twilight-seeming shimmer through the quiet
apartment. It was carpeted so thick, that the heaviest step could not have been
heard; and the bed, richly heaped with down, was spread with an ample coverlet
of silk and gold; from under which peeped forth cambric sheets, and blankets as
white as the lambs which yielded the fleece that made them. The curtains were of
blue velvet, lined with crimson silk, deeply festooned with gold and embroidered
with the loves of Cupid and Psyche. On the toilet was a beautiful Venetian
mirror, in a frame of silver filigree, and beside it stood a gold posset-dish to
contain the night-draught. A pair of pistols and a dagger, mounted with gold,
were displayed near the head of the bed, being the arms for the night, which
were presented to honoured guests, rather, it may be supposed, in the way of
ceremony, than from any apprehension of danger. We must not omit to mention,
what was more to the credit of the manners of the time, that, in a small recess,
illuminated by a taper, were disposed two cassocks of velvet and gold,
corresponding with the bed furniture, before a desk of carved ebony. This recess
had formerly been the private oratory of the Abbot, but the crucifix was
removed, and instead, there were placed on the desk two Books of Common Prayer,
richly bound and embossed with silver. With this enviable sleeping apartment,
which was so far removed from every sound, save that of the wind sighing among
the oaks of the park, that Morpheus might have coveted it for his own proper
repose, corresponded two wardrobes, or dressing-rooms as they are now termed,
suitably furnished, and in a style of the same magnificence which we have
already described. It ought to be added, that a part of the building in the
adjoining wing was occupied by the kitchen and its offices, and served to
accommodate the personal attendants of the great and wealthy nobleman, for whose
use these magnificent preparations had been made.
    The divinity for whose sake this temple had been decorated, was well worthy
the cost and pains which had been bestowed. She was seated in the
withdrawing-room which we have described, surveying with the pleased eye of
natural and innocent vanity, the splendour which had been so suddenly created,
as it were, in her honour. For, as her own residence at Cumnor Place formed the
cause of the mystery observed in all the preparations for opening these
apartments, it was sedulously arranged, that, until she took possession of them,
she should have no means of knowing what was going forward in that part of the
ancient building, or of exposing herself to be seen by the workmen engaged in
the decorations. She had been, therefore, introduced on that evening to a part
of the mansion which she had never yet seen, so different from all the rest,
that it appeared, in comparison, like an enchanted palace. And when she first
examined and occupied these splendid rooms, it was with the wild and
unrestrained joy of a rustic beauty, who finds herself suddenly invested with a
splendour which her most extravagant wishes had never imagined, and at the same
time with the keen feeling of an affectionate heart, which knows that all the
enchantment that surrounds her is the work of the great magician Love.
    The Countess Amy, therefore, - for to that rank she was exalted by her
private but solemn union with England's proudest Earl, - had for a time flitted
hastily from room to room, admiring each new proof of her lover and her
bridegroom's taste, and feeling that admiration enhanced, as she recollected
that all she gazed upon was one continued proof of his ardent and devoted
affection. - »How beautiful are these hangings! - How natural these paintings,
which seem to contend with life! - How richly wrought is that plate, which looks
as if all the galleons of Spain had been intercepted on the broad seas to
furnish it forth! - And oh, Janet!« she exclaimed repeatedly to the daughter of
Anthony Foster, the close attendant, who, with equal curiosity, but somewhat
less ecstatic joy, followed on her mistress's footsteps - »Oh, Janet! how much
more delightful to think, that all these fair things have been assembled by his
love, for the love of me! and that this evening - this very evening, which grows
darker every instant, I shall thank him more for the love that has created such
an unimaginable paradise, than for all the wonders it contains!«
    »The Lord is to be thanked first,« said the pretty Puritan, »who gave thee,
lady, the kind and courteous husband, whose love has done so much for thee. I,
too, have done my poor share. But if you thus run wildly from room to room, the
toil of my crisping and my curling pins will vanish like the frost-work on the
window when the sun is high.«
    »Thou sayest true, Janet,« said the young and beautiful Countess, stopping
suddenly from her tripping race of enraptured delight, and looking at herself
from head to foot in a large mirror, such as she had never before seen, and
which, indeed, had few to match it even in the Queen's palace. - »Thou sayest
true, Janet!« she answered, as she saw, with pardonable self-applause, the noble
mirror reflect such charms as were seldom presented to its fair and polished
surface; »I have more of the milkmaid than the countess, with these cheeks
flushed with haste, and all these brown curls, which you laboured to bring to
order, straying as wild as the tendrils of an unpruned vine - My falling ruff is
chafed too, and shows the neck and bosom more than is modest and seemly - Come,
Janet - we will practise state - we will go to the withdrawing-room, my good
girl, and thou shalt put these rebel locks in order, and imprison within lace
and cambric the bosom that beats too high.«
    They went to the withdrawing apartment accordingly, where the Countess
playfully stretched herself upon the pile of Moorish cushions, half sitting,
half reclining, half rapt in her own thoughts, half listening to the prattle of
her attendant.
    While she was in this attitude, and with a corresponding expression betwixt
listlessness and expectation on her fine and expressive features, you might have
searched sea and land without finding anything half so expressive, or half so
lovely. The wreath of brilliants which mixed with her dark brown hair, did not
match in lustre the hazel eye which a light brown eyebrow, pencilled with
exquisite delicacy, and long eyelashes of the same colour, relieved and shaded.
The exercise she had just taken, her excited expectation and gratified vanity,
spread a glow over her fine features, which had been sometimes censured (as
beauty as well as art has her minute critics) for being rather too pale. The
milk-white pearls of the necklace which she wore, the same which she had just
received as a true-love token from her husband, were excelled in purity by her
teeth, and by the colour of her skin, saving where the blush of pleasure and
self-satisfaction had somewhat stained the neck with a shade of light crimson. -
»Now, have done with these busy fingers, Janet,« she said to her handmaiden, who
was still officiously employed in bringing her hair and her dress into order -
»Have done, I say - I must see your father ere my lord arrives, and also Master
Richard Varney, whom my lord has highly in his esteem - but I could tell that of
him would lose him favour.«
    »Oh do not do so, good my lady!« replied Janet; »leave him to God, who
punishes the wicked in his own time; but do not you cross Varney's path, for so
thoroughly hath he my lord's ear, that few have thriven who have thwarted his
courses.«
    »And from whom had you this, my most righteous Janet?« said the Countess;
»or why should I keep terms with so mean a gentleman as Varney, being, as I am,
wife to his master and patron?«
    »Nay, madam,« replied Janet Foster, »your ladyship knows better than I - But
I have heard my father say, he would rather cross a hungry wolf, than thwart
Richard Varney in his projects - And he has often charged me to have a care of
holding commerce with him.«
    »Thy father said well, girl, for thee,« replied the lady, »and I dare swear
meant well. It is a pity, though, his face and manner do little match his true
purpose - for I think his purpose may be true.«
    »Doubt it not, my lady,« answered Janet, - »Doubt not that my father
purposes well, though he is a plain man, and his blunt looks may belie his
heart.«
    »I will not doubt it, girl, were it only for thy sake; and yet he has one of
those faces which men tremble when they look on - I think even thy mother, Janet
- nay, have done with that poking-iron - could hardly look upon him without
quaking.«
    »If it were so, madam,« answered Janet Foster, »my mother had those who
could keep her in honourable countenance. Why, even you, my lady, both trembled
and blushed when Varney brought the letter from my lord.«
    »You are bold, damsel,« said the Countess, rising from the cushions on which
she sate half-reclined in the arms of her attendant - »Know, that there are
causes of trembling which have nothing to do with fear. - But, Janet,« she
added, immediately relapsing into the good-natured and familiar tone which was
natural to her, »believe me, I will do what credit I can to your father, and the
rather that you, sweetheart, are his child. - Alas! alas!« she added, a sudden
sadness passing over her fine features, and her eyes filling with tears, »I
ought the rather to hold sympathy with thy kind heart, that my own poor father
is uncertain of my fate, and they say lies sick and sorrowful for my worthless
sake! - But I will soon cheer him - the news of my happiness and advancement
will make him young again. - And that I may cheer him the sooner« - she wiped
her eyes as she spoke - »I must be cheerful myself - My lord must not find me
insensible to his kindness, or sorrowful when he snatches a visit to his
recluse, after so long an absence. Be merry, Janet - the night wears on, and my
lord must soon arrive. - Call thy father hither, and call Varney also - I
cherish resentment against neither; and though I may have some room to be
displeased with both, it shall be their own fault if ever a complaint against
them reaches the Earl through my means. - Call them hither, Janet.«
    Janet Foster obeyed her mistress; and in a few minutes after, Varney entered
the withdrawing-room with the graceful ease and unclouded front of an
accomplished courtier, skilled, under the veil of external politeness, to
disguise his own feelings, and to penetrate those of others. Anthony Foster
plodded into the apartment after him, his natural gloomy vulgarity of aspect
seeming to become yet more remarkable, from his clumsy attempt to conceal the
mixture of anxiety and dislike with which he looked on her, over whom he had
hitherto exercised so severe a control, now so splendidly attired, and decked
with so many pledges of the interest which she possessed in her husband's
affections. The blundering reverence which he made, rather at than to the
Countess, had confession in it - It was like the reverence which the criminal
makes to the judge, when he at once owns his guilt and implores mercy, - which
is at the same time an impudent and embarrassed attempt at defence or
extenuation, a confession of a fault, and an entreaty for lenity.
    Varney, who, in right of his gentle blood, had pressed into the room before
Anthony Foster, knew better what to say than he, and said it with more assurance
and a better grace.
    The Countess greeted him indeed with an appearance of cordiality, which
seemed a complete amnesty for whatever she might have to complain of. She rose
from her seat, and advanced two steps towards him, holding forth her hand as she
said, »Master Richard Varney, you brought me this morning such welcome tidings,
that I fear surprise and joy made me neglect my lord and husband's charge to
receive you with distinction. We offer you our hand, sir, in reconciliation.«
    »I am unworthy to touch it,« said Varney, dropping on one knee, save as a
subject honours that of a prince.
    He touched with his lips those fair and slender fingers, so richly loaded
with rings and jewels; then rising with graceful gallantry, was about to hand
her to the chair of state, when she said, »No, good Master Richard Varney, I
take not my place there until my lord himself conducts me. I am for the present
but a disguised Countess, and will not take dignity on me until authorised by
him whom I derive it from.«
    »I trust, my lady,« said Foster, »that in doing the commands of my lord your
husband, in your restraint and so forth, I have not incurred your displeasure,
seeing that I did but my duty towards your lord and mine; for Heaven, as Holy
Writ saith, hath given the husband supremacy and dominion over the wife - I
think it runs so, or something like it.«
    »I receive at this moment so pleasant a surprise, Master Foster,« answered
the Countess, »that I cannot but excuse the rigid fidelity which secluded me
from these apartments, until they had assumed an appearance so new and so
splendid.«
    »Ay, lady,« said Foster, »it hath cost many a fair crown; and that more need
not be wasted than is absolutely necessary, I leave you till my lord's arrival
with good Master Richard Varney, who, as I think, hath somewhat to say to you,
from your most noble lord and husband. - Janet, follow me, to see that all be in
order.«
    »No, Master Foster,« said the Countess, »we will your daughter remains here
in our apartment: out of ear-shot, however, in case Varney hath aught to say to
me from my lord.«
    Foster made his clumsy reverence, and departed, with an aspect which seemed
to grudge the profuse expense, which had been wasted upon changing his house
from a bare and ruinous grange to an Asiatic 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 profound silence.
    »I thought, Master Varney,« said the Countess, when she saw he was not
likely to open the conversation, »that you had something to communicate from my
lord and husband; so at least I understood Master Foster, and therefore I
removed my waiting-maid. If I am mistaken I will recall her to my side; for her
needle is not so absolutely perfect in tent and cross-stitch, but that my
superintendence is advisable.«
    »Lady,« said Varney, »Foster was partly mistaken in my purpose. It was not
from, but of your noble husband, and my approved and most noble patron, that I
am led, and indeed bound, to speak.«
    »The theme is most welcome, sir,« said the Countess, »whether it be of or
from my noble husband. But be brief, for I expect his hasty approach.«
    »Briefly, then, madam,« replied Varney, »and boldly, for my argument
requires both haste and courage - You have this day seen Tressilian?«
    »I have, sir, and what of that?« answered the lady somewhat sharply.
    »Nothing that concerns me, lady,« Varney replied, with humility. »But think
you, honoured madam, that your lord will hear it with equal equanimity?«
    »And wherefore should he not? - to me alone was Tressilian's visit
embarrassing and painful, for he brought news of my good father's illness.«
    »Of your father's illness, madam!« answered Varney. »It must have been
sudden then - very sudden; for the messenger whom I despatched, at my lord's
instance, found the good knight on the hunting field, cheering his beagles with
his wonted jovial field-cry. I trust Tressilian has but forged this news - He
hath his reasons, madam, as you well know, for disquieting your present
happiness.«
    »You do him injustice, Master Varney,« replied the Countess, with animation,
- »You do him much injustice. He is the freest, the most open, the most gentle
heart that breathes - My honourable lord ever excepted, I know not one to whom
falsehood is more odious than to Tressilian.«
    »I crave your pardon, madam,« said Varney, »I meant the gentleman no
injustice - I knew not how nearly his cause affected you. A man may, in some
circumstances, disguise the truth for fair and honest purpose; for were it to be
always spoken, and upon all occasions, this were no world to live in.«
    »You have a courtly conscience, Master Varney,« said the Countess, »and your
veracity will not, I think, interrupt your preferment in the world, such as it
is. - But touching Tressilian - I must do him justice, for I have done him
wrong, as none knows better than thou. - Tressilian's conscience is of other
mould - the world thou speakest of has not that which could bribe him from the
way of truth and honour; and for living in it with a soiled fame, the ermine
would as soon seek to lodge in the den of the foul polecat. For this my father
loved him - For this I would have loved him - if I could - And yet in this case
he had what seemed to him, unknowing alike of my marriage, and to whom I was
united, such powerful reasons to withdraw me from this place, that I well trust
he exaggerated much of my father's indisposition, and that thy better news may
be the truer.«
    »Believe me they are madam.« answered Varney; »I pretend not to be a
champion of that same naked virtue called truth, to the very outrance. I can
consent that her charms be hidden with a veil, were it but for decency's sake.
But you must think lower of my head and heart, than is due to one whom my noble
lord deigns to call his friend, if you suppose I could wilfully and
unnecessarily palm upon your ladyship a falsehood, so soon to be detected, in a
matter which concerns your happiness.«
    »Master Varney,« said the Countess, »I know that my lord esteems you, and
holds you a faithful and a good pilot in those seas in which he has spread so
high and so venturous a sail. Do not suppose, therefore, I meant hardly by you,
when I spoke the truth in Tressilian's vindication - I am, as you well know,
country-bred, and like plain rustic truth better than courtly compliment; but I
must change my fashions with my sphere, I presume.«
    »True, madam,« said Varney, smiling, »and though you speak now in jest, it
will not be amiss that in earnest your present speech had some connection with
your real purpose. - A court-dame - take the most noble - the most virtuous -
the most unimpeachable, that stands around our Queen's throne - would, for
example, have shunned to speak the truth, or what she thought such, in praise of
a discarded suitor, before the dependant and confidant of her noble husband.«
    »And wherefore,« said the Countess, colouring impatiently, »should I not do
justice to Tressilian's worth, before my husband's friend - before my husband
himself - before the whole world?«
    »And with the same openness,« said Varney, »your ladyship will this night
tell my noble lord your husband, that Tressilian has discovered your place of
residence, so anxiously concealed from the world, and that he has had an
interview with you.«
    »Unquestionably,« said the Countess. »It will be the first thing I tell him,
together with every word that Tressilian said, and that I answered. I shall
speak my own shame in this, for Tressilian's reproaches, less just than he
esteemed them, were not altogether unmerited - I will speak, therefore, with
pain, but I will speak, and speak all.«
    »Your ladyship will do your pleasure,« answered Varney; »but methinks it
were as well, since nothing calls for so frank a disclosure, to spare yourself
this pain, and my noble lord the disquiet, and Master Tressilian, since belike
he must be thought of in the matter, the danger which is like to ensue.«
    »I can see nought of all these terrible consequences,« said the lady,
composedly, »unless by imputing to my noble lord unworthy thoughts which I am
sure never harboured in his generous heart.«
    »Far be it from me to do so,« said Varney. - And then, after a moment's
silence, he added, with a real or affected plainness of manner, very different
from his usual smooth courtesy - »Come, madam, I will show you that a courtier
dare speak truth as well as another, when it concerns the weal of those whom he
honours and regards, ay, and although it may infer his own danger.« - He waited
as if to receive commands, or at least permission, to go on, but as the lady
remained silent, he proceeded, but obviously with caution. - »Look around you,«
he said, »noble lady, and observe the barriers with which this place is
surrounded, the studious mystery with which the brightest jewel that England
possesses is secluded from the admiring gaze - See with what rigour your walks
are circumscribed, and your movements restrained, at the beck of yonder churlish
Foster. Consider all this, and judge for yourself what can be the cause.«
    »My lord's pleasure,« answered the Countess; »and I am bound to seek no
other motive.«
    »His pleasure it is indeed,« said Varney, »and his pleasure arises out of a
love worthy of the object which inspires it. But he who possesses a treasure,
and who values it, is oft anxious, in proportion to the value he puts upon it,
to secure it from the depredations of others.«
    »What needs all this talk, Master Varney?« said the lady, in reply; »you
would have me believe that my noble lord is jealous - Suppose it true, I know a
cure for jealousy.«
    »Indeed, madam!« said Varney.
    »It is,« replied the lady, »to speak the truth to my lord at all times; to
hold up my mind and my thoughts before him as pure as that polished mirror; so
that when he looks into my heart, he shall only see his own features reflected
there.«
    »I am mute, madam,« answered Varney; »and as I have no reason to grieve for
Tressilian, who would have my heart's blood were he able, I shall reconcile
myself easily to what may befall the gentleman, in consequence of your frank
disclosure of his having presumed to intrude upon your solitude. - You, who know
my lord so much better than I, will judge if he be likely to bear the insult
unavenged.«
    »Nay, if I could think myself the cause of Tressilian's ruin,« said the
Countess, - »I who have already occasioned him so much distress, I might be
brought to be silent. - And yet what will it avail, since he was seen by Foster,
and I think by some one else? - No, no, Varney, urge it no more. I will tell the
whole matter to my lord; and with such pleading for Tressilian's folly, as shall
dispose my lord's generous heart rather to serve than to punish him.«
    »Your judgment, madam,« said Varney, »is far superior to mine, especially as
you may, if you will, prove the ice before you step on it, by mentioning
Tressilian's name to my lord, and observing how he endures it. For Foster and
his attendant, they know not Tressilian by sight, and I can easily give them
some reasonable excuse for the appearance of an unknown stranger.«
    The lady paused for an instant, and then replied,»If, Varney, it be indeed
true that Foster knows not as yet that the man he saw was Tressilian, I own I
were unwilling he should learn what nowise concerns him. He bears himself
already with austerity enough, and I wish him not to be judge or
privy-councillor in my affairs.«
    »Tush,« said Varney; »what has the surly groom to do with your ladyship's
concerns? - No more, surely, than the ban-dog which watches his court-yard. If
he is in aught distasteful to your ladyship, I have interest enough to have him
exchanged for a seneschal that shall be more agreeable to you.«
    »Master Varney,« said the Countess, »let us drop this theme - when I
complain of the attendants whom my lord has placed around me, it must be to my
lord himself. - Hark! I hear the trampling of horse - He comes! he comes!« she
exclaimed, jumping up in ecstasy.
    »I cannot think it is he,« said Varney; »or that you can hear the tread of
his horse through the closely-mantled casements.«
    »Stop me not, Varney - my ears are keener than thine - it is he!«
    »But, madam! - but, madam!« exclaimed Varney, anxiously, and still placing
himself in her way - »I trust that what I have spoken in humble duty and
service, will not be turned to my ruin? - I hope that my faithful advice will
not be bewrayed to my prejudice? - I implore that« -
    »Content thee, man - content thee!« said the Countess, »and quit my skirt -
you are too bold to detain me - Content thyself, I think not of thee.«
    At this moment the folding doors flew wide open, and a man of majestic mien,
muffled in the folds of a long dark riding-cloak, entered the apartment.
 

                                Chapter Seventh

 -- This is he
 Who rides on the court-gale; controls its tides;
 Knows all their secret shoals and fatal eddies;
 Whose frown abases, and whose smile exalts;
 He shines like any rainbow - and, perchance,
 His colours are as transient
                                                                       Old Play.
 
There was some little displeasure and confusion on the Countess's brow, owing to
her struggle with Varney's pertinacity; but it was exchanged for an expression
of the purest joy and affection, as she threw herself into the arms of the noble
stranger who entered, and clasping him to her bosom, exclaimed, »At length - at
length thou art come!«
    Varney discreetly withdrew as his lord entered, and Janet was about to do
the same, when her mistress signed to her to remain. She took her place at the
farther end of the apartment, and continued standing, as if ready for
attendance.
    Meanwhile the Earl, for he was of no inferior rank, returned his lady's
caress with the most affectionate ardour, but affected to resist when she strove
to take his cloak from him.
    »Nay,« she said, »but I will unmantle you - I must see if you have kept your
word to me, and come as the great Earl men call thee, and not as heretofore like
a private cavalier.«
    »Thou art like the rest of the world, Amy,« said the Earl, suffering her to
prevail in the playful contest; »the jewels, and feathers, and silk, are more to
them than the man whom they adorn - many a poor blade looks gay in a velvet
scabbard.«
    »But so cannot men say of thee, thou noble Earl,« said his lady, as the
cloak dropped on the floor, and showed him dressed as princes when they ride
abroad; »thou art the good and well-tried steel, whose inly worth deserves, yet
disdains, its outward ornaments. Do not think Amy can love thee better in this
glorious garb than she did when she gave her heart to him who wore the
russet-brown cloak in the woods of Devon.«
    »And thou too,« said the Earl, as gracefully and majestically he led his
beautiful Countess towards the chair of state which was prepared for them both,
- »thou too, my love, hast donned a dress which becomes thy rank, though it
cannot improve thy beauty. What think'st thou of our court taste?«
    The lady cast a sidelong glance upon the great mirror as they passed it by,
and then said, »I know not how it is, but I think not of my own person, while I
look at the reflection of thine. Sit thou there,« she said, as they approached
the chair of state, »like a thing for men to worship and to wonder at.«
    »Ay, love,« said the Earl, »if thou wilt share my state with me.«
    »Not so,« said the Countess; »I will sit on this footstool at thy feet, that
I may spell over thy splendour, and learn, for the first time, how princes are
attired.«
    And with a childish wonder, which her youth and rustic education rendered
not only excusable but becoming, mixed as it was with a delicate show of the
most tender conjugal affection, she examined and admired from head to foot the
noble form and princely attire of him who formed the proudest ornament of the
court of England's Maiden Queen, renowned as it was for splendid courtiers, as
well as for wise counsellors. Regarding affectionately his lovely bride, and
gratified by her unrepressed admiration, the dark eye and noble features of the
Earl expressed passions more gentle than the commanding and aspiring look which
usually sate upon his broad forehead, and in the piercing brilliancy of his dark
eye; and he smiled at the simplicity which dictated the questions she put to him
concerning the various ornaments with which he was decorated.
    »The embroidered strap, as thou callest it, around my knee,« he said, »is
the English Garter, an ornament which kings are proud to wear. See, here is the
star which belongs to it, and here the Diamond George, the jewel of the Order.
You have heard how King Edward and the Countess of Salisbury« -
    »Oh, I know all that tale,« said the Countess, slightly blushing, »and how a
lady's garter became the proudest badge of English chivalry.«
    »Even so,« said the Earl, »and this most honourable Order I had the good hap
to receive at the same time with three most noble associates, the Duke of
Norfolk, the Marquis of Northampton, and the Earl of Rutland. I was the lowest
of the four in rank - but what then? - he that climbs a ladder must begin at the
first round.«
    »But this other fair collar, so richly wrought, with some jewel like a sheep
hung by the middle attached to it, what,« said the young Countess, »does that
emblem signify?«
    »This collar,« said the Earl, »with its double fusilles interchanged with
these knobs, which are supposed to present flint-stones sparkling with fire, and
sustaining the jewel you inquire about, is the badge of the noble Order of the
Golden Fleece, once appertaining to the House of Burgundy. It hath high
privileges, my Amy, belonging to it, this most noble Order; for even the King of
Spain himself, who hath now succeeded to the honours and demesnes of Burgundy,
may not sit in judgment upon a knight of the Golden Fleece, unless by assistance
and consent of the Great Chapter of the Order.«
    »And is this an Order belonging to the cruel King of Spain?« said the
Countess. »Alas! my noble lord, that you will defile your noble English breast
by bearing such an emblem! Bethink you of the most unhappy Queen Mary's days,
when this same Philip held sway with her in England, and of the piles which were
built for our noblest and our wisest, and our most truly sanctified prelates and
divines - And will you, whom men call the standard-bearer of the true Protestant
faith, be contented to wear the emblem and mark of such a Romish tyrant as he of
Spain?«
    »Oh, content you, my love,« answered the Earl; »we who spread our sails to
gales of court favour, cannot always display the ensigns we love the best, or at
all times refuse sailing under colours which we like not. Believe me, I am not
the less good Protestant, that for policy I must accept the honour offered me by
Spain, in admitting me to this his highest order of knighthood. Besides, it
belongs properly to Flanders; and Egmont, Orange, and others, have pride in
seeing it displayed on an English bosom.«
    »Nay, my lord, you know your own path best,« replied the Countess. - »And
this other collar, to what country does this fair jewel belong?«
    »To a very poor one, my love,« replied the Earl; »this is the Order of Saint
Andrew, revived by the last James of Scotland. It was bestowed on me when it was
thought the young widow of France and Scotland would gladly have wedded an
English baron; but a free coronet of England is worth a crown matrimonial held
at the humour of a woman, and owning only the poor rocks and bogs of the north.«
    The Countess paused, as if what the Earl last said had excited some painful
but interesting train of thought; and, as she still remained silent, her husband
proceeded.
    »And now, loveliest, your wish is gratified, and you have seen your vassal
in such of his trim array as accords with riding vestments; for robes of state
and coronets are only for princely halls.«
    »Well, then,« said the Countess, »my gratified wish has, as usual, given
rise to a new one.«
    »And what is it thou canst ask that I can deny?« said the fond husband.
    »I wished to see my Earl visit this obscure and secret bower,« said the
Countess, »in all his princely array; and now, methinks, I long to sit in one of
his princely halls, and see him enter dressed in sober russet, as when he won
poor Amy Robsart's heart.«
    »That is a wish easily granted,« said the Earl - »the sober russet shall be
donned to-morrow, if you will.«
    »But shall I,« said the lady, »go with you to one of your castles, to see
how the richness of your dwelling will correspond with your peasant habit?«
    »Why, Amy,« said the Earl, looking around, »are not these apartments
decorated with sufficient splendour? I gave the most unbounded order, and
methinks it has been indifferently well obeyed - but if thou canst tell me aught
which remains to be done, I will instantly give direction.«
    »Nay, my lord, now you mock me,« replied the Countess; »the gaiety of this
rich lodging exceeds my imagination as much as it does my desert. But shall not
your wife, my love - at least one day soon - be surrounded with the honour which
arises neither from the toils of the mechanic who decks her apartment, nor from
the silks and jewels with which your generosity adorns her, but which is
attached to her place among the matronage, as the avowed wife of England's
noblest Earl?«
    »One day?« said her husband, - »Yes, Amy, my love, one day this shall surely
happen; and, believe me, thou canst not wish for that day more fondly than I.
With what rapture could I retire from labours of state, and cares and toils of
ambition, to spend my life in dignity and honour on my own broad domains, with
thee, my lovely Amy, for my friend and companion! But, Amy, this cannot yet be;
and these dear but stolen interviews, are all I can give to the loveliest and
the best beloved of her sex.«
    »But why can it not be?« urged the Countess, in the softest tones of
persuasion, - »Why can it not immediately take place - this more perfect, this
uninterrupted union, for which you say you wish, and which the laws of God and
man alike command? - Ah! did you but desire it half as much as you say, mighty
and favoured as you are, who, or what, should bar your attaining your wish?«
    The Earl's brow was overcast.
    »Amy,« he said, »you speak of what you understand not. We that toil in
courts are like those who climb a mountain of loose sand - we dare make no halt
until some projecting rock affords us a secure footing and resting-place - if we
pause sooner, we slide down by our own weight, an object of universal derision.
I stand high, but I stand not secure enough to follow my own inclination. To
declare my marriage were to be the artificer of my own ruin. But, believe me, I
will reach a point, and that speedily, when I can do justice to thee and to
myself. Meantime, poison not the bliss of the present moment by desiring that
which cannot at present be. Let me rather know whether all here is managed to
thy liking. How does Foster bear himself to you? - In all things respectful, I
trust, else the fellow shall dearly rue it.«
    »He reminds me sometimes of the necessity of this privacy,« answered the
lady, with a sigh; »but that is reminding me of your wishes, and therefore, I am
rather bound to him than disposed to blame him for it.«
    »I have told you the stern necessity which is upon us,« replied the Earl.
»Foster is, I note, somewhat sullen of mood, but Varney warrants to me his
fidelity and devotion to my service. If thou hast aught, however, to complain of
the mode in which he discharges his duty, he shall abye it.«
    »Oh, I have nought to complain of,« answered the lady, »so he discharges his
task with fidelity to you; and his daughter Janet is the kindest and best
companion of my solitude - her little air of precision sits so well upon her!«
    »Is she indeed?« said the Earl; »she who gives you pleasure must not pass
unrewarded. - Come hither, damsel.«
    »Janet,« said the lady, »come hither to my lord.«
    Janet, who, as we already noticed, had discreetly retired to some distance,
that her presence might be no check upon the private conversation of her lord
and lady, now came forward, and as she made her reverential courtesy, the Earl
could not help smiling at the contrast which the extreme simplicity of her dress
and the prim demureness of her looks made with a very pretty countenance and a
pair of black eyes, that laughed in spite of their mistress's desire to look
grave.
    »I am bound to you, pretty damsel,« said the Earl, »for the contentment
which your service hath given to this lady.« As he said this, he took from his
finger a ring of some price, and offered it to Janet Foster, adding, »Wear this
for her sake and for mine.«
    »I am well pleased, my lord,« answered Janet, demurely, »that my poor
service hath gratified my lady, whom no one can draw nigh to without desiring to
please; but we of the precious Master Holdforth's congregation seek not, like
the gay daughters of this world, to twine gold around our fingers, or wear
stones upon our necks, like the vain women of Tyre and of Sidon.«
    »Oh, what! you are a grave professor of the precise sisterhood, pretty
Mistress Janet,« said the Earl, »and I think your father is of the same
congregation in sincerity. I like you both the better for it; for I have been
prayed for, and wished well to, in your congregations. And you may the better
afford the lack of ornament, Mistress Janet, because your fingers are slender,
and your neck white. But here is what neither papist nor puritan,
latitudinarian, nor precisian, ever boggles or makes mouths at. E'en take it, my
girl, and employ it as you list.«
    So saying, he put into her hand five broad gold pieces of Philip and Mary.
    »I would not accept this gold neither,« said Janet, »but that I hope to find
a use for it, which will bring a blessing on us all.«
    »Even please thyself, pretty Janet,« said the Earl, and I shall be well
satisfied - And I prithee let them hasten the evening collation.
    »I have bidden Master Varney and Master Foster to sup with us, my lord,«
said the Countess, as Janet retired to obey the Earl's commands; »has it your
approbation?«
    »What you do ever must have so, my sweet Amy,« replied her husband; »and I
am the better pleased thou hast done them this grace, because Richard Varney is
my sworn man, and a close brother of my secret council; and for the present I
must needs repose much trust in this Anthony Foster.«
    »I had a boon to beg of thee, and a secret to tell thee, my dear lord,« said
the Countess with a faltering accent.
    »Let both be for to-morrow, my love,« replied the Earl. »I see they open the
folding-doors into the banqueting-parlour, and as I have ridden far and fast, a
cup of wine will not be unacceptable.«
    So saying, he led his lovely wife into the next apartment, where Varney and
Foster received them with the deepest reverences, which the first paid with the
fashion of the court, and the second after that of the congregation. The Earl
returned their salutation with the negligent courtesy of one long used to such
homage; while the Countess repaid it with a punctilious solicitude, which showed
it was not quite so familiar to her.
    The banquet at which the company seated themselves, corresponded in
magnificence with the splendour of the apartment in which it was served up, but
no domestic gave his attendance. Janet alone stood ready to wait upon the
company; and, indeed, the board was so well supplied with all that could be
desired, that little or no assistance was necessary. The Earl and his lady
occupied the upper end of the table, and Varney and Foster sat beneath the salt,
as was the custom with inferiors. The latter, overawed perhaps by society to
which he was altogether unused, did not utter a single syllable during the
repast; while Varney, with great tact and discernment, sustained just as much of
the conversation, as, without the appearance of intrusion on his part, prevented
it from languishing, and maintained the good humour of the Earl at the highest
pitch. This man was indeed highly qualified by nature to discharge the part in
which he found himself placed, being discreet and cautious on the one hand, and
on the other, quick, keen-witted, and imaginative; so that even the Countess,
prejudiced as she was against him on many accounts, felt and enjoyed his powers
of conversation, and was more disposed than she had ever hitherto found herself,
to join in the praises which the Earl lavished on his favourite. The hour of
rest at length arrived; the Earl and Countess retired to their apartment; and
all was silent in the castle for the rest of the night.
    Early on the ensuing morning, Varney acted as the Earl's chamberlain, as
well as his master of horse, though the latter was his proper office in that
magnificent household, where knights and gentlemen of good descent were well
contented to hold such menial situations, as nobles themselves held in that of
the sovereign. The duties of each of these charges were familiar to Varney, who,
sprung from an ancient but decayed family, was the Earl's page during his
earlier and more obscure fortunes, and faithful to him in adversity, had
afterwards contrived to render himself no less useful to him in his rapid and
splendid advance to fortune; thus establishing in him an interest, resting both
on present and past services, which rendered him an almost indispensable sharer
of his confidence.
    »Help me to do on a plainer riding suit, Varney,« said the Earl, as he laid
aside his morning-gown, flowered with silk, and lined with sables, »and put
these chains and fetters there« (pointing to the collars of the various Orders
which lay on the table) »into their place of security - my neck last night was
well-nigh broke with the weight of them. I am half of the mind that they shall
gall me no more. They are bonds which knaves have invented to fetter fools. How
think'st thou, Varney?«
    »Faith, my good lord,« said his attendant, »I think fetters of gold are like
no other fetters - they are ever the weightier the welcomer.«
    »For all that, Varney,« replied his master, »I am well-nigh resolved they
shall bind me to the court no longer. What can farther 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 farther, but sit me down in
quiet on the shore.«
    »And gather cockle-shells, with Dan Cupid to aid you,« said Varney.
    »How mean you by that, Varney?« said the Earl, somewhat hastily.
    »Nay, my lord,« said Varney, »be not angry with me. If your lordship is
happy in a lady so rarely lovely, that in order to enjoy her company with
somewhat more freedom, you are willing to part with all you have hitherto lived
for, some of your poor servants may be sufferers; but your bounty hath placed me
so high, that I shall ever have enough to maintain a poor gentleman in the rank
befitting the high office he has held in your lordship's family.«
    »Yet you seem discontented when I propose throwing up a dangerous game,
which may end in the ruin of both of us.«
    »I, my Lord?« said Varney; »surely I have no cause to regret your lordship's
retreat! - It will not be Richard Varney who will incur the displeasure of
majesty, and the ridicule of the court, when the stateliest fabric that ever was
founded upon a prince's favour melts away like a morning frost-work. - I would
only have you yourself to be assured, my lord, ere you take a step which cannot
be retracted, that you consult your fame and happiness in the course you
propose.«
    »Speak on then, Varney,« said the Earl; »I tell thee I have determined
nothing, and will weigh all considerations on either side.«
    »Well, then, my lord,« replied Varney, »we will suppose the step taken, the
frown frowned, the laugh laughed, and the moan moaned. You have retired, we will
say, to some one of your most distant castles, so far from court that you hear
neither the sorrow of your friends, nor the glee of your enemies. We will
suppose, too, that your successful rival will be satisfied (a thing greatly to
be doubted) with abridging and cutting away the branches of the great tree which
so long kept the sun from him, and that he does not insist upon tearing you up
by the roots. Well; the late prime favourite of England, who wielded her
general's staff and controlled her parliaments, is now a rural baron, hunting,
hawking, drinking fat ale with country esquires, and mustering his men at the
command of the High Sheriff« -
    »Varney, forbear!« said the Earl.
    »Nay, my lord, you must give me leave to conclude my picture. - Sussex
governs England - the Queen's health fails - the succession is to be settled - a
road is opened to ambition more splendid than ambition ever dreamed of. - You
hear all this as you sit by the hob, under the shade of your hall-chimney - You
then begin to think what hopes you have fallen from, and what insignificance you
have embraced - and all that you might look babies in the eyes of your fair wife
oftener than once a-fortnight.«
    »I say, Varney,« said the Earl, »no more of this. I said not that the step,
which my own ease and comfort would urge me to, was to be taken hastily, or
without due consideration to the public safety. Bear witness to me, Varney; I
subdue my wishes of retirement, not because I am moved by the call of private
ambition, but that I may preserve the position in which I may best serve my
country at the hour of need. - Order our horses presently - I will wear, as
formerly, one of the livery cloaks, and ride before the portmantle. - Thou shalt
be master for the day, Varney - neglect nothing that can blind suspicion. We
will to horse ere men are stirring. I will but take leave of my lady, and be
ready. I impose a restraint on my own poor heart, and wound one yet more dear to
me; but the patriot must subdue the husband.«
    Having said this in a melancholy but firm accent, he left the dressing
apartment.
    »I am glad thou art gone,« thought Varney, »or, practised as I am in the
follies of mankind, I had laughed in the very face of thee! Thou mayst tire as
thou wilt of thy new bauble, thy pretty piece of painted Eve's flesh there, I
will not be thy hindrance. But of thine old bauble, ambition, thou shalt not
tire, for as you climb the hill, my lord, you must drag Richard Varney up with
you; and if he can urge you to the ascent he means to profit by, believe me he
will spare neither whip nor spur. - And for you, my pretty lady, that would be
Countess outright, you were best not thwart my courses, lest you are called to
an old reckoning on a new score. Thou shalt be master, did he say! - By my
faith, he may find that he spoke truer than he is aware of - And thus he, who,
in the estimation of so many wise-judging men, can match Burleigh and Walsingham
in policy, and Sussex in war, becomes pupil to his own menial; and all for a
hazel eye and a little cunning red and white - and so falls ambition. And yet if
the charms of mortal woman could excuse a man's politic pate for becoming
bewildered, my lord had the excuse at his right hand on this blessed evening
that has last passed over us. Well - let things roll as they may, he shall make
me great, or I will make myself happy; and for that softer piece of creation, if
she speak not out her interview with Tressilian, as well I think she dare not,
she also must traffic with me for concealment and mutual support in spite of all
this scorn. - I must to the stables. - Well, my lord, I order your retinue now;
the time may soon come that my master of the horse shall order mine own. What
was Thomas Cromwell but a smith's son, and he died my lord - on a scaffold,
doubtless, but that too was in character - And what was Ralph Sadler but the
clerk of Cromwell, and he has gazed eighteen fair lordships, - viâ! I know my
steerage as well as they.«
    So saying, he left the apartment.
    In the meanwhile, the Earl had re-entered the bedchamber, bent on taking a
hasty farewell of the lovely Countess, and scarce daring to trust himself in
private with her, to hear requests again urged, which he found it difficult to
parry, yet which his recent conversation with his master of horse had determined
him not to grant.
    He found her in a white cymar of silk lined with furs, her little feet
unstockinged and hastily thrust into slippers; her unbraided hair escaping from
under her midnight coif, with little array but her own loveliness, rather
augmented than diminished by the grief which she felt at the approaching moment
of separation.
    »Now, God be with thee, my dearest and loveliest!« said the Earl, scarce
tearing himself from her embrace, yet again returning to fold her again and
again in his arms, and again bidding farewell, and again returning to kiss and
bid adieu once more.
    »The sun is on the verge of the blue horizon - I dare not stay. Ere this I
should have been ten miles from hence.«
    Such were the words, with which at length he strove to cut short their
parting interview.
    »You will not grant my request, then?« said the Countess. »Ah, false knight!
did ever lady, with bare foot in slipper, seek boon of a brave knight, yet
return with denial?«
    »Any thing, Amy, any thing thou canst ask I will grant,« answered the Earl -
»always excepting,« he said, »that which might ruin us both.«
    »Nay,« said the Countess, »I urge not my wish to be acknowledged in the
character which would make me the envy of England - as the wife, that is, of my
brave and noble lord, the first as the most fondly beloved of English nobles. -
Let me but share the secret with my dear father! - Let me but end his misery on
my unworthy account - they say he is ill, the good old kind-hearted man.«
    »They say?« asked the Earl, hastily; »who says? Did not Varney convey to Sir
Hugh all we dare at present tell him concerning your happiness and welfare? and
has he not told you that the good old knight was following, with good heart and
health, his favourite and wonted exercise? Who has dared put other thoughts into
your head?«
    »Oh, no one, my lord, no one,« said the Countess, something alarmed at the
tone in which the question was put; »but yet, my lord, I would fain be assured
by mine own eye-sight that my father is well.«
    »Be contented, Amy - thou canst not now have communication with thy father
or his house. Were it not a deep course of policy to commit no secret
unnecessarily to the custody of more than must needs be, it were sufficient
reason for secrecy, that yonder Cornish man, yonder Trevanion, or Tressilian, or
whatever his name is, haunts the old knight's house, and must necessarily know
whatever is communicated there.«
    »My lord,« answered the Countess, »I do not think it so. My father has been
long noted a worthy and honourable man; and for Tressilian, if we can pardon
ourselves the ill we have wrought him, I will wager the coronet I am to share
with you one day, that he is incapable of returning injury for injury.«
    »I will not trust him, however, Amy,« said her husband; »by my honour, I
will not trust him - I would rather the foul fiend intermingle in our secret
than this Tressilian!«
    »And why, my lord?« said the Countess, though she shuddered slightly at the
tone of determination in which he spoke; »let me but know why you think thus
hardly of Tressilian?«
    »Madam,« replied the Earl, »my will ought to be a sufficient reason - If you
desire more, consider how this Tressilian is leagued, and with whom - He stands
high in the opinion of this Radcliffe, this Sussex, against whom I am barely
able to maintain my ground in the opinion of our suspicious mistress; and if he
had me at such advantage, Amy, as to become acquainted with the tale of our
marriage, before Elizabeth were fitly prepared, I were an outcast from her grace
for ever - a bankrupt at once in favour and in fortune, perhaps, for she hath in
her a touch of her father Henry, - a victim, and it may be a bloody one, to her
offended and jealous resentment.«
    »But why, my lord,« again urged his lady, »should you deem thus injuriously
of a man of whom you know so little? What you do know of Tressilian is through
me, and it is I who assure you that in no circumstances will 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?«
    »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 bear5 brooks no one to cross his awful path.«
    »Awful, indeed!« said the Countess, turning very pale.
    »You are ill, my love,« said the Earl, supporting her in his arms; »stretch
yourself on your couch again; it is but an early day for you to leave it. - Have
you aught else, involving less than my fame, my fortune, and my life, to ask of
me?«
    »Nothing, my lord and love,« answered the Countess, faintly; »something
there was that I would have told you, but your anger has driven it from my
recollection.«
    »Reserve it till our next meeting, my love,« said the Earl, fondly, and
again embracing her; »and barring only those requests which I cannot and dare
not grant, thy wish must be more than England and all its dependencies can
fulfil, if it is not gratified to the letter.«
    Thus saying, he at length took farewell. At the bottom of the staircase he
received from Varney an ample livery cloak and slouched hat, in which he wrapped
himself so as to disguise his person, and completely conceal his features.
Horses were ready in the courtyard for himself and Varney; - for one or two of
his train, entrusted 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.
    Anthony Foster himself had in hand the rein of the Earl's palfrey, a stout
and able nag for the road; while his old serving-man held the bridle of the more
showy and gallant steed which Richard Varney was to occupy in the character of
master.
    As the Earl approached, however, Varney advanced to hold his master's
bridle, and to prevent Foster from paying that duty to the Earl, which he
probably considered as belonging to his own office. Foster scowled at an
interference which seemed intended to prevent his paying his court to his
patron, but gave place to Varney; and the Earl, mounting without farther
observation, and forgetting that his assumed character of a domestic threw him
into the rear of his supposed master, rode pensively out of the quadrangle, not
without waving his hand repeatedly in answer to the signals which were made by
the Countess with her kerchief, from the windows of her apartment.
    While his stately form vanished under the dark archway which led out of the
quadrangle, Varney muttered, »There goes fine policy - the servant before the
master?« then as he disappeared, seized the moment to speak a word with Foster.
»Thou look'st dark on me, Anthony,« he said, »as if I had deprived thee of a
parting nod of my lord; but I have moved him to leave thee a better remembrance
for thy faithful service. See here! a purse of as good gold as ever chinked
under a miser's thumb and forefinger. Ay, count them, lad,« said he, as Foster
received the gold with a grim smile, »and add to them the goodly remembrance he
gave last night to Janet.«
    »How's this! how's this!« said Anthony Foster, hastily, »gave he gold to
Janet?«
    »Ay, man, wherefore not? - does not her service to his fair lady require
guerdon?«
    »She shall have none on't,« said Foster; »she shall return it. I know his
dotage on one face is as brief as it is deep. His affections are as fickle as
the moon.«
    »Why, Foster, thou art mad - thou dost not hope for such good fortune as
that my lord should cast an eye on Janet? - Who, in the fiend's name, would
listen to the thrush when the nightingale is singing?«
    »Thrush or nightingale, all is one to the fowler; and, Master Varney, you
can sound the quailpipe 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 mayst rely on - She shall restore the gold.«
    »Ay, or give it to thy keeping, Tony, which will serve as well,« answered
Varney; »but I have that to say which is more serious. - Our lord is returning
to court in an evil humour for us.«
    »How meanest thou?« said Foster. »Is he tired already of his pretty toy -
his plaything yonder? He has purchased her at a monarch's ransom, and I warrant
me he rues his bargain.«
    »Not a whit, Tony,« answered the master of the horse; »he dotes on her, and
will forsake the court for her - then down go hopes, possessions, and safety -
church lands are resumed, Tony, and well if the holders be not called to account
in Exchequer.«
    »That were ruin,« said Foster, his brow darkening with apprehensions; »and
all this for a woman! - Had it been for his soul's sake, it were something; and
I sometimes wish I myself could fling away the world that cleaves to me, and be
as one of the poorest of our church.«
    »Thou art like enough to be so, Tony,« answered Varney; »but I think the
devil will give thee little credit for thy compelled poverty, and so thou losest
on all hands. But follow my counsel, and Cumnor Place shall be thy copyhold yet
- Say nothing of this Tressilian's visit - not a word until I give thee notice.«
    »And wherefore, I pray you?« asked Foster suspiciously.
    »Dull beast!« replied Varney; »in my lord's present humour it were the ready
way to confirm him in his resolution of retirement, should he know that his lady
was haunted with such a spectre in his absence. He would be for playing the
dragon himself over his golden fruit, and then, Tony, thy occupation is ended. A
word to the wise - Farewell - I must follow him.«
    He turned his horse, struck him with the spurs, and rode off under the
archway in pursuit of his lord.
    »Would thy occupation were ended, or thy neck broken, damned pander!« said
Anthony Foster. »But I must follow his beck, for his interest and mine are the
same, and he can wind the proud Earl to his will. Janet shall give me these
pieces, though - they shall be laid out in some way for God's service, and I
will keep them separate in my strong chest till I can fall upon a fitting
employment for them. No contagious vapour shall breathe on Janet - she shall
remain pure as a blessed spirit, were it but to pray God for her father. I need
her prayers, for I am at a hard pass - Strange reports are abroad concerning my
way of life. The congregation look cold on me, and when Master Holdforth spoke
of hypocrites being like a whited sepulchre, which within was full of dead men's
bones, methought he looked full at me. The Romish was a comfortable faith;
Lambourne spoke true in that. A man had but to follow his thrift by such ways as
offered - tell his beads - hear a mass - confess, and be absolved. These
Puritans tread a harder and a rougher path; but I will try - I will read my
Bible for an hour ere I again open mine iron chest.«
    Varney, meantime, spurred after his lord, whom he found waiting for him at
the postern-gate of the park.
    »You waste time, Varney,« said the Earl; »and it presses. I must be at
Woodstock before I can safely lay aside my disguise; and till then, I journey in
some peril.«
    »It is but two hours' brisk riding, my lord,« said Varney; »for me, I only
stopped to enforce your commands of care and secrecy on yonder Foster, and to
inquire about the abode of the gentleman whom I would promote to your lordship's
train, in the room of Trevors.«
    »Is he fit for the meridian of the antechamber, think'st thou?« said the
Earl.
    »He promises well, my lord,« replied Varney; »but if your lordship were
pleased to ride on, I could go back to Cumnor, and bring him to your lordship at
Woodstock before you are out of bed.«
    »Why, I am asleep there, thou knows, at this moment,« said the Earl: »and
I pray you not to spare horse-flesh, that you may be with me at my levee.«
    So saying, he gave his horse the spur, and proceeded on his journey, while
Varney rode back to Cumnor by the public road, avoiding the park. The latter
alighted at the door of the Bonny Black Bear, and desired to speak with Master
Michael Lambourne. That respectable character was not long of appearing before
his new patron, but it was with downcast looks.
    »Thou hast lost the scent,« said Varney, »of thy comrade Tressilian. - I
know it by thy hang-dog visage. Is this thy alacrity, thou impudent knave?«
    »Cogswounds!« said Lambourne, »there was never a trail so finely hunted. I
saw him to earth at mine uncle's here - stuck to him like bees' wax - saw him at
supper - watched him to his chamber, and presto - he is gone next morning, the
very hostler knows not where!«
    »This sounds like practice upon me, sir,« replied Varney, »and if it proves
so, by my soul you shall repent it!«
    »Sir, the best hound will be sometimes at fault,« answered Lambourne; »how
should it serve me that this fellow should have thus evanished? You may ask mine
host, Giles Gosling - ask the tapster and hostler - ask Cicely, and the whole
household, how I kept eyes on Tressilian while he was on foot. - On my soul, I
could not be expected to watch him like a sick-nurse, when I had seen him fairly
a-bed in his chamber. That will be allowed me surely.«
    Varney did, in fact, make some inquiry among the household, which confirmed
the truth of Lambourne's statement. Tressilian, it was unanimously agreed, had
departed suddenly and unexpectedly, betwixt night and morning.
    »But I will wrong no one,« said mine host; »he left on the table in his
lodging the full value of his reckoning, with some allowance to the servants of
the house, which was the less necessary, that he saddled his own gelding, as it
seems, without the hostler's assistance.«
    Thus satisfied of the rectitude of Lambourne's conduct, Varney began to talk
to him upon his future prospects, and the mode in which he meant to bestow
himself, intimating that he understood from Foster he was not disinclined to
enter into the household of a nobleman.
    »Have you,« said he, »ever been at court?«
    »No,« replied Lambourne; »but ever since I was ten years old, I have dreamt
once a-week that I was there, and made my fortune.«
    »It may be your own fault if your dream comes not true,« said Varney. »Are
you needy?«
    »Um!« replied Lambourne; »I love pleasure.«
    »That is a sufficient answer, and an honest one,« said Varney. »Know you
aught of the requisites expected from the retainer of a rising courtier?«
    »I have imagined them to myself, sir,« answered Lambourne, »as, for example,
a quick eye - a close mouth - a ready and bold hand - a sharp wit, and a blunt
conscience.«
    »And thine, I suppose,« said Varney, »has had its edge blunted long since?«
    »I cannot remember, sir, that its edge was ever over keen,« replied
Lambourne. »When I was a youth, I had some few whimsies, but I rubbed them
partly out of my recollection on the rough grindstone of the wars, and what
remained I washed out in the broad waves of the Atlantic.«
    »Thou hast served, then, in the Indies?«
    »In both East and West,« answered the candidate for court-service, »by both
sea and land; I have served both the Portugal and the Spaniard - both the
Dutchman and the Frenchman, and have made war on our own account with a crew of
jolly fellows, who held there was no peace beyond the Line.«6
    »Thou mayst do me, and my lord, and thyself good service,« said Varney,
after a pause. »But observe, I know the world - and answer me truly, canst thou
be faithful?«
    »Did you not know the world,« answered Lambourne, »it were my duty to say
ay, without farther circumstance, and to swear to it with life and honour, and
so forth. But as it seems to me that your worship is one who desires rather
honest truth than politic falsehood - I reply to you, that I can be faithful to
the gallows foot; ay, to the loop that dangles from it, if I am well used and
well recompensed; - not otherwise.«
    »To thy other virtues thou canst add, no doubt,« said Varney, in a jeering
tone, »the knack of seeming serious and religious when the moment demands it?«
    »It would cost me nothing,« said Lambourne, »to say yes - but, to speak on
the square, I must needs say no. If you want a hypocrite, you may take Anthony
Foster, who, from his childhood, had some sort of phantom haunting him, which he
called religion, though it was that sort of godliness which always ended in
being great gain. But I have no such knack of it.« »Well,« replied Varney, »if
thou hast no hypocrisy, hast thou not a nag here in the stable?«
    »Ay, sir,« said Lambourne, »that shall take hedge and ditch with my Lord
Duke's best hunters. When I made a little mistake on Shooter's Hill, and stopped
an ancient grazier whose pouches were better lined than his brain-pan, the bonny
bay nag carried me sheer off in spite of the whole hue and cry.«
    »Saddle him then, instantly, and attend me,« said Varney. »Leave thy clothes
and baggage under charge of mine host, and I will conduct thee to a service, in
which, if thou do not better thyself, the fault shall not be fortune's, but
thine own.«
    »Brave and hearty!« said Lambourne, »and I am mounted in an instant. - Knave
hostler, saddle my nag without the loss of one instant, as thou dost value the
safety of thy noddle. - Pretty Cicely, take half this purse to comfort thee for
my sudden departure.«
    »Gogsnouns!« replied the father, »Cicely wants no such token from thee - Go
away, Mike, and gather grace if thou canst, though I think thou goest not to the
land where it grows.«
    »Let me look at this Cicely of thine, mine host,« said Varney, »I have heard
much talk of her beauty.«
    »It is a sunburnt beauty,« said mine host, »well qualified to stand out rain
and wind, but little calculated to please such critical gallants as yourself.
She keeps her chamber, and cannot encounter the glance of such sunny-day
courtiers as my noble guest.«
    »Well, peace be with her, my good host,« answered Varney; »our horses are
impatient - we bid you good day.«
    »Does my nephew go with you, so please you?« said Gosling.
    »Ay, such is his purpose,« answered Richard Varney.
    »You are right - fully right,« replied mine host - »you are, I say, fully
right, my kinsman. Thou hast got a gay horse, see thou light not unaware upon a
halter - or, if thou wilt needs be made immortal by means of a rope, which thy
purpose of following this gentleman renders not unlikely, I charge thee to find
a gallows as far from Cumnor as thou conveniently mayst, and so I commend you
to your saddle.«
    The master of the horse and his new retainer mounted accordingly, leaving
the landlord to conclude his ill-omened farewell, to himself and at leisure; and
set off together at a rapid pace, which prevented conversation until the ascent
of a steep sandy hill permitted them to resume it.
    »You are contented then,« said Varney to his companion, »to take
court-service?«
    »Ay, worshipful sir, if you like my terms as well as I like yours.«
    »And what are your terms?« demanded Varney.
    »If I am to have a quick eye for my patron's interest, he must have a dull
one towards my faults,« said Lambourne.
    »Ay,« said Varney, »so they lie not so grossly open that he must needs break
his shins over them.«
    »Agreed,« said Lambourne. »Next, if I run down game, I must have the picking
of the bones.«
    »That is but reason,« replied Varney, »so that your betters are served
before you.«
    »Good,« said Lambourne; »and it only remains to be said, that if the law and
I quarrel, my patron must bear me out, for that is a chief point.«
    »Reason again,« said Varney, »if the quarrel hath happened in your master's
service.«
    »For the wage and so forth, I say nothing,« proceeded Lambourne; »it is the
secret guerdon that I must live by.«
    »Never fear,« said Varney; »thou shalt have clothes and spending money to
ruffle it with the best of thy degree, for thou goest to a household where you
have gold, as they say, by the eye.«
    »That jumps all with my humour,« replied Michael Lambourne; »and it only
remains that you tell me my master's name.«
    »My name is Master Richard Varney,« answered his companion.
    »But I mean,« said Lambourne, »the name of the noble lord to whose service
you are to prefer me.«
    »How, knave, art thou too good to call me master?« said Varney, hastily; »I
would have thee bold to others, but not saucy to me.«
    »I crave your worship's pardon,« said Lambourne; »but you seemed familiar
with Anthony Foster, now I am familiar with Anthony myself.«
    »Thou art a shrewd knave, I see,« replied Varney. »Mark me - I do indeed
propose to introduce thee into a nobleman's household; but it is upon my person
thou wilt chiefly wait, and upon my countenance that thou wilt depend. I am his
master of horse - Thou wilt soon know his name - it is one that shakes the
council and wields the state.«
    »By this light, a brave spell to conjure with,« said Lambourne, »if a man
would discover hidden treasures!«
    »Used with discretion, it may prove so,« replied Varney; »but mark - if thou
conjure with it at thine own hand, it may raise a devil who will tear thee in
fragments.«
    »Enough said,« replied Lambourne; »I will not exceed my limits.«
    The travellers then resumed the rapid rate of travelling which their
discourse had interrupted, and soon arrived at the Royal Park of Woodstock. This
ancient possession of the crown of England was then very different from what it
had been when it was the residence of the fair Rosamond, and the scene of Henry
the Second's secret and illicit amours; and yet more unlike to the scene which
it exhibits in the present day, when Blenheim House commemorates the victory of
Marlborough, and no less the genius of Vanburgh, though decried in his own time
by persons of taste far inferior to his own. It was, in Elizabeth's time, an
ancient mansion in bad repair, which had long ceased to be honoured with the
royal residence, to the great impoverishment of the adjacent village. The
inhabitants, however, had made several petitions to the Queen to have the favour
of the sovereign's countenance occasionally bestowed upon them; and upon this
very business, ostensibly at least, was the noble lord, whom we have already
introduced to our readers, a visitor at Woodstock.
    Varney and Lambourne galloped without ceremony into the courtyard of the
ancient and dilapidated mansion, which presented on that morning a scene of
bustle which it had not exhibited for two reigns. Officers of the Earl's
household, liverymen and retainers, went and came with all the insolent fracas
which attaches to their profession. The neigh of horses and the baying of hounds
were heard; for my lord, in his occupation of inspecting and surveying the manor
and demesne, was of course provided with the means of following his pleasure in
the chase or park, said to have been the earliest that was enclosed in England,
and which was well stocked with deer that had long roamed there unmolested.
Several of the inhabitants of the village, in anxious hope of a favourable
result from this unwonted visit, loitered about the courtyard, and awaited the
great man's coming forth. Their attention was excited by the hasty arrival of
Varney, and a murmur ran amongst them, »The Earl's master of the horse!« while
they hurried to bespeak favour by hastily unbonneting, and proffering to hold
the bridle and stirrup of the favoured retainer and his attendant.
    »Stand somewhat aloof, my masters!« said Varney, haughtily, »and let the
domestics do their office.«
    The mortified citizens and peasants fell back at the signal; while
Lambourne, who had his eye upon his superior's deportment, repelled the services
of those who offered to assist him, with yet more discourtesy - »Stand back,
Jack peasant, with a murrain to you, and let these knave footmen do their duty!«
    While they gave their nags to the attendants of the household, and walked
into the mansion with an air of superiority which long practice and
consciousness of birth rendered natural to Varney, and which Lambourne
endeavoured to imitate as well as he could, the poor inhabitants of Woodstock
whispered to each other, »Well-a-day - God save us from all such misproud
princoxes! An the master be like the men, why, the fiend may take all, and yet
have no more than his due.«
    »Silence, good neighbours!« said the Bailiff, »keep tongue betwixt teeth -
we shall know more by and by. - But never will a lord come to Woodstock so
welcome as bluff old King Harry! He would horsewhip a fellow one day with his
own royal hand, and then fling him an handful of silver groats, with his own
broad face on them, to 'noint the sore withal.«
    »Ay, rest be with him!« echoed the auditors; »it will be long ere this Lady
Elizabeth horsewhip any of us.«
    »There is no saying,« answered the Bailiff. »Meanwhile, patience, good
neighbours, and let us comfort ourselves by thinking that we deserve such notice
at her Grace's hands.«
    Meanwhile, Varney, closely followed by his new dependant, made his way to
the hall, where men of more note and consequence than those left in the
courtyard awaited the appearance of the Earl, who as yet kept his chamber. All
paid court to Varney, with more or less deference, as suited their own rank, or
the urgency of the business which brought them to his lord's levee. To the
general question of, »When comes my lord forth, Master Varney?« he gave brief
answers, as, »See you not my boots? I am just returned from Oxford, and know
nothing of it,« and the like, until the same query was put in a higher tone by a
personage of more importance. »I will inquire of the chamberlain, Sir Thomas
Copely,« was the reply. The chamberlain, distinguished by his silver key,
answered, that the Earl only awaited Master Varney's return to come down, but
that he would first speak with him in his private chamber. Varney, therefore,
bowed to the company, and took leave, to enter his lord's apartment.
    There was a murmur of expectation which lasted a few minutes, and was at
length hushed by the opening of the folding-doors at the upper end of the
apartment, through which the Earl made his entrance, marshalled by his
chamberlain and the steward of his family, and followed by Richard Varney. In
his noble mien and princely features, men read nothing of that insolence which
was practised by his dependants. His courtesies were, indeed, measured by the
rank of those to whom they were addressed, but even the meanest person present
had a share of his gracious notice. The inquiries which he made respecting the
condition of the manor, of the Queen's rights there, and of the advantages and
disadvantages which might attend her occasional residence at the royal seat of
Woodstock, seemed to show that he had most earnestly investigated the matter of
the petition of the inhabitants, and with a desire to forward the interest of
the place.
    »Now, the Lord love his noble countenance,« said the Bailiff, who had thrust
himself into the presence-chamber; »he looks somewhat pale. I warrant him he
hath spent the whole night in perusing our memorial. Master Toughyarn, who took
six months to draw it up, said it would take a week to understand it; and see if
the Earl hath not knocked the marrow out of it in twenty-four hours.«
    The Earl then acquainted them that he should move their sovereign to honour
Woodstock occasionally with her residence during her royal progresses, that the
town and its vicinity might derive, from her countenance and favour, the same
advantages as from those of her predecessors. Meanwhile he rejoiced to be the
expounder of her gracious pleasure, in assuring them that, for the increase of
trade, and encouragement of the worthy burgesses of Woodstock, her majesty was
minded to erect the town into a Staple for wool.
    This joyful intelligence was received with the acclamations not only of the
better sort who were admitted to the audience-chamber, but of the commons who
awaited without.
    The freedom of the corporation was presented to the Earl upon knee by the
magistrates of the place, together with a purse of gold pieces, which the Earl
handed to Varney, who, on his part, gave a share to Lambourne, as the most
acceptable earnest of his new service.
    The Earl and his retinue took horse soon after, to return to court,
accompanied by the shouts of the inhabitants of Woodstock, who made the old oaks
ring with re-echoing, »Long live Queen Elizabeth, and the noble Earl of
Leicester!« The urbanity and courtesy of the Earl even threw a gleam of
popularity over his attendants, as their haughty deportment had formerly
obscured that of their master; and men shouted, »Long life to the Earl, and to
his gallant followers!« as Varney and Lambourne, each in his rank, rode proudly
through the streets of Woodstock.
 

                                 Chapter Eighth

 Host: - I will hear you, Master Fenton;
 And I will, at least, keep your counsel.
                                                         Merry Wives of Windsor.
 
It becomes necessary to return to the detail of those circumstances which
accompanied, and indeed occasioned, the sudden disappearance of Tressilian from
the sign of the Black Bear at Cumnor. It will be recollected that this
gentleman, after his rencounter with Varney, had returned to Giles Gosling's
caravansary, where he shut himself up in his own chamber, demanded pen, ink, and
paper, and announced his purpose to remain private for the day: in the evening
he appeared again in the public room, where Michael Lambourne, who had been on
the watch for him, agreeably to his engagement to Varney, endeavoured to renew
his acquaintance with him, and hoped he retained no unfriendly recollection of
the part he had taken in the morning's scuffle.
    But Tressilian repelled his advances firmly, though with civility - »Master
Lambourne,« said he, »I trust I have recompensed to your pleasure the time you
have wasted on me. Under the show of wild bluntness which you exhibit, I know
you have sense enough to understand me, when I say frankly, that the object of
our temporary acquaintance having been accomplished, we must be strangers to
each other in future.«
    »Voto!« said Lambourne, twirling his whiskers with one hand, and grasping
the hilt of his weapon with the other; »if I thought that this usage was meant
to insult me« -
    »You would bear it with discretion, doubtless,« interrupted Tressilian, »as
you must do at any rate. You know too well the distance that is betwixt us, to
require me to explain myself farther - Good evening.«
    So saying, he turned his back upon his former companion, and entered into
discourse with the landlord. Michael Lambourne felt strongly disposed to bully;
but his wrath died away in a few incoherent oaths and ejaculations, and he sank
unresistingly under the ascendency which superior spirits possess over persons
of his habits and description. He remained moody and silent in a corner of the
apartment, paying the most marked attention to every motion of his late
companion, against whom he began now to nourish a quarrel on his own account,
which he trusted to avenge by the execution of his new master Varney's
directions. The hour of supper arrived, and was followed by that of repose, when
Tressilian, like others, retired to his sleeping apartment.
    He had not been in bed long, when the train of sad reveries, which supplied
the place of rest in his disturbed mind, was suddenly interrupted by the jar of
a door on its hinges, and a light was seen to glimmer in the apartment.
Tressilian, who was as brave as steel, sprang from his bed at this alarm, and
had laid hand upon his sword, when he was prevented from drawing it, by a voice
which said, »Be not too rash with your rapier, Master Tressilian - It is I, your
host, Giles Gosling.«
    At the same time, unshrouding the dark lantern, which had hitherto only
emitted an indistinct glimmer, the goodly aspect and figure of the landlord of
the Black Bear was visibly presented to his astonished guest.
    »What mummery is this, mine host?« said Tressilian; »have you supped as
jollily as last night, and so mistaken your chamber? or is midnight a time for
masquerading it in your guest's lodging?«
    »Master Tressilian,« replied mine host, »I know my place and my time as well
as e'er a merry landlord in England. But here has been my hang-dog kinsman
watching you as close as ever cat watched a mouse; and here have you, on the
other hand, quarrelled and fought either with him or with some other person, and
I fear that danger will come of it.«
    »Go to, thou art but a fool, man,« said Tressilian; »thy kinsman is beneath
my resentment; and besides, why shouldst thou think I had quarrelled with any
one whomsoever?«
    »Oh! sir,« replied the innkeeper, »there was a red spot on thy very
cheek-bone, which boded of a late brawl, as sure as the conjunction of Mars and
Saturn threatens misfortune - and when you returned, the buckles of your girdle
were brought forward, and your step was quick and hasty, and all things showed
your hand and your hilt had been lately acquainted.«
    »Well, good mine host, if I have been obliged to draw my sword,« said
Tressilian, »why should such a circumstance fetch thee out of thy warm bed at
this time of night? Thou seest the mischief is all over.«
    »Under favour, that is what I doubt. Anthony Foster is a dangerous man,
defended by strong court patronage, which hath borne him out in matters of very
deep concernment. And then, my kinsman - why, I have told you what he is; and if
these two old cronies have made up their old acquaintance, I would not, my
worshipful guest, that it should be at thy cost. I promise you, Mike Lambourne
has been making very particular inquiries at mine hostler, when and which way
you ride. Now, I would have you think, whether you may not have done or said
something for which you may be waylaid, and taken at disadvantage.«
    »Thou art an honest man, mine host,« said Tressilian, after a moment's
consideration, »and I will deal frankly with thee. If these men's malice is
directed against me - as I deny not but it may - it is because they are the
agents of a more powerful villain than themselves.«
    »You mean Master Richard Varney, do you not?« said the landlord; »he was at
Cumnor Place yesterday, and came not thither so private but what he was espied
by one who told me.«
    »I mean the same, mine host.«
    »Then, for God's sake, worshipful Master Tressilian,« said honest Gosling,
»look well to yourself. This Varney is the protector and patron of Anthony
Foster, who holds under him, and by his favour, some lease of yonder mansion and
the park. Varney got a large grant of the lands of the Abbacy of Abingdon, and
Cumnor Place amongst others, from his master, the Earl of Leicester. Men say he
can do everything with him, though I hold the Earl too good a nobleman to employ
him as some men talk of. - And then the Earl can do anything (that is, anything
right or fitting) with the Queen, God bless her, so you see what an enemy you
have made to yourself.«
    »Well - it is done, and I cannot help it,« answered Tressilian.
    »Uds precious, but it must be helped in some manner,« said the host.
»Richard Varney - why, what between his influence with my lord, and his
pretending to so many old and vexatious claims in right of the Abbot here, men
fear almost to mention his name, much more to set themselves against his
practices. You may judge by our discourses the last night. Men said their
pleasure of Tony Foster, but not a word of Richard Varney, though all men judge
him to be at the bottom of yonder mystery about the pretty wench. But perhaps
you know more of that matter than I do, for women, though they wear not swords,
are occasion for many a blade's exchanging a sheath of neat's leather for one of
flesh and blood.«
    »I do indeed know more of that poor unfortunate lady than thou dost, my
friendly host; and so bankrupt am I, at this moment, of friends and advice, that
I will willingly make a counsellor of thee, and tell thee the whole history, the
rather that I have a favour to ask when my tale is ended.«
    »Good Master Tressilian,« said the landlord, »I am but a poor innkeeper,
little able to adjust or counsel such a guest as yourself. But as sure as I have
risen decently above the world, by giving good measure and reasonable charges, I
am an honest man; and as such, if I may not be able to assist you, I am at least
not capable to abuse your confidence. Say away, therefore, as confidently as if
you spoke to your father; and thus far at least be certain, that my curiosity -
for I will not deny that which belongs to my calling - is joined to a reasonable
degree of discretion.«
    »I doubt it not, mine host,« answered Tressilian; and while his auditor
remained in anxious expectation, he meditated for an instant how he should
commence his narrative. »My tale,« he at length said, »to be quite intelligible,
must begin at some distance back. - You have heard of the battle of Stoke, my
good host, and perhaps of old Sir Roger Robsart, who, in that battle, valiantly
took part with Henry VII., the Queen's grandfather, and routed the Earl of
Lincoln, Lord Geraldin and his wild Irish, and the Flemings whom the Duchess of
Burgundy had sent over, in the quarrel of Lambert Simnel!«
    »I remember both one and the other,« said Giles Gosling, »it is sung of a
dozen times a-week on my ale-bench below. - Sir Roger Robsart of Devon - Oh, ay,
- 'tis him of whom minstrels sing to this hour, -
 
He was the flower of Stoke's red field,
When Martin Swart on ground lay slain;
In raging rout he never reel'd,
But like a rock did firm remain.7
 
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 ribbons above the nether stocks. Here's a song goes of
Martin Swart, too, an I had but memory for it: -
 
Martin Swart and his men,
Saddle them, saddle them;
Martin Swart and his men,
Saddle them well.«8
 
»True, good mine host - the day was long talked of; but if you sing so loud, you
will awake more listeners than I care to commit my confidence unto.«
    »I crave pardon, my worshipful guest,« said mine host, »I was oblivious.
When an old song comes across us merry old knights of the spigot, it runs away
with our discretion.«
    »Well, mine host, my grandfather, like some other Cornish men, kept a warm
affection to the House of York, and espoused the quarrel of this Simnel,
assuming the title of Earl of Warwick, as the county afterwards, in great
numbers, countenanced the cause of Perkin Warbeck, calling himself the Duke of
York. My grandsire joined Simnel's standard, and was taken fighting desperately
at Stoke, where most of the leaders of that unhappy army were slain in their
harness. The good knight to whom he rendered himself, Sir Roger Robsart,
protected him from the immediate vengeance of the King, and dismissed him
without ransom. But he was unable to guard him from other penalties of his
rashness, being the heavy fines by which he was impoverished, according to
Henry's mode of weakening his enemies. The good knight did what he might to
mitigate the distresses of my ancestor; and their friendship became so strict,
that my father was bred up as the sworn brother and intimate of the present Sir
Hugh Robsart, the only son of Sir Roger, and the heir of his honest and
generous, and hospitable temper, though not equal to him in martial
achievements.«
    »I have heard of good Sir Hugh Robsart,« interrupted the host, »many a time
and oft. His huntsman and sworn servant, Will Badger, hath spoken of him an
hundred times in this very house - a jovial knight he is, and hath loved
hospitality and open housekeeping more than the present fashion, which lays as
much gold lace on the seams of a doublet as would feed a dozen of tall fellows
with beef and ale for a twelvemonth, and let them have their evening at the
ale-house once a-week, to do good to the publican.«
    »If you have seen Will Badger, mine host,« said Tressilian, »you have heard
enough of Sir Hugh Robsart; and therefore I will but say, that the hospitality
you boast of hath proved somewhat detrimental to the estate of his family, which
is perhaps of the less consequence, as he has but one daughter to whom to
bequeath it. And here begins my share in the tale. Upon my father's death, now
several years since, the good Sir Hugh would willingly have made me his constant
companion. There was a time, however, at which I felt the kind knight's
excessive love for field-sports detained me from studies, by which I might have
profited more; but I ceased to regret the leisure which gratitude and hereditary
friendship compelled me to bestow on these rural avocations. The exquisite
beauty of Mistress Amy Robsart, as she grew up from childhood to woman, could
not escape one whom circumstances obliged to be so constantly in her company - I
loved her, in short, my host, and her father saw it.«
    »And crossed your true loves, no doubt?« said mine host; »it is the way in
all such cases; and I judge it must have been so in your instance, from the
heavy sigh you uttered even now.«
    »The case was different, mine host. My suit was highly approved by the
generous Sir Hugh Robsart - it was his daughter who was cold to my passion.«
    »She was the more dangerous enemy of the two,« said the innkeeper. »I fear
your suit proved a cold one.«
    »She yielded me her esteem,« said Tressilian, »and seemed not unwilling that
I should hope it might ripen into a warmer passion. There was a contract of
future marriage executed betwixt us upon her father's intercession; but to
comply with her anxious request, the execution was deferred for a twelvemonth.
During this period, Richard Varney appeared in the country, and, availing
himself of some distant family connection with Sir Hugh Robsart, spent much of
his time in his company, until, at length, he almost lived in the family.«
    »That could bode no good to the place he honoured with his residence,« said
Gosling.
    »No, by the rood!« replied Tressilian. »Misunderstanding and misery followed
his presence, yet so strangely, that I am at this moment at a loss to trace the
gradations of their encroachment upon a family, which had, till then, been so
happy. For a time Amy Robsart received the attentions of this man Varney with
the indifference attached to common courtesies; then followed a period in which
she seemed to regard him with dislike, and even with disgust; and then an
extraordinary species of connection appeared to grow up betwixt them. Varney
dropped those airs of pretension and gallantry which had marked his former
approaches; and Amy, on the other hand, seemed to renounce the ill-disguised
disgust with which she had regarded them. They seemed to have more of privacy
and confidence together, than I fully liked; and I suspected that they met in
private, where there was less restraint than in our presence. Many
circumstances, which I noticed but little at the time - for I deemed her heart
as open as her angelic countenance - have since arisen on my memory, to convince
me of their private understanding. But I need not detail them - the fact speaks
for itself. She vanished from her father's house - Varney disappeared at the
same time - and this very day I have seen her in the character of his paramour,
living in the house of his sordid dependant Foster, and visited by him, muffled,
and by a secret entrance.«
    »And this, then, is the cause of your quarrel? Methinks, you should have
been sure that the fair lady either desired or deserved your interference.«
    »Mine host,« answered Tressilian, »my father, such I must ever consider Sir
Hugh Robsart, sits at home struggling with his grief, or, if so far recovered,
vainly attempting to drown, in the practice of his field-sports, the
recollection that he had once a daughter - a recollection which ever and anon
breaks from him under circumstances the most pathetic. I could not brook the
idea that he should live in misery, and Amy in guilt; and I endeavoured to seek
her out, with the hope of inducing her to return to her family. I have found
her, and when I have either succeeded in my attempt, or have found it altogether
unavailing, it is my purpose to embark for the Virginia voyage.«
    »Be not so rash, good sir,« replied Giles Gosling, »and cast not yourself
away because a woman - to be brief - is a woman, and changes her lovers like her
suit of ribands, with no better reason than mere fantasy. And ere we probe this
matter farther, let me ask you what circumstances of suspicion directed you so
truly to this lady's residence, or rather to her place of concealment?«
    »The last is the better chosen word, mine host,« answered Tressilian; »and
touching your question, the knowledge that Varney held large grants of the
demesnes formerly belonging to the monks of Abingdon, directed me to this
neighbourhood; and your nephew's visit to his old comrade Foster gave me the
means of conviction on the subject.«
    »And what is now your purpose, worthy sir? - excuse my freedom in asking the
question so broadly.«
    »I purpose, mine host,« said Tressilian, »to renew my visit to the place of
her residence to-morrow, and to seek a more detailed communication with her than
I have had to-day. She must indeed be widely changed from what she once was if
my words make no impression upon her.«
    »Under your favour, Master Tressilian,« said the landlord, »you can follow
no such course. The lady, if I understand you, has already rejected your
interference in the matter.«
    »It is but too true,« said Tressilian; »I cannot deny it.«
    »Then marry, by what right or interest do you process a compulsory
interference with her inclination, disgraceful as it may be to herself and to
her parents? Unless my judgment gulls me, those under whose protection she has
thrown herself, would have small hesitation to reject your interference, even if
it were that of a father or brother; but as a discarded lover, you expose
yourself to be repelled with the strong hand, as well as with scorn. You can
apply to no magistrate for aid or countenance; and you are hunting, therefore, a
shadow in water, and will only (excuse my plainness) come by ducking and danger
in attempting to catch it.«
    »I will appeal to the Earl of Leicester,« said Tressilian, »against the
infamy of his favourite. - He courts the severe and strict sect of puritans - He
dare not, for the sake of his own character, refuse my appeal, even although he
were destitute of the principles of honour and nobleness, with which fame
invests him. Or I will appeal to the Queen herself.«
    »Should Leicester,« said the landlord, »be disposed to protect his dependant
(as indeed he is said to be very confidential with Varney), the appeal to the
Queen may bring them both to reason. Her Majesty is strict in such matters, and
(if it be not treason to speak it) will rather, it is said, pardon a dozen
courtiers for falling in love with herself, than one for giving preference to
another woman. Coragio, then, my brave guest! for if thou layest a petition from
Sir Hugh at the foot of the throne, bucklered by the story of thine own wrongs,
the favourite earl dared as soon leap into the Thames at the fullest and
deepest, as offer to protect Varney in a cause of this nature. But to do this
with any chance of success, you must go formally to work; and, without staying
here to tilt with the master of horse to a privy councillor, and expose yourself
to the dagger of his cameradoes, you should hie you to Devonshire, get a
petition drawn up for Sir Hugh Robsart, and make as many friends as you can to
forward your interest at court.«
    »You have spoken well, mine host,« said Tressilian. »And I will profit by
your advice, and leave you to-morrow early.«
    »Nay, leave me to-night, sir, before to-morrow comes,« said the landlord. »I
never prayed for a guest's arrival more eagerly than I do to have you safely
gone. My kinsman's destiny is most like to be hanged for something, but I would
not that the cause were the murder of an honoured guest of mine. Better ride
safe in the dark, says the proverb, than in daylight with a cut-throat at your
elbow. Come, sir, I move you for your own safety. Your horse and all is ready,
and here is your score.«
    »It is somewhat under a noble,« said Tressilian, giving one to the host;
»give the balance to pretty Cicely, your daughter, and the servants of the
house.«
    »They shall taste of your bounty, sir,« said Gosling, »and you should taste
of my daughter's lips in grateful acknowledgement, but at this hour she cannot
grace the porch to greet your departure.«
    »Do not trust your daughter too far with your guests, my good landlord,«
said Tressilian.
    »Oh, sir, we will keep measure; but I wonder not that you are jealous of
them all. - May I crave to know with what aspect the fair lady at the Place
yesterday received you?«
    »I own,« said Tressilian, »it was angry as well as confused, and affords me
little hope that she is yet awakened from her unhappy delusion.«
    »In that case, sir, I see not why you should play the champion of a wench,
that will none of you, and incur the resentment of a favourite's favourite, as
dangerous a monster as ever a knight adventurer encountered in the old story
books.«
    »You do me wrong in the supposition, mine host - gross wrong,« said
Tressilian; »I do not desire that Amy should ever turn thought upon me more. Let
me but see her restored to her father, and all I have to do in Europe - perhaps
in the world - is over and ended.«
    »A wiser resolution were to drink a cup of sack, and forget her,« said the
landlord. »But five-and-twenty and fifty look on those matters with different
eyes, especially when one case of peepers is set in the skull of a young
gallant, and the other in that of an old publican. I pity you, Master
Tressilian, but I see not how I can aid you in the matter.«
    »Only thus far, mine host,« replied Tressilian - »Keep a watch on the
motions of those at the Place, which thou canst easily learn without suspicion,
as all men's news fly to the alebench; and be pleased to communicate the tidings
in writing to such person, and to no other, who shall bring you this ring as a
special token - look at it - it is of value, and I will freely bestow it on
you.«
    »Nay, sir,« said the landlord, »I desire no recompense - but it seems an
unadvised course in me, being in a public line, to connect myself in a matter of
this dark and perilous nature. I have no interest in it.«
    »You, and every father in the land who would have his daughter released from
the snares of shame, and sin, and misery, have an interest deeper than aught
concerning earth only could create.«
    »Well, sir,« said the host, »these are brave words; and I do pity from my
soul the frank-hearted old gentleman who has minished his estate in good
housekeeping for the honour of his country, and now has his daughter, who should
be the stay of his age, and so forth, whisked up by such a kite as this Varney.
And though your part in the matter is somewhat of the wildest, yet I will e'en
be a madcap for company, and help you in your honest attempt to get back the
good man's child, so far as being your faithful intelligencer can serve. And as
I shall be true to you, I pray you to be trusty to me, and keep my secret; for
it were bad for the custom of the Black Bear should it be said the bear-warder
interfered in such matters. Varney has interest enough with the justices to
dismount my noble emblem from the post on which he swings so gallantly, to call
in my license, and ruin me from garret to cellar.«
    »Do not doubt my secrecy, mine host,« said Tressilian; »I will retain,
besides, the deepest sense of thy service, and of the risk thou dost run -
remember the ring is my sure token. - And now, farewell - for it was thy wise
advice that I should tarry here as short a time as may be.«
    »Follow me, then, Sir Guest,« said the landlord, »and tread as gently as if
eggs were under your foot instead of deal boards. - No one must know when or how
you departed.«
    By the aid of his dark lantern he conducted Tressilian, as soon as he had
made himself ready for his journey, through a long intricacy of passages, which
opened to an outer court, and from thence to a remote stable, where he had
already placed his guest's horse. He then aided him to fasten on the saddle the
small portmantle which contained his necessaries, opened a postern-door, and
with a hearty shake of the hand, and a reiteration of his promise to attend to
what went on at Cumnor Place, he dismissed his guest to his solitary journey.
 

                                 Chapter Ninth

 Far in the lane a lonely hut he found,
 No tenant ventured on the unwholesome ground;
 Here smokes his forge, he bares his sinewy arm,
 And early strokes the sounding anvil warm;
 Around his shop the steely sparkles flew,
 As for the steed he shaped the bending shoe.
                                                                   Gay's Trivia.
 
As it was deemed proper by the traveller himself, as well as by Giles Gosling,
that Tressilian should avoid being seen in the neighbourhood of Cumnor by those
whom accident might make early risers, the landlord had given him a route,
consisting of various byways and lanes, which he was to follow in succession,
and which, all the turns and short-cuts duly observed, was to conduct him to the
public road to Marlborough.
    But, like counsel of every other kind, this species of direction is much
more easily given than followed; and what betwixt the intricacy of the way, the
darkness of the night, Tressilian's ignorance of the country, and the sad and
perplexing thoughts with which he had to contend, his journey proceeded so
slowly, that morning found him only in the vale of Whitehorse, memorable for the
defeat of the Danes in former days, with his horse deprived of a forefoot shoe,
an accident which threatened to put a stop to his journey, by laming the animal.
The residence of a smith was his first object of inquiry, in which he received
little satisfaction from the dullness or sullenness of one or two peasants, early
bound for their labour, who gave brief and indifferent answers to his questions
on the subject. Anxious, at length, that the partner of his journey should
suffer as little as possible from the unfortunate accident, Tressilian
dismounted, and led his horse in the direction of a little hamlet, where he
hoped either to find or hear tidings of such an artificer as he now wanted.
Through a deep and muddy lane, he at length waded on to the place, which proved
only an assemblage of five or six miserable huts, about the doors of which, one
or two persons, whose appearance seemed as rude as that of their dwellings, were
beginning the toils of the day. One cottage, however, seemed of rather superior
aspect, and the old dame, who was sweeping her threshold, appeared something
less rude than her neighbours. To her Tressilian addressed the oft-repeated
question, whether there was a smith in this neighbourhood, or any place where he
could refresh his horse? The dame looked him in the face with a peculiar
expression, as she replied, »Smith! ay, truly is there a smith - what wouldst
ha' wi' un, mon?«
    »To shoe my horse, good dame,« answered Tressilian; »you may see that he has
thrown a forefoot shoe.«
    »Master Holiday!« exclaimed the dame, without returning any direct answer -
»Master Herasmus Holiday, come and speak to mon, and please you.«
    »Favete linguis,« answered a voice from within; »I cannot now come forth,
Gammer Sludge, being in the very sweetest bit of my morning studies.«
    »Nay, but, good now, Master Holiday, come ye out, do ye - Here's a mon would
to Wayland Smith, and I care not to show him way to devil - his horse hath cast
shoe.«
    »Quid mihi cum caballo?« replied the man of learning from within; »I think
there is but one wise man in the hundred, and they cannot shoe a horse without
him!«
    And forth came the honest pedagogue, for such his dress bespoke him. A long,
lean, shambling, stooping figure was surmounted by a head thatched with lank
black hair somewhat inclining to grey. His features had the cast of habitual
authority, which I suppose Dionysius carried with him from the throne to the
schoolmaster's pulpit, and bequeathed as a legacy to all of the same profession.
A black buckram cassock was gathered at his middle with a belt, at which hung,
instead of knife or weapon, a goodly leathern pen-and-ink-case. His ferula was
stuck on the other side, like Harlequin's wooden sword; and he carried in his
hand the tattered volume which he had been busily perusing.
    On seeing a person of Tressilian's appearance, which he was better able to
estimate than the country folks had been, the schoolmaster unbonneted, and
accosted him with »Salve, domine. Intelligisne linguam Latinam?«
    Tressilian mustered his learning to reply, »Linguæ Latinæ haud penitus
ignarus, venia tua, domine eruditissime, vernaculam libentius loquor.«
    The Latin reply had upon the schoolmaster the effect which the mason's sign
is said to produce on the brethren of the trowel. He was at once interested in
the learned traveller, listened with gravity to his story of a tired horse and a
lost shoe, and then replied with solemnity, »It may appear a simple thing, most
worshipful, to reply to you that there dwells, within a brief mile of these
tuguria, the best faber ferrarius, the most accomplished blacksmith that ever
nailed iron upon horse. Now, were I to say so, I warrant me you would think
yourself compos voti, or, as the vulgar have it, a made man.«
    »I should at least,« said Tressilian, »have a direct answer to a plain
question, which seems difficult to be obtained in this country.«
    »It is a mere sending of a sinful soul to the evil un,« said the old woman,
»the sending a living creature to Wayland Smith.«
    »Peace, Gammer Sludge!« said the pedagogue; »pauca verba, Gammer Sludge;
look to the furmity, Gammer Sludge; curetur jentaculum, Gammer Sludge; this
gentleman is none of thy gossips.« Then turning to Tressilian, he resumed his
lofty tone, »And so, most worshipful, you would really think yourself felix bis
terque, should I point out to you the dwelling of this same smith?«
    »Sir,« replied Tressilian, »I should in that case have all that I want at
present - a horse fit to carry me forward - out of hearing of your learning.«
The last words he muttered to himself.
    »O cæca mens mortalium!« said the learned man; »well was it sung by Junius
Juvenalis, numinibus vota exaudita malignis!«
    »Learned Magister,« said Tressilian, »your erudition so greatly exceeds my
poor intellectual capacity, that you must excuse my seeking elsewhere for
information which I can better understand.«
    »There again now,« replied the pedagogue, »how fondly you fly from him that
would instruct you! Truly, said Quintilian« -
    »I pray, sir, let Quintilian be for the present, and answer, in a word and
in English, if your learning can condescend so far, whether there is any place
here where I can have opportunity to refresh my horse, until I can have him
shod?«
    »Thus much courtesy, sir,« said the schoolmaster, »I can readily render you,
that although there is in this poor hamlet (nostra paupera regna) no regular
hospitium, as my namesake Erasmus calleth it, yet, forasmuch as you are somewhat
embued, or at least tinged as it were, with good letters, I will use my interest
with the good woman of the house to accommodate you with a platter of furmity -
an wholesome food, for which I have found no Latin phrase - your horse shall
have a share of the cow-house, with a bottle of sweet hay, in which the good
woman Sludge so much abounds, that it may be said of her cow, foenum habet in
cornu; and if it please you to bestow on me the pleasure of your company, the
banquet shall cost you ne semissem quidem, so much is Gammer Sludge bound to me
for the pains I have bestowed on the top and bottom of her hopeful heir Dickie,
whom I have painfully made to travel through the accidence.«
    »Now, God yield ye for it, Mr. Herasmus,« said the good Gammer, »and grant
that little Dickie may be the better for his accident! - and for the rest, if
the gentleman list to stay, breakfast shall be on the board in the wringing of a
dishclout; and for horse-meat, and man's meat, I bear no such base mind as to
ask a penny.«
    Considering the state of his horse, Tressilian, upon the whole, saw no
better course than to accept the invitation thus learnedly made and hospitably
confirmed, and take chance that when the good pedagogue had exhausted every
topic of conversation, he might possibly condescend to tell him where he could
find the smith they spoke of. He entered the hut accordingly, and sat down with
the learned Magister Erasmus Holiday, partook of his furmity, and listened to
his learned account of himself for a good half-hour, ere he could get him to
talk upon any other topic. The reader will readily excuse our accompanying this
man of learning into all the details with which he favoured Tressilian, of which
the following sketch may suffice.
    He was born at Hogsnorton, where, according to popular saying, the pigs play
upon the organ; a proverb which he interpreted allegorically, as having
reference to the herd of Epicurus, of which litter Horace confessed himself a
porker. His name of Erasmus, he derived partly from his father having been the
son of a renowned washerwoman, who had held that great scholar in clean linen
all the while he was at Oxford; a task of some difficulty, as he was only
possessed of two shirts, »the one,« as she expressed herself, »to wash the
other.« The vestiges of one of these camiciæ, as Master Holiday boasted, were
still in his possession, having fortunately been detained by his grandmother to
cover the balance of her bill. But he thought there was a still higher and
overruling cause for his having had the name of Erasmus conferred on him,
namely, the secret presentiment of his mother's mind, that, in the babe to be
christened, was a hidden genius, which should one day lead him to rival the fame
of the great scholar of Amsterdam. The schoolmaster's surname led him as far
into dissertation as his Christian appellative. He was inclined to think that he
bore the name of Holiday quasi lucus a non lucendo, because he gave such few
holidays to his school. »Hence,« said he, »the schoolmaster is termed
classically, Ludi Magister, because he deprives the 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 in court, and especially to the
noble Earl of Leicester - »And although he may now seem to forget me,« he said,
»in the multitude of state affairs, yet I am well assured, that had he some
pretty pastime to array for entertainment of the Queen's Grace, horse and man
would be seeking the humble cottage of Erasmus Holiday. Parvo contentus, in the
meanwhile, I hear my pupils parse, and construe, worshipful sir, and drive away
my time with the aid of the Muses. And I have at all times, when in
correspondence with foreign scholars, subscribed myself Erasmus ab Die Fausto,
and have enjoyed the distinction due to the learned under that title; witness
the erudite Diedrichus Buckerschockius, who dedicated to me under that title his
treatise on the letter Tau. In fine, sir, I have been a happy and distinguished
man.«
    »Long may it be so, sir!« said the traveller; »but permit me to ask, in your
own learned phrase, Quid hoc ad Iphycli boves - what has all this to do with the
shoeing of my poor nag?«
    »Festina lente,« said the man of learning, »we will presently come to that
point. You must know that some two or three years past, there came to these
parts one who called himself Doctor Doboobie, although it may be he never wrote
even Magister artium, save in right of his hungry belly. Or it may be, that if
he had any degrees, they were of the devil's giving, for he was what the vulgar
call a white witch - a cunning man, and such like. Now, good sir, I perceive you
are impatient; but if a man tell not his tale his own way, how have you warrant
to think that he can tell it in yours?«
    »Well, then, learned sir, take your way,« answered Tressilian; »only let us
travel at a sharper pace, for my time is somewhat of the shortest.«
    »Well, sir,« resumed Erasmus Holiday, with the most provoking perseverance,
»I will not say that this same Demetrius, for so he wrote himself when in
foreign parts, was an actual conjurer, but certain it is, that he professed to
be a brother of the mystical Order of the Rosy Gross, a disciple of Geber (ex
nomine cujus venit verbum vernaculum, gibberish). He cured wounds by salving the
weapon instead of the sore - told fortunes by palmistry - discovered stolen
goods by the sieve and shears - gathered the right maddow and the male fern
seed, through use of which men walk invisible - pretended some advances towards
the panacea, or universal elixir, and affected to convert good lead into sorry
silver.«
    »In other words,« said Tressilian, »he was a quacksalver and common cheat;
but what has all this to do with my nag, and the shoe which he has lost?«
    »With your worshipful patience,« replied the diffusive man of letters, »you
shall understand that presently, - 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 -
compounding his drugs - tracing his circles - cajoling his patients, et sic de
cæteris. - 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, -
 
Diluis helleborum, certo compescere puncto
Nescius examen? vetat hoc natura medendi;
 
which I have thus rendered in a poor paraphrase of mine own, -
 
Wilt thou mix hellebore, who doth not know
How many grains should to the mixture go?
The art of medicine this forbids, I trow.
 
Moreover, the evil reputation of the master, and his strange and doubtful end,
or, at least, sudden disappearance, prevented any, excepting the most desperate
of men, to seek any advice or opinion from the servant; wherefore the poor
vermin was likely at first to swarf for very hunger. But the devil that serves
him, since the death of Demetrius or Doboobie, put him on a fresh device. This
knave, whether from the inspiration of the devil, or from early education, shoes
horses better than e'er a man betwixt us and Iceland; and so he gives up his
practice on the bipeds, the two-legged and unfledged species called mankind, and
betakes him entirely to shoeing of horses.«
    »Indeed! and where does he lodge all this time?« said Tressilian. »And does
he shoe horses well? - show me his dwelling presently.«
    The interruption pleased not the Magister, who exclaimed, »O cæca mens
mortalium! though, by the way, I used that quotation before. But I would the
classics could afford me any sentiment of power to stop those who are so willing
to rush upon their own destruction. Hear but, I pray you, the conditions of this
man,« said he, in continuation, »ere you are so willing to place yourself within
his danger« -
    »A' takes no money for a's work,« said the dame, who stood by, enraptured as
it were with the fine words and learned apophthegms which glided so fluently
from her erudite inmate, Master Holiday. But this interruption pleased not the
Magister, more than that of the traveller.
    »Peace,« said he, »Gammer Sludge; know your place, if it be your will.
Sufflamina, Gammer Sludge, and allow me to expound this matter to our worshipful
guest. - Sir,« said he, again addressing Tressilian, »this old woman speaks
true, though in her own rude style; for certainly this faber ferrarius, or
blacksmith, takes money of no one.«
    »And that is a sure sign he deals with Satan,« said Dame Sludge; »since no
good Christian would ever refuse the wages of his labour.«
    »The old woman hath touched it again,« said the pedagogue; »rem acu tetigit
- she hath pricked it with her needle's point. - This Wayland takes no money,
indeed, nor doth he show himself to any one.«
    »And can this madman, for such I hold him,« said the traveller, »know aught
like good skill of his trade?«
    »Oh, sir, in that let us give the devil his due - Mulciber himself, with all
his Cyclops, could hardly amend him. But assuredly there is little wisdom in
taking counsel or receiving aid from one, who is but too plainly in league with
the author of evil.«
    »I must take my chance of that, good Master Holiday,« said Tressilian,
rising; »and, as my horse must now have eaten his provender, I must needs thank
you for your good cheer, and pray you to show me this man's residence, that I
may have the means of proceeding on my journey.«
    »Ay, ay, do ye show him, Master Herasmus,« said the old dame, who was,
perhaps, desirous to get her house freed of her guest; »a' must needs go when
the devil drives.«
    »Do manus,« said the Magister, »I submit - taking the world to witness, that
I have possessed this honourable gentleman with the full injustice which he has
done and shall do to his own soul, if he becomes thus a trinketer with Satan.
Neither will I go forth with our guest myself, but rather send my pupil. -
Ricarde! adsis, nebulo.«
    »Under your favour, not so,« answered the old woman; »you may peril your own
soul, if you list, but my son shall budge on no such errand; and I wonder at
you, Dominie Doctor, to propose such a piece of service for little Dickie.«
    »Nay, my good Gammer Sludge,« answered the preceptor, »Ricardus shall go but
to the top of the hill, and indicate with his digit to the stranger the dwelling
of Wayland Smith. Believe not that any evil can come to him, he having read this
morning, fasting, a chapter of the Septuagint, and, moreover, having had his
lesson in the Greek Testament.«
    »Ay,« said his mother, »and I have sewn a sprig of witch's elm in the neck
of un's doublet, ever since that foul thief has begun his practices on man and
beast in these parts.«
    »And as he goes oft (as I hugely suspect) towards this conjurer for his own
pastime, he may for once go thither, or near it, to pleasure us, and to assist
this stranger. - Ergo, heus Ricarde! adsis, quæso, mi didascule.«
    The pupil, thus affectionately invoked, at length came stumbling into the
room; a queer, shambling, ill-made urchin, who, by his stunted growth, seemed
about twelve or thirteen years old, though he was probably, in reality, a year
or two older, with a carroty pate in huge disorder, a freckled sunburnt visage,
with a snub nose, a long chin and two peery grey eyes, which had a droll
obliquity of vision, approaching to a squint, though perhaps not a decided one.
It was impossible to look at the little man without some disposition to laugh,
especially when Gammer Sludge, seizing upon and kissing him, in spite of his
struggling and kicking in reply to her caresses, termed him her own precious
pearl of beauty.
    »Ricarde,« said the preceptor, »you must forthwith (which is profecto) set
forth so far as the top of the hill, and show this man of worship Wayland
Smith's workshop.«
    »A proper errand of a morning,« said the boy, in better language than
Tressilian expected; »and who knows but the devil may fly away with me before I
come back?«
    »Ay, marry may un,« said Dame Sludge, »and you might have thought twice,
Master Dominie, ere you sent my dainty darling on arrow such errand. It is not
for such doings I feed your belly and clothe your back, I warrant you!«
    »Pshaw - nugæ, good Gammer Sludge,« answered the preceptor; »I ensure you
that Satan, if there be Satan in the case, shall not touch a thread of his
garment; for Dickie can say his pater with the best, and may defy the foul fiend
- Eumenides, Stygiumque nefas.«
    »Ay, and I, as I said before, have sewed a sprig of the mountain-ash into
his collar,« said the good woman, »which will avail more than your clerkship, I
wus; but for all that, it is ill to seek the devil or his mates either.«
    »My good boy,« said Tressilian, who saw, from a grotesque sneer on Dickie's
face, that he was more likely to act upon his own bottom than by the
instructions of his elders, »I will give thee a silver groat, my pretty fellow,
if you will but guide me to this man's forge.«
    The boy gave him a knowing side look, which seemed to promise acquiescence,
while at the same time he exclaimed, »I be your guide to Wayland Smith's! Why,
man, did I not say that the devil might fly off with me, just as the kite there«
(looking to the window) »is flying off with one of grandam's chicks.«
    »The kite! the kite!« exclaimed the old woman in return, and forgetting all
other matters in her alarm, hastened to the rescue of her chicken as fast as her
old legs could carry her.
    »Now for it,« said the urchin to Tressilian; »snatch your beaver, get out
your horse, and have at the silver groat you spoke of.«
    »Nay, but tarry, tarry,« said the preceptor, »Sufflamina, Ricarde.«
    »Tarry yourself,« said Dickie, »and think what answer you are to make to
granny for sending me post to the devil.«
    The teacher, aware of the responsibility he was incurring, bustled up in
great haste to lay hold of the urchin, and to prevent his departure; but Dickie
slipped through his fingers, bolted from the cottage, and sped him to the top of
a neighbouring rising ground; while the preceptor, despairing, by well-taught
experience, of recovering his pupil by speed of foot, had recourse to the most
honeyed epithets the Latin vocabulary affords, to persuade his return. But to mi
anime, corculum meum, and all such classical endearments, the truant turned a
deaf ear, and kept frisking on the top of the rising ground like a goblin by
moonlight, making signs to his new acquaintance, Tressilian, to follow him.
    The traveller lost no time in getting out his horse, and departed to join
his elvish guide, after half forcing on the poor deserted teacher a recompense
for the entertainment he had received, which partly allayed the terror he had
for facing the return of the old lady of the mansion. Apparently this took place
soon afterwards; for ere Tressilian and his guide had proceeded far on their
journey, they heard the screams of a cracked female voice, intermingled with the
classical objurgations of Master Erasmus Holiday. But Dickie Sludge, equally
deaf to the voice of maternal tenderness and of magisterial authority, skipped
on unconsciously before Tressilian, only observing, that »if they cried
themselves hoarse, they might go lick the honey-pot, for he had eaten up all the
honey-comb himself on yesterday even.«
 

                                 Chapter Tenth

 There entering in, they found the goodman selfe
 Full busylie unto his work ybent,
 Who was to weet a wretched wearish elf,
 With hollow eyes and rawbone cheeks forspent,
 As if he had been long in prison pent.
                                                               The Faery Queene.
 
»Are we far from the dwelling of this smith, my pretty lad?« said Tressilian to
his young guide.
    »How is it you call me?« said the boy, looking askew at him with his sharp
grey eyes.
    »I call you my pretty lad - is there any offence in that, my boy?«
    »No - but were you with my grandam and Dominie Holiday, you might sing
chorus to the old song of
 
We three
Tom-fools be.«
 
»And why so, my little man?« said Tressilian.
    »Because,« answered the ugly urchin, »you are the only three ever called me
pretty lad - Now my grandam does it because she is parcel blind by age, and
whole blind by kindred - and my master, the poor Dominie, does it to curry
favour, and have the fullest platter of furmity, and the warmest seat by the
fire. But what you call me pretty lad for, you know best yourself.«
    »Thou art a sharp wag at least, if not a pretty one. But what do thy
playfellows call thee?«
    »Hobgoblin,« answered the boy, readily; »but for all that, I would rather
have my own ugly viznomy than any of their jolterheads, that have no more brains
in them than a brickbat.«
    »Then you fear not this smith, whom you are going to see?«
    »Me fear him!« answered the boy; »if he were the devil folk think him, I
would not fear him; but though there is something queer about him, he's no more
a devil than you are, and that's what I would not tell to every one.«
    »And why do you tell it to me, then, my boy?« said Tressilian.
    »Because you are another guess gentleman than those we see here every day,«
replied Dickie; »and though I am as ugly as sin, I would not have you think me
an ass, especially as I may have a boon to ask of you one day.«
    »And what is that, my lad, whom I must not call pretty?« replied Tressilian.
    »Oh, if I were to ask it just now,« said the boy, »you would deny it me -
but I will wait till we meet at court.«
    »At court, Richard! are you bound for court?« said Tressilian.
    »Ay, ay, that's just like the rest of them,« replied the boy; »I warrant me
you think, what should such an ill-favoured, scrambling urchin do at court? But
let Richard Sludge alone; I have not been cock of the roost here for nothing. I
will make sharp wit mend foul feature.«
    »But what will your grandam say, and your tutor, Dominie Holiday?«
    »E'en what they like,« replied Dickie; »the one has her chickens to reckon,
and the other has his boys to whip. I would have given them the candle to hold
long since, and shown this trumpery hamlet a fair pair of heels, but the Dominie
promises I should go with him to bear share in the next pageant he is to set
forth, and they say there are to be great revels shortly.«
    »And whereabout are they to be held, my little friend?« said Tressilian.
    »Oh, at some castle far in the north,« answered his guide - »a world's
breadth from Berkshire. But our old Dominie holds that they cannot go forward
without him; and it may be he is right, for he has put in order many a fair
pageant. He is not half the fool you would take him for, when he gets to work he
understands; and so he can spout verses like a play- when, God wot, if you set
him to steal a goose's egg, he would be drubbed by the gander.«
    »And you are to play a part in his next show?« said Tressilian, somewhat
interested by the boy's boldness of conversation, and shrewd estimate of
character.
    »In faith,« said Richard Sludge, in answer, »he hath so promised me; and if
he break his word, it will be the worse for him; for let me take the bit between
my teeth, and turn my head down hill, and I will shake him off with a fall that
may harm his bones - And I should not like much to hurt him neither,« said he,
»for the tiresome old fool has painfully laboured to teach me all he could. -
But enough of that - here are we at Wayland Smith's forge-door.«
    »You jest, my little friend,« said Tressilian; »here is nothing but a bare
moor, and that ring of stones, with a great one in the midst, like a Cornish
barrow.«
    »Ay, and that great flat stone in the midst, which lies across the top of
these uprights,« said the boy, »is Wayland Smith's counter, that you must tell
down your money upon.«
    »What do you mean by such folly?« said the traveller, beginning to be angry
with the boy, and vexed with himself for having trusted such a harebrained
guide.
    »Why,« said Dickie, with a grin, »you must tie your horse to that upright
stone that has the ring in't, and then you must whistle three times, and lay me
down your silver groat on that other flat stone, walk out of the circle, sit
down on the west side of that little thicket of bushes, and take heed you look
neither to right nor to left for ten minutes, or so long as you shall hear the
hammer clink, and whenever it ceases, say your prayers for the space you could
tell a hundred, - or count over a hundred, which will do as well, - and then
come into the circle; you will find your money gone and your horse shod.«
    »My money gone to a certainty!« said Tressilian; »but as for the rest - Hark
ye, my lad, I am not your schoolmaster; but if you play off your waggery on me,
I will take a part of his task off his hands, and punish you to purpose.«
    »Ay, when you catch me!« said the boy; and presently took to his heels
across the heath, with a velocity which baffled every attempt of Tressilian to
overtake him, loaded as he was with his heavy boots. Nor was it the least
provoking part of the urchin's conduct, that he did not exert his utmost speed,
like one who finds himself in danger, or who is frightened, but preserved just
such a rate as to encourage Tressilian to continue the chase, and then darted
away from him with the swiftness of the wind, when his pursuer supposed he had
nearly run him down, doubling, at the same time, and winding, so as always to
keep near the place from which he started.
    This lasted until Tressilian, from very weariness, stood still, and was
about to abandon the pursuit with a hearty curse on the ill-favoured urchin, who
had engaged him in an exercise so ridiculous. But the boy, who had, as formerly,
planted himself on the top of a hillock close in front, began to clap his long
thin hands, point with his skinny fingers, and twist his wild and ugly features
into such an extravagant expression of laughter and derision, that Tressilian
began half to doubt whether he had not in view an actual hobgoblin.
    Provoked extremely, yet at the same time feeling an irresistible desire to
laugh, so very odd were the boy's grimaces and gesticulations, the Cornish man
returned to his horse, and mounted him with the purpose of pursuing Dickie at
more advantage.
    The boy no sooner saw him mount his horse, than he hollo'd out to him, that
rather than he should spoil his white-footed nag, he would come to him, on
condition he would keep his fingers to himself.
    »I will make no condition with thee, thou naughty varlet!« said Tressilian;
»I will have thee at my mercy in a moment.«
    »Aha, Master Traveller,« said the boy, »there is a marsh hard by would
swallow all the horses of the Queen's Guard - I will into it, and see where you
will go then. - You shall hear the bittern bump, and the wild-drake quack, ere
you get hold of me without my consent, I promise you.«
    Tressilian looked out, and, from the appearance of the ground behind the
hillock, believed it might be as the boy said, and accordingly determined to
strike up a peace with so light-footed and ready-witted an enemy - »Come down,«
he said, »thou mischievous brat! - leave thy mopping and mowing, and come
hither; I will do thee no harm, as I am a gentleman.«
    The boy answered his invitation with the utmost confidence, and danced down
from his stance with a galliard sort of step, keeping his eye at the same time
fixed on Tressilian's, who once more dismounted, stood with his horse's bridle
in his hand, breathless, and half exhausted with his fruitless exercise, though
not one drop of moisture appeared on the freckled forehead of the urchin, which
looked like a piece of dry and discoloured parchment, drawn tight across the
brow of a fleshless skull.
    »And tell me,« said Tressilian, »why you use me thus, thou mischievous imp?
or what your meaning is by telling me so absurd a legend as you wished but now
to put on me? Or rather show me in good earnest this smith's forge, and I will
give thee what will buy thee apples through the whole winter.«
    »Were you to give me an orchard of apples,« said Dickie Sludge, »I can guide
thee no better than I have done. Lay down the silver token on the flat stone -
whistle three times - then come sit down on the western side of the thicket of
gorse'; I will sit by you, and give you free leave to wring my head off, unless
you hear the smith at work within two minutes after we are seated.«
    »I may be tempted to take thee at thy word,« said Tressilian, »if you make
me do aught half so ridiculous for your own mischievous sport - however, I will
prove your spell. - Here, then, I tie my horse to this upright stone - I must
lay my silver groat here, and whistle three times sayest thou?«
    »Ay, but thou must whistle louder than an unfledged ousel,« said the boy, as
Tressilian, having laid down his money, and half ashamed of the folly he
practised, made a careless whistle - »You must whistle louder than that, for who
knows where the smith is that you call for? - He may be in the king of France's
stables for what I know.«
    »Why, you said but now he was no devil,« replied Tressilian.
    »Man or devil,« said Dickie, »I see that I must summon him for you;« and
therewithal he whistled sharp and shrill, with an acuteness of sound that almost
thrilled through Tressilian's brain - »That is what I call whistling,« said he,
after he had repeated the signal thrice; »and now to cover, to cover, or
Whitefoot will not be shod this day.«
    Tressilian musing what the upshot of this mummery was to be, yet satisfied
there was to be some serious result, by the confidence with which the boy had
put himself in his power, suffered himself to be conducted to that side of the
little thicket of gorse and brushwood, which was farthest from the circle of
stones, and there sat down; and as it occurred to him that, after all, this
might be a trick for stealing his horse, he kept his hand on the boy's collar,
determined to make him hostage for its safety.
    »Now, hush and listen,« said Dickie, in a low whisper; »you will soon hear
the tack of a hammer that was never forged of earthly iron, for the stone it was
made of was shot from the moon.« And in effect Tressilian did immediately hear
the light stroke of a hammer, as when a farrier is at work. The singularity of
such a sound, in so very lonely a place, made him involuntarily start; but
looking at the boy, and discovering, by the arch malicious expression of his
countenance, that the urchin saw and enjoyed his slight tremor, he became
convinced that the whole was a concerted stratagem, and determined to know by
whom, or for what purpose, the trick was played off.
    Accordingly, he remained perfectly quiet all the time that the hammer
continued to sound, being about the space usually employed in fixing a
horse-shoe. But the instant the sound ceased, Tressilian, instead of interposing
the space of time which his guide had requested, started up with his sword in
his hand, ran round the thicket and confronted a man in a farrier's leathern
apron, but otherwise fantastically attired in a bear-skin dressed with the fur
on, and a cap of the same, which almost hid the sooty and begrimed features of
the wearer - »Come back, come back!« cried the boy to Tressilian, »or you will
be torn to pieces - no man lives that looks on him.« - In fact, the invisible
smith (now fully visible) heaved up his hammer, and showed symptoms of doing
battle.
    But when the boy observed that neither his own entreaties, nor the menaces
of the farrier appeared to change Tressilian's purpose, but that, on the
contrary, he confronted the hammer with his drawn sword, he exclaimed to the
smith, in turn, »Wayland, touch him not, or you will come by the worse! - the
gentleman is a true gentleman, and a bold.«
    »So thou hast betrayed me, Flibbertigibbet?« said the smith; »it shall be
the worse for thee!«
    »Be who thou wilt,« said Tressilian, »thou art in no danger from me, so thou
tell me the meaning of this practice, and why thou drivest thy trade in this
mysterious fashion.«
    The smith, however, turning to Tressilian, exclaimed, in a threatening tone,
»Who questions the Keeper of the crystal Castle of Light, the Lord of the Green
Lion, the Rider of the Red Dragon? - Hence! - avoid thee, ere I summon Talpack
with his fiery lance, to quell, crush, and consume!« These words he uttered with
violent gesticulation, mouthing, and flourishing his hammer.
    »Peace, thou vile cozener, with thy gipsy cant!« replied Tressilian,
scornfully, »and follow me to the next magistrate, or I will cut thee over the
pate.«
    »Peace, I pray thee, good Wayland!« said the boy; »credit me, the swaggering
vein will not pass here, you must cut boon whids!«9
    »I think, worshipful sir,« said the smith, sinking his hammer, and assuming
a more gentle and submissive tone of voice, »that when so poor a man does his
day's job, he might be permitted to work it out after his own fashion. Your
horse is shod and your farrier paid - What need you cumber yourself farther than
to mount and pursue your journey?«
    »Nay, friend, you are mistaken,« replied Tressilian, »every man has the
right to take the mask from the face of a cheat and a juggler; and your mode of
living raises suspicion that you are both.«
    »If you are so determined, sir,« said the smith, »I cannot help myself save
by force, which I were unwilling to use towards you, Master Tressilian; not that
I fear your weapon, but because I know you to be a worthy, kind, and
well-accomplished gentleman, who would rather help than harm a poor man that is
in a strait.«
    »Well said, Wayland,« said the boy, who had anxiously awaited the issue of
their conference. »But let us to thy den, man, for it is ill for thy health to
stand here talking in the open air.«
    »Thou art right, Hobgoblin,« replied the smith; and going to the little
thicket of gorse on the side nearest to the circle, and opposite to that at
which his customer had so lately couched, 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,
»Flibbertigibbet, do you come last, and be sure to fasten the trap!«
    »Have you seen enough of Wayland Smith now?« whispered the urchin to
Tressilian, with an arch sneer, as if marking his companion's uncertainty.
    »Not yet,« said Tressilian, firmly; and shaking off his momentary
irresolution, he descended into the narrow staircase, to which the entrance led,
and was followed by Dickie Sludge, who made fast the trap- behind him, and thus
excluded every glimmer of daylight. The descent, however, was only a few steps,
and led to a level passage of a few yards' length, at the end of which appeared
the reflection of a lurid and red light. Arrived at this point, with his drawn
sword in his hand, Tressilian found that a turn to the left admitted him and
Hobgoblin, who followed closely, into a small square vault, containing a smith's
forge, glowing with charcoal, the vapour of which filled the apartment with an
oppressive smell, which would have been altogether suffocating, but that by some
concealed vent the smithy communicated with the upper air. The light afforded by
the red fuel, and by a lamp suspended in an iron chain, served to show that,
besides an anvil, bellows, tongs, hammers, a quantity of ready-made horse-shoes,
and other articles proper to the profession of a farrier, there were also
stoves, alembics, crucibles, retorts, and other instruments of alchemy. The
grotesque figure of the smith, and the ugly but whimsical features of the boy,
seen by the gloomy and imperfect light of the charcoal fire and the dying lamp,
accorded very well with all this mystical apparatus, and in that age of
superstition would have made some impression on the courage of most men.
    But nature had endowed Tressilian with firm nerves, and his education,
originally good, had been too sedulously improved by subsequent study to give
way to any imaginary terrors; and after giving a glance around him, he again
demanded of the artist who he was, and by what accident he came to know and
address him by his name.
    »Your worship cannot but remember,« said the smith, »that about three years
since, upon Saint Lucy's Eve, there came a travelling juggler to a certain Hall
in Devonshire, and exhibited his skill before a worshipful knight and a fair
company - I see from your worship's countenance, dark as this place is, that my
memory has not done me wrong.«
    »Thou hast said enough,« said Tressilian, turning away, as wishing to hide
from the speaker the painful train of recollections which his discourse had
unconsciously awakened.
    »The juggler,« said the smith, »played his part so bravely, that the clowns
and clown-like squires in the company held his art to be little less than
magical; but there was one maiden of fifteen, or thereby, with the fairest face
I ever looked upon, whose rosy cheek grew pale, and her bright eyes dim, at the
sight of the wonders exhibited.«
    »Peace, I command thee, peace!« said Tressilian.
    »I mean your worship no offence,« said the fellow; »but I have cause to
remember how, to relieve the young maiden's fears, you condescended to point out
the mode in which these deceptions were practised, and to baffle the poor
juggler by laying bare the mysteries of his art, as ably as if you had been a
brother of his order. - She was indeed so fair a maiden, that to win a smile of
her a man might well« -
    »Not a word more of her, I charge thee!« said Tressilian; »I do well
remember the night you speak of - one of the few happy evenings my life has
known.«
    »She is gone then,« said the smith, interpreting after his own fashion the
sigh with which Tressilian uttered these words - »She is gone, young, beautiful,
and beloved as she was! - I crave your worship's pardon - I would have hammered
on another theme - I see I have unwarily driven the nail to the quick.«
    This speech was made with a mixture of rude feeling which inclined
Tressilian favourably to the poor artisan, of whom before he was inclined to
judge very harshly. But nothing can so soon attract the unfortunate, as real or
seeming sympathy with their sorrows.
    »I think,« proceeded Tressilian, after a minute's silence, »thou wert in
those days a jovial fellow, who could keep a company merry by song, and tale,
and rebeck, as well as by thy juggling tricks - why do I find thee a laborious
handicraftsman, plying thy trade in so melancholy a dwelling, and under such
extraordinary circumstances?«
    »My story is not long,« said the artist; »but your honour had better sit
while you listen to it.« So saying, he approached to the fire a three-footed
stool, and took another himself, while Dickie Sludge, or Flibbertigibbet, as he
called the boy, drew a cricket to the smith's feet, and looked up in his face
with features which, as illuminated by the glow of the forge, seemed convulsed
with intense curiosity - »Thou too,« said the smith to him, »shalt learn, as
thou well deservest at my hand, the brief history of my life, and, in troth, it
were as well tell it thee as leave thee to ferret it out, since Nature never
packed a shrewder wit into a more ungainly casket. - Well, sir, if my poor story
may pleasure you, it is at your command: - But will you not taste a stoup of
liquor? I promise you that even in this poor cell I have some in store.«
    »Speak not of it,« said Tressilian, »but go on with thy story, for my
leisure is brief.«
    »You shall have no cause to rue the delay,« said the smith, »for your horse
shall be better fed in the meantime than he hath been this morning, and made
fitter for travel.«
    With that the artist left the vault, and returned after a few minutes'
interval. Here, also, we pause, that the narrative may commence in another
chapter.
 

                                Chapter Eleventh

 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 been riding,
 Till that we come to Canterbury town,
 He can all clean turnen so up so down,
 And pave it all of silver and of gold.
                                                 The Canon's Yeoman's Prologue -
                                                               Canterbury Tales.
 
The artist commenced his narrative in the following terms: -
    »I was bred a blacksmith, and knew my art as well as e'er a black-thumb'd,
leathern-apron'd swart-faced knave of that noble mystery. But I tired of ringing
hammer-tunes on iron stithies, and went out into the world, where I became
acquainted with a celebrated juggler, whose fingers had become rather too stiff
for legerdemain, and who wished to have the aid of an apprentice in his noble
mystery. I served him for six years, until I was master of my trade. - I refer
myself to your worship, whose judgment cannot be disputed, whether I did not
learn to ply the craft indifferently well?«
    »Excellently,« said Tressilian; »but be brief.«
    »It was not long after I had performed at Sir Hugh Robsart's in your
worship's presence,« said the artist, »that I took myself to the stage, and have
swaggered with the bravest of them all, both at the Black Bull, the Globe, the
Fortune, and elsewhere; but I know not how - apples were so plenty that year,
that the lads in the two-penny gallery never took more than one bite out of
them, and threw the rest of the pippin at whatever actor chanced to be on the
stage. So I tired of it - renounced my half share in the company - gave my foil
to my comrade - my buskins to the wardrobe, and showed the theatre a clean pair
of heels.«
    »Well, friend, and what,« said Tressilian, »was your next shift?«
    »I became,« said the smith, »half partner, half domestic to a man of much
skill and little substance, who practised the trade of a physicianer.«
    »In other words,« said Tressilian, »you were Jack Pudding to a quacksalver.«
    »Something beyond that, let me hope, my good Master Tressilian,« replied the
artist; »and yet to say truth, our practice was of an adventurous description,
and the pharmacy which I had acquired in my first studies for the benefit of
horses was frequently applied to our human patients. But the seeds of all
maladies are the same; and if turpentine, tar, pitch, and beef-suet, mingled
with turmeric, gum-mastic, and one head of garlic, 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
and adventurous practitioner in physic, but also, if your pleasure so chanced to
be, an adept, who read the stars, and expounded the fortunes of mankind,
genethliacally, as he called it, or otherwise. He was a learned distiller of
simples, and a profound chemist - made several efforts to fix mercury, and
judged himself to have made a fair hit at the philosopher's stone. I have yet a
programme of his on that subject, which, if your honour understandeth, I believe
you have the better, not only of all who read, but also of him who wrote it.«
    He gave Tressilian a scroll of parchment, bearing at top and bottom, and
down the margin, the signs of the seven planets, curiously intermingled with
talismanical characters and scraps of Greek and Hebrew. In the midst were some
Latin verses from a cabalistical author, written out so fairly, that even the
gloom of the place did not prevent Tressilian from reading them. The tenor of
the original ran as follows: -
 
»Si fixum solvas, faciasque volare solutum,
Et volucrem figas, facient te vivere tutum;
Si pariat ventum, valet auri pondere centum;
Ventus ubi vult spirat - Capiat qui capere potest.«
 
»I protest to you,« said Tressilian, »all I understand of this jargon is, that
the last words seem to mean, Catch who catch can.«
    »That,« said the smith, »is the very principle that my worthy friend and
master, Doctor Doboobie, always acted upon; until, being besotted with his own
imaginations, and conceited of his high chemical skill, he began to spend, in
cheating himself, the money which he had acquired in cheating others, and either
discovered or built for himself, I could never know which, this secret
elaboratory, in which he used to seclude himself both from patients and
disciples, who doubtless thought his long and mysterious absences, from his
ordinary residence in the town of Farringdon, were occasioned by his progress in
the mystic sciences, and his intercourse with the invisible world. Me also he
tried to deceive; but though I contradicted him not, he saw that I knew too much
of his secrets to be any longer a safe companion. Meanwhile, his name waxed
famous, or rather infamous, and many of those who resorted to him did so under
persuasion that he was a sorcerer. And yet his supposed advance in the occult
sciences drew to him the secret resort of men too powerful to be named, for
purposes too dangerous to be mentioned. Men cursed and threatened him, and
bestowed on me, the innocent assistant of his studies, the nickname of the
Devil's foot-post, which procured me a volley of stones as soon as ever I
ventured to show my face in the street of the village. At length, my master
suddenly disappeared, pretending to me that he was about to visit his
elaboratory in this place, and forbidding me to disturb him till two days were
past. When this period had elapsed, I became anxious, and resorted to this
vault, where I found the fires extinguished and the utensils in confusion, with
a note from the learned Doboobius, as he was wont to style himself, acquainting
me that we should never meet again, bequeathing me his chemical apparatus and
the parchment which I have just put into your hands, advising me strongly to
prosecute the secret which it contained, which would infallibly lead me to the
discovery of the grand magisterium.«
    »And didst thou follow this sage advice?« said Tressilian.
    »Worshipful sir, no,« replied the smith; »for being by nature cautious and
suspicious, from knowing with whom I had to do, I made so many perquisitions
before I ventured even to light a fire, that I at length discovered a small
barrel of gunpowder, carefully hid beneath the furnace, with the purpose, no
doubt, that as soon as I should commence the grand work of the transmutation of
metals, the explosion should transmute the vault and all in it into a heap of
ruins, which might serve at once for my slaughter-house and my grave. This cured
me of alchemy, and fain would I have returned to the honest hammer and anvil;
but who would bring a horse to be shod by the Devil's post? Meantime I had won
the regard of my honest Flibbertigibbet here, he being then at Farringdon with
his master, the sage Erasmus Holiday, by teaching him a few secrets such as
please youth at his age; and after much counsel together, we agreed, that since
I could get no practice in the ordinary way, I should try how I could work out
business among these ignorant boors, by practising upon their silly fears; and
thanks to Flibbertigibbet, who hath spread my renown, I have not wanted custom.
But it is won at too great risk, and I fear I shall be at length taken up for a
wizard; so that I seek but an opportunity to leave this vault when I can have
the protection of some worshipful person against the fury of the populace, in
case they chance to recognise me.«
    »And art thou,« said Tressilian, »perfectly acquainted with the roads in
this country?«
    »I could ride them every inch by midnight,« answered Wayland Smith, which
was the name this adept had assumed.
    »Thou hast no horse to ride upon,« said Tressilian.
    »Pardon me,« replied Wayland; »I have as good a tit as ever yeoman bestrode;
and I forgot to say it was the best part of the mediciner's legacy to me,
excepting one or two of the choicest of his medical secrets, which I picked up
without his knowledge and against his will.«
    »Get thyself washed and shaved, then,« said Tressilian; »reform thy dress as
well as thou canst, and fling away those grotesque trappings; and, so thou wilt
be secret and faithful, thou shalt follow me for a short time, till thy pranks
here are forgotten. Thou hast, I think, both address and courage, and I have
matter to do that may require both.«
    Wayland Smith eagerly embraced the proposal, and protested his devotion to
his new master. In a very few minutes he had made so great an alteration in his
original appearance, by change of dress, trimming his beard and hair, and so
forth, that Tressilian could not help remarking, that he thought he would stand
in little need of a protector, since none of his old acquaintance were likely to
recognise him.
    »My debtors would not pay me money,« said Wayland, shaking his head; »but my
creditors of every kind would be less easily blinded. And, in truth, I hold
myself not safe, unless under the protection of a gentleman of birth and
character, as is your worship.«
    So saying he led the way out of the cavern. He then called loudly for
Hobgoblin, who, after lingering for an instant, appeared with the horse
furniture, when Wayland closed and sedulously covered up the trap-door,
observing, it might again serve him at his need, besides that the tools were
worth somewhat. A whistle from the owner brought to his side a nag that fed
quietly on the common, and was accustomed to the signal. While he accoutred him
for the journey, Tressilian drew his own girths faster, and in a few minutes
both were ready to mount.
    At this moment Sludge approached to bid them farewell.
    »You are going to leave me, then, my old play-fellow,« 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 shod by the devil and his imps?«
    »It is even so,« said Wayland Smith; »the best friends must part,
Flibbertigibbet; but thou, my boy, art the only thing in the Vale of Whitehorse
which I shall regret to leave behind me.«
    »Well, I bid thee not farewell,« said Dickie Sludge, »for you will be at
these revels, I judge, and so shall I; for if Dominie Holiday take me not
thither, by the light of day, which we see not in yonder dark hole, I will take
myself there!«
    »In good time,« said Wayland; »but I pray you to do nought rashly.«
    »Nay, now you would make a child - a common child of me, and tell me of the
risk of walking without leading strings. But before you are a mile from these
stones, you shall know, by a sure token, that I have more of the hobgoblin about
me than you credit; and I will so manage, that if you take advantage you may
profit by my prank.«
    »What dost thou mean, boy?« said Tressilian; but Flibbertigibbet only
answered with a grin and a caper, and bidding both of them farewell, and at the
same time exhorting them to make the best of their way from the place, he set
them the example by running homeward with the same uncommon velocity with which
he had baffled Tressilian's former attempts to get hold of him.
    »It is in vain to chase him,« said Wayland Smith; »for unless your worship
is expert in lark-hunting, we should never catch hold of him - and besides what
would it avail? Better make the best of our way hence, as he advises.«
    They mounted their horses accordingly, and began to proceed at a round pace,
as soon as Tressilian had explained to his guide the direction in which he
desired to travel.
    After they had trotted nearly a mile, Tressilian could not help observing to
his companion, that his horse felt more lively under him than even when he
mounted in the morning.
    »Are you avised of that?« said Wayland Smith, smiling. »That is owing to a
little secret of mine. I mixed that with an handful of oats which shall save
your worship's heels the trouble of spurring those six hours at least. Nay, I
have not studied medicine and pharmacy for nought.«
    »I trust,« said Tressilian, »your drugs will do my horse no harm?«
    »No more than the mare's milk which foaled him,« answered the artist; and
was proceeding to dilate on the excellence of his recipe, when he was
interrupted by an explosion as loud and tremendous as the mine which blows up
the rampart of a beleaguered city. The horses started, and the riders were
equally surprised. They turned to gaze in the direction from which the
thunder-clap was heard, and beheld just over the spot they had left so recently,
a huge pillar of dark smoke rising high into the clear blue atmosphere. »My
habitation is gone to wrack,« said Wayland, immediately conjecturing the cause
of the explosion - »I was a fool to mention the Doctor's kind intentions towards
my mansion before that limb of mischief Flibbertigibbet - I might have guessed
he would long to put so rare a frolic into execution. But let us hasten on, for
the sound will collect the country to the spot.«
    So saying he spurred his horse, and Tressilian also quickening his speed,
they rode briskly forward.
    »This, then, was the meaning of the little imp's token which he promised
us,« said Tressilian; »had we lingered near the spot, we had found it a
love-token with a vengeance.«
    »He would have given us warning,« said the smith; »I saw him look back more
than once to see if we were off - 'tis a very devil for mischief, yet not an
ill-natured devil either. It were long to tell your honour how I became first
acquainted with him, and how many tricks he played me. Many a good turn he did
me too, especially in bringing me customers; for his great delight was to see
them sit shivering behind the bushes when they heard the click of my hammer. I
think Dame Nature, when she lodged a double quantity of brains in that misshapen
head of his, gave him the power of enjoying other people's distresses, as she
gave them the pleasure of laughing at his ugliness.«
    »It may be so,« said Tressilian; »those who find themselves severed from
society by peculiarities of form, if they do not hate the common bulk of
mankind, are at least not altogether indisposed to enjoy their mishaps and
calamities.«
    »But Flibbertigibbet,« answered Wayland, »hath that about him which may
redeem his turn for mischievous frolic; for he is as faithful when attached, as
he is tricky and malignant to strangers; and, as I said before, I have cause to
say so.«
    Tressilian pursued the conversation no farther; and they continued their
journey towards Devonshire without farther adventure, until they alighted at an
inn in the town of Marlborough, since celebrated for having given title to the
greatest general (excepting one) whom Britain ever produced. Here the travellers
received, in the same breath, an example of the truth of two old proverbs,
namely, that Ill news fly fast, and that Listeners seldom hear a good tale of
themselves.
    The inn-yard was in a sort of combustion when they alighted; insomuch, that
they could scarce get man or boy to take care of their horses, so full were the
whole household of some news which flew from tongue to tongue, the import of
which they were for some time unable to discover. At length, indeed, they found
it respected matters which touched them nearly.
    »What is the matter, say you, master?« answered, at length, the head
hostler, in reply to Tressilian's repeated questions - »Why, truly, I scarce
know myself. But here was a rider but now, who says that the devil hath flown
away with him they called Wayland Smith, that won'd about three miles from the
Whitehorse of Berkshire, this very blessed morning, in a flash of fire and a
pillar of smoke, and rooted up the place he dwelt in, near that old cockpit of
upright stones, as cleanly as if it had all been delved up for a cropping.«
    »Why, then,« said an old farmer, »the more is the pity - for that Wayland
Smith (whether he was the devil's crony or no I skill not) had a good notion of
horse diseases, and it's to be thought the bots will spread in the country far
and near, an Satan has not gien un time to leave his secret behind un.«
    »You may say that, Gaffer Grimesby,« said the hostler in return; »I have
carried a horse to Wayland Smith myself, for he passed all farriers in this
country.«
    »Did you see him?« said Dame Alison Crane, mistress of the inn bearing that
sign, and deigning to term husband the owner thereof, a mean-looking
hop-o'-my-thumb sort of 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.«
    On this occasion he chirp'd out a repetition of his wife's question, »Didst
see the devil, Jack Hostler, I say?«
    »And what if I did see un, Master Crane?« replied Jack Hostler, - for, like
all the rest of the household, he paid as little respect to his master as his
mistress herself did.
    »Nay, nought, Jack Hostler,« replied the pacific Master Crane, »only if you
saw the devil, methinks I would like to know what un's like?«
    »You will know that one day, Master Crane,« said his helpmate, »an ye mend
not your manners, and mind your business, leaving off such idle palabras - But
truly, Jack Hostler, I should be glad to know myself what like the fellow was.«
    »Why, dame,« said the hostler, more respectfully, »as for what he was like I
cannot tell, nor no man else, for why I never saw un.«
    »And how didst thou get thine errand done,« said Gaffer Grimesby, »if thou
seedst him not?«
    »Why, I had schoolmaster to write down ailment o' nag,« said Jack Hostler;
»and I went wi' the ugliest slip of a boy for my guide as ever man cut out o'
lime-tree root to please a child withal.«
    »And what was it? - and did it cure your nag, Jack Hostler?« - was uttered
and echoed by all who stood around.
    »Why, how can I tell you what it was?« said the hostler; »simply it smelled
and tasted - for I did make bold to put a pea's substance into my mouth - like
hartshorn and saving mixed with vinegar - but then no hartshorn and saving ever
wrought so speedy a cure - And I am dreading that if Wayland Smith be gone, the
bots will have more power over horse and cattle.«
    The pride of art, which is certainly not inferior in its influence to any
other pride whatever, here so far operated on Wayland Smith, that,
notwithstanding the obvious danger of his being recognised, he could not help
winking to Tressilian, and smiling mysteriously, as if triumphing in the
undoubted evidence of his veterinary skill. In the meanwhile, the discourse
continued.
    »E'en let it be so,« said a grave man in black, the companion of Gaffer
Grimesby; »e'en let us perish under the evil God sends us, rather than the devil
be our doctor.«
    »Very true,« said Dame Crane; »and I marvel at Jack Hostler that he would
peril his own soul to cure the bowels of a nag.«
    »Very true, mistress,« said Jack Hostler, »but the nag was my master's; and
had it been yours, I think ye would ha' held me cheap enough an I had feared the
devil when the poor beast was in such a taking - For the rest, let the clergy
look to it. Every man to his craft, says the proverb, the parson to the
prayer-book, and the groom to his curry-comb.«
    »I vow,« said Dame Crane, »I think Jack Hostler speaks like a good Christian
and a faithful servant, who will spare neither body nor soul in his master's
service. However, the devil has lifted him in time, for a Constable of the
Hundred came hither this morning to get old Gaffer Pinniewinks, the trier of
witches, to go with him to the Vale of Whitehorse to comprehend Wayland Smith,
and put him to his probation. I helped Pinniewinks to sharpen his pincers and
his poking-awl, and I saw the warrant from Justice Blindas.«
    »Pooh - pooh - the devil would laugh both at Blindas and his warrant,
constable and witch-finder to boot,« said Old Dame Crank, the Papist laundress;
»Wayland Smith's flesh would mind Pinniewinks' awl no more than a cambric ruff
minds a hot piccadilloe-needle. But tell me, gentlefolks, if the devil ever had
such a hand among ye, as to snatch away your smiths and your artists from under
your nose, when the good Abbots of Abingdon had their own? By Our Lady, no! -
they had their hallowed tapers, and their holy water, and their relics, and what
not, could send the foulest fiends a-packing. - Go ask a heretic parson to do
the like - But ours were a comfortable people.«
    »Very true, Dame Crank,« said the hostler; »so said Simpkins of Simonburn
when the curate kissed his wife, - They are a comfortable people, said he.«
    »Silence, thou foul-mouthed vermin,« said Dame Crank; »is it fit for a
heretic horse-boy like thee, to handle such a text as the Catholic clergy?«
    »In troth no, dame,« replied the man of oats; »and as you yourself are now
no text for their handling, dame, whatever may have been the case in your day, I
think we had e'en better leave un alone.«
    At this last exchange of sarcasm, Dame Crank set up her throat, and began a
horrible exclamation against Jack Hostler, under cover of which Tressilian and
his attendant escaped into the house.
    They had no sooner entered a private chamber, to which Goodman Crane himself
had condescended to usher them, and despatched their worthy and obsequious host
on the errand of procuring wine and refreshment, than Wayland Smith began to
give vent to his self-importance.
    »You see, sir,« said he, addressing Tressilian, »that I nothing fabled in
asserting that I possessed fully the mighty mystery of a farrier, or mareschal,
as the French more honourably term us. These dog hostlers, who, after all, are
the better judges in such a case, know what credit they should attach to my
medicaments. I call you to witness, worshipful Master Tressilian, that nought,
save the voice of calumny and the hand of malicious violence, hath driven me
forth from a station in which I held a place alike useful and honoured.«
    »I bear witness, my friend, but will reserve my listening,« answered
Tressilian, »for a safer time; unless, indeed, you deem it essential to your
reputation, to be translated, like your late dwelling, by the assistance of a
flash of fire. For you see your best friends reckon you no better than a mere
sorcerer.«
    »Now, Heaven forgive them,« said the artist, »who confound learned skill
with unlawful magic! I trust a man may be as skilful, or more so, than the best
chirurgeon ever meddled with horse-flesh, and yet may be upon the matter little
more than other ordinary men, or at the worst no conjurer.«
    »God forbid else!« said Tressilian. »But be silent just for the present,
since here comes mine host with an assistant, who seems something of the least.«
    Every body about the inn, Dame Crank herself included, had been indeed so
interested and agitated by the story they had heard of Wayland Smith, and by the
new, varying, and more marvellous editions of the incident, which arrived from
various quarters, that mine host, in his righteous determination to accommodate
his guests, had been able to obtain the assistance of none of his household,
saving that of a little boy, a junior tapster, of about twelve years old, who
was called Sampson.
    »I wish,« he said, apologising to his guests, as he set down a flagon of
sack, and promised some food immediately, - »I wish the devil had flown away
with my wife and my whole family instead of this Wayland Smith, who, I daresay,
after all said and done, was much less worthy of the distinction which Satan has
done him.«
    »I hold opinion with you, good fellow,« replied Wayland Smith; »and I will
drink to you upon that argument.«
    »Not that I would justify any man who deals with the devil,« said mine host,
after having pledged Wayland in a rousing draught of sack, »but that - Saw ye
ever better sack, my masters? - but that, I say, a man had better deal with a
dozen cheats and scoundrel fellows, such as this Wayland Smith, than with a
devil incarnate, that takes possession of house and home, bed and board.«
    The poor fellow's detail of grievances was here interrupted by the shrill
voice of his helpmate, screaming from the kitchen, to which he instantly
hobbled, craving pardon of his guests. He was no sooner gone than Wayland Smith
expressed, by every contemptuous epithet in the language, his utter scorn for a
nincompoop who stuck his head under his wife's apron-string; and intimated,
that, saving for the sake of the horses, which required both rest and food, he
would advise his worshipful Master Tressilian to push on a stage farther, rather
than pay a reckoning to such a mean-spirited, crow-trodden, henpecked coxcomb,
as Gaffer Crane.
    The arrival of a large dish of good cow-heel and bacon something soothed the
asperity of the artist, which wholly vanished before a choice capon, so
delicately roasted, that the lard frothed on it, said Wayland, like May-dew on a
lily; and both Gaffer Crane and his good dame became, in his eyes, very
painstaking, accommodating, obliging persons.
    According to the manners of the times, the master and his attendant sat at
the same table, and the latter observed, with regret, how little attention
Tressilian paid to his meal. He recollected, indeed, the pain he had given by
mentioning the maiden in whose company he had first seen him; but, fearful of
touching upon a topic too tender to be tampered with, he chose to ascribe his
abstinence to another cause.
    »This fare is perhaps too coarse for your worship,« said Wayland, as the
limbs of the capon disappeared before his own exertions; »but had you dwelt as
long as I have done in yonder dungeon, which Flibbertigibbet has translated to
the upper element, a place where I dared hardly broil my food, lest the smoke
should be seen without, you would think a fair capon a more welcome dainty.«
    »If you are pleased, friend,« said Tressilian, »it is well. Nevertheless,
hasten thy meal if thou canst, for this place is unfriendly to thy safety, and
my concerns crave travelling.«
    Allowing, therefore, their horses no more rest than was absolutely necessary
for them, they pursued their journey by a forced march as far as Bradford, where
they reposed themselves for the night.
    The next morning found them early travellers. And, not to fatigue the reader
with unnecessary particulars, they traversed without adventure the counties of
Wiltshire and Somerset, and about noon of the third day after Tressilian's
leaving Cumnor, arrived at Sir Hugh Robsart's seat, called Lidcote Hall, on the
frontiers of Devonshire.
 

                                Chapter Twelfth

 Ah me! the flower and blossom of your house,
 The wind hath blown away to other towers.
                                                 Joanna Baillie's Family Legend.
 
The ancient seat of Lidcote Hall was situated near the village of the same name,
and adjoined the wild and extensive forest of Exmoor, plentifully stocked with
game, in which some ancient rights, belonging to the Robsart family, entitled
Sir Hugh to pursue his favourite amusement of the chase. The old mansion was a
low, venerable building, occupying a considerable space of ground, which was
surrounded by a deep moat. The approach and drawbridge were defended by an
octagonal tower, of ancient brick-work, 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 pepper-boxes, which, in modern Gothic architecture, are
employed for the same purpose. One of these turrets was square, and occupied as
a clock-house. But the clock was now standing still; a circumstance peculiarly
striking to Tressilian, because the good old knight, among other harmless
peculiarities, had a fidgety anxiety about the exact measurement of time, very
common to those who have a great deal of that commodity to dispose of, and find
it lie heavy upon their hands, - just as we see shopkeepers amuse themselves
with taking an exact account of their stock at the time there is least demand
for it.
    The entrance to the courtyard of the old mansion lay through an archway,
surmounted by the aforesaid 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 recognised Tressilian.
    »Lord love you,« he said, »Master Edmund, be it thou in flesh and fell? -
Then, thou mayst do some good on Sir Hugh, for it passes the wit of man, that
is, of mine own, and the Curate's, and Master Mumblazen's, to do aught wi' un.«
    »Is Sir Hugh then worse since I went away, Will?« demanded Tressilian.
    »For worse in body - no - he is much better,« replied the domestic; »but he
is clean mazed as it were - eats and drinks as he was wont - but sleeps not, or
rather wakes not, for he is ever in a sort of twilight, that is neither sleeping
nor waking. Dame Swineford thought it was like the dead palsy. - But, no, no,
dame, said I, it is the heart, it is the heart.«
    »Can ye not stir his mind to any pastimes?« said Tressilian.
    »He is clean and quite off his sports,« said Will Badger; »hath neither
touched backgammon or shovel-board - nor looked on the big book of harrowtry wi'
Master Mumblazen. I let the clock run down, thinking the missing the bell might
somewhat move him, for you know, Master Edmund, he was particular in counting
time; but he never said a word on't, so I may e'en set the old chime towling
again. I made bold to tread on Bungay's tail too, and you know what a round
rating that would ha' cost me once a-day - but he minded the poor tyke's whine
no more than a madge howlet whooping down the chimney - so the case is beyond
me.«
    »Thou shalt tell me the rest within doors, Will. - Meanwhile, let this
person be ta'en to the buttery, and used with respect - He is a man of art.«
    »White art or black art, I would,« said Will Badger, »that he had any art
which could help us. - Here, Tom Butler, look to the man of art - and see that
he steals none of thy spoons, lad,« he added, in a whisper to the butler, who
showed himself at a low window. »I have known as honest a faced fellow have art
enough to do that.«
    He then ushered Tressilian into a low parlour, and went, at his desire, to
see in what state his master was, lest the sudden return of his darling pupil,
and proposed son-in-law, should affect him too strongly. He returned
immediately, and said that Sir Hugh was dozing in his elbow-chair, but that
Master Mumblazen would acquaint Master Tressilian the instant he awake.
    »But it is chance if he knows you,« said the huntsman, »for he has forgotten
the name of every hound in the pack. I thought about a week since he had gotten
a favourable turn: - Saddle me old Sorrel, said he suddenly, after he had taken
his usual night-draught out of the great silver grace cup, and take the hounds
to Mount Hazelhurst to-morrow. Glad men were we all, and out we had him in the
morning, and he rode to cover as usual, with never a word spoken but that the
wind was south, and the scent would lie. But ere we had uncoupled the hounds, he
began to stare round him, like a man that wakes suddenly out of a dream - turns
bridle and walks back to Hall again, and leaves us to hunt at leisure by
ourselves, if we listed.«
    »You tell a heavy tale, Will,« replied Tressilian; »but God must help us -
there is no aid in man.«
    »Then you bring us no news of young Mistress Amy? - But what need I ask -
your brow tells the story. Ever I hoped, that if any man could or would track
her, it must be you. All's over and lost now. But if ever I have that Varney
within reach of a flight-shot, I will bestow a forked shaft on him; and that I
swear by salt and bread.«
    As he spoke the door opened, and Master Mumblazen appeared; a withered,
thin, elderly gentleman, with a cheek like a winter apple, and his grey hair
partly concealed by a small high hat, shaped like a cone, or rather like such a
strawberry-basket as London fruiterers exhibit at their windows. He was too
sententious a person to waste words on mere salutation; so, having welcomed
Tressilian with a nod and a shake of the hand, he beckoned him to follow to Sir
Hugh's great chamber, which the good knight usually inhabited. Will Badger
followed, unasked, anxious to see whether his master would be relieved from his
state of apathy by the arrival of Tressilian.
    In a long low parlour, amply furnished with implements of the chase, and
with silvan trophies, by a massive stone chimney, over which hung a sword and
suit of armour, somewhat obscured by neglect, sat Sir Hugh Robsart of Lidcote, a
man of large size, which had been only kept within moderate compass by the
constant use of violent exercise. It seemed to Tressilian that the lethargy
under which his old friend appeared to labour, had, even during his few weeks'
absence, added bulk to his person, at least it had obviously diminished the
vivacity of his eye, which, as they entered, first followed Master Mumblazen
slowly to a large oaken desk, on which a ponderous volume lay open, and then
rested, as if in uncertainty, on the stranger who had entered along with him.
The Curate, a grey-headed clergyman, who had been a confessor in the days of
Queen Mary, sat with a book in his hand in another recess in the apartment. He,
too, signed a mournful greeting to Tressilian, and laid his book aside, to watch
the effect his appearance should produce on the afflicted old man.
    As Tressilian, his own eyes filling fast with tears, approached more and
more nearly to the father of his betrothed bride, Sir Hugh's intelligence seemed
to revive. He sighed heavily, as one who awakens from a state of stupor, a
slight convulsion passed over his features, he opened his arms without speaking
a word, and as Tressilian threw himself into them, he folded him to his bosom.
    »There is something left to live for yet,« were the first words he uttered;
and while he spoke, he gave vent to his feelings in a paroxysm of weeping, the
tears chasing each other down his sunburnt cheeks and long white beard.
    »I ne'er thought to have thanked God to see my master weep,« said Will
Badger; »but now I do, though I am like to weep for company.«
    »I will ask thee no questions,« said the old knight; »no questions - none,
Edmund - thou hast not found her, or so found her, that she were better lost.«
    Tressilian was unable to reply, otherwise than by putting his hands before
his face.
    »It is enough - it is enough. But do not thou weep for her, Edmund. I have
cause to weep, for she was my daughter, - thou hast cause to rejoice, that she
did not become thy wife. - Great God! thou knows best what is good for us - It
was my nightly prayer that I should see Amy and Edmund wedded, - had it been
granted, it had now been gall added to bitterness.«
    »Be comforted, my friend,« said the Curate, addressing Sir Hugh, »it cannot
be that the daughter of all our hopes and affections is the vile creature you
would bespeak her.«
    »Oh, no,« replied Sir Hugh, impatiently, »I were wrong to name broadly the
base thing she is become - there is some new court name for it, I warrant me. It
is honour enough for the daughter of an old De'nshire clown to be the leman of a
gay courtier, - of Varney too, - of Varney, whose grandsire was relieved by my
father, when his fortune was broken at the battle of - the battle of - where
Richard was slain - out on my memory! - and I warrant none of you will help me«
-
    »The battle of Bosworth,« said Master Mumblazen, »stricken between Richard
Crookback and Henry Tudor, grandsire of the Queen that now is, primo Henrici
Septimi; and in the year one thousand four hundred and eighty-five post Christum
natum.«
    »Ay, even so,« said the old Knight, »every child knows it - But my poor head
forgets all it should remember, and remembers only what it would most willingly
forget. My brain has been at fault, Tressilian, almost ever since thou hast been
away, and even yet it hunts counter.«
    »Your worship,« said the good clergyman, »had better retire to your
apartment, and try to sleep for a little space, - the physician left a composing
draught, - and our Great Physician has commanded us to use earthly means, that
we may be strengthened to sustain the trials he sends us.«
    »True, true, old friend,« said Sir Hugh, »and we will bear our trials
manfully - We have lost but a woman. - See Tressilian,« - he drew from his bosom
a long ringlet of fair hair, - »see this lock! - I tell thee, Edmund, the very
night she disappeared, when she bid me good even, as she was wont, she hung
about my neck, and fondled me more than usual; and I, like an old fool, held her
by this lock, until she took her scissors, severed it, and left it in my hand, -
as all I was ever to see more of her.«
    Tressilian was unable to reply, well judging what a complication of feelings
must have crossed the bosom of the unhappy fugitive at that cruel moment. The
clergyman was about to speak, but Sir Hugh interrupted him.
    »I know what you would say, Master Curate - after all, it is but a lock of
woman's tresses, - and by woman, shame, and sin, and death, came into an
innocent world - And learned Master Mumblazen, too, can say scholarly things of
their inferiority.«
    »C'est l'homme,« said Master Mumblazen, »qui se bast, et qui conseille.«
    »True,« said Sir Hugh, »and we will bear us, therefore, like men who have
both mettle and wisdom in us. - Tressilian, thou art as welcome as if thou hadst
brought better news. But we have spoken too long dry-lipped. - Amy, fill a cup
of wine to Edmund, and another to me.« Then instantly recollecting that he had
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 briars 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 to-morrow.«
    Tressilian and the Curate joined in urging the exhausted old man to lay
himself to rest, and at length prevailed. Tressilian remained by his pillow till
he saw that slumber at length sunk down on him, and then returned to consult
with the Curate, what steps should be adopted in these unhappy circumstances.
    They could not exclude from these deliberations Master Michael Mumblazen;
and they admitted him the more readily, that besides what hopes they entertained
from his sagacity, they knew him to be so great a friend to taciturnity, that
there was no doubt of his keeping counsel. He was an old bachelor, of good
family, but small fortune, and distantly related to the House of Robsart; in
virtue of which connection, Lidcote Hall had been honoured with his residence
for the last twenty years. His company was agreeable to Sir Hugh, chiefly on
account of his profound learning, which, though it only related to heraldry and
genealogy, with such scraps of history as connected themselves with these
subjects, was precisely of a kind to captivate the good old knight; besides the
convenience which he found in having a friend to appeal to, when his own memory,
as frequently happened, proved infirm, and played him false concerning names and
dates, which, and all similar deficiencies, Master Michael Mumblazen supplied
with due brevity and discretion. And, indeed, in matters concerning the modern
world, he often gave, in his enigmatic and heraldic phrase, advice which was
well worth attending to, or in Will Badger's language, started the game while
others beat the bush.
    »We have had an unhappy time of it with the good Knight, Master Edmund,«
said the Curate. »I have not suffered so much since I was torn away from my
beloved flock, and compelled to abandon them to the Romish wolves.«
    »That was in Tertio Mariæ,« said Master Mumblazen.
    »In the name of Heaven,« continued the Curate, »tell us, has your time been
better spent than ours, or have you any news of that unhappy maiden, who, being
for so many years the principal joy of this broken-down house, is now proved our
greatest unhappiness? Have you not at least discovered her place of residence?«
    »I have,« replied Tressilian. »Know you Cumnor Place, near Oxford?«
    »Surely,« said the clergyman; »it was a house of removal for the monks of
Abingdon.«
    »Whose arms,« said Master Michael, »I have seen over a stone chimney in the
hall - a cross patonee betwixt four martlets.«
    »There,« said Tressilian, »this unhappy maiden resides, in company with the
villain Varney. But for a strange mishap, my sword had revenged all our
injuries, as well as hers, on his worthless head.«
    »Thank God, that kept thine hand from blood-guiltiness, rash young man!«
answered the Curate. »Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord, and I will repay it. It
were better study to free her from the villain's nets of infamy.«
    »They are called in heraldry, laquei amoris, or lacs d'amour,« said
Mumblazen.
    »It is in that I require your aid, my friends,« said Tressilian; »I am
resolved to accuse this villain, at the very foot of the throne, of falsehood,
seduction, and breach of hospitable laws. The Queen shall hear me, though the
Earl of Leicester, the villain's patron, stood at her right hand.«
    »Her Grace,« said the Curate, »hath set a comely example of continence to
her subjects, and will doubtless do justice on this inhospitable robber. But
wert thou not better apply to the Earl of Leicester, in the first place, for
justice on his servant? If he grants it, thou dost save the risk of making
thyself a powerful adversary, which will certainly chance, if, in the first
instance, you accuse his master of the horse and prime favourite before the
Queen.«
    »My mind revolts from your counsel,« said Tressilian. »I cannot brook to
plead my noble patron's cause - the unhappy Amy's cause - before any one save my
lawful Sovereign. Leicester, thou wilt say, is noble - be it so - he is but a
subject like ourselves, and I will not carry my plaint to him, if I can do
better. Still, I will think on what thou hast said, - but I must have your
assistance to persuade the good Sir Hugh to make me his commissioner and
fiduciary in this matter, for it is in his name I must speak, and not in my own.
Since she is so far changed, as to dote upon this empty profligate courtier, he
shall at least do her the justice which is yet in his power.«
    »Better she died coelebs and sine prole,« said Mumblazen, with more
animation than he usually expressed, »than part, per pale, the noble coat of
Robsart with that of such a miscreant!«
    »If it be your object, as I cannot question,« said the clergyman, »to save,
as much as is yet possible, the credit of this unhappy young woman, I repeat,
you should apply, in the first instance, to the Earl of Leicester. He is as
absolute in his household as the Queen in her kingdom, and if he expresses to
Varney that such is his pleasure, her honour will not stand so publicly
committed.«
    »You are right, you are right,« said Tressilian eagerly, »and I thank you
for pointing out what I overlooked in my haste. I little thought ever to have
besought grace of Leicester; but I could kneel to the proud Dudley, if doing so
could remove one shade of shame from this unhappy damsel. You will assist me
then to procure the necessary powers from Sir Hugh Robsart?«
    The Curate assured him of his assistance, and the herald nodded assent.
    »You must hold yourselves also in readiness to testify, in case you are
called upon, the open-hearted hospitality which our good patron exercised
towards this deceitful traitor, and the solicitude with which he laboured to
seduce his unhappy daughter.«
    »At first,« said the clergyman, »she did not, as it seemed to me, much
affect his company, but latterly I saw them often together.«
    »Seiant in the parlour,« said Michael Mumblazen, »and passant in the
garden.«
    »I once came on them by chance,« said the priest, »in the South wood, in a
spring evening - Varney was muffled in a russet cloak, so that I saw not his
face, - they separated hastily, as they heard me rustle amongst the leaves, and
I observed she turned her head and looked long after him.«
    »With neck reguardant,« said the herald - »and on the day of her flight, and
that was on Saint Austen's Eve, I saw Varney's groom, attired in his liveries,
hold his master's horse and Mistress Amy's palfrey, bridled and saddled proper,
behind the wall of the churchyard.«
    »And now is she found mewed up in his secret place of retirement,« said
Tressilian. »The villain is taken in the manner; and I well wish he may deny his
crime, that I may thrust conviction down his false throat! But I must prepare
for my journey. Do you, gentlemen, dispose my patron to grant me such powers as
are needful to act in his name.«
    So saying, Tressilian left the room.
    »He is too hot,« said the Curate; »and I pray to God that he may grant him
the patience to deal with Varney as is fitting.«
    »Patience and Varney,« said Mumblazen, »is worse heraldry than metal upon
metal. He is more false than a siren, more rapacious than a griffin, more
poisonous than a wyvern, and more cruel than a lion rampant.«
    »Yet I doubt much,« said the Curate, »whether we can with all right ask from
Sir Hugh Robsart, being in his present condition, any deed deputing his paternal
right in Mistress Amy to whomsoever« -
    »Your reverence need not doubt that,« said Will Badger, who entered as he
spoke, »for I will lay my life he is another man when he wakes, than he has been
these thirty days past.«
    »Ay, Will,« said the Curate, »hast thou then so much confidence in Doctor
Diddleum's draught?«
    »Not a whit,« said Will, »because master ne'er tasted a drop on't, seeing it
was emptied out by the housemaid. But here's a gentleman, who came attending on
Master Tressilian, has given Sir Hugh a draught that is worth twenty of yon un.
I have spoken cunningly with him, and a better farrier, or one who hath a more
just notion of horse and dog ailment, I have never seen; and such a one would
never be unjust to a Christian man.«
    »A farrier! you saucy groom - And by whose authority, pray?« said the
Curate, rising in surprise and indignation; »or who will be warrant for this new
physician?«
    »For authority, an it like your reverence, he had mine; and for warrant, I
trust I have not been five-and-twenty years in this house, without having right
to warrant the giving of a draught to beast or body - I who can give a drench and
a ball, and bleed, or blister, if need, to my very self.«
    The counsellors of the house of Robsart thought it meet to carry this
information instantly to Tressilian, who as speedily summoned before him Wayland
Smith, and demanded of him (in private however) by what authority he had
ventured to administer any medicine to Sir Hugh Robsart?
    »Why,« replied the artist, »your worship cannot but remember that I told you
I had made more progress into my master's - I mean the learned Doctor Doboobie's
- mystery than he was willing to own; and indeed half of his quarrel and malice
against me was, that, besides that I got something too deep into his secrets,
several discerning persons, and particularly a buxom young widow of Abingdon,
preferred my prescriptions to his.«
    »None of thy buffoonery, sir,« said Tressilian, sternly. »If thou hast
trifled with us - much more, if thou hast done aught that may prejudice Sir Hugh
Robsart's health, thou shalt find thy grave at the bottom of a tin-mine.«
    »I know too little of the great arcanum to convert the ore to gold,« said
Wayland, firmly. »But truce to your apprehensions, Master Tressilian - I
understood the good Knight's case, from what Master William Badger told me; and
I hope I am able enough to administer a poor dose of mandragorn, which, with the
sleep that must needs follow, is all that Sir Hugh Robsart requires to settle
his distraught brains.«
    »I trust thou dealest fairly with me, Wayland?« said Tressilian.
    »Most fairly and honestly, as the event shall show,« replied the artist.
»What would it avail me to harm the poor old man for whom you are interested?
you, to whom I owe it, that Gaffer Pinniewinks is not even now rending my flesh
and sinews with his accursed pincers, and probing every mole in my body with his
sharpened awl (a murrain on the hands which forged it!) in order to find out the
witch's mark! - I trust to yoke myself as a humble follower to your worship's
train, and I only wish to have my faith judged of by the result of the good
Knight's slumbers.«
    Wayland Smith was right in his prognostication. The sedative draught which
his skill had prepared, and Will Badger's confidence had administered, was
attended with the most beneficial effects. The patient's sleep was long and
healthful; and the poor old knight awoke, humbled indeed in thought, and weak in
frame, yet a much better judge of whatever was subjected to his intellect than
he had been for some time past. He resisted for a while the proposal made by his
friends, that Tressilian should undertake a journey to court, to attempt the
recovery of his daughter, and the redress of her wrongs, in so far as they might
yet be repaired. »Let her go,« he said; »she is but a hawk that goes down the
wind; I would not bestow even a whistle to reclaim her.« But though he for some
time maintained this argument, he was at length convinced it was his duty to
take the part to which natural affection inclined him, and consent that such
efforts as could yet be made should be used by Tressilian in behalf of his
daughter. He subscribed, therefore, a warrant of attorney, such as the Curate's
skill enabled him to draw up; for in those simple days the clergy were often the
advisers of their flock in law as well as in gospel.
    All matters were prepared for Tressilian's second departure, within
twenty-four hours after he had returned to Lidcote Hall; but one material
circumstance had been forgotten, which was first called to the remembrance of
Tressilian by Master Mumblazen. »You are going to court, Master Tressilian,«
said he; »you will please remember that your blazonry must be argent, and or -
no other tinctures will pass current.« The remark was equally just and
embarrassing. To prosecute a suit at court, ready money was as indispensable
even in the golden days of Elizabeth as at any succeeding period; and it was a
commodity little at the command of the inhabitants of Lidcote Hall. Tressilian
was himself poor; the revenues of good Sir Hugh Robsart were consumed, and even
anticipated, in his hospitable mode of living; and it was finally necessary that
the herald who started the doubt should himself solve it. Master Michael
Mumblazen did so by producing a bag of money, containing nearly three hundred
pounds in gold and silver of various coinage, the savings of twenty years; which
he now, without speaking a syllable upon the subject, dedicated to the service
of the patron whose shelter and protection had given him the means of making
this little hoard. Tressilian accepted it without affecting a moment's
hesitation, and a mutual grasp of the hand was all that passed betwixt them, to
express the pleasure which the one felt in dedicating his all to such a purpose,
and that which the other received from finding so material an obstacle to the
success of his journey so suddenly removed, and in a manner so unexpected.
    While Tressilian was making preparations for his departure early the ensuing
morning, Wayland Smith desired to speak with him; and, expressing his hope that
he had been pleased with the operation of his medicine in behalf of Sir Hugh
Robsart, added his desire to accompany him to court. This was indeed what
Tressilian himself had several times thought of; for the shrewdness, alertness
of understanding, and variety of resource, which this fellow had exhibited
during the time they had travelled together, had made him sensible that his
assistance might be of importance. But then Wayland was in danger from the grasp
of law; and of this Tressilian reminded him, mentioning something, at the same
time, of the pincers of Pinniewinks, and the warrant of Master Justice Blindas.
Wayland Smith laughed both to scorn.
    »See you, sir!« said he, »I have changed my garb from that of a farrier to a
serving-man; but were it still as it was, look at my moustaches - they now hang
down - I will but turn them up, and dye them with a tincture that I know of, and
the devil will scarce know me again.«
    He accompanied these words with the appropriate action; and in less than a
minute, by setting up his moustaches and his hair, he seemed a different person
from him that had but now entered the room. Still, however, Tressilian hesitated
to accept his services, and the artist became proportionably urgent.
    »I owe you life and limb,« he said, »and I would fain pay a part of the
debt, especially as I know from Will Badger on what dangerous service your
worship is bound. I do not, indeed, pretend to be what is called a man of
mettle, one of those ruffling tear-cats, who maintain their master's quarrel
with sword and buckler. Nay, I am even one of those who hold the end of a feast
better than the beginning of a fray. But I know that I can serve your worship
better in such quest as yours than any of these sword-and-dagger men, and that
my head will be worth an hundred of their hands.«
    Tressilian still hesitated. He knew not much of this strange fellow, and was
doubtful how far he could repose in him the confidence necessary to render him a
useful attendant upon the present emergency. Ere he had come to a determination,
the trampling of a horse was heard in the courtyard, and Master Mumblazen and
Will Badger both entered hastily into Tressilian's chamber, speaking almost at
the same moment.
    »Here is a serving-man on the bonniest grey tit I ever see'd in my life,«
said Will Badger, who got the start; - »having on his arm a silver cognisance,
being a fire-drake holding in his mouth a brick-bat, under a coronet of an
Earl's degree,« said Master Mumblazen, »and bearing a letter sealed of the
same.«
    Tressilian took the letter, which was addressed »To the worshipful Master
Edmund Tressilian, our loving kinsman - These - ride, ride, ride - for thy life,
for thy life, for thy life.« He then opened it, and found the following
contents: -
 
»Master Tressilian, our
good Friend and Cousin,
        We are at present so ill at ease, and otherwise so unhappily
        circumstanced, that we are desirous to have around us those of our
        friends on whose loving kindness we can most especially repose
        confidence; amongst whom we hold our good Master Tressilian one of the
        foremost and nearest, both in good will and good ability. We therefore
        pray you, with your most convenient speed, to repair to our poor
        lodging, at Say's Court, near Deptford, where we will treat farther with
        you of matters which we deem it not fit to commit unto writing. And so
        we bid you heartily farewell, being your loving kinsman to command,
                                                     RATCLIFFE, EARL OF SUSSEX.«
 
»Send up the messenger instantly, Will Badger,« said Tressilian; and as the man
entered the room, he exclaimed, »Aha, Stevens, is it you? how does my good
lord?«
    »Ill, Master Tressilian,« was the messenger's reply, »and having therefore
the more need of good friends around him.«
    »But what is my lord's malady?« said Tressilian anxiously. »I heard nothing
of his being ill.«
    »I know not, sir,« replied the man; »he is very ill at ease. The leeches are
at a stand, and many of his household suspect foul practice - witchcraft, or
worse.«
    »What are the symptoms?« said Wayland Smith, stepping forward hastily.
    »Anan?« said the messenger, not comprehending his meaning.
    »What does he ail?« said Wayland; »where lies his disease?«
    The man looked at Tressilian, as if to know whether he should answer these
inquiries from a stranger, and receiving a sign in the affirmative, he hastily
enumerated gradual loss of strength, nocturnal perspiration, and loss of
appetite, faintness, etc.
    »Joined,« said Wayland, »to a gnawing pain in the stomach, and a low fever?«
    »Even so,« said the messenger, somewhat surprised.
    »I know how the disease is caused,« said the artist, »and I know the cause.
Your master has eaten of the manna of Saint Nicholas. I know the cure too - my
master shall not say I studied in his laboratory for nothing.«
    »How mean you?« said Tressilian, frowning; »we speak of one of the first
nobles of England. Bethink you, this is no subject for buffoonery.«
    »God forbid!« said Wayland Smith. »I say that I know his disease and can
cure him. Remember what I did for Sir Hugh Robsart.«
    »We will set forth instantly,« said Tressilian. »God calls us.«
    Accordingly, hastily mentioning this new motive for his instant departure,
though without alluding to either the suspicions of Stevens or the assurances of
Wayland Smith, he took the kindest leave of Sir Hugh and the family at Lidcote
Hall, who accompanied him with prayers and blessings, and, attended by Wayland
and the Earl of Sussex's domestic, travelled with the utmost speed towards
London.
 

                               Chapter Thirteenth

 -- Ay, I know you have arsenic,
 Vitriol, sal-tartre, argaile, alkaly,
 Cinoper: I know all. - This fellow, Captain,
 Will come in time to be a great distiller,
 And give a say (I will not say directly,
 But very near) at the philosopher's stone.
                                                                  The Alchemist.
 
Tressilian and his attendants pressed their route with all despatch. He had
asked the smith, indeed, when their departure was resolved on, whether he would
not rather choose to avoid Berkshire, in which he had played a part so
conspicuous? But Wayland returned a confident answer. He had employed the short
interval they passed at Lidcote Hall in transforming himself in a wonderful
manner. His wild and overgrown thicket of beard was now restrained to two small
moustaches on the upper lip, turned up in a military fashion. A tailor from the
village of Lidcote (well paid) had exerted his skill, under his customer's
directions, so as completely to alter Wayland's outward man, and take off from
his appearance almost twenty years of age. Formerly, besmeared with soot and
charcoal - overgrown with hair, and bent double with the nature of his labour -
disfigured too by his odd and fantastic dress, he seemed a man of fifty years
old. But now, in a handsome suit of Tressilian's livery, with a sword by his
side, and a buckler on his shoulder, he looked like a gay ruffling serving-man,
whose age might be betwixt thirty and thirty-five, the very prime of human life.
His loutish savage-looking demeanour seemed equally changed into a forward,
sharp, and impudent alertness of look and action.
    When challenged by Tressilian, who desired to know the cause of a
metamorphosis so singular and so absolute, Wayland only answered by singing a
stave from a comedy, which was then new, and was supposed, among the more
favourable judges, to augur some genius on the part of the author. We are happy
to preserve the couplet, which ran exactly thus -
 
»Ban, ban, ca Caliban -
Get a new master - Be a new man.«
 
Although Tressilian did not recollect the verses, yet they reminded him that
Wayland had once been a stage-player, a circumstance which, of itself, accounted
indifferently well for the readiness with which he could assume so total a
change of personal appearance. The artist himself was so confident of his
disguise being completely changed, or of his having completely changed his
disguise, which may be the more correct mode of speaking, that he regretted they
were not to pass near his old place of retreat.
    »I could venture,« he said, »in my present dress, and with your worship's
backing, to face Master Justice Blindas, even on a day of Quarter Sessions; and
I would like to know what is become of Hobgoblin, who is like to play the devil
in the world, if he can once slip the string, and leave his granny and his
Dominie - Ay, and the scathed vault!« he said; »I would willingly have seen what
havoc the explosion of so much gunpowder has made among Doctor Demetrius
Doboobie's retorts and phials. I warrant me, my fame haunts the Vale of the
Whitehorse long after my body is rotten; and that many a lout ties up his horse,
lays down his silver groat, and pipes like a sailor whistling in a calm, for
Wayland Smith to come and shoe his tit for him. But the horse will catch the
founders ere the smith answers the call.«
    In this particular, indeed, Wayland proved a true prophet; and so easily do
fables rise, that an obscure tradition of his extraordinary practice in farriery
prevails in the Vale of Whitehorse even unto this day; and neither the tradition
of Alfred's Victory, nor of the celebrated Pusey Horn, are better preserved in
Berkshire than the wild legend of Wayland Smith.10
    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 innkeepers on a false scent. During the course of their brief
journey, three different and inconsistent reports were circulated by him on
their account; namely, first, that Tressilian was the Lord Deputy of Ireland,
come over in disguise to take the Queen's pleasure concerning the great rebel
Rory Oge MacCarthy MacMahon; secondly, that the said Tressilian was an agent of
Monsieur, coming to urge his suit to the hand of Elizabeth; thirdly, that he was
the Duke of Medina, come over, incognito, to adjust the quarrel betwixt Philip
and that Princess.
    Tressilian was angry, and expostulated with the artist on the various
inconveniences, and, in particular, the unnecessary degree of attention to which
they were subjected by the figments he thus circulated; but he was pacified (for
who could be proof against such an argument?) by Wayland's assuring him that a
general importance was attached to his own (Tressilian's) striking presence,
which rendered it necessary to give an extraordinary reason for the rapidity and
secrecy of his journey.
    At length they approached the metropolis, where, owing to the more general
recourse of strangers, their appearance excited neither observation nor inquiry,
and finally they entered London itself.
    It was Tressilian's purpose to go down directly to Deptford, where Lord
Sussex resided, in order to be near the court, then held at Greenwich, the
favourite residence of Elizabeth, and honoured as her birthplace. Still a brief
halt in London was necessary; and it was somewhat prolonged by the earnest
entreaties of Wayland Smith, who desired permission to take a walk through the
city.
    »Take thy sword and buckler, and follow me, then,« said Tressilian; »I am
about to walk myself, and we will go in company.«
    This he said, because he was not altogether so secure of the fidelity of his
new retainer, as to lose sight of him at this interesting moment, when rival
factions at the court of Elizabeth were running so high. Wayland Smith willingly
acquiesced in the precaution, of which he probably conjectured the motive, but
only stipulated, that his master should enter the shops of such chemists or
apothecaries as he should point out, in walking through Fleet Street, and permit
him to make some necessary purchases. Tressilian agreed, and obeying the signal
of his attendant, walked successively into more than four or five shops, where
he observed that Wayland purchased in each only one single drug, in various
quantities. The medicines which he first asked for were readily furnished, each
in succession, but those which he afterwards required were less easily supplied
- and Tressilian observed, that Wayland more than once, to the surprise of the
shopkeeper, returned the gum or herb that was offered to him, and compelled him
to exchange it for the right sort, or else went on to seek it elsewhere. But one
ingredient, in particular, seemed almost impossible to be found. Some chemists
plainly admitted they had never seen it - others denied that such a drug
existed, excepting in the imagination of crazy alchemists - and most of them
attempted to satisfy their customer, by producing some substitute, which, when
rejected by Wayland, as not being what he had asked for, they maintained
possessed, in a superior degree, the self-same qualities. In general, they all
displayed some curiosity concerning the purpose for which he wanted it. One old,
meagre chemist, to whom the artist put the usual question, in terms which
Tressilian neither understood nor could recollect, answered frankly, there was
none of that drug in London, unless Yoglan the Jew chanced to have some of it
upon hand.
    »I thought as much,« said Wayland. And as soon as they left the shop, he
said to Tressilian, »I crave your pardon, sir, but no artist can work without
his tools. I must needs go to this Yoglan's; and I promise you, that if this
detains you longer than your leisure seems to permit, you shall, nevertheless,
be well repaid, by the use I will make of this rare drug. Permit me,« he added,
»to walk before you, for we are now to quit the broad street, and we will make
double speed if I lead the way.«
    Tressilian acquiesced, and, following the smith down a lane which turned to
the left hand towards the river, he found that his guide walked on with great
speed, and apparently perfect knowledge of the town, through a labyrinth of
by-streets, courts, and blind alleys, until at length Wayland paused in the
midst of a very narrow lane, the termination of which showed a peep of the
Thames looking misty and muddy, which background was crossed saltierwise, as Mr.
Mumblazen might have said, by the masts of two lighters that lay waiting for the
tide. The shop under which he halted had not, as in modern days, a glazed window
- but a paltry canvas screen surrounded such a stall as a cobbler now occupies,
having the front open, much in the manner of a fishmonger's booth of the present
day. A little old smock-faced man, the very reverse of a Jew in complexion, for
he was very soft-haired as well as beardless, appeared, and with many courtesies
asked Wayland what he pleased to want. He had no sooner named the drug, than the
Jew started and looked surprised. »And vat might your worship vant with that
drug, which is not named, mein God, in forty years as I have been chemist here?«
    »These questions it is no part of my commission to answer,« said Wayland; »I
only wish to know if you have what I want, and having it, are willing to sell
it?«
    »Ay, mein God, for having it, that I have, and for selling it, I am a
chemist, and sell every drug.« So saying, he exhibited a powder, and then
continued, »But it will cost much moneys - Vat I ave cost its weight in gold -
ay, gold well refined - I 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.«
    »I do not know how often it is gathered on Mount Sinai,« said Wayland, after
looking at the drug offered him with great disdain, »but I will wager my sword
and buckler against your gaberdine, that this trash you offer me, instead of
what I asked for, may be had for gathering any day of the week in the
castle-ditch of Aleppo.«
    »You are a rude man,« said the Jew; »and, besides I ave no better than that
- or if I ave, I will not sell it without order of a physician - or without you
tell me vat you make of it.«
    The artist made brief answer in a language of which Tressilian could not
understand a word, and which seemed to strike the Jew with the utmost
astonishment. He stared upon Wayland like one who has suddenly recognised some
mighty hero or dreaded potentate, in the person of an unknown and unmarked
stranger. »Holy Elias!« he exclaimed, when he had recovered the first stunning
effects of his surprise; and then passing from his former suspicious and surly
manner to the very extremity of obsequiousness, he cringed low to the artist,
and besought him to enter his poor house, to bless his miserable threshold by
crossing it.
    »Vill you not taste a cup with the poor Jew, Zacharias Yoglan? - Vill you
Tokay ave? - vill you Lachrymæ taste? - vill you« -
    »You offend in your proffers,« said Wayland; »minister to me in what I
require of you, and forbear further discourse.«
    The rebuked Israelite took his bunch of keys, and opening with
circumspection a cabinet which seemed more strongly secured than the other cases
of drugs and medicines amongst which it stood, he drew out a little secret
drawer, having a glass lid, and containing a small portion of a black powder.
This he offered to Wayland, his manner conveying the deepest devotion towards
him, though an avaricious and jealous expression, which seemed to grudge every
grain of which his customer was about to possess himself, disputed ground in his
countenance with the obsequious deference which he desired it should exhibit.
    »Have you scales?« said Wayland.
    The Jew pointed to those which lay ready for common use in the shop, but he
did so with a puzzled expression of doubt and fear, which did not escape the
artist.
    »They must be other than these,« said Wayland, sternly; »know you not that
holy things lose their virtue if weighed in an unjust balance?«
    The Jew hung his head, took from a steel-plated casket a pair of scales
beautifully mounted, and said, as he adjusted them for the artist's use, - »With
these I do mine own experiment - one hair of the high-priest's beard would turn
them.«
    »It suffices,« said the artist; and weighed out two drachms for himself of
the black powder, which he very carefully folded up and put into his pouch with
the other drugs. He then demanded the price of the Jew, who answered, shaking
his head and bowing, -
    »No price - no, nothing at all from such as you. - But you will see the poor
Jew again? you will look into his laboratory, where, God help him, he hath dried
himself to the substance of the withered gourd of Jonah the holy prophet - You
vill ave pity on him, and show him one little step on the great road?«
    »Hush!« said Wayland, laying his finger mysteriously on his mouth, »it may
be we shall meet again - thou hast already the Schahmajm, as thine own Rabbis
call it - the general creation; watch, therefore, and pray, for thou must attain
the knowledge of Alchahest Elixir, Samech, ere I may commune farther with thee.«
Then returning with a slight nod the reverential congees of the Jew, he walked
gravely up the lane, followed by his master, whose first observation on the
scene he had just witnessed was, that Wayland ought to have paid the man for his
drug, whatever it was.
    »I pay him?« said the artist; »may the foul fiend pay me if I do! - Had it
not been that I thought it might displease your worship, I would have had an
ounce or two of gold out of him, in exchange for the same just weight of
brick-dust.«
    »I advise you to practise no such knavery while waiting upon me,« said
Tressilian.
    »Did I not say,« answered the artist, »that for that reason alone I forbore
him for the present? - Knavery, call you it? - why, yonder wretched skeleton
hath wealth sufficient to pave the whole lane he lives in with dollars, and
scarce miss them out of his own iron chest; yet he goes mad after the
philosopher's stone - and besides, he would have cheated a poor serving-man, as
he thought me at first, with trash that was not worth a penny - Match for match,
quoth the devil to the collier; if his false medicine was worth my good crowns,
my true brick-dust is as well worth his good gold.«
    »It may be so for aught I know,« said Tressilian, »in dealing amongst Jews
and apothecaries; but understand that to have such tricks of legerdemain
practised by one attending on me, diminishes my honour, and that I will not
permit them. I trust thou hast made up thy purchases?«
    »I have, sir,« replied Wayland, »and with these drugs will I, this very day,
compound the true orvietan, that noble medicine which is so seldom found genuine
and effective within these realms of Europe, for want of that most rare and
precious drug which I got but now from Yoglan.«11
    »But why not have made all your purchases at one shop?« said his master; »we
have lost nearly an hour in running from one pounder of simples to another.«
    »Content you, sir,« said Wayland. »No man shall learn my secret; and it
would not be mine long, were I to buy all my materials from one chemist.«
    They now returned to their inn (the famous Bell-Savage), and while the Lord
Sussex's servant prepared the horses for their journey, Wayland, obtaining from
the cook the service of a mortar, shut himself up in a private chamber, where he
mixed, pounded, and amalgamated the drugs which he had bought, each in its own
proportion, with a readiness and address that plainly showed him well practised
in all the manual operations of pharmacy.
    By the time Wayland's electuary was prepared the horses were ready, and a
short hour's riding brought them to the present habitation of Lord Sussex, an
ancient house, called Say's 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. Say's
Court was afterwards the residence of the celebrated Mr. Evelyn, whose Silva is
still the manual of British planters, and whose life, manners, and principles,
as illustrated in his Memoirs, ought equally to be the manual of English
gentlemen.
 

                               Chapter Fourteenth

 This is rare news thou tell'st me, my good fellow;
 There are two bulls fierce battling on the green
 For one fair heifer - if the one goes down,
 The dale will be more peaceful, and the herd,
 Which have small interest in their brulziement,
 May pasture there in peace.
                                                                       Old Play.
 
Say's Court was watched like a beleaguered fort; and so high rose the suspicions
of the time, that Tressilian and his attendants were stopped and questioned
repeatedly by sentinels, both on foot and horseback, as they approached the
abode of the sick Earl. In truth, the high rank which Sussex held in Queen
Elizabeth's favour, and his known and avowed rivalry of the Earl of Leicester,
caused the utmost importance to be attached to his welfare; for, at the period
we treat of, all men doubted whether he or the Earl of Leicester might
ultimately have the higher rank in her regard.
    Elizabeth, like many of her sex, was fond of governing by factions, so as to
balance two opposing interests, and reserve in her own hand the power of making
either predominate, as the interest of the state, or perhaps as her own female
caprice (for to that foible even she was not superior), might finally determine.
To finesse - to hold the cards - to oppose one interest to another - to bridle
him who thought himself highest in her esteem, by the fears he must entertain of
another equally trusted, if not equally beloved, were arts which she used
throughout her reign, and which enabled her, though frequently giving way to the
weakness of favouritism, to prevent most of its evil effects on her kingdom and
government.
    The two nobles who at present stood as rivals in her favour, possessed very
different pretensions to share it; yet it might be in general said, that the
Earl of Sussex had been most serviceable to the Queen, while Leicester was most
dear to the woman. Sussex was, according to the phrase of the times, a
martialist; had done good service in Ireland and in Scotland, and especially in
the great northern rebellion in 1569, which was quelled, in a great measure, by
his military talents. He was therefore, naturally surrounded and looked up to by
whose who wished to make arms their road to distinction. The Earl of Sussex,
moreover, was of more ancient and honourable descent than his rival, uniting in
his person the representation of the Fitz-Walters, as well as of the Ratcliffes,
while the scutcheon of Leicester was stained by the degradation of his
grandfather, the oppressive minister of Henry VII., and scarce improved by that
of his father, the unhappy Dudley, Duke of Northumberland, executed on Tower
Hill, August 22, 1553. But in person, features, and address, weapons so
formidable in the court of a female sovereign, Leicester had advantages more
than sufficient to counterbalance the military services, high blood, and frank
bearing of the Earl of Sussex; and he bore in the eye of the court and kingdom,
the higher share in Elizabeth's favour, though (for such was her uniform policy)
by no means so decidedly expressed as to warrant him against the final
preponderance of his rival's pretensions. The illness of Sussex, therefore,
happened so opportunely for Leicester, as to give rise to strange surmises among
the public; while the followers of the one Earl were filled with the deepest
apprehensions, and those of the other with the highest hopes of its probable
issue. Meanwhile, - for in that old time men never forgot the probability that
the matter might be determined by length of sword, - the retainers of each noble
flocked around their patron, appeared well armed in the vicinity of the court
itself, and disturbed the ear of the sovereign by their frequent and alarming
debates, held even within the precincts of her palace. This preliminary
statement is necessary, to render what follows intelligible to the reader.12
    On Tressilian's arrival at Say's 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 elderly gentleman, a
person as it seemed of quality, and in the prime of life, was very plain and
soldier-like, his stature low, his limbs stout, his bearing ungraceful, and his
features of that kind which express sound common sense, without a grain of
vivacity or imagination. The younger, who seemed about twenty or upwards, was
clad in the gayest habit used by persons of quality at the period, wearing a
crimson velvet cloak richly ornamented with lace and embroidery, with a bonnet
of the same, encircled with a gold chain turned three times round it, and
secured by a medal. His hair was adjusted very nearly like that of some fine
gentlemen of our own time, that is, it was combed upwards and made to stand as
it were on end; and in his ears he wore a pair of silver ear-rings, having each
a pearl of considerable size. The countenance of this youth, besides being
regularly handsome, and accompanied by a fine person, was animated and striking
in a degree that seemed to speak at once the firmness of a decided, and the fire
of an enterprising character, the power of reflection and the promptitude of
determination.
    Both these gentlemen reclined nearly in the same posture on benches near
each other; but each seemed 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 personæ, and treated
him with sights far different from those which his awakened and earthly vision
could have offered.
    At the entrance of Tressilian both started from their musing, and bade him
welcome; the younger, in particular, with great appearance of animation and
cordiality.
    »Thou art welcome, Tressilian,« said the youth; »thy philosophy stole thee
from us when this household had objects of ambition to offer - it is an honest
philosophy, since it returns thee to us when there are only dangers to be
shared.«
    »Is my lord, then, so dangerously indisposed?« said Tressilian.
    »We fear the very worst,« answered the elder gentleman, »and by the worst
practice.«
    »Fie,« replied Tressilian, »my Lord of Leicester is honourable.«
    »What doth he with such attendants, then, as he hath about him?« said the
younger gallant. »The man who raises the devil may be honest, but he is
answerable for the mischief which the fiend does, for all that.«
    »And is this all that are of you, my mates,« said Tressilian, »that are
about my lord in his utmost straits?«
    »No, no,« replied the elder gentleman, »there are Tracy, Markham, and
several more; but we keep watch here by two at once, and some are weary and are
sleeping in the gallery above.«
    »And some,« said the young man, »are gone down to the Dock yonder at
Deptford, to look out such a hulk as they may purchase by clubbing their broken
fortunes; and so soon as all is over, we will lay our noble lord in a noble
green grave, have a blow at those who have hurried him thither, if opportunity
suits, and then sail for the Indies, with heavy hearts and light purses.«
    »It may be,« said Tressilian, »that I will embrace the same purpose, so soon
as I have settled some business at court.«
    »Thou business at court!« they both exclaimed at once; »and thou make the
Indian voyage!«
    »Why, Tressilian,« said the younger man, »art thou not wedded, and beyond
these flaws of fortune, that drive folks out to sea when their bark bears
fairest for the haven? - What has become of the lovely Indamira that was to
match my Amoret for truth and beauty?«
    »Speak not of her!« said Tressilian, averting his face.
    »Ay, stands it so with you?« said the youth, taking his hand very
affectionately; »then, fear not I will again touch the green wound - But it is
strange as well as sad news. Are none of our fair and merry fellowship to escape
shipwreck of fortune and happiness in this sudden tempest? I had hoped thou wert
in harbour, at least, my dear Edmund - But truly, says another dear friend of
thy name,
 
What man that sees the ever whirling wheel
Of Chance, the which all mortal things doth sway;
But that thereby doth find and plainly feel,
How Mutability in them doth play
Her cruel sports to many men's decay.«
 
The elder gentleman had risen from his bench, and was pacing the hall with some
impatience, while the youth, with much earnestness and feeling, recited these
lines. When he had done, the other wrapped himself in his cloak, and again
stretched himself down, saying, »I marvel, Tressilian, you will feed the lad in
this silly humour. If there were aught to draw a judgment upon a virtuous and
honourable household like my lord's, renounce me if I think not it were this
piping, whining, childish trick of poetry, that came among us with Master Walter
Wittypate here and his comrades, twisting into all manner of uncouth and
incomprehensible forms of speech the honest plain English phrase which God gave
us to express our meaning withal.«
    »Blount believes,« said his comrade laughing, »the devil woo'd Eve in rhyme,
and that the mystic meaning of the Tree of Knowledge refers solely to the art of
clashing rhymes and meting out hexameters.«13
    At this moment the Earl's chamberlain entered, and informed Tressilian that
his lord required to speak with him.
    He found Lord Sussex dressed, but unbraced and lying on his couch, and was
shocked at the alteration disease had made in his person. The Earl received him
with the most friendly cordiality, and inquired into the state of his courtship.
Tressilian evaded his inquiries for a moment, and turning his discourse on the
Earl's own health, he discovered, to his surprise, that the symptoms of his
disorder corresponded minutely with those which Wayland had predicated
concerning it. He hesitated not, therefore, to communicate to Sussex the whole
history of his attendant, and the pretensions he set up to cure the disorder
under which he laboured. The Earl listened with incredulous attention until the
name of Demetrius was mentioned, and then suddenly called to his secretary to
bring him a certain casket which contained papers of importance. »Take out from
thence,« he said, »the declaration of the rascal cook whom we had under
examination, and look heedfully if the name of Demetrius be not there
mentioned.«
    The secretary turned to the passage at once, and read, »And said declarant
being examined, saith, That he remembers having made the sauce to the said
sturgeon-fish, after eating of which the said noble Lord was taken ill; and he
put the usual ingredients and condiments therein, namely« -
    »Pass over his trash,« said the Earl, »and see whether he had not been
supplied with his materials by a herbalist called Demetrius.«
    »It is even so,« answered the secretary. »And he adds, he has not since seen
the said Demetrius.«
    »This accords with thy fellow's story, Tressilian,« said the Earl; »call him
hither.«
    On being summoned to the Earl's presence, Wayland Smith told his former tale
with firmness and consistency.
    »It may be,« said the Earl, »thou art sent by those who have begun this
work, to end it for them; but bethink, if I miscarry under thy medicine, it may
go hard with thee.«
    »That were severe measure,« said Wayland, »since the issue of medicine, and
the end of life, are in God's disposal. But I will stand the risk. I have not
lived so long under ground to be afraid of a grave.«
    »Nay, if thou be'st so confident,« said the Earl of Sussex, »I will take the
risk too, for the learned can do nothing for me. Tell me how this medicine is to
be taken?«
    »That will I do presently,« said Wayland: »but allow me to condition that,
since I incur all the risk of this treatment, no other physician shall be
permitted to interfere with it.«
    »That is but fair,« replied the Earl; »and now prepare your drug.«
    While Wayland obeyed the Earl's commands, his servants, by the artist's
direction, undressed their master, and placed him in bed.
    »I warn you,« he said, »that the first operation of this medicine will be to
produce a heavy sleep, during which time the chamber must be kept undisturbed;
as the consequences may otherwise be fatal. I myself will watch by the Earl,
with any of the gentlemen of his chamber.«
    »Let all leave the room save Stanley and this good fellow,« said the Earl.
    »And saving me also,« said Tressilian. »I too am deeply interested in the
effects of this potion.«
    »Be it so, good friend,« said the Earl; »and now for our experiment; but
first call my secretary and chamberlain.«
    »Bear witness,« he continued, when these officers arrived, »bear witness for
me, gentlemen, that our honourable friend Tressilian is in no way responsible
for the effects which this medicine may produce upon me, the taking it being my
own free action and choice, in regard I believe it to be a remedy which God has
furnished me by unexpected means, to recover me of my present malady. Commend me
to my noble and princely Mistress; and say that I live and die her true servant,
and wish to all about her throne the same singleness of heart and will to serve
her, with more ability to do so than hath been assigned to poor Thomas
Ratcliffe.«
    He then folded his hands, and seemed for a second or two absorbed in mental
devotion, then took the potion in his hand, and pausing, regarded Wayland with a
look that seemed designed to penetrate his very soul, but which caused no
anxiety or hesitation in the countenance or manner of the artist.
    »Here is nothing to be feared,« said Sussex to Tressilian; and swallowed the
medicine without farther hesitation.
    »I am now to pray your lordship,« said Wayland, »to dispose yourself to rest
as commodiously as you can; and of you, gentlemen, to remain as still and mute
as if you waited at your mother's deathbed.«
    The chamberlain and secretary then withdrew, giving orders that all doors 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 Stanley, the artist, and Tressilian. -
Wayland Smith's predictions were speedily accomplished, and a sleep fell upon
the Earl, so deep and sound, that they who watched his bedside began to fear
that, in his weakened state, he might pass away without awakening from his
lethargy. Wayland Smith himself appeared anxious, and felt the temples of the
Earl slightly, from time to time, attending particularly to the state of
respiration, which was full and deep, but at the same time easy and
uninterrupted.
 

                               Chapter Fifteenth

 You loggerheaded and unpolish'd grooms,
 What, no attendance, no regard, no duty?
 Where is the foolish knave I sent before?
                                                            Taming of the Shrew.
 
There is no period at which men look worse in the eyes of each other, or feel
more uncomfortable, than when the first dawn of daylight finds them watchers.
Even a beauty of the first order, after the vigils of a ball are interrupted by
the dawn, would do wisely to withdraw herself from the gaze of her fondest and
most partial admirers. Such was the pale, inauspicious, and ungrateful light,
which began to beam upon those who kept watch all night in the hall at Say's
Court, and which mingled its cold, pale, blue diffusion with the red, yellow,
and smoky beams of expiring lamps and torches. The young gallant, whom we
noticed in our last chapter, had left the room for a few minutes, to learn the
cause of a knocking at the outward gate, and on his return, was so struck with
the forlorn and ghastly aspects of his companions of the watch, that he
exclaimed, »Pity of my heart, my masters, how like owls you look! Methinks, when
the sun rises, I shall see you flutter off with your eyes dazzled, to stick
yourselves into the next ivy-tod or ruined steeple.«
    »Hold thy peace, thou gibing fool,« said Blount; »hold thy peace. Is this a
time for jeering, when the manhood of England is perchance dying within a wall's
breadth of thee?«
    »There thou liest,« replied the gallant.
    »How, lie!« exclaimed Blount, starting up, »lie, and to me?«
    »Why, so thou didst, thou peevish fool,« answered the youth; »thou didst lie
on that bench even now, didst thou not? But art thou not a hasty coxcomb, to
pick up a wry word so wrathfully? Nevertheless, loving and honouring my lord as
truly as thou, or any one, I do say, that should Heaven take him from us, all
England's manhood dies not with him.«
    »Ay,« replied Blount, »a good portion will survive with thee, doubtless.«
    »And a good portion with thyself, Blount, and with stout Markham here, and
Tracy, and all of us. But I am he will best employ the talent heaven has given
to us all.«
    »As how, I prithee?« said Blount, »tell us your mystery of multiplying.«
    »Why, sirs,« answered the youth, »ye are like goodly land, which bears no
crop because it is not quickened by manure; but I have that rising spirit in me,
which will make my poor faculties labour to keep pace with it. My ambition will
keep my brain at work, I warrant thee.«
    »I pray to God it does not drive thee mad,« said Blount; »for my part, if we
lose our noble lord, I bid adieu to the court and to the camp both. I have five
hundred foul acres in Norfolk, and thither will I, and change the court
pantoufle for the country hobnail.«
    »O base transmutation!« exclaimed his antagonist; »thou hast already got the
true rustic slouch - thy shoulders stoop, as if thine hands were at the stilts
of the plough, and thou hast a kind of earthy smell about thee, instead of being
perfumed with essence, as a gallant and courtier should. On my soul thou hast
stolen out to roll thyself on a hay mow! Thy only excuse will be to swear by thy
hilts, that the farmer had a fair daughter.«
    »I pray thee, Walter,« said another of the company, »cease thy raillery,
which suits neither time nor place, and tell us who was at the gate just now.«
    »Doctor Masters, physician to her Grace in ordinary, sent by her especial
orders to inquire after the Earl's health,« answered Walter.
    »Ha! what!« exclaimed Tracy, »that was no slight mark of favour; if the Earl
can but come through, he will match with Leicester yet. Is Masters with my lord
at present?«
    »Nay,« replied Walter, »he is half-way back to Greenwich by this time, and
in high dudgeon.«
    »Thou didst not refuse him admittance?« exclaimed Tracy.
    »Thou wert not surely so mad?« ejaculated Blount.
    »I refused him admittance as flatly, Blount, as you would refuse a penny to
a blind beggar; as obstinately, Tracy, as thou didst ever deny access to a dun.«
    »Why, in the fiend's name, didst thou trust him to go to the gate?« said
Blount to Tracy.
    »It suited his years better than mine,« answered Tracy; »but he has undone
us all now thoroughly. My lord may live or die, he will never have a look of
favour from her Majesty again.«
    »Nor the means of making fortunes for his followers,« said the young
gallant, smiling contemptuously; - »there lies the sore point, that will brook
no handling. My good sirs, I sounded my lamentations over my lord somewhat less
loudly than some of you; but when the point comes of doing him service, I will
yield to none of you. Had this learned leech entered, think'st thou not there
had been such a coil betwixt him and Tressilian's mediciner, that not the
sleeper only, but the very dead might have awakened? I know what larum belongs
to the discord of doctors.«
    »And who is to take the blame of opposing the Queen's orders?« said Tracy;
»for undeniably, Doctor Masters came with her Grace's positive commands to cure
the Earl.«
    »I, who have done the wrong, will bear the blame,« said Walter.
    »Thus, then, off fly the dreams of court favour thou hast nourished,« said
Blount; »and despite all thy boasted art and ambition, Devonshire will see thee
shine a true younger brother, fit to sit low at the board, carve turn about with
the chaplain, look that the hounds be fed, and see the squire's girths drawn
when he goes a hunting.«
    »Not so,« said the young man, colouring, »not while Ireland and the
Netherlands have wars, and not while the sea hath pathless waves. The rich west
hath lands undreamed of, and Britain contains bold hearts to venture on the
quest of them. - Adieu for a space, my masters. I go to walk in the court and
look to the sentinels.«
    »The lad hath quicksilver in his veins, that is certain,« said Blount,
looking at Markham.
    »He hath that both in brain and blood,« said Markham, »which may either make
or mar him. But, in closing the door against Masters, he hath done a daring and
loving piece of service; for Tressilian's fellow hath ever averred, that to wake
the Earl were death, and Masters would wake the Seven Sleepers themselves, if he
thought they slept not by the regular ordinance of medicine.«
    Morning was well advanced, when Tressilian, fatigued and over-watched, came
down to the hall with the joyful intelligence, that the Earl had awakened of
himself, that he found his internal complaints much mitigated, and spoke with a
cheerfulness, and looked round with a vivacity, which of themselves showed a
material and favourable change had taken place. Tressilian at the same time
commanded the attendance of one or two of his followers, to report what had
passed during the night, and to relieve the watchers in the Earl's chamber.
    When the message of the Queen was communicated to the Earl of Sussex, he at
first smiled at the repulse which the physician had received from his zealous
young follower, but instantly recollecting himself, he commanded Blount, his
master of the horse, instantly to take boat, and go down the river to the Palace
of Greenwich, taking young Walter and Tracy with him, and make a suitable
compliment, expressing his grateful thanks to his Sovereign, and mentioning the
cause why he had not been enabled to profit by the assistance of the wise and
learned Doctor Masters.
    »A plague on it,« said Blount, as he descended the stairs, »had he sent me
with a cartel to Leicester, I think I should have done his errand indifferently
well. But to go to our gracious Sovereign, before whom all words must be
lackered over either with gilding or with sugar, is such a confectionary matter
as clean baffles my poor old English brain. - Come with me, Tracy, and come you
too, Master Walter Wittypate, that art the cause of our having all this ado. Let
us see if thy neat brain, that frames so many flashy fireworks, can help out a
plain fellow at need with some of thy shrewd devices.«
    »Never fear, never fear,« exclaimed the youth, »it is I will help you
through - let me but fetch my cloak.«
    »Why, thou hast it on thy shoulders,« said Blount, - »the lad is mazed.«
    »No, this is Tracy's old mantle,« answered Walter; »I go not with thee to
court unless as a gentleman should.«
    »Why,« said Blount, »thy braveries are like to dazzle the eyes of none but
some poor groom or porter.«
    »I know that,« said the youth; »but I am resolved I will have my own cloak,
ay, and brush my doublet to boot, ere I stir forth with you.«
    »Well, well,« said Blount, »here is a coil about a doublet and a cloak - get
thyself ready, a God's name!«
    They were soon launched on the princely bosom of the broad Thames, upon
which the sun now shone forth in all its splendour.
    »There are two things scarce matched in the universe,« said Walter to Blount
- »the sun in heaven, and the Thames on the earth.«
    »The one will light us to Greenwich well enough,« said Blount, »and the
other would take us there a little faster, if it were ebb tide.«
    »And this is all thou think'st - all thou carest - all thou deem'st the use
of the King of Elements, and the King of Rivers, to guide three such poor
caitiffs, as thyself, and me, and Tracy, upon an idle journey of courtly
ceremony!«
    »It is no errand of my seeking, faith,« replied Blount, »and I could excuse
both the sun and the Thames the trouble of carrying me where I have no great
mind to go, and where I expect but dog's wages for my trouble - and by my
honour,« he added, looking out from the head of the boat, »it seems to me as if
our message were a sort of labour in vain; for see, the Queen's barge lies at
the stairs, as if her Majesty were about to take water.«
    It was even so. The royal barge, manned with the Queen's watermen, richly
attired in the regal liveries, and having the banner of England displayed, did
indeed lie at the great stairs which ascended from the river, and along with it
two or three other boats for transporting such part of her retinue as were not
in immediate attendance on the royal person. The yeomen of the guard, the
tallest and most handsome men whom England could produce, guarded with their
halberds the passage from the palace-gate to the river-side, and all seemed in
readiness for the Queen's coming forth, although the day was yet so early.
    »By my faith, this bodes us no good,« said Blount; »it must be some perilous
cause puts her Grace in motion thus untimeously. By my counsel, we were best put
back again, and tell the Earl what we have seen.«
    »Tell the Earl what we have seen!« said Walter; »why, what have we seen but
a boat, and men with scarlet jerkins, and halberds in their hands? Let us do his
errand, and tell him what the Queen says in reply.«
    So saying, he caused the boat to be pulled towards a landing place at some
distance from the principal one, which it would not, at that moment, have been
thought respectful to approach, and jumped on shore, followed, though with
reluctance, by his cautious and timid companions. As they approached the gate of
the palace, one of the sergeant porters told them they could not at present
enter, as her Majesty was in the act of coming forth. The gentlemen used the
name of the Earl of Sussex; but it proved no charm to subdue the officer, who
alleged in reply, that it was as much as his post was worth, to disobey in the
least tittle the commands which he had received.
    »Nay, I told you as much before,« said Blount; »do, I pray you, my dear
Walter, let us take boat and return.«
    »Not till I see the Queen come forth,« returned the youth, composedly.
    »Thou art mad, stark mad, by the mass!« answered Blount.
    »And thou,« said Walter, »art turned coward of the sudden. I have seen thee
face half-a-score of shag-headed Irish kernes to thy own share of them, and now
thou wouldst blink and go back to shun the frown of a fair lady!«
    At this moment the gates opened, and ushers began to issue forth in array,
preceded and flanked by the band of Gentlemen Pensioners. After this, amid a
crowd of lords and ladies, yet so disposed around her that she could see and be
seen on all sides, came Elizabeth herself, then in the prime of womanhood, and
in the full glow of what in a Sovereign was called beauty, and who would in the
lowest rank of life have been truly judged a noble figure, joined to a striking
and commanding physiognomy. She leant on the arm of Lord Hunsdon, whose relation
to her by her mother's side often procured him such distinguished marks of
Elizabeth's intimacy.
    The young cavalier we have so often mentioned had probably never yet
approached so near the person of his Sovereign, and he pressed forward as far as
the line of warders permitted, in order to avail himself of the present
opportunity. His companion, on the contrary, cursing his imprudence, kept
pulling him backwards, till Walter shook him off impatiently, and letting his
rich cloak drop carelessly from one shoulder; a natural action, which served,
however, to display to the best advantage his well-proportioned person.
Unbonneting at the same time, he fixed his eager gaze on the Queen's approach,
with a mixture of respectful curiosity, and modest yet ardent admiration, which
suited so well with his fine features, that the warders, struck with his rich
attire and noble countenance, suffered him to approach the ground over which the
Queen was to pass, somewhat closer than was permitted to ordinary spectators.
Thus the adventurous youth stood full in Elizabeth's eye - an eye never
indifferent to the admiration which she deservedly excited among her subjects,
or to the fair proportions of external form which chanced to distinguish any of
her courtiers. Accordingly, she fixed her keen glance on the youth, as she
approached the place where he stood, with a look in which surprise at his
boldness seemed to be unmingled with resentment, while a trifling accident
happened which attracted her attention towards him yet more strongly. The night
had been rainy, and just where the young gentleman stood, a small quantity of
mud interrupted the Queen's passage. As she hesitated to pass on, the gallant,
throwing his cloak from his shoulders, laid it on the miry spot, so as to ensure
her stepping over it dryshod. Elizabeth looked at the young man, who accompanied
this act of devoted courtesy with a profound reverence and a blush that
overspread his whole countenance. The Queen was confused, and blushed in her
turn, nodded her head, hastily passed on, and embarked in her barge without
saying a word.
    »Come along, Sir Coxcomb,« said Blount; »your gay cloak will need the brush
to-day, I wot. Nay, if you had meant to make a foot-cloth of your mantle, better
have kept Tracy's old drap-de-bure, which despises all colours.«
    »This cloak,« said the youth, taking it up and folding it, »shall never be
brushed while in my possession.«
    »And that will not be long, if you learn not a little more economy - we
shall have you in cuerpo soon, as the Spaniard says.«
    Their discourse was here interrupted by one of the band of Pensioners.
    »I was sent,« said he, after looking at them attentively, »to a gentleman
who hath no cloak, or a muddy one. - You, sir, I think,« addressing the younger
cavalier, »are the man; you will please to follow me.«
    »He is in attendance on me,« said Blount, »on me, the noble Earl of Sussex's
master of horse.«
    »I have nothing to say to that,« answered the messenger, »my orders are
directly from her Majesty, and concern this gentleman only.«
    So saying, he walked away, followed by Walter, leaving the others behind,
Blount's eyes almost starting from his head with the excess of his astonishment.
At length he gave vent to it in an exclamation - »Who the good jere would have
thought this!« And shaking his head with a mysterious air, he walked to his own
boat, embarked and returned to Deptford.
    The young cavalier was, in the meanwhile, guided to the water-side by the
Pensioner, who showed him considerable respect; a circumstance which, to a
person in his situation, may be considered as an augury of no small consequence.
He ushered him into one of the wherries which lay ready to attend the Queen's
barge, which was already proceeding up the river, with the advantage of that
flood-tide, of which, in the course of their descent, Blount had complained to
his associates.
    The two rows 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 sate 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.
    »You have this day spoiled a gay mantle in our service, young man. We thank
you for your service, though the manner of offering it was unusual, and
something bold.«
    »In a sovereign's need,« answered the youth, »it is each liegeman's duty to
be bold.«
    »God's pity! That was well said, my lord,« said the Queen, turning to a
grave person who sate by her, and answered with a grave inclination of the head,
and something of a mumbled assent. »Well, young man, your gallantry shall not go
unrewarded. Go to the wardrobe keeper, and he shall have orders to supply the
suit which you have cast away in our service. Thou shalt have a suit, and that
of the newest cut, I promise thee, on the word of a princess.«
    »May it please your grace,« said Walter, hesitating, »it is not for so
humble a servant of your Majesty to measure out your bounties; but if it became
me to choose« -
    »Thou wouldst have gold, I warrant me,« said the Queen, interrupting him;
»fie, young man! I take shame to say, that, in our capital, such and so various
are the means of thriftless folly, that to give gold to youth is giving fuel to
fire, and furnishing them with the means of self-destruction. If I live and
reign, these means of unchristian excess shall be abridged. Yet thou mayst be
poor,« she added, »or thy parents may be - It shall be gold, if thou wilt, but
thou shalt answer to me for the use on't.«
    Walter waited patiently until the Queen had done, and then modestly assured
her, that gold was still less in his wish than the raiment her Majesty had
before offered.
    »How, boy!« said the Queen, »neither gold nor garment? What is it thou
wouldst have of me then?«
    »Only permission, madam - if it is not asking too high an honour -
permission to wear the cloak which did you this trifling service.«
    »Permission to wear thine own cloak, thou silly boy?« said the Queen.
    »It is no longer mine,« said Walter; »when your Majesty's foot touched it,
it became a fit mantle for a prince, but far too rich a one for its former
owner.«
    The Queen again blushed; and endeavoured to cover, by laughing, a slight
degree of not unpleasing surprise and confusion.
    »Heard you ever the like, my lords? The youth's head is turned with reading
romances - I must know something of him, that I may send him safe to his friends
- What art thou?«
    »A gentleman of the household of the Earl of Sussex, so please your Grace,
sent hither with his Master of Horse, upon a message to your Majesty.«
    In a moment the gracious expression which Elizabeth's face had hitherto
maintained, gave way to an expression of haughtiness and severity.
    »My Lord of Sussex,« she said, »has taught us how to regard his messages, by
the value he places upon ours. We sent but this morning the physician in
ordinary of our chamber, and that at no usual time, understanding his lordship's
illness to be more dangerous than we had before apprehended. There is at no
court in Europe a man more skilled in this holy and most useful science than
Doctor Masters, and he came from Us to our subject. Nevertheless, he found the
gate of Say's Court befended by men with culverins, as if it had been on the
Borders of Scotland not in the vicinity of our court; and when he demanded
admittance in our name, it was stubbornly refused. For this slight of a
kindness, which had but too much of condescension in it, we will receive, at
present at least, no excuse; and some such we suppose to have been the purport
of my Lord of Sussex's message.«
    This was uttered in a tone, and with a gesture, which made Lord Sussex's
friends who were within hearing tremble. He to whom the speech was addressed,
however, trembled not; but with great deference and humility, as soon as the
Queen's passion gave him an opportunity, he replied: »So please your most
gracious Majesty, I was charged with no apology from the Earl of Sussex.«
    »With what were you then charged, sir?« said the Queen, with the impetuosity
which, amid nobler qualities, strongly marked her character; »was it with a
justification? - or, God's death, with a defiance?«
    »Madam,« said the young man, »my Lord of Sussex knew the offence approached
towards treason, and could think of nothing save of securing the offender, and
placing him in your Majesty's hands, and at your mercy. The noble Earl was fast
asleep when your most gracious message reached him, a potion having been
administered to that purpose by his physician; and his Lordship knew not of the
ungracious repulse your Majesty's royal and most comfortable message had
received, until after he awoke this morning.«
    »And which of his domestics, then, in the name of Heaven, presumed to reject
my message, without even admitting my own physician to the presence of him whom
I sent him to attend?« said the Queen, much surprised.
    »The offender, madam, is before you,« replied Walter, bowing very low; »the
full and sole blame is mine; and my lord has most justly sent me to abye the
consequences of a fault, of which he is as innocent as a sleeping man's dreams
can be of a waking man's actions.«
    »What! was it thou? - thou thyself, that repelled my messenger and my
physician from Say's Court?« said the Queen. »What could occasion such boldness
in one who seems devoted - that is, whose exterior bearing shows devotion - to
his Sovereign?«
    »Madam,« said the youth, - who, notwithstanding an assumed appearance of
severity, thought that he saw something in the Queen's face that resembled not
implacability, - »we say in our country, that the physician is for the time the
liege sovereign of his patient. Now, my noble master was then under dominion of
a leech, by whose advice he had greatly profited, who had issued his commands
that his patient should not that night be disturbed, on the very peril of his
life.«
    »Thy master hath trusted some false varlet of an empiric,« said the Queen.
    »I know not, madam, but by the fact that he is now - this very morning -
awakened much refreshed and strengthened, from the only sleep he hath had for
many hours.«
    The nobles looked at each other, but more with the purpose to see what each
thought of this news, than to exchange any remarks on what had happened. The
Queen answered hastily, and without affecting to disguise her satisfaction, »By
my word, I am glad he is better. But thou wert over bold to deny the access of
my Doctor Masters. Know'st thou not that Holy Writ saith, in the multitude of
counsel there is safety!«
    »Ay, madam,« said Walter, »but I have heard learned men say, that the safety
spoken of is for the physicians, not for the patient.«
    »By my faith, child, thou hast pushed me home,« said the Queen, laughing;
»for my Hebrew learning does not come quite at a call. - How say you, my Lord of
Lincoln? Hath the lad given a just interpretation of the text?«
    »The word safety, my most gracious madam,« said the Bishop of Lincoln, »for
so hath been translated, it may be somewhat hastily, the Hebrew word, being« -
    »My lord,« said the Queen, interrupting him, »we said we had forgotten our
Hebrew. - But for thee, young man, what is thy name and birth?«
    »Raleigh is my name, most gracious Queen, the youngest son of a large but
honourable family of Devonshire.«
    »Raleigh?« said Elizabeth, after a moment's recollection, »have we not heard
of your service in Ireland?«
    »I have been so fortunate as to do some service there, madam,« replied
Raleigh, »scarce however of consequence sufficient to reach your Grace's ears.«
    »They hear farther than you think of,« said the Queen, graciously, »and have
heard of a youth who defended a ford in Shannon against a whole band of wild
Irish rebels, until the stream ran purple with their blood and his own.«
    »Some blood I may have lost,« said the youth, looking down, »but it was
where my best is due; and that is in your Majesty's service.«
    The Queen paused, and then said hastily, »You are very young to have fought
so well, and to speak so well. But you must not escape your penance for turning
back Masters - the poor man hath caught cold on the river; for our order reached
him when he was just returned from certain visits in London, and he held it
matter of loyalty and conscience instantly to set forth again. So hark ye,
Master Raleigh, see thou fail not to wear thy muddy cloak, in token of
penitence, till our pleasure be farther known. And here,« she added, giving him
a jewel of gold, in the form of a chessman, »I give thee this to wear at the
collar.«
    Raleigh, to whom nature had taught intuitively, as it were, those courtly
arts which many scarce acquire from long experience, knelt, and, as he took from
her hand the jewel, kissed the fingers which gave it. He knew, perhaps, better
than almost any of the courtiers who surrounded her, how to mix 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.14
    His master, the Earl of Sussex, had the full advantage of the satisfaction
which Raleigh had afforded Elizabeth on their first interview.
    »My lords and ladies,« said the Queen, looking around to the retinue by whom
she was attended, »methinks, since we are upon the river, it were well to
renounce our present purpose of going to the city, and surprise this poor Earl
of Sussex with a visit. He is ill, and suffering doubtless under the fear of our
displeasure, from which he hath been honestly cleared by the frank avowal of
this malapert boy. What think ye? were it not an act of charity to give him such
consolation as the thanks of a Queen, much bound to him for his loyal service,
may perchance best minister?«
    It may be readily supposed, that none to whom this speech was addressed,
ventured to oppose its purport.
    »Your Grace,« said the Bishop of Lincoln, »is the breath of our nostrils.«
The men of war averred, that the face of the Sovereign was a whetstone to the
soldier's sword; while the men of state were not less of opinion, that the light
of the Queen's countenance was a lamp to the paths of her councillors; and the
ladies agreed, with one voice, that no noble in England so well deserved the
regard of England's royal Mistress as the Earl of Sussex - the Earl of
Leicester's right being reserved entire; so some of the more politic worded
their assent - an exception to which Elizabeth paid no apparent attention. The
barge had, therefore, orders to deposit its royal freight at Deptford, at the
nearest and most convenient point of communication with Say's Court, in order
that the Queen might satisfy her royal and maternal solicitude, by making
personal inquiries after the health of the Earl of Sussex.
    Raleigh, whose acute spirit foresaw and anticipated important consequences
from the most trifling events, hastened to ask the Queen's permission to go in
the skiff, and announce the royal visit to his master, ingeniously suggesting,
that the joyful surprise might prove prejudicial to his health, since the
richest and most generous cordials may sometimes be fatal to those who have been
long in a languishing state.
    But whether the Queen deemed it too presumptuous in so young a courtier to
interpose his opinion unasked, or whether she was moved by a recurrence of the
feeling of jealousy, which had been instilled into her, by reports that the Earl
kept armed men about his person, she desired Raleigh, sharply, to reserve his
counsel till it was required of him, and repeated her former orders, to be
landed at Deptford, adding, »We will ourselves see what sort of household my
Lord of Sussex keeps about him.«
    »Now the Lord have pity on us!« said the young courtier to himself. »Good
hearts, the Earl hath many a one round him; but good heads are scarce with us -
and he himself is too ill to give direction. And Blount will be at his morning
meal of Yarmouth herrings and ale; and Tracy will have his beastly black
puddings and Rhenish; - those thorough-paced Welshmen, Thomas ap Rice and Evan
Evans, will be at work on their leek porridge and toasted cheese - and she
detests, they say, all coarse meats, evil smells, and strong wines. Could they
but think of burning some rosemary in the great hall! but vogue la galère, all
must now be trusted to chance. Luck hath done indifferent well for me this
morning, for I trust I have spoiled a cloak and made a court fortune - May she
do as much for my gallant patron!«
    The royal barge soon stopped at Deptford, and, amid the loud shouts of the
populace, which her presence never failed to excite, the Queen, with a canopy
borne over her head, walked, accompanied by her retinue, towards Say's Court,
where the distant acclamations of the people gave the first notice of her
arrival. Sussex, who was in the act of advising with Tressilian how he should
make up the supposed breach in the Queen's favour, was infinitely surprised at
learning her immediate approach - not that the Queen's custom of visiting her
more distinguished nobility, whether in health or sickness, could be unknown to
him; but the suddenness of the communication left no time for those preparations
with which he well knew Elizabeth loved to be greeted, and the rudeness and
confusion of his military household, much increased by his late illness,
rendered him altogether unprepared for her reception.
    Cursing internally the chance which thus brought her gracious visitation on
him unaware, he hastened down with Tressilian, to whose eventful and interesting
story he had just given an attentive ear.
    »My worthy friend,« he said, »such support as I can give your accusation of
Varney, you have a right to expect alike from justice and gratitude. Chance will
presently show whether I can do aught with our Sovereign, or whether, in very
deed, my meddling in your affair may not rather prejudice than serve you.«
    Thus spoke Sussex, while hastily casting around him a loose robe of sables,
and adjusting his person in the best manner he could to meet the eye of his
Sovereign. But no hurried attention bestowed on his apparel could remove the
ghastly effects of long illness on a countenance which nature had marked with
features rather strong than pleasing. Besides, he was of low stature, and though
broad-shouldered, athletic, and fit for martial achievements, his presence in a
peaceful hall was not such as ladies love to look upon; a personal disadvantage,
which was supposed to give Sussex, though esteemed and honoured by his
Sovereign, considerable disadvantage when compared with Leicester, who was alike
remarkable for elegance of manners and for beauty of person.
    The Earl's utmost despatch 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- 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 Say's Court, and landed at our Tower
of London?«
    Lord Sussex hastened to offer some apology.
    »It needs not,« she said. »My lord, we intend speedily to take up a certain
quarrel between your lordship and another great lord of our household, and at
the same time to reprehend this uncivilised and dangerous practice of
surrounding yourselves with armed, and even with ruffianly followers, as if, in
the neighbourhood of our capital, nay, in the very verge of our royal residence,
you were preparing to wage civil war with each other. We are glad to see you so
well recovered, my lord, though without the assistance of the learned physician
whom we sent to you - Urge no excuse - we know how that matter fell out, and we
have corrected for it the wild slip, young Raleigh - By the way, my lord, we
will speedily relieve your household of him, and take him into our own.
Something there is about him which merits to be better nurtured than he is like
to be amongst your very military followers.«
    To this proposal Sussex, though scarce understanding how the Queen came to
make it, could only bow and express his acquiescence. He then entreated her to
remain till refreshment could be offered; but in this he could not prevail. And
after a few compliments of a much colder and more commonplace character than
might have been expected from a step so decidedly favourable as a personal
visit, the Queen took her leave of Say's Court, having brought confusion thither
along with her, and leaving doubt and apprehension behind.
 

                               Chapter Sixteenth

 Then call them to our presence. Face to face,
 And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear
 The accuser and accused freely speak; -
 High-stomach'd are they both and full of ire,
 In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.
                                                                     Richard II.
 
»I am ordered to attend court to-morrow,« said Leicester, speaking to Varney,
»to meet, as they surmise, my Lord of Sussex. The Queen intends to take up
matters betwixt us. This comes of her visit to Say's Court, of which you must
needs speak so lightly.«
    »I maintain it was nothing,« said Varney; »nay, I know from a sure
intelligencer, who was within ear-shot 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 Say's Court looked like a guard-house, and smelt like an hospital.
Like a cook's shop in Ram's Alley, rather, said the Countess of Rutland, who is
ever your lordship's good friend. And then my Lord of Lincoln must needs put in
his holy oar, and say, that my Lord of Sussex must be excused for his rude and
old-world housekeeping, since he had as yet no wife.«
    »And what said the Queen?« asked Leicester hastily.
    »She took him up roundly,« said Varney, »and asked what my Lord Sussex had
to do with a wife, or my Lord Bishop to speak on such a subject. If marriage is
permitted, she said, I nowhere read that it is enjoined.«
    »She likes not marriages, or speech of marriage, among churchmen,« said
Leicester.
    »Nor among courtiers neither,« said Varney; but observing that Leicester
changed countenance, he instantly added, »that all the ladies who were present
had joined in ridiculing Lord Sussex's housekeeping, and in contrasting it with
the reception her Grace would have assuredly received at my Lord of
Leicester's.«
    »You have gathered much tidings,« said Leicester, »but you have forgotten or
omitted the most important of all. She hath added another to those dangling
satellites, whom it is her pleasure to keep revolving around her.«
    »Your lordship meaneth that Raleigh, the Devonshire youth,« said Varney,
»the Knight of the Cloak, as they call him at court?«
    »He may be Knight of the Garter one day, for aught I know,« said Leicester,
»for he advances rapidly - She hath cap'd verses with him, and such fooleries. I
would gladly abandon, of my own free will, the part I have in her fickle favour;
but I will not be elbowed out of it by the clown Sussex, or this new upstart. I
hear Tressilian is with Sussex also, and high in his favour - I would spare him
for considerations, but he will thrust himself on his fate - Sussex, too, is
almost as well as ever in his health.«
    »My lord,« replied Varney, »there will be rubs in the smoothest road,
specially when it leads up hill. Sussex's illness was to us a god-send, from
which I hoped much. He has recovered indeed, but he is not now more formidable
than ere he fell ill, when he received more than one foil in wrestling with your
lordship. Let not your heart fail you, my lord, and all shall be well.«
    »My heart never failed me, sir,« replied Leicester.
    »No, my lord,« said Varney; »but it has betrayed you right often. He that
would climb a tree, my lord, must grasp by the branches, not by the blossom.«
    »Well, well, well!« said Leicester impatiently; »I understand thy meaning -
My heart shall neither fail me nor seduce me. Have my retinue in order - see
that their array be so splendid as to put down not only the rude companions of
Ratcliffe, but the retainers of every other nobleman and courtier. Let them be
well armed withal, but without any outward display of their weapons, wearing
them as if more for fashion's sake than for use. Do thou thyself keep close to
me, I may have business for you.«
    The preparations of Sussex and his party were not less anxious than those of
Leicester.
    »Thy Supplication, impeaching Varney of seduction,« said the Earl to
Tressilian, »is by this time in the Queen's hand - I have sent it through a sure
channel. Methinks your suit should succeed, being, as it is, founded in justice
and honour, and Elizabeth being the very muster of both. But I wot not how - the
gipsy« (so Sussex was wont to call his rival on account of his dark complexion)
»hath much to say with her in these holiday times of peace - Were war at the
gates I should be one of her white boys; but soldiers, like their bucklers and
Bilboa blades, get out of fashion in peace time, and satin sleeves and walking
rapiers bear the bell. Well, we must be gay since such is the fashion. - Blount,
hast thou seen our household put into their new braveries? - But thou know'st as
little of these toys as I do - thou wouldst be ready enough at disposing a stand
of pikes.«
    »My good lord,« answered Blount, »Raleigh hath been here, and taken that
charge upon him - Your train will glitter like a May morning. - Marry, the cost
is another question. One might keep an hospital of old soldiers at the charge of
ten modern lackeys.«
    »We must not count cost to-day, Nicholas,« said the Earl in reply; »I am
beholden to Raleigh for his care - I trust, though, he has remembered that I am
an old soldier, and would have no more of these follies than needs must.«
    »Nay, I understand nought about it,« said Blount; »but here are your
honourable lordship's brave kinsmen and friends coming in by scores to wait upon
you to court, where, methinks, we shall bear as brave a front as Leicester, let
him ruffle it as he will.«
    »Give them the strictest charges,« said Sussex, »that they suffer no
provocation short of actual violence to provoke them into quarrel - they have
hot bloods, and I would not give Leicester the advantage over me by any
imprudence of theirs.«
    The Earl of Sussex ran so hastily through these directions, that it was with
difficulty Tressilian at length found opportunity to express his surprise that
he should have proceeded so far in the affair of Sir Hugh Robsart as to lay his
petition at once before the Queen - »It was the opinion of the young lady's
friends,« he said, »that Leicester's sense of justice should be first appealed
to, as the offence had been committed by his officer, and so he had expressly
told to Sussex.«
    »This could have been done without applying to me,« said Sussex, somewhat
haughtily. »I, at least, ought not to have been a counsellor when the object was
a humiliating reference to Leicester; and I am surprised that you, Tressilian, a
man of honour and my friend, would assume such a mean course. If you said so, I
certainly understood you not in a matter which sounded so unlike yourself.«
    »My lord,« said Tressilian, »the course I would prefer, for my own sake, is
that you have adopted; but the friends of this most unhappy lady« -
    »Oh, the friends - the friends,« said Sussex, interrupting him; »they must
let us manage this cause in the way which seems best. This is the time and the
hour to accumulate every charge against Leicester and his household, and yours
the Queen will hold a heavy one. But at all events she hath the complaint before
her.«
    Tressilian could not help suspecting that, in his eagerness to strengthen
himself against his rival, Sussex had purposely adopted the course most likely
to throw odium on Leicester, without considering minutely whether it were the
mode of proceeding most likely to be attended with success. But the step was
irrevocable, and Sussex escaped from farther discussing it by dismissing his
company, with the command, »Let all be in order at eleven o'clock; I must be at
court and in the presence by high noon precisely.«
    While the rival statesmen were thus anxiously preparing for their
approaching meeting in the Queen's presence, even Elizabeth herself was not
without apprehension of what might chance from the collision of two such fiery
spirits, each backed by a strong and numerous body of followers, and dividing
betwixt them, either openly or in secret, the hopes and wishes of most of her
court. The band of Gentlemen Pensioners were all under arms, and a reinforcement
of the yeomen of the guard was brought down the Thames from London. A royal
proclamation was sent forth, strictly prohibiting nobles, of whatever degree, to
approach the Palace with retainers or followers, armed with short, or with long
weapons; and it was even whispered, that the High Sheriff of Kent had secret
instructions to have a part of the array of the county ready on the shortest
notice.
    The eventful hour, thus anxiously prepared for on all sides, at length
approached, and, each followed by his long and glittering train of friends and
followers, the rival Earls entered the Palace-yard of Greenwich at noon
precisely.
    As if by previous arrangement, or perhaps by intimation that such was the
Queen's pleasure, Sussex and his retinue came to the Palace from Deptford by
water, while Leicester arrived by land; and thus they entered the courtyard from
opposite sides. This trifling circumstance gave Leicester a certain ascendency
in the opinion of the vulgar, the appearance of his cavalcade of mounted
followers showing more numerous and more imposing than those of Sussex's party,
who were necessarily upon foot. No show or sign of greeting passed between the
Earls, though each looked full at the other, both expecting perhaps an exchange
of courtesies, which neither was willing to commence. Almost in the minute of
their arrival the castle-bell tolled, the gates of the Palace were opened, and
the Earls entered, each numerously attended by such gentlemen of their train
whose rank gave them that privilege. The yeomen and inferior attendants remained
in the courtyard, where the opposite parties eyed each other with looks of eager
hatred and scorn, as if waiting with impatience for some cause of tumult, or
some apology for mutual aggression. But they were restrained by the strict
commands of their leaders, and overawed, perhaps, by the presence of an armed
guard of unusual strength.
    In the meanwhile, the more distinguished persons of each train followed
their patrons into the lofty halls and antechambers 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 apartment, and seemed
eager to escape from the transient union which the narrowness of the crowded
entrance had for an instant compelled them to submit to. The folding doors at
the upper end of the long gallery were immediately afterwards opened, and it was
announced in a whisper that the Queen was in her presence-chamber, to which
these gave access. Both Earls moved slowly and stately towards the entrance;
Sussex followed by Tressilian, Blount, and Raleigh, and Leicester by Varney. The
pride of Leicester was obliged to give way to court-forms, and with a grave and
formal inclination of the head, he paused until his rival, a peer of older
creation than his own, passed before him. Sussex returned the reverence with the
same formal civility, and entered the presence-room. Tressilian and Blount
offered to follow him, but were not permitted, the Usher of the Black Rod
alleging in excuse, that he had precise orders to look to all admissions that
day. To Raleigh, who stood back on the repulse of his companions, he said, »You,
sir, may enter,« and he entered accordingly.
    »Follow me close, Varney,« said the Earl of Leicester, who had stood aloof
for a moment to mark the reception of Sussex; and, advancing to the entrance, he
was about to pass on, when Varney, who was close behind him, dressed out in the
utmost bravery of the day, was stopped by the usher, as Tressilian and Blount
had been before him. »How is this, Master Bowyer?« said the Earl of Leicester.
»Know you who I am, and that this is my friend and follower?«
    »Your lordship will pardon me,« replied Bowyer, stoutly; »my orders are
precise, and limit me to a strict discharge of my duty.«
    »Thou art a partial knave,« said Leicester, the blood mounting to his face,
»to do me this dishonour, when you but now admitted a follower of my Lord of
Sussex.«
    »My lord,« said Bowyer, »Master Raleigh is newly admitted a sworn servant of
her Grace, and to him my orders did not apply.«
    »Thou art a knave - an ungrateful knave,« said Leicester; »but he that hath
done, can undo - thou shalt not prank thee in thy authority long.«
    This threat he uttered aloud, with less than his usual policy and
discretion, and having done so, he entered the presence-chamber, and made his
reverence to the Queen, who, attired with even more than her usual splendour,
and surrounded by those nobles and statesmen whose courage and wisdom have
rendered her reign immortal, stood ready to receive the homage 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.
    »Why, how now, Bowyer,« said Elizabeth, »thy courtesy seems strangely
timed!«
    »My Liege Sovereign,« he said, while every courtier around trembled at his
audacity, »I come but to ask, whether, in the discharge of my office, I am to
obey your Highness' commands, or those of the Earl of Leicester, who has
publicly menaced me with his displeasure, and treated me with disparaging terms,
because I denied entry to one of his followers, in obedience to your Grace's
precise orders?«
    The spirit of Henry VIII. was instantly aroused in the bosom of his
daughter, and she turned on Leicester with a severity which appalled him, as
well as all his followers.
    »God's death, my lord,« such was her emphatic phrase, »what means this? We
have thought well of you, and brought you near to our person; but it was not
that you might hide the sun from our faithful subjects. Who gave you license to
contradict our orders, or control our officers? I will have in this court, ay,
and in this realm, but one mistress, and no master. Look to it that Master
Bowyer sustains no harm for his duty to me faithfully discharged; for, as I am
Christian woman and crowned Queen, I will hold you dearly answerable. - Go,
Bowyer, you have done the part of an honest man and a true subject. We will
brook no mayor of the palace here.«
    Bowyer kissed the hand which she extended towards him, and withdrew to his
post, astonished at the success of his own audacity. A smile of triumph pervaded
the faction of Sussex; that of Leicester seemed proportionally dismayed, and the
favourite himself, assuming an aspect of the deepest humility, did not even
attempt a word in his own exculpation.
    He acted wisely; for it was the policy of Elizabeth to humble not to
disgrace him, and it was prudent to suffer her, without opposition or reply, to
glory in the exertion of her authority. The dignity of the Queen was gratified,
and the woman began soon to feel for the mortification which she had imposed on
her favourite. Her keen eye also observed the secret looks of congratulation
exchanged amongst those who favoured Sussex, and it was no part of her policy to
give either party a decisive triumph.
    »What I say to my Lord of Leicester,« she said, after a moment's pause, »I
say also to you, my Lord of Sussex. You also must needs ruffle in the court of
England, at the head of a faction of your own?«
    »My followers, gracious Princess,« said Sussex, »have indeed ruffled in your
cause, in Ireland, in Scotland, and against yonder rebellious Earls in the
north. I am ignorant that« -
    »Do you bandy looks and words with me, my lord?« said the Queen,
interrupting him; »methinks you might learn of my Lord of Leicester the modesty
to be silent, at least, under our censure. I say, my lord, that my grandfather
and father, in their wisdom, debarred the nobles of this civilised land from
travelling with such disorderly retinues; and think you that because I wear a
coif, their sceptre has in my hand been changed into a distaff? I tell you, no
king in Christendom will less brook his court to be cumbered, his people
oppressed, and his kingdom's peace disturbed by the arrogance of overgrown
power, than she who now speaks with you. - My Lord of Leicester, and you, my
Lord of Sussex, I command you both to be friends with each other; or, by the
crown I wear, you shall find an enemy who will be too strong for both of you!«
    »Madam,« said the Earl of Leicester, »you who are yourself the fountain of
honour, know best what is due to mine. I place it at your disposal, and only
say, that the terms on which I have stood with my Lord of Sussex have not been
of my seeking; nor had he cause to think me his enemy, until he had done me
gross wrong.«
    »For me, madam,« said the Earl of Sussex, »I cannot appeal from your
sovereign pleasure; but I were well content my Lord of Leicester should say in
what I have, as he terms it, wronged him, since my tongue never spoke the word
that I would not willingly justify either on foot or horseback.«
    »And for me,« said Leicester, »always under my gracious Sovereign's
pleasure, my hand shall be as ready to make good my words as that of any man who
ever wrote himself Ratcliffe.«
    »My lords,« said the Queen, »these are no terms for this presence; and if
you cannot keep your temper we will find means to keep both that and you close
enough. Let me see you join hands, my lords, and forget your idle animosities.«
    The two rivals looked at each other with reluctant eyes, each unwilling to
make the first advance to execute the Queen's will.
    »Sussex,« said Elizabeth, »I entreat - Leicester, I command you.«
    Yet, so were her words accented, that the entreaty sounded like command, and
the command like entreaty. They remained still and stubborn, until she raised
her voice to a height which argued at once impatience and absolute command.
    »Sir Henry Lee,« she said, to an officer in attendance, »have a guard in
present readiness, and man a barge instantly. - My Lords of Sussex and
Leicester, I bid you once more to join hands - and, God's death! he that refuses
shall taste of our Tower fare ere he see our face again. I will lower your proud
hearts ere we part, and that I promise, on the word of a Queen.«
    »The prison,« said Leicester, »might be borne, but to lose your Grace's
presence, were to lose light and life at once. - Here, Sussex, is my hand.«
    »And here,« said Sussex, »is mine in truth and honesty; but« -
    »Nay, under favour, you shall add no more,« said the Queen. »Why, this is as
it should be,« she added, looking on them more favourably, »and when you, the
shepherds of the people, unite to protect them, it shall be well with the flock
we rule over. For, my lords, I tell you plainly, your follies and your brawls
lead to strange disorders among your servants. - My Lord of Leicester, you have
a gentleman in your household called Varney?«
    »Yes, gracious madam,« replied Leicester, »I presented him to kiss your
royal hand when you were last at Nonsuch.«
    »His outside was well enough,« said the Queen, »but scarce so fair, I should
have thought, as to have caused a maiden of honourable birth and hopes to barter
her fame for his good looks, and become his paramour. Yet so it is - this fellow
of yours hath seduced the daughter of a good old Devonshire knight, Sir Hugh
Robsart of Lidcote Hall, and she hath fled with him from her father's house like
a castaway. - My Lord of Leicester, are you ill, that you look so deadly pale?«
    »No, gracious madam,« said Leicester; and it required every effort he could
make to bring forth these few words.
    »You are surely ill, my lord?« said Elizabeth, going towards him with hasty
speech and hurried step, which indicated the deepest concern. »Call Masters -
call our surgeon in ordinary - Where be these loitering fools? - We lose the
pride of our court through their negligence. - Or, is it possible, Leicester,«
she continued, looking on him with a very gentle aspect, »can fear of my
displeasure have wrought so deeply on thee? Doubt not for a moment, noble
Dudley, that we could blame thee for the folly of thy retainer - thee, whose
thoughts we know to be far otherwise employed! He that would climb the eagle's
nest, my lord, cares not who are catching linnets at the foot of the precipice.«
    »Mark you that?« said Sussex, aside to Raleigh. »The devil aids him surely;
for all that would sink another ten fathom deep, seems but to make him float the
more easily. Had a follower of mine acted thus« -
    »Peace, my good Lord,« said Raleigh, »for God's sake, peace. Wait the change
of the tide; it is even now on the turn.«
    The acute observation of Raleigh, perhaps, did not deceive him; for
Leicester's confusion was so great, and, indeed, for the moment, so irresistibly
overwhelming, that Elizabeth, after looking at him with a wondering eye, and
receiving no intelligible answer to the unusual expressions of grace and
affection which had escaped from her, shot her quick glance around the circle of
courtiers, and reading, perhaps, in their faces, something that accorded with
her own awakened suspicions, she said suddenly, »Or is there more in this than
we see - or than you, my lord, wish that we should see? Where is this Varney?
Who saw him?«
    »An it please your Grace,« said Bowyer, »it is the same against whom I this
instant closed the door of the presence-room.«
    »An it please me?« repeated Elizabeth, sharply, not at that moment in the
humour of being pleased with anything, - »It does not please me that he should
pass saucily into my presence, or that you should exclude from it one who came
to justify himself from an accusation.«
    »May it please you,« answered the perplexed usher, »if I knew, in such case,
how to bear myself, I would take heed« -
    »You should have reported the fellow's desire to us, Master Usher, and taken
our directions. You think yourself a great man, because but now we chide a
nobleman on your account - yet, after all, we hold you but as the lead-weight
that keeps the door fast. Call this Varney hither instantly - there is one
Tressilian also mentioned in this petition - let them both come before us.«
    She was obeyed, and Tressilian and Varney appeared accordingly. Varney's
first glance was at Leicester, his second at the Queen. In the looks of the
latter, there appeared an approaching storm, and in the downcast countenance of
his patron, he could read no directions in what way he was to trim his vessel
for the encounter - he then saw Tressilian, and at once perceived the peril of
the situation in which he was placed. But Varney was as bold-faced and
ready-witted as he was cunning and unscrupulous, - a skilful pilot in extremity,
and fully conscious of the advantages which he would obtain, could he extricate
Leicester from his present peril, and of the ruin that yawned for himself should
he fail in doing so.
    »Is it true, sirrah,« said the Queen, with one of those searching looks
which few had the audacity to resist, »that you have seduced to infamy a young
lady of birth and breeding, the daughter of Sir Hugh Robsart of Lidcote Hall?«
    Varney kneeled down, and replied, with a look of the most profound
contrition, »There had been some love passages betwixt him and Mistress Amy
Robsart.«
    Leicester's flesh quivered with indignation as he heard his dependant make
this avowal, and for one moment he manned himself to step forward, and, bidding
farewell to the court and the royal favour, confess the whole mystery of the
secret marriage. But he looked at Sussex, and the idea of the triumphant smile
which would clothe his cheek upon hearing the avowal, sealed his lips. »Not now,
at least,« he thought, »or in this presence, will I afford him so rich a
triumph.« And pressing his lips close together, he stood firm and collected,
attentive to each word which Varney uttered, and determined to hide to the last
the secret on which his court-favour seemed to depend. Meanwhile, the Queen
proceeded in her examination of Varney.
    »Love passages!« said she, echoing his last words; »what passages, thou
knave? and why not ask the wench's hand from her father, if thou hadst any
honesty in thy love for her?«
    »An it please your Grace,« said Varney, still on his knees, »I dared not do
so, for her father had promised her hand to a gentleman of birth and honour - I
will do him justice, though I know he bears me ill will - one Master Edmund
Tressilian, whom I now see in the presence.«
    »Soh!« replied the Queen; »and what was your right to make the simple fool
break her worthy father's contract, through your love passages, as your conceit
and assurance term them?«
    »Madam,« replied Varney, »it is in vain to plead the cause of human frailty
before a judge to whom it is unknown, or that of love, to one who never yields
to the passion« - He paused an instant, and then added, in a very low and timid
tone, »which she inflicts upon all others.«
    Elizabeth tried to frown, but smiled in her own despite, as she answered,
»Thou art a marvellously impudent knave - Art thou married to the girl?«
    Leicester's feelings became so complicated and so painfully intense, that it
seemed to him as if his life was to depend on the answer made by Varney, who,
after a moment's real hesitation, answered, »Yes.«
    »Thou false villain!« said Leicester, bursting forth into rage, yet unable
to add another word to the sentence, which he had begun with such emphatic
passion.
    »Nay, my lord,« said the Queen, »we will, by your leave, stand between this
fellow and your anger. We have not yet done with him. - Knew your master, my
Lord of Leicester, of this fair work of yours? Speak truth I command thee, and I
will be thy warrant from danger on every quarter.«
    »Gracious madam,« said Varney, »to speak heaven's truth, my lord was the
cause of the whole matter.«
    »Thou villain, wouldst thou betray me?« said Leicester.
    »Speak on,« said the Queen, hastily, her cheek colouring, and her eyes
sparkling, as she addressed Varney; »speak on - here no commands are heard but
mine.«
    »They are omnipotent, gracious madam,« replied Varney; »and to you there can
be no secrets. - Yet I would not,« he added, looking around him, »speak of my
master's concerns to other ears.«
    »Fall back, my lords,« said the Queen to those who surrounded her, »and do
you speak on. - What hath the Earl to do with this guilty intrigue of thine? -
See, fellow, that thou beliest him not!«
    »Far be it from me to traduce my noble patron,« replied Varney; »yet I am
compelled to own that some deep, overwhelming, yet secret feeling, hath of late
dwelt in my lord's mind, hath abstracted him from the cares of the household,
which he was wont to govern with such religious strictness, and hath left us
opportunities to do follies, of which the shame, as in this case, partly falls
upon our patron. Without this, I had not had means or leisure to commit the
folly which has drawn on me his displeasure; the heaviest to endure by me, which
I could by any means incur, - saving always the yet more dreaded resentment of
your Grace.«
    »And in this sense, and no other, hath he been accessory to thy fault?« said
Elizabeth.
    »Surely, madam, in no other,« replied Varney; »but since somewhat hath
chanced to him, he can scarce be called his own man. Look at him, madam, how
pale and trembling he stands - how unlike his usual majesty of manner - yet what
has he to fear from aught I can say to your Highness? Ah! madam, since he
received that fatal packet!«
    »What packet, and from whence?« said the Queen, eagerly.
    »From whence, madam, I cannot guess; but I am so near to his person, that I
know he has ever since worn, suspended around his neck, and next to his heart,
that lock of hair which sustains a small golden jewel shaped like a heart - he
speaks to it when alone - he parts not from it when he sleeps - no heathen ever
worshipped an idol with such devotion.«
    »Thou art a prying knave to watch thy master so closely,« said Elizabeth,
blushing, but not with anger; »and a tattling knave to tell over again his
fooleries. - What colour might the braid of hair be that thou pratest of?«
    Varney replied, »A poet, madam, might call it a thread from the golden web
wrought by Minerva; but, to my thinking, it was paler than even the purest gold
- more like the last parting sunbeam of the softest day of spring.«
    »Why, you are a poet yourself, Master Varney,« said the Queen, smiling; »but
I have not genius quick enough to follow your rare metaphors - Look round these
ladies - is there« - (she hesitated, and endeavoured to assume an air of great
indifference) - »Is there here, in this presence, any lady, the colour of whose
hair reminds thee of that braid? Methinks, without prying into my Lord of
Leicester's amorous secrets, I would fain know what kind of locks are like the
thread of Minerva's web, or the - what was it? - the last rays of the Mayday
sun.«
    Varney looked round the presence-chamber, his eye travelling from one lady
to another, until at length it rested upon the Queen herself, but with an aspect
of the deepest veneration. »I see no tresses,« he said, »in this presence,
worthy of such similes, unless where I dare not look on them.«
    »How, sir knave,« said the Queen, »dare you intimate« -
    »Nay, madam,« replied Varney, shading his eyes with his hand, »it was the
beams of the Mayday sun that dazzled my weak eyes.«
    »Go to - go to,« said the Queen; »thou art a foolish fellow« - and turning
quickly from him she walked up to Leicester.
    Intense curiosity, mingled with all the various hopes, fears, and passions,
which influence court faction, had occupied the presence-chamber during the
Queen's conference with Varney, as if with the strength of an Eastern talisman.
Men suspended every, even the slightest external motion, and would have ceased
to breathe, had Nature permitted such an intermission of her functions. The
atmosphere was contagious, and Leicester, who saw all around wishing or fearing
his advancement or his fall, forgot all that love had previously dictated, and
saw nothing for the instant but the favour or disgrace, which depended on the
nod of Elizabeth and the fidelity of Varney. He summoned himself hastily, and
prepared to play his part in the scene which was like to ensue, when, as he
judged from the glances which the Queen threw towards him, Varney's
communications, be they what they might, were operating in his favour. Elizabeth
did not long leave him in doubt; for the more than favour with which she
accosted him decided his triumph in the eyes of his rival, and of the assembled
court of England - »Thou hast a prating servant of this same Varney, my lord,«
she said; »it is lucky you trust him with nothing that can hurt you in our
opinion, for, believe me, he would keep no counsel.«
    »From your Highness,« said Leicester, dropping gracefully on one knee, »it
were treason he should. I would that my heart itself lay before you, barer than
the tongue of any servant could strip it.«
    »What, my lord,« said Elizabeth, looking kindly upon him, »is there no one
little corner over which you would wish to spread a veil? Ah! I see you are
confused at the question, and your Queen knows she should not look too deeply
into her servants' motives for their faithful duty, lest she see what might, or
at least, ought to, displease her.«
    Relieved by these last words, Leicester broke out into a torrent of
expressions of deep and passionate attachment, which, perhaps at that moment,
were not altogether fictitious. The mingled emotions which had at first overcome
him, had now given way to the energetic vigour with which he had determined to
support his place in the Queen's favour; and never did he seem to Elizabeth more
eloquent, more handsome, more interesting, than while, kneeling at her feet, he
conjured her to strip him of all his power, but to leave him the name of her
servant. - »Take from the poor Dudley,« he exclaimed, »all that your bounty has
made him, and bid him be the poor gentleman he was when your Grace first shone
on him; leave him no more than his cloak and his sword, but let him still boast
he has - what in word or deed he never forfeited - the regard of his adored
Queen and mistress!«
    »No, Dudley!« said Elizabeth, raising him with one hand, while she extended
the other that he might kiss it; »Elizabeth hath not forgotten that, whilst you
were a poor gentleman, despoiled of your hereditary rank, she was as poor a
princess, and that in her cause you then ventured all that oppression had left
you, - your life and honour. - Rise, my lord, and let my hand go! - Rise, and be
what you have ever been, the grace of our court, and the support of our throne.
Your mistress may be forced to chide your misdemeanours, but never without
owning your merits. - And so help me God,« she added, turning to the audience,
who with various feelings witnessed this interesting scene, - »So help me God,
gentlemen, as I think never sovereign had a truer servant than I have in this
noble Earl!«
    A murmur of assent rose from the Leicesterian faction, which the friends of
Sussex dared not oppose. They remained with their eyes fixed on the ground,
dismayed as well as mortified by the public and absolute triumph of their
opponents. Leicester's first use of the familiarity to which the Queen had so
publicly restored him, was to ask her commands concerning Varney's offence.
»Although,« he said, »the fellow deserves nothing from me but displeasure, yet,
might I presume to intercede« -
    »In truth, we had forgotten his matter,« said the Queen; »and it was ill
done of us, who owe justice to our meanest, as well as to our highest subject.
We are pleased, my lord, that you were the first to recall the matter to our
memory. - Where is Tressilian, the accuser? - let him come before us.«
    Tressilian appeared, and made a low and beseeming reverence. His person, as
we have elsewhere observed, had an air of grace and even of nobleness, which did
not escape Queen Elizabeth's critical observation. She looked at him with
attention, as he stood before her unabashed, but with an air of the deepest
dejection.
    »I cannot but grieve for this gentleman,« she said to Leicester. »I have
inquired concerning him, and his presence confirms what I heard, that he is a
scholar and a soldier, well accomplished both in arts and arms. We women, my
lord, are fanciful in our choice - I had said now, to judge by the eye, there
was no comparison to be held betwixt your follower and this gentleman. But
Varney is a well-spoken fellow, and, to say truth, that goes far with us of the
weaker sex. - Look you, Master Tressilian, a bolt lost is not a bow broken. Your
true affection, as I will hold it to be, hath been, it seems, but ill requited;
but you have scholarship, and you know there have been false Cressidas to be
found, from the Trojan war downward. Forget, good sir, this Lady Light-o'-Love -
teach your affection to see with a wiser eye. This we say to you, more from the
writings of learned men, than our own knowledge, being, as we are, far removed
by station and will, from the enlargement of experience in such idle toys of
humorous passion. For this dame's father, we can make his grief the less, by
advancing his son-in-law to such station as may enable him to give an honourable
support to his bride. Thou shalt not be forgotten thyself, Tressilian - follow
our court, and thou shalt see that a true Troilus hath some claim in our grace.
Think of what that arch-knave Shakespeare says - a plague on him, his toys come
into my head when I should think of other matter - Stay, how goes it?
 
Cressid was yours, tied with the bonds of heaven:
These bonds of Heaven are splipped, dissolved, and loosed,
And with another knot five fingers tied,
The fragments of her faith are bound to Diomed.
 
You smile, my Lord of Southampton - perchance I make your player's verse halt
through my bad memory - but let it suffice - let there be no more of this mad
matter.«
    And as Tressilian kept the posture of one who would willingly be heard,
though, at the same time, expressive of the deepest reverence, the Queen added
with some impatience, - »What would the man have? The wench cannot wed both of
you? - She has made her election - not a wise one perchance - but she is
Varney's wedded wife.«
    »My suit should sleep there, most gracious Sovereign,« said Tressilian, »and
with my suit my revenge. But I hold this Varney's word no good warrant for the
truth.«
    »Had that doubt been elsewhere urged,« answered Varney, »my sword« -
    »Thy sword!« interrupted Tressilian, scornfully; »with her Grace's leave, my
sword shall show« -
    »Peace, you knaves, both!« said the Queen; »know you where you are? - This
comes of your feuds, my lords,« she added, looking towards Leicester and Sussex;
»your followers catch your own humour, and must bandy and brawl in my court, and
in my very presence, like so many Matamoros. - Look you, sirs, he that speaks of
drawing swords in any other quarrel than mine or England's, by mine honour, I'll
bracelet him with iron both on wrist and ankle!« She then paused a minute, and
resumed in a milder tone, »I must do justice betwixt the bold and mutinous
knaves notwithstanding. - My Lord of Leicester, will you warrant with your
honour - that is, to the best of your belief - that your servant speaks truth in
saying he hath married this Amy Robsart?«
    This was a home-thrust, and had nearly staggered Leicester. But he had now
gone too far to recede, and answered, after a moment's hesitation, »To the best
of my belief - indeed on my certain knowledge - she is a wedded wife.«
    »Gracious madam,« said Tressilian, »may I yet request to know when and under
what circumstances this alleged marriage« -
    »Out, sirrah,« answered the Queen; »alleged marriage! - Have you not the
word of this illustrious Earl to warrant the truth of what his servant says? But
thou art a loser - think'st thyself such at least - and thou shalt have
indulgence - we will look into the matter ourself more at leisure. - My Lord of
Leicester, I trust you remember we mean to taste the good cheer of your castle
of Kenilworth on this week ensuing - we will pray you to bid our good and valued
friend the Earl of Sussex to hold company with us there.«
    »If the noble Earl of Sussex,« said Leicester, bowing to his rival with the
easiest and with the most graceful courtesy, »will so far honour my poor house,
I will hold it an additional proof of the amicable regard it is your Grace's
desire we should entertain towards each other.«
    Sussex was more embarrassed - »I should,« said he, »madam, be but a clog on
your gayer hours since my late severe illness.«
    »And have you been indeed so very ill?« said Elizabeth, looking on him with
more attention than before; »you are in faith strangely altered, and deeply am I
grieved to see it. But be of good cheer - we will ourselves look after the
health of so valued a servant, and to whom we owe so much. Masters shall order
your diet; and that we ourselves may see that he is obeyed, you must attend us
in this progress to Kenilworth.«
    This was said so peremptorily, and at the same time with so much kindness,
that Sussex, however unwilling to become the guest of his rival, had no resource
but to bow low to the Queen in obedience to her commands, and to express to
Leicester, with blunt courtesy, though mingled with embarrassment, his
acceptance of his invitation. As the Earls exchanged compliments on the
occasion, the Queen said to her High Treasurer, »Methinks, my lord, the
countenances of these our two noble peers resemble those of the two famed
classic streams, the one so dark and sad, the other so fair and noble - My old
Master Ascham would have chide me for forgetting the author - It is Cæsar, as I
think. - See what majestic calmness sits on the brow of the noble Leicester,
while Sussex seems to greet him as if he did our will indeed, but not
willingly.«
    »The doubt of your Majesty's favour,« answered the Lord Treasurer, »may
perchance occasion the difference, which does not, - as what does? - escape your
Grace's eye.«
    »Such doubt were injurious to us, my lord,« replied the Queen. »We hold both
to be near and dear to us, and will with impartiality employ both in honourable
service for the weal of our kingdom. But we will break up their farther
conference at present. - My Lords of Sussex and Leicester, we have a word more
with you. Tressilian and Varney are near your persons - you will see that they
attend you at Kenilworth - And as we shall then have both Paris and Menelaus
within our call, so we will have this same fair Helen also, whose fickleness has
caused this broil. Varney, thy wife must be at Kenilworth, and forthcoming at my
order. - My Lord of Leicester, we expect you will look to this.«
    The Earl and his follower bowed low, and raised their heads, without daring
to look at the Queen, or at each other; for both felt at the instant as if the
nets and toils which their own falsehood had woven, were in the act of closing
around them. The Queen, however, observed not their confusion, but proceeded to
say, »My Lords of Sussex and Leicester, we require your presence at the privy
council to be presently held, where matters of importance are to be debated. We
will then take the water for our divertisement, and you, my lords, will attend
us. - And that reminds us of a circumstance - Do you, Sir Squire of the Soiled
Cassock« (distinguishing Raleigh by a smile), »fail not to observe that you are
to attend us on our progress. You shall be supplied with suitable means to
reform your wardrobe.«
    And so terminated this celebrated audience, in which, as throughout her
life, Elizabeth united the occasional caprice of her sex, with that sense and
sound policy, in which neither man nor woman ever excelled her.
 

                              Chapter Seventeenth

 Well, then - our course is chosen - spread the sail -
 Heave oft the lead, and mark the soundings well -
 Look to the helm, good master - many a shoal
 Marks this stern coast, and rocks, where sits the Siren,
 Who, like ambition, lures men to their ruin.
                                                                  The Shipwreck.
 
During the brief interval that took place betwixt the dismissal of the audience
and the sitting of the privy council, Leicester had time to reflect that he had
that morning sealed his own fate. »It was impossible for him now,« he thought,
»after having, in the face of all that was honourable in England, pledged his
truth (though in an ambiguous phrase) for the statement of Varney, to contradict
or disavow it, without exposing himself not merely to the loss of court favour,
but to the highest displeasure of the Queen, his deceived mistress, and to the
scorn and contempt at once of his rival and of all his compeers.« This certainly
rushed at once on his mind, together with all the difficulties which he would
necessarily be exposed to in preserving a secret, which seemed now equally
essential to his safety, to his power, and to his honour. He was situated like
one who walks upon ice, ready to give way around him, and whose only safety
consists in moving onwards, by firm and unvacillating steps. The Queen's favour,
to preserve which he had made such sacrifices, must now be secured by all means
and at all hazards - it was the only plank which he could cling to in the
tempest. He must settle himself, therefore, to the task of not only preserving,
but augmenting, the Queen's partiality - He must be the favourite of Elizabeth,
or a man utterly shipwrecked in fortune and in honour. All other considerations
must be laid aside for the moment, and he repelled the intrusive thoughts which
forced on his mind the image of Amy, by saying to himself, there would be time
to think hereafter how he was to escape from the labyrinth ultimately, since the
pilot, who sees a Scylla under his bows, must not for the time think of the more
distant dangers of Charybdis.
    In this mood, the Earl of Leicester that day assumed his chair at the
council table of Elizabeth; and when the hours of business were over, in this
same mood did he occupy an honoured place near her, during her pleasure
excursion on the Thames. And never did he display to more advantage his powers
as a politician of the first rank, or his parts as an accomplished courtier.
    It chanced that in that day's council matters were agitated touching the
affairs of the unfortunate Mary, the seventh year of whose captivity in England
was now in doleful currency. There had been opinions in favour of this unhappy
princess laid before Elizabeth's council, and supported with much strength of
argument by Sussex and others, who dwelt more upon the law of nations and the
breach of hospitality, than, however softened or qualified, was agreeable to the
Queen's ear. Leicester adopted the contrary opinion with great animation and
eloquence, and described the necessity of continuing the severe restraint of the
Queen of Scots, as a measure essential to the safety of the kingdom, and
particularly of Elizabeth's sacred person, the lightest hair of whose head, he
maintained, ought, in their lordships' estimation, to be matter of more deep and
anxious concern, than the life and fortunes of a rival, who, after setting up a
vain and unjust pretence to the throne of England, was now, even while in the
bosom of her country, the constant hope and theme of encouragement to all
enemies to Elizabeth, - whether at home or abroad. He ended by craving pardon of
their lordships, if in the zeal of speech he had given any offence; but the
Queen's safety was a theme which hurried him beyond his usual moderation of
debate.
    Elizabeth chide him, but not severely, for the weight which he attached
unduly to her personal interest; yet she owned, that since it had been the
pleasure of Heaven to combine those interests with the weal of her subjects, she
did only her duty when she adopted such measures of self-preservation as
circumstances forced upon her; and if the council in their wisdom should be of
opinion, that it was needful to continue some restraint on the person of her
unhappy sister of Scotland, she trusted they would not blame her if she
requested of the Countess of Shrewsbury to use her with as much kindness as
might be consistent with her safe keeping. And with this intimation of her
pleasure, the council was dismissed.
    Never was more anxious and ready way made for »my Lord of Leicester,« than
as he passed through the crowded anterooms to go towards the river side, in
order to attend her Majesty to her barge - Never was the voice of the ushers
louder, to »make room - make room for the noble Earl« - Never were these signals
more promptly and reverentially obeyed - Never were more anxious eyes turned on
him to obtain a glance of favour, or even of mere recognition, while the heart
of many an humble follower throbbed betwixt the desire to offer his
congratulations, and the fear of intruding himself on the notice of one so
infinitely above him. The whole court considered the issue of this day's
audience, expected with so much doubt and anxiety, as a decisive triumph on the
part of Leicester, and felt assured that the orb of his rival satellite, if not
altogether obscured by his lustre, must revolve hereafter in a dimmer and more
distant sphere. So thought the court and courtiers, from high to low, and they
acted accordingly.
    On the other hand, never did Leicester return the general greeting with such
ready and condescending courtesy, or endeavour more successfully to gather (in
the words of one, who at that moment stood at no great distance from him)
»golden opinions from all sorts of men.«
    For all the favourite Earl had a bow, a smile at least, and often a kind
word. Most of these were addressed to courtiers, whose names have long gone down
the tide of oblivion; but some, to each as sound strangely in our ears, when
connected with the ordinary matters of human life, above which the gratitude of
posterity has long elevated them. A few of Leicester's interlocutory sentences
ran as follows: -
    »Poynings, good-morrow, and how does your wife and fair daughter? Why come
they not to court? - Adams, your suit is naught - the Queen will grant no more
monopolies - but I may serve you in another matter. - My good Alderman Aylford,
the suit of the city, affecting Queenhithe, shall be forwarded as far as my poor
interest can serve. - Master Edmund Spenser, touching your Irish petition, I
would willingly aid you, from my love to the Muses; but thou hast nettled the
Lord Treasurer.«
    »My Lord,« said the poet, »were I permitted to explain« -
    »Come to my lodging, Edmund,« answered the Earl - »not to-morrow, or next
day, but soon. - Ha, Will Shakespeare - wild Will! - thou hast given my nephew,
Philip Sydney, love-powder - he cannot sleep without thy Venus and Adonis under
his pillow! We will have thee hanged for the veriest wizard in Europe. Hark
thee, mad wag, I have not forgotten thy matter of the patent, and of the bears.«
    The player bowed, and the Earl nodded and passed on - so that age would have
told the tale - in ours, perhaps, we might say the immortal had done homage to
the mortal. The next whom the favourite accosted, was one of his own zealous
dependants.
    »How now, Sir Francis Denning,« he whispered, in answer to his exulting
salutation, »that smile hath made thy face shorter by one-third than when I
first saw it this morning. - What, Master Bowyer, stand you back, and think you
I bear malice? You did but your duty this morning; and, if I remember aught of
the passage betwixt us, it shall be in thy favour.«
    Then the Earl was approached, with several fantastic congees, by a person
quaintly dressed in a doublet of black velvet, curiously slashed and pinked with
crimson satin. A long cock's feather in the velvet bonnet, which he held in his
hand, and an enormous ruff, stiffened to the extremity of the absurd taste of
the times, joined with a sharp, lively, conceited expression of countenance,
seemed to body forth a vain, harebrained coxcomb, and small wit; while the rod
he held, and an assumption of royal authority, appeared to express some sense of
official consequence, which qualified the natural pertness of his manner. A
perpetual blush, which occupied rather the sharp nose than the thin cheek of
this personage, seemed to speak more of »good life,« as it was called, than of
modesty; and the manner in which he approached to the Earl confirmed that
suspicion.
    »Good even to you, Master Robert Laneham,« said Leicester, and seemed
desirous to pass forward without farther speech.
    »I have a suit to your noble lordship,« said the figure, boldly following
him.
    »And what is it, good master keeper of the council-chamber door?«
    »Clerk of the council-chamber door,« said Master Robert Laneham, with
emphasis, by way of reply, and of correction.
    »Well, qualify thine office as thou wilt, man,« replied the Earl; »what
wouldst thou have with me?«
    »Simply,« answered Laneham, »that your lordship would be, as heretofore, my
good lord, and procure me license to attend the Summer Progress unto your
lordship's most beautiful and all-to-be-unmatched Castle of Kenilworth.«
    »To what purpose, good Master Laneham?« replied the Earl; »bethink you my
guests must needs be many.«
    »Not so many,« replied the petitioner, »but that your nobleness will
willingly spare your old servitor his crib and his mess. Bethink you, my lord,
how necessary is this rod of mine, to fright away all those listeners, who else
would play at bo-peep with the honourable council, and be searching for
key-holes and crannies in the door of the chamber, so as to render my staff as
needful as a fly-flap in a butcher's shop.«
    »Methinks you have found out a fly-blown comparison for the honourable
council, Master Laneham,« said the Earl; »but seek not about to justify it. Come
to Kenilworth, if you list; there will be store of fools there besides, and so
you will be fitted.«
    »Nay, an there be fools, my lord,« replied Laneham, with much glee, »I
warrant I will make sport among them; for no greyhound loves to cote a hare, as
I to turn and course a fool. But I have another singular favour to beseech of
your honour.«
    »Speak it, and let me go,« said the Earl; »I think the Queen comes forth
instantly.«
    »My very good lord, I would fain bring a bed-fellow with me.«
    »How, you irreverent rascal!« said Leicester.
    »Nay, my lord, my meaning was within the canons,« answered his unblushing,
or rather his ever-blushing petitioner. »I have a wife as curious as her
grandmother, who ate the apple. Now, take her with me I may not, her Highness's
orders being so strict against the officers bringing with them their wives in a
progress, and so lumbering the court with womankind. But what I would crave of
your lordship is, to find room for her in some mummery, or pretty pageant, in
disguise, as it were; so that, not being known for my wife, there may be no
offence.«
    »The foul fiend seize ye both!« said Leicester, stung into uncontrollable
passion by the recollection which this speech excited - »Why stop you me with
such follies?«
    The terrified clerk of the chamber-door, astonished at the burst of
resentment he had so unconsciously produced, dropped his staff of office from
his hand, and gazed on the incensed Earl with a foolish face of wonder and
terror, which instantly recalled Leicester to himself.
    »I meant but to try if thou hadst the audacity which befits thine office,«
said he hastily. »Come to Kenilworth, and bring the devil with thee, if thou
wilt.«
    »My wife, sir, hath played the devil ere now, in a Mystery, in Queen Mary's
time - but we shall want a trifle for properties.«
    »Here is a crown for thee,« said the Earl, - »make me rid of thee - the
great bell rings.«
    Master Robert Laneham stared a moment at the agitation which he had excited,
and then said to himself, as he stooped to pick up his staff of office, »The
noble Earl runs wild humours to-day; but they who give crowns, expect us witty
fellows to wink at their unsettled starts; and, by my faith, if they paid not
for mercy, we would finger them tightly!«15
    Leicester moved hastily on, neglecting the courtesies he had hitherto
dispensed so liberally, and hurrying through the courtly crowd, until he paused
in a small withdrawing-room, into which he plunged to draw a moment's breath
unobserved, and in seclusion.
    »What am I now,« he said to himself, »that am thus jaded by the words of a
mean, weather-beaten, goose-brained gull! - Conscience, thou art a bloodhound,
whose growl wakes as readily at the paltry stir of a rat or mouse, as at the
step of a lion. - Can I not quit myself, by one bold stroke, of a state so
irksome, so unhonoured? What if I kneel to Elizabeth, and, owning the whole,
throw myself on her mercy?«
    As he pursued this train of thought, the door of the apartment opened, and
Varney rushed in.
    »Thank God, my lord, that I have found you!« was his exclamation.
    »Thank the devil, whose agent thou art,« was the Earl's reply.
    »Thank whom you will, my lord,« replied Varney; »but hasten to the
water-side. The Queen is on board, and asks for you.«
    »Go, say I am taken suddenly ill,« replied Leicester; »for, by Heaven, my
brain can sustain this no longer!«
    »I may well say so,« said Varney, with bitterness of expression, »for your
place, ay, and mine, who, as your master of the horse, was to have attended your
lordship, is already filled up in the Queen's barge. The new minion, Walter
Raleigh, and our old acquaintance, Tressilian, were called for to fill our
places just as I hastened away to seek you.«
    »Thou art a devil, Varney,« said Leicester hastily; »but thou hast the
mastery for the present - I follow thee.«
    Varney replied not, but led the way out of the palace, and towards the
river, while his master followed him, as if mechanically; until, looking back,
he said in a tone which savoured of familiarity at least, if not of authority,
»How is this, my lord? - your cloak hangs on one side, - your hose are unbraced
- permit me« -
    »Thou art a fool, Varney, as well as a knave,« said Leicester, shaking him
off, and rejecting his officious assistance; »we are best thus, sir - when we
require you to order our person, it is well, but now we want you not.«
    So saying, the Earl resumed at once his air of command, and with it his
self-possession - shook his dress into yet wilder disorder - passed before
Varney with the air of a superior and master, and in his turn led the way to the
river-side.
    The Queen's barge was on the very point of putting off; the seat allotted to
Leicester in the stern, and that to his master of the horse on the bow of the
boat, being already filled up. But on Leicester's approach there was a pause, as
if the bargemen anticipated some alteration in their company. The angry spot
was, however, on the Queen's cheek, as, in that cold tone with which superiors
endeavour to veil their internal agitation, while speaking to those before whom
it would be derogation to express it, she pronounced the chilling words - »We
have waited, my Lord of Leicester.«
    »Madam, and most gracious Princess,« said Leicester, »you, who can pardon so
many weaknesses which your own heart never knows, can best bestow your
commiseration on the agitations of the bosom, which, for a moment, affect both
head and limbs. - I came to your presence a doubting and an accused subject;
your goodness penetrated the clouds of defamation, and restored me to my honour,
and, what is yet dearer, to your favour - is it wonderful, though for me it is
most unhappy, that my master of the horse should have found me in a state which
scarce permitted me to make the exertion necessary to follow him to this place,
when one glance of your Highness, although, alas! an angry one, has had power to
do that for me, in which Esculapius might have failed?«
    »How is this?« said Elizabeth hastily, looking at Varney; »hath your lord
been ill?«
    »Something of a fainting fit,« answered the ready-witted Varney, »as your
Grace may observe from his present condition. My lord's haste would not permit
me leisure even to bring his dress into order.«
    »It matters not,« said Elizabeth, as she gazed on the noble face and form of
Leicester, to which even the strange mixture of passions by which he had been so
lately agitated gave additional interest; »make room for my noble lord - Your
place, Master Varney, has been filled up; you must find a seat in another
barge.«
    Varney bowed, and withdrew.
    »And you, too, our young Squire of the Cloak,« added she, looking at
Raleigh, »must, for the time, go to the barge of our ladies of honour. As for
Tressilian, he hath already suffered too much by the caprice of women, that I
should aggrieve him by my change of plan, so far as he is concerned.«
    Leicester seated himself in his place in the barge, and close to the
Sovereign; Raleigh rose to retire, and Tressilian would have been so ill-timed
in his courtesy as to offer to relinquish his own place to his friend, had not
the acute glance of Raleigh himself, who seemed now in his native element, made
him sensible, that so ready a disclamation of the royal favour might be
misinterpreted. He sate silent, therefore, whilst Raleigh, with a profound bow,
and a look of the deepest humiliation, was about to quit his place.
    A noble courtier, the gallant Lord Willoughby, read, as he thought,
something in the Queen's face, which seemed to pity Raleigh's real or assumed
semblance of mortification.
    »It is not for us old courtiers,« he said, »to hide the sunshine from the
young ones. I will, with her Majesty's leave, relinquish for an hour that which
her subjects hold dearest, the delight of her Highness's presence, and mortify
myself by walking in starlight, while I forsake for a brief season the glory of
Diana's own beams. I will take place in the boat which the ladies occupy, and
permit this young cavalier his hour of promised felicity.«
    The Queen replied, with an expression betwixt mirth and earnest, »If you are
so willing to leave us, my lord, we cannot help the mortification. But, under
favour, we do not trust you - old and experienced as you may deem yourself -
with the care of our young ladies of honour. Your venerable age, my lord,« she
continued, smiling, »may be better assorted with that of my Lord Treasurer, who
follows in the third boat, and by whose experience even my Lord Willoughby's may
be improved.«
    Lord Willoughby hid his disappointment under a smile - laughed, was
confused, bowed, and left the Queen's barge to go on board my Lord Burleigh's.
Leicester, who endeavoured to divert his thoughts from all internal reflection,
by fixing them on what was passing around, watched this circumstance among
others. But when the boat put off from the shore - when the music sounded from a
barge which accompanied them - when the shouts of the populace were heard from
the shore, and all reminded him of the situation in which he was placed, he
abstracted his thoughts and his feelings by a strong effort from everything but
the necessity of maintaining himself in the favour of his patroness, and exerted
his talents of pleasing captivation with such success, that the Queen,
alternately delighted with his conversation, and alarmed for his health, at
length imposed a temporary silence on him, with playful yet anxious care, lest
his flow of spirits should exhaust him.
    »My lords,« she said, »having passed for a time our edict of silence upon
our good Leicester, we will call you to counsel on a gamesome matter, more
fitted to be now treated of, amidst mirth and music, than in the gravity of our
ordinary deliberations. - Which of you, my lords,« said she, smiling, »know
aught of a petition from Orson Pinnit, the keeper, as he qualifies himself, of
our royal bears? Who stands godfather to his request?«
    »Marry, with your Grace's good permission, that do I,« said the Earl of
Sussex. - »Orson Pinnit was a stout soldier before he was so mangled by the
skenes of the Irish clan Mac-Donough, and I trust your Grace will be, as you
always have been, good mistress to your good and trusty servants.«
    »Surely,« said the Queen, »it is our purpose to be so, and in especial to
our poor soldiers and sailors, who hazard their lives for little pay. We would
give,« she said, with her eyes sparkling, »yonder royal palace of ours to be an
hospital for their use, rather than they should call their mistress ungrateful.
- But this is not the question,« she said, her voice, which had been awakened by
her patriotic feelings, once more subsiding into the tone of gay and easy
conversation; »for this Orson Pinnit's request goes something farther. He
complains, that amidst the extreme delight with which men haunt the play houses,
and in especial their eager desire for seeing the exhibitions of one Will
Shakespeare (whom, I think, my lords, we have all heard something of), the manly
amusement of bear-baiting is falling into comparative neglect; since men will
rather throng to see these roguish players kill each other in jest, than to see
our royal dogs and bears worry each other in bloody earnest - What say you to
this, my Lord of Sussex?«
    »Why, truly, gracious madam,« said Sussex, »you must expect little from an
old soldier like me in favour of battles in sport, when they are compared with
battles in earnest; and yet, by my faith, I wish Will Shakespeare no harm. He is
a stout man at quarter-staff, and single falchion, though, as I am told, a
halting fellow; and he stood, they say, a tough fight with the rangers of old
Sir Thomas Lucy of Charlecot, when he broke his deer-park and kissed his
keeper's daughter.«
    »I cry you mercy, my Lord of Sussex,« said Queen Elizabeth, interrupting
him; »that matter was heard in council, and we will not have this fellow's
offence exaggerated - there was no kissing in the matter, and the defendant hath
put the denial on record. But what say you to his present practice, my lord, on
the stage? for there lies the point, and not in any ways touching his former
errors, in breaking parks, or the other follies you speak of.«
    »Why, truly, madam,« replied Sussex, »as I said before, I wish the gamesome
mad fellow no injury. Some of his whoreson poetry (I crave your Grace's pardon
for such a phrase) has rung in mine ears as if the lines sounded to boot and
saddle. - But then it is all froth and folly - no substance or seriousness in
it, as your Grace has already well touched. - What are half-a-dozen knaves, with
rusty foils and tattered targets, making but a mere mockery of a stout fight, to
compare to the royal game of bear-baiting, which had been graced by your
Highness's countenance, and that of your royal predecessors, in this your
princely kingdom, famous for matchless mastiffs, and bold bearwards, over all
Christendom? Greatly is it to be doubted that the race of both will decay, if
men should throng to hear the lungs of an idle player belch forth nonsensical
bombast, instead of bestowing their pence in encouraging the bravest image of
war that can be shown in peace, and that is the sports of the bear-garden. There
you may see the bear lying at guard with his red pinky eyes, watching the onset
of the mastiff, like a wily captain, who maintains his defence that an assailant
may be tempted to venture within his danger. And then comes Sir Mastiff, like a
worthy champion, in full career at the throat of his adversary - and then shall
Sir Bruin teach him the reward for those who, in their over-courage, neglect the
policies of war, and, catching him in his arms, strain him to his breast like a
lusty wrestler, until rib after rib crack like the shot of a pistolet. And then
another mastiff, as bold, but with better aim and sounder judgment, catches Sir
Bruin by the nether-lip, and hangs fast, while he tosses about his blood and
slaver, and tries in vain to shake Sir Talbot from his hold. And then« -
    »Nay, by my honour, my lord,« said the Queen, laughing, »you have described
the whole so admirably, that, had we never seen a bear-baiting, as we have
beheld many, and hope, with Heaven's allowance, to see many more, your words
were sufficient to put the whole Bear-garden before our eyes - But come, who
speaks next in this case? - My Lord of Leicester, what say you?«
    »Am I then to consider myself as unmuzzled, please your Grace?« replied
Leicester.
    »Surely, my lord - that is, if you feel hearty enough to take part in our
game,« answered Elizabeth; »and yet, when I think of your cognisance of the bear
and ragged staff, methinks we had better hear some less partial orator.«
    »Nay, on my word, gracious Princess,« said the Earl, »though my brother
Ambrose of Warwick and I do carry the ancient cognisance 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 Marlowe,
Shakespeare, and other play artificers, work out their fanciful plots, as they
call them, the mind of the spectators is withdrawn from the conduct of their
rulers.«
    »We would not have the mind of our subjects withdrawn from the consideration
of our own conduct, my lord,« answered Elizabeth; »because, the more closely it
is examined, the true motives by which we are guided will appear the more
manifest.«
    »I have heard, however, madam,« said the Dean of St. Asaph's, an eminent
Puritan, »that these players are wont, in their plays, not only to introduce
profane and lewd expressions, tending to foster sin and harlotry, but even to
bellow out such reflections on government, its origin and its object, as tend to
render the subject discontented, and shake the solid foundations of civil
society. And it seems to be, under your Grace's favour, far less than safe to
permit these naughty foul-mouthed knaves to ridicule the godly for their decent
gravity, and in blaspheming Heaven, and slandering its earthly rulers, to set at
defiance the laws both of God and man.«
    »If we could think this were true, my lord,« said Elizabeth, »we should give
sharp correction for such offences. But it is ill arguing against the use of
anything from its abuse. And touching this Shakespeare, we think there is that in
his plays that is worth twenty Bear-gardens; and that this new undertaking of
his Chronicles, as he calls them, may entertain, with honest mirth, mingled with
useful instruction, not only our subjects, but even the generation which may
succeed to us.«
    »Your Majesty's reign will need no such feeble aid to make it remembered to
the latest posterity,« said Leicester. »And yet, in his way, Shakespeare hath so
touched some incidents of your Majesty's happy government, as may countervail
what has been spoken by his reverence the Dean of St. Asaph's. There are some
lines, for example, - I would my nephew, Philip Sidney were here, they are
scarce ever out of his mouth - they are spoken in a mad tale of fairies,
love-charms, and I wot not what besides; but beautiful they are, however short
they may and must fall of the subject to which they bear a bold relation - and
Philip murmurs them, I think, even in his dreams.«
    »You tantalise us, my lord,« said the Queen - »Master Philip Sidney is, we
know, a minion of the Muses, and we are pleased it should be so. Valour never
shines to more advantage than when united with the true taste and love of
letters. But surely there are some others among our young courtiers who can
recollect what your lordship has forgotten amid weightier affairs. - Master
Tressilian, you are described to me as a worshipper of Minerva - remember you
aught of these lines?«
    Tressilian's heart was too heavy, his prospects in life too fatally
blighted, to profit by the opportunity which the Queen thus offered to him of
attracting her attention, but he determined to transfer the advantage to his
more ambitious young friend; and, excusing himself on the score of want of
recollection, he added that he believed the beautiful verses, of which my Lord
of Leicester had spoken, were in the remembrance of Master Walter Raleigh.
    At the command of the Queen, that cavalier repeated, with accent and manner
which even added to their exquisite delicacy of tact and beauty of description,
the celebrated vision of Oberon: -
 
»That very time I saw (but thou couldst not),
Flying between the cold moon and the earth,
Cupid, all arm'd: a certain aim he took
At a fair vestal, throned by the west;
And loosed his love-shaft smartly from his bow,
As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts:
But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft
Quench'd in the chaste beams of the watery moon;
And the imperial vot'ress passed on,
In maiden meditation, fancy free.«
 
The voice of Raleigh, as he repeated the last lines, became a little tremulous,
as if diffident how the Sovereign to whom the homage was addressed might receive
it, exquisite as it was. If this diffidence was affected, it was good policy;
but if real, there was little occasion for it. The verses were not probably new
to the Queen, for when was ever such elegant flattery long in reaching the royal
ear to which it was addressed? But they were not the less welcome when repeated
by such a speaker as Raleigh. Alike delighted with the matter, the manner, and
the graceful form and animated countenance of the gallant young reciter,
Elizabeth kept time to every cadence, with look and with finger. When the
speaker had ceased, she murmured over the last lines as if scarce conscious that
she was overheard, and as she uttered the words,
 
»In maiden meditation, fancy free,«
 
she dropped into the Thames the supplication of Orson Pinnit, keeper of the royal
bears, to find more favourable acceptance at Sheerness, or wherever the tide
might waft it.
    Leicester was spurred to emulation by the success of the young courtier's
exhibition, as the veteran racer is roused when a high-mettled colt passes him
on the way. He turned the discourse on shows, banquets, pageants, and on the
character of those by whom these gay scenes were then frequented. He mixed acute
observation with light satire, in that just proportion which was free alike from
malignant slander and insipid praise. He mimicked with ready accent the manners
of the affected or the clownish, and made his own graceful tone and manner seem
doubly such when he resumed it. Foreign countries - their customs - their
manners - the rules of their courts - the fashions, and even the dress of their
ladies, were equally his theme; and seldom did he conclude without conveying
some compliment, always couched in delicacy, and expressed with propriety, to
the Virgin Queen, her court, and her government. Thus passed the conversation
during this pleasure voyage, seconded by the rest of the attendants upon the
royal person, in gay discourse, varied by remarks upon ancient classics and
modern authors, and enriched by maxims of deep policy and sound morality, by the
statesmen and sages who sate around, and mixed wisdom with the lighter talk of a
female court.
    When they returned to the palace, Elizabeth accepted, or rather selected,
the arm of Leicester, to support her from the stairs where they landed to the
great gate. It even seemed to him (though that might arise from the flattery of
his own imagination), that during this short passage, she leaned on him somewhat
more than the slipperiness of the way necessarily demanded. Certainly her
actions and words combined to express a degree of favour, which, even in his
proudest days, he had not till then attained. His rival, indeed, was repeatedly
graced by the Queen's notice; but it was in a manner that seemed to flow less
from spontaneous inclination, than as extorted by a sense of his merit. And, in
the opinion of many experienced courtiers, all the favour she showed him, was
overbalanced, by her whispering in the ear of the Lady Derby, that »now she saw
sickness was a better alchemist than she before wotted of, seeing it had changed
my lord of Sussex's copper nose into a golden one.«
    The jest transpired, and the Earl of Leicester enjoyed his triumph, as one
to whom court favour had been both the primary and the ultimate motive of life,
while he forgot, in the intoxication of the moment, the perplexities and dangers
of his own situation. Indeed, strange as it may appear, he thought less at that
moment of the perils arising from his secret union, than of the marks of grace
which Elizabeth from time to time showed to young Raleigh. They were indeed
transient, but they were conferred on one accomplished in mind and body, with
grace, gallantry, literature, and valour. An accident occurred in the course of
the evening which riveted Leicester's attention to this object.
    The nobles and courtiers who had attended the Queen on her pleasure
expedition, were invited, with royal hospitality, to a splendid banquet in the
hall of the palace. The table was not, indeed, graced by the presence of the
Sovereign; for, agreeable to her idea of what was at once modest and dignified,
the Maiden Queen, on such occasions, was wont to take in private, or with one or
two favourite ladies, her light and temperate meal. After a moderate interval,
the court again met in the splendid gardens of the palace; and it was while thus
engaged, that the Queen suddenly asked a lady, who was near to her both in place
and favour, what had become of the young Squire Lack-Cloak.
    The Lady Paget answered, »She had seen Mr. Raleigh but two or three minutes
since, standing at the window of a small pavilion or pleasure-house, which
looked out on the Thames, and writing on the glass with a diamond ring.«
    »That ring,« said the Queen, »was a small token I gave him, to make amends
for his spoiled mantle. Come, Paget, let us see what use he has made of it, for
I can see through him already. He is a marvellously sharp-witted spirit.«
    They went to the spot, within sight of which, but at some distance, the
young cavalier still lingered, as the fowler watches the net which he has set.
The Queen approached the window, on which Raleigh had used her gift to inscribe
the following line: -
 
»Fain would I climb, but that I fear to fall.«
 
The Queen smiled, read it twice over, once with deliberation to Lady Paget, and
once again to herself. »It is a pretty beginning,« she said, after the
consideration of a moment or two; »but methinks the muse hath deserted the young
wit, at the very outset of his task. It were good-natured - were it not, Lady
Paget, - to complete it for him? Try your rhyming faculties.«
    Lady Paget, prosaic from her cradle upwards, as ever any lady of the
bedchamber before or after her, disclaimed all possibility of assisting the
young poet.
    »Nay, then, we must sacrifice to the Muses ourselves,« said Elizabeth.
    »The incense of no one can be more acceptable,« said Lady Paget; »and your
Highness will impose such obligation on the ladies of Parnassus« -
    »Hush, Paget,« said the Queen, »you speak sacrilege against the immortal
Nine - yet, virgins themselves, they should be exorable to a Virgin Queen - and
therefore - let me see how runs his verse -
 
Fain would I climb, but that I fear to fall.
 
Might not the answer (for fault of a better) run thus? -
 
If thy mind fail thee, do not climb at all.«
 
The dame of honour uttered an exclamation of joy and surprise at so happy a
termination; and certainly a worse has been applauded, even when coming from a
less distinguished author.
    The Queen, thus encouraged, took off a diamond ring, and saying, »We will
give this gallant some cause of marvel, when he finds his couplet perfected
without his own interference,« she wrote her own line beneath that of Raleigh.
    The Queen left the pavilion - but retiring slowly, and often looking back,
she could see the young cavalier steal, with the flight of a lapwing, towards
the place where he had seen her make a pause; - »She stayed but to observe,« as
she said, »that her train had taken;« and then, laughing at the circumstance
with the Lady Paget, she took the way slowly towards the palace. Elizabeth, as
they returned, cautioned her companion not to mention to any one the aid which
she had given to the young poet - and Lady Paget promised scrupulous secrecy. It
is to be supposed, that she made a mental reservation in favour of Leicester, to
whom her ladyship transmitted without delay an anecdote so little calculated to
give him pleasure.
    Raleigh, in the meanwhile, stole back to the window, and read, with a
feeling of intoxication, the encouragement thus given him by the Queen in person
to follow out his ambitious career, and returned to Sussex and his retinue, then
on the point of embarking to go up the river, his heart beating high with
gratified pride, and with hope of future distinction.
    The reverence due to the person of the Earl prevented any notice being taken
of the reception he had met with at court, until they had landed, and the
household were assembled in the great hall at Say's Court; while that lord,
exhausted by his late illness, and the fatigues of the day, had retired to his
chamber, demanding the attendance of Wayland, his successful physician. Wayland,
however, was nowhere to be found; and, while some of the party were, with
military impatience, seeking him, and cursing his absence, the rest flocked
around Raleigh, to congratulate him on his prospects of court favour.
    He had the good taste and judgment to conceal the decisive circumstance of
the couplet, to which Elizabeth had deigned to find a rhyme; but other
circumstances had transpired which plainly intimated that he had made some
progress in the Queen's favour. All hastened to wish him joy on the mended
appearance of his fortune; some from real regard, some, perhaps, from hopes that
his preferment might hasten their own; and most from a mixture of these motives,
and a sense that the countenance shown to any one of Sussex's household, was in
fact a triumph to the whole. Raleigh returned the kindest thanks to them all,
disowning, with becoming modesty, that one day's fair reception made a
favourite, any more than one swallow a summer. But he observed that Blount did
not join in the general congratulation, and, somewhat hurt at his apparent
unkindness, he plainly asked him the reason.
    Blount replied with equal sincerity - »My good Walter, I wish thee as well
as do any of these chattering gulls, who are whistling and whooping gratulations
in thine ear, because it seems fair weather with thee. But I fear for thee,
Walter« (and he wiped his honest eye), »I fear for thee with all my heart. These
court tricks, and gambols, and flashes of fine women's favour, are the tricks
and trinkets that bring fair fortunes to farthings, and fine faces and witty
coxcombs to the acquaintance of dull block and sharp axes.«
    So saying, Blount arose and left the hall, while Raleigh looked after him
with an expression that blanked for a moment his bold and animated countenance.
    Stanley just then entered the hall, and said to Tressilian, »My lord is
calling for your fellow Wayland, and your fellow Wayland is just come hither in
a sculler, and is calling for you, nor will he go to my lord till he sees you.
The fellow looks as he were mazed methinks - I would you would see him
immediately.«
    Tressilian instantly left the hall, and causing Wayland Smith to be shown
into a withdrawing apartment, and lights placed, he conducted the artist
thither, and was surprised when he observed the emotion of his countenance.
    »What is the matter with you, Smith?« said Tressilian, »have you seen the
devil?«
    »Worse, sir, worse,« replied Wayland, »I have seen a basilisk. - Thank God,
I saw him first, for being so seen, and seeing not me, he will do the less
harm.«
    »In God's name, speak sense,« said Tressilian, »and say what you mean!«
    »I have seen my old master,« said the artist - »Last night, a friend, whom I
had acquired, took me to see the palace clock, judging me to be curious in such
works of art. At the window of a turret next to the clock-house I saw my old
master.«
    »Thou must have needs been mistaken,« said Tressilian.
    »I was not mistaken,« said Wayland - »He that once hath his features by
heart would know him amongst a million. He was anticly habited; but he cannot
disguise himself from me, God be praised, as I can from him. I will not,
however, tempt Providence by remaining within his ken. Tarleton the player
himself could not so disguise himself, but that, sooner or later, Doboobie would
find him out. I must away to-morrow; for, as we stand together, it were death to
me to remain within reach of him.«
    »But the Earl of Sussex?« said Tressilian.
    »He is in little danger from what he has hitherto taken, provided he swallow
the matter of a bean's size of the Orvietan every morning fasting - but let him
beware of a relapse.«
    »And how is that to be guarded against?« said Tressilian.
    »Only by such caution as you would use against the devil,« answered Wayland.
»Let my lord's clerk of the kitchen kill his lord's meat himself, and dress it
himself, using no spice but what he procures from the surest hands - Let the
sewer serve it up himself, and let the master of my lord's household see that
both clerk and sewer taste the dishes which the one dresses and the other
serves. Let my lord use no perfumes which come not from well accredited persons;
no unguents - no pomades. Let him on no account drink with strangers, or eat
fruit with them, either in the way of nooning or otherwise. Especially, let him
observe such caution if he goes to Kenilworth - the excuse of his illness, and
his being under diet, will, and must, cover the strangeness of such practice.«
    »And thou,« said Tressilian, »what dost thou think to make of thyself?«
    »France, Spain, either India, East or West, shall be my refuge,« said
Wayland, »ere I venture my life by residing within ken of Doboobie, Demetrius,
or whatever else he calls himself for the time.«
    »Well,« said Tressilian, »this happens not inopportunely - I had business
for you in Berkshire, - but in the opposite extremity to the place where thou
art known; and ere thou hadst found out this new reason for living private, I
had settled to send thee thither upon a secret embassage.«
    The artist expressed himself willing to receive his commands, and
Tressilian, knowing he was well acquainted with the outline of his business at
court, frankly explained to him the whole, mentioned the agreement which
subsisted betwixt Giles Gosling and him, and told what had that day been averred
in the presence-chamber by Varney, and supported by Leicester.
    »Thou seest,« he added, »that, in the circumstances in which I am placed, it
behoves me to keep a narrow watch on the motions of these unprincipled men,
Varney and his complices, Foster and Lambourne, as well as those of my Lord
Leicester himself, who, I suspect, is partly a deceiver, and not altogether the
deceived in that matter. Here is my ring, as a pledge to Giles Gosling - here is
besides gold, which shall be trebled if thou serve me faithfully. Away down to
Cumnor, and see what happens there.«
    »I go with double good-will,« said the artist, »first, because I serve your
honour, who has been so kind to me, and then, that I may escape my old master,
who, if not an absolute incarnation of the devil, has, at least, as much of the
demon about him, in will, word, and action, as ever polluted humanity. - And yet
let him take care of me. I fly him now, as heretofore; but if, like the Scottish
wild cattle,16 I am vexed by frequent pursuit, I may turn on him in hate and
desperation. - Will your honour command my nag to be saddled? I will but give
the medicine to my lord, divided in its proper proportions, with a few
instructions. His safety will then depend on the care of his friends and
domestics - for the past he is guarded, but let him beware of the future.«
    Wayland Smith accordingly made his farewell visit to the Earl of Sussex,
dictated instructions as to his regimen, and precautions concerning his diet,
and left Say's Court without waiting for morning.
 

                               Chapter Eighteenth

 -- The moment comes -
 It is already come - when thou must write
 The absolute total of thy life's vast sum.
 The constellations stand victorious o'er thee,
 The planets shoot good fortune in fair junctions,
 And tell thee, »Now's the time.«
                                           Schiller's Wallenstein, by Coleridge.
 
When Leicester returned to his lodging, 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.
    The Earl remained silent and almost motionless in his chair, his head
reclined on his hand, and his elbow resting upon the table which stood beside
him, without seeming to be conscious of the entrance, or of the presence, of his
confidant. Varney waited for some minutes until he should speak, desirous to
know what was the finally predominant mood of a mind, through which so many
powerful emotions had that day taken their course. But he waited in vain, for
Leicester continued still silent, and the confidant saw himself under the
necessity of being the first to speak. »May I congratulate your lordship,« he
said, »on the deserved superiority you have this day attained, over your most
formidable rival?«
    Leicester raised his head, and answered sadly, but without anger, »Thou,
Varney, whose ready invention has involved me in a web of most mean and perilous
falsehood, knows best what small reason there is for gratulation on the
subject.«
    »Do you blame me, my lord,« said Varney, »for not betraying, on the first
push, the secret on which your fortunes depended, and which you have so oft and
so earnestly recommended to my safe keeping? Your lordship was present in
person, and might have contradicted me and ruined yourself by an avowal of the
truth; but surely it was no part of a faithful servant to have done so without
your commands.«
    »I cannot deny it, Varney,« said the Earl, rising and walking across the
room; »my own ambition has been traitor to my love.«
    »Say rather, my lord, that your love has been traitor to your greatness, and
barred you from such a prospect of honour and power as the world cannot offer to
any other. To make my honoured lady a countess, you have missed the chance of
being yourself« -
    He paused and seemed unwilling to complete the sentence.
    »Of being myself what?« demanded Leicester; »speak out thy meaning, Varney.«
    »Of being yourself a KlNG, my lord,« replied Varney; »and King of England to
boot! - It is no treason to our Queen to say so. It would have chanced by her
obtaining that which all true subjects wish her - a lusty, noble, and gallant
husband.«
    »Thou ravest, Varney,« answered Leicester. »Besides, our times have seen
enough to make men loathe the Crown Matrimonial which men take from their wives'
lap. There was Darnley of Scotland.«
    »He!« said Varney; »a gull, a fool, a thrice sodden ass, who suffered
himself to be fired off into the air like a rocket on a rejoicing day. Had Mary
had the hap to have wedded the noble Earl, once destined to share her throne,
she had experienced a husband of different metal; and her husband had found in
her a wife as complying and loving as the mate of the meanest squire, who
follows the hounds a-horseback, and holds her husband's bridle as he mounts.«
    »It might have been as thou sayest, Varney,« said Leicester, a brief smile
of self-satisfaction passing over his anxious countenance. »Henry Darnley knew
little of women - with Mary, a man who knew her sex might have had some chance
of holding his own. But not with Elizabeth, Varney - for I think God, when he
gave her the heart of a woman, gave her the head of a man to control its
follies. - No, I know her. She will accept love-tokens, ay, and requite them
with the like - put sugared sonnets in her bosom, - ay, and answer them too -
push gallantry to the very verge where it becomes exchange of affection - but
she writes nil ultra to all which is to follow, and would not barter one iota of
her own supreme power for all the alphabet of both Cupid and Hymen.«
    »The better for you, my lord,« said Varney, »that is, in the case supposed,
if such be her disposition; since you think you cannot aspire to become her
husband. Her favourite you are, and may remain, if the lady at Cumnor Place
continues in her present obscurity.«
    »Poor Amy!« said Leicester, with a deep sigh; »she desires so earnestly to
be acknowledged in presence of God and man!«
    »Ay, but, my lord,« said Varney, »is her desire reasonable? - that is the
question. - Her religious scruples are solved - she is an honoured and beloved
wife - enjoying the society of her husband at such times as his weightier duties
permit him to afford her his company - What would she more? I am right sure that
a lady so gentle and so loving would consent to live her life through in a
certain obscurity - which is, after all, not dimmer than when she was at Lidcote
Hall - rather than diminish the least jot of her lord's honours and greatness by
a premature attempt to share them.«
    »There is something in what thou sayest,« said Leicester; »and her
appearance here were fatal - yet she must be seen at Kenilworth; Elizabeth will
not forget that she has so appointed.«
    »Let me sleep on that 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 farther commands for the night?«
    »I would be alone,« said Leicester. »Leave me, and place my steel casket on
the table. - Be within summons.«
    Varney retired - and the Earl, opening the window of his apartment, looked
out long and anxiously upon the brilliant host of stars which glimmered in the
splendour of a summer firmament. The words burst from him as at unawares - »I
had never more need that the heavenly bodies should befriend me, for my earthly
path is darkened and confused.«
    It is well known that the age reposed a deep confidence in the vain
predictions of judicial astrology, and Leicester, though exempt from the general
control of superstition, was not in this respect superior to his time; but, on
the contrary, was remarkable for the encouragement which he gave to the
professors of this pretended science. Indeed, the wish to pry into futurity, so
general among the human race, is peculiarly to be found amongst those who trade
in state mysteries, and the dangerous intrigues and cabals of courts. With
heedful precaution to see that it had not been opened, or its locks tampered
with, Leicester applied a key to the steel casket, and drew from it, first, a
parcel of gold pieces, which he put into a silk purse; then a parchment
inscribed with planetary signs, and the lines and calculations used in framing
horoscopes, on which he gazed intently for a few moments; and lastly, took forth
a large key, which, lifting aside the tapestry, he applied to a little concealed
door in the corner of the apartment, and opening it, disclosed a stair
constructed in the thickness of the wall.
    »Alasco,« said the Earl, with a voice raised, yet no higher raised than to
be heard by the inhabitant of the small turret to which the stair conducted -
»Alasco, I say, descend.«
    »I come, my lord,« answered a voice from above. The foot of an aged man was
heard slowly descending the narrow stair, and Alasco entered the Earl's
apartment. The astrologer was a little man, and seemed much advanced in age, for
his 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.
    »Your prognostications have failed, Alasco,« said the Earl, when they had
exchanged salutations - »He is recovering.«
    »My son,« replied the astrologer, »let me remind you, I warranted not his
death - nor is there any prognostication that can be derived from the heavenly
bodies, their aspects and their conjunctions, which is not liable to be
controlled by the will of Heaven. Astra regunt homines, sed regit astra Deus.«
    »Of what avail, then, is your mystery?« inquired the Earl.
    »Of much, my son,« replied the old man, »since it can show the natural and
probable course of events, although that course moves in subordination to a
Higher Power. Thus, in reviewing the horoscope which your lordship subjected to
my skill, you will observe that Saturn, being in the sixth House in opposition
to Mars, retrograde in the House of Life, cannot but denote long and dangerous
sickness, the issue whereof is in the will of Heaven, though death may probably
be inferred - Yet if I knew the name of the party, I would erect another
scheme.«
    »His name is a secret,« said the Earl; »yet I must own thy prognostication
hath not been unfaithful. He has been sick, and dangerously so, not however to
death. But hast thou again cast my horoscope as Varney directed thee, and art
thou prepared to say what the stars tell of my present fortune?«
    »My art stands at your command,« said the old man; »and here, my son, is the
map of thy fortunes, brilliant in aspect as ever beamed from those blessed signs
whereby our life is influenced, yet not unchequered with fears, difficulties,
and dangers.«
    »My lot were more than mortal were it otherwise,« said the Earl; »proceed,
father, and believe you speak with one ready to undergo his destiny in action
and in passion as may beseem a noble of England.«
    »Thy courage to do and to suffer must be wound up yet a strain higher,« said
the old man. »The stars intimate yet a prouder title, yet a higher rank. It is
for thee to guess their meaning, not for me to name it.«
    »Name it, I conjure you - name it, I command you,« said the Earl, his eyes
brightening as he spoke.
    »I may not, and I will not,« replied the old man. »The ire of princes is as
the wrath of the lion. But mark, and judge for thyself. Here Venus, ascendant in
the House of Life, and conjoined with Sol, showers down that flood of silver
light, blent with gold, which promises power, wealth, dignity - all that the
proud heart of man desires, and in such abundance, that never the future
Augustus of that old and mighty Rome heard from his Haruspices such a tale of
glory as from this rich text my lore might read to my favourite son.«
    »Thou dost but jest with me, father,« said the Earl, astonished at the
strain of enthusiasm is which the astrologer delivered his prediction.
    »Is it for him to jest who hath his eye on heaven, who hath his foot in the
grave?« returned the old man solemnly.
    The Earl made two or three strides through the apartment, with his hand
outstretched, as one who follows the beckoning signal of some phantom, waving
him on to deeds of high import. As he turned, however, he caught the eye of the
astrologer fixed on him, while an observing glance of the most shrewd
penetration shot from under the penthouse of his shaggy dark eyebrows.
Leicester's haughty and suspicious soul at once caught fire; he darted towards
the old man from the farther end of the lofty apartment, only standing still
when his extended hand was within a foot of the astrologer's body.
    »Wretch!« he said, »if you dare to palter with me I will have your skin
stripped from your living flesh! - Confess thou hast been hired to deceive and
to betray me - that thou art a cheat, and I thy silly prey and booty!«
    The old man exhibited some symptoms of emotion, but not more than the
furious deportment of his patron might have extorted from innocence itself.
    »What means this violence, my lord?« he answered, »or in what can I have
deserved it at your hands?«
    »Give me proof,« said the Earl vehemently, »that you have not tampered with
mine enemies.«
    »My lord,« replied the old man, with dignity, »you can have no better proof
than that which you yourself elected. In that turret I have spent the last
twenty-four hours, under the key which has been in your own custody. The hours
of darkness I have spent in gazing on the heavenly bodies with these dim eyes,
and during those of light I have toiled this aged brain to complete the
calculation arising from their combinations. Earthly food I have not tasted -
earthly voice I have not heard - you are yourself aware I had no means of doing
so - and yet I tell you - I who have been thus shut up in solitude and study -
that within these twenty-four hours your star has become predominant in the
horizon, and either the bright book of heaven speaks false, or there must have
been a proportionate revolution in your fortunes upon earth. If nothing has
happened within that space to secure your power, or advance your favour, then am
I indeed a cheat, and the divine art, which was first devised in the plains of
Chaldea, is a foul imposture.«
    »It is true,« said Leicester, after a moment's reflection, »thou wert
closely immured - and it is also true that the change has taken place in my
situation which thou sayest the horoscope indicates.«
    »Wherefore this distrust, then, my son?« said the astrologer, assuming a
tone of admonition; »the celestial intelligences brook not diffidence, even in
their favourites.«
    »Peace, father,« answered Leicester, »I have erred in doubting thee. Not to
mortal man, nor to celestial intelligence - under that which is supreme - will
Dudley's lips say more in condescension or apology. Speak rather to the present
purpose - Amid these bright promises, thou hast said there was a threatening
aspect - Can thy skill tell whence, or by whose means, such danger seems to
impend?«
    »Thus far only,« answered the astrologer, »does my art enable me to answer
your query. The infortune is threatened by the malignant and adverse aspect,
through means of a youth - and, as I think, a rival; but whether in love or in
prince's favour, I know not; nor can I give farther indication respecting him,
save that he comes from the western quarter.«
    »The western - ha!« replied Leicester, »it is enough - the tempest does
indeed brew in that quarter! - Cornwall and Devon - Raleigh and Tressilian - one
of them is indicated - I must beware of both - Father, if I have done thy skill
injustice, I will make thee a lordly recompense.«
    He took a purse of gold from the strong casket which stood before him. »Have
thou double the recompense which Varney promised. - Be faithful - be secret -
obey the directions thou shalt receive from my master of the horse, and grudge
not a little seclusion or restraint in my cause - it shall be richly considered.
- Here, Varney - conduct this venerable man to thine own lodging - tend him
heedfully in all things, but see that he holds communication with no one.«
    Varney bowed, and the astrologer kissed the Earl's hand in token of adieu,
and followed the master of the horse to another apartment, in which were placed
wine and refreshments for his use.
    The astrologer sat down to his repast, while Varney shut two doors with
great precaution, examined the tapestry, lest any listener lurked behind it; and
then, sitting down opposite to the sage, began to question him.
    »Saw you my signal from the court beneath?«
    »I did,« said Alasco, for by such name he was at present called, »and shaped
the horoscope accordingly.«
    »And it passed upon the patron without challenge?« continued Varney.
    »Not without challenge,« replied the old man, »but it did pass; and I added,
as before agreed, danger from a discovered secret, and a western youth.«
    »My lord's fear will stand sponsor to the one, and his conscience to the
other, of these prognostications,« replied Varney. »Sure never man chose to run
such a race as his, yet continued to retain those silly scruples! I am fain to
cheat him to his own profit. But touching your matters, sage interpreter of the
stars, I can tell you more of your own fortune than plan or figure can show. You
must be gone from hence forthwith.«
    »I will not,« said Alasco, peevishly. »I have been too much hurried up and
down of late - immured for day and night in a desolate turret-chamber - I must
enjoy my liberty, and pursue my studies, which are of more import than the fate
of fifty statesmen, and favourites, that rise and burst like bubbles in the
atmosphere of a court.«
    »At your pleasure,« said Varney, with a sneer that habit had rendered
familiar to his features, and which forms the principal characteristic which
painters have assigned to that of Satan - »At your pleasure,« he said; »you may
enjoy your liberty and your studies until the daggers of Sussex's followers are
clashing within your doublet, and against your ribs.« The old man turned pale,
and Varney proceeded. »Wot you not he hath offered a reward for the arch-quack
and poison-vender, Demetrius, who sold certain precious spices to his lordship's
cook? - What! turn you pale, old friend? Does Hali already see an infortune in
the House of Life? - Why, hark thee, we will have thee down to an old house of
mine in the country, where thou shalt live with a hob-nailed slave, whom thy
alchemy may convert into ducats, for to such conversion alone is thy art
serviceable.«
    »It is false, thou foul-mouthed railer,« said Alasco, shaking with impotent
anger; »it is well known that I have approached more nearly to projection than
any hermetic artist who now lives. There are not six chemists in the world who
possess so near an approximation to the grand arcanum« -
    »Come, come,« said Varney, interrupting him, »what means this, in the name
of heaven? Do we not know one another? I believe thee to be so perfect - so very
perfect in the mystery of cheating, that having imposed upon all mankind, thou
hast at length, in some measure, imposed upon thyself; and without ceasing to
dupe others, hast become a species of dupe to thine own imagination. Blush not
for it, man - thou art learned, and shalt have classical comfort: -
 
Ne quisquam Ajacem possit superare nisi Ajax.
 
No one but thyself could have gulled thee - and thou hast gulled the whole
brotherhood of the Rosy Cross beside - none so deep in the mystery as thou. But
hark thee in thine ear; had the seasoning which spiced Sussex's broth wrought
more surely, I would have thought better of the chemical science thou dost boast
so highly.«
    »Thou art a hardened villain, Varney,« replied Alasco; »many will do those
things, who dare not speak of them.«
    »And many speak of them who dare not do them,« answered Varney; »but be not
wroth - I will not quarrel with thee - If I did, I were fain to live on eggs for
a month, that I might feed without fear. Tell me at once, how came thine art to
fail thee at this great emergency?«
    »The Earl of Sussex's horoscope intimates,« replied the astrologer, »that
the sign of the ascendant being in combustion« -
    »Away with your gibberish,« replied Varney; »think'st thou it is the patron
thou speak'st with?«
    »I crave your pardon,« replied the old man, »and swear to you, I know but
one medicine that could have saved the Earl's life; and as no man living in
England knows that antidote save myself, moreover, as the ingredients, one of
them in particular, are scarce possible to be come by, I must needs suppose his
escape was owing to such a constitution of lungs and vital parts, as was never
before bound up in a body of clay.«
    »There was some talk of a quack who waited upon him,« said Varney, after a
moment's reflection. »Are you sure there is no one in England who has this
secret of thine?«
    »One man there was,« said the doctor, »once my servant, who might have
stolen this of me, with one or two other secrets of art. But content you, Master
Varney, it is no part of my policy to suffer such interlopers to interfere in my
trade. He pries into no mysteries more, I warrant you; for, as I well believe,
he hath been wafted to heaven on the wing of a fiery dragon - Peace be with him!
- But in this retreat of mine, shall I have the use of mine elaboratory?«
    »Of a whole workshop, man,« said Varney: »for a reverend father Abbot, who
was fain to give place to bluff King Hal, and some of his courtiers, a score of
years since, had a chemist's complete apparatus, which he was obliged to leave
behind him to his successors. Thou shalt there occupy, and melt, and puff, and
blaze, and multiply, until the Green Dragon become a golden goose, or whatever
the newer phrase of the brotherhood may testify.«
    »Thou art right, Master Varney,« said the alchemist, setting his teeth
close, and grinding them together - »thou art right even in thy very contempt of
right and reason. For what thou sayest in mockery, may in sober verity chance to
happen ere we meet again. If the most venerable sages of ancient days have
spoken the truth - if the most learned of our own have rightly received it - If
I have been accepted wherever I travelled in Germany, in Poland, in Italy, and
in the farther Tartary, as one to whom nature has unveiled her darkest secrets -
If I have acquired the most secret signs and passwords of the Jewish Cabala, so
that the greyest beard in the synagogue would brush the steps to make them clean
for me - if all this is so, and if there remains but one step - one little step
- betwixt my long, deep, and dark, and subterranean progress, and that blaze of
light which shall show Nature watching her richest and her most glorious
productions in the very cradle - one step betwixt dependence and the power of
sovereignty - one step betwixt poverty and such a sum of wealth as earth,
without that noble secret, cannot minister from all her mines in the old or the
new-found world - if this be all so, is it not reasonable that to this I
dedicate my future life, secure, for a brief period of studious patience, to
rise above the mean dependence upon favourites, and their favourites, by which I
am now enthralled!«
    »Now, bravo! Bravo! my good father,« said Varney, with the usual sardonic
expression of ridicule on his countenance; »yet all this approximation to the
philosopher's stone wringeth not one single crown out of my Lord Leicester's
pouch, and far less out of Richard Varney's - We must have earthly and
substantial services, man, and care not whom else thou canst delude with thy
philosophical charlatanry.«
    »My son, Varney,« said the alchemist, »the unbelief, gathered around thee
like a frost fog, hath dimmed thine acute perception to that which is a
stumbling-block to the wise, and which yet, to him who seeketh knowledge with
humility, extends a lesson so clear, that he who runs may read. Hath not Art,
think'st thou, the means of completing Nature's imperfect concoctions in her
attempts to form the precious metals, even as by art we can perfect those other
operations, of incubation, distillation, fermentation, and similar processes of
an ordinary description, by which we extract life itself out of a senseless egg,
summon purity and vitality out of muddy dregs, or call into vivacity the inert
substance of a sluggish liquid?«
    »I have heard all this before,« said Varney, »and my heart is proof against
such cant ever since I sent twenty good gold pieces (marry it was in the nonage
of my wit) to advance the grand magisterium, all which, God help the while,
vanished in fumo. Since that moment, when I paid for my freedom, I defy
chemistry, astrology, palmistry, and every other occult art, were it as secret
as hell itself, to unloose the stricture of my purse-strings. Marry, I neither
defy the manna of Saint Nicholas, nor can I dispense with it. Thy first task
must be to prepare some when thou getst down to my little sequestered retreat
yonder, and then make as much gold as thou wilt.«
    »I will make no more of that dose,« replied the alchemist resolutely.
    »Then,« said the master of the horse, »thou shalt be hanged for what thou
hast made already, and so were the great secret for ever lost to mankind. - Do
not humanity this injustice, good father, but e'en bend to thy destiny, and make
us an ounce or two of this same stuff, which cannot prejudice above one or two
individuals, in order to gain life-time to discover the universal medicine,
which shall clear away all mortal diseases at once. But cheer up, thou grave,
learned, and most melancholy jackanape! Hast thou not told me, that a moderate
portion of thy drug hath mild effects, no ways ultimately dangerous to the human
frame, but which produces depression of spirits, nausea, headache, an
unwillingness to change of place - even such a state of temper as would keep a
bird from flying out of a cage, were the door left open?«
    »I have said so, and it is true,« said the alchemist; »this effect will it
produce, and the bird who partakes of it in such proportion, shall sit for a
season drooping on her perch, without thinking of the free blue sky, or of the
fair greenwood, though the one be lighted by the rays of the rising sun, and the
other ringing with the newly-awakened song of all the feathered inhabitants of
the forest.«
    »And this without danger to life?« said Varney, somewhat anxiously.
    »Ay, so that proportion and measure be not exceeded; and so that one who
knows the nature of the manna be ever near to watch the symptoms, and succour in
case of need.«
    »Thou shalt regulate the whole,« said Varney; »thy reward shall be princely,
if thou keep'st time and touch, and exceedest not the due proportion, to the
prejudice of her health - otherwise thy punishment shall be as signal.«
    »The prejudice of her health!« repeated Alasco; »it is, then, a woman I am
to use my skill upon?«
    »No, thou fool,« replied Varney; »said I not it was a bird - a reclaimed
linnet, whose pipe might soothe a hawk when in mid stoop? - I see thine eyes
sparkle, and I know thy beard is not altogether so white as art has made it -
that, at least, thou hast been able to transmute to silver. But mark me, this is
no mate for thee. This caged bird is dear to one who brooks no rivalry, and far
less such rivalry as thine, and her health must over all things be cared for.
But she is in the case of being commanded down to yonder Kenilworth revels; and
it is most expedient - most needful - most necessary, that she fly not thither.
Of these necessities and their causes, it is not needful that she should know
aught, and it is to be thought that her own wish may lead her to combat all
ordinary reasons which can be urged for her remaining a housekeeper.«
    »That is but natural,« said the alchemist, with a strange smile, which yet
bore a greater reference to the human character, than the uninterested and
abstracted gaze which his physiognomy had hitherto expressed, where all seemed
to refer to some world distant from that which was existing around him.
    »It is so,« answered Varney; »you understand women well, though it may have
been long since you were conversant amongst them. - Well, then, she is not to be
contradicted - yet she is not to be humoured. Understand me - a slight illness,
sufficient to take away the desire of removing from thence, and to make such of
your wise fraternity as may be called in to aid, recommend a quiet residence at
home, will, in one word, be esteemed good service, and remunerated as such.«
    »I am not to be asked to affect the House of Life?« said the chemist.
    »On the contrary, we will have thee hanged if thou dost,« replied Varney.
    »And I must,« added Alasco, »have opportunity to do my turn, and all
facilities for concealment or escape, should there be detection?«
    »All, all, and everything, thou infidel in all but the impossibilities of
alchemy. - Why, man, for what dost thou take me?«
    The old man rose, and taking a light, walked towards the end of the
apartment, where was a door that led to the small sleeping room destined for his
reception during the night. - At the door he turned round, and slowly repeated
Varney's question ere he answered it. »For what do I take thee, Richard Varney?
- Why, for a worse devil than I have been myself. But I am in your toils, and I
must serve you till my term be out.«
    »Well, well,« answered Varney, hastily, »be stirring with grey light. It may
be we shall not need thy medicine - Do nought till I myself come down - Michael
Lambourne shall guide you to the place of your destination.«17
    When Varney heard the adept's door shut and carefully bolted within, he
stepped towards it, and with similar precaution carefully locked it on the
outside, and took the key from the lock, muttering to himself, »Worse than thee,
thou poisoning quacksalver and witch-monger, who, if thou art not a bounden
slave to the devil, it is only because he disdains such an apprentice! I am a
mortal man, and seek by mortal means the gratification of my passions and
advancement of my prospects - Thou art a vassal of hell itself. - So ho,
Lambourne!« he called at another door, and Michael made his appearance with a
flushed cheek and an unsteady step.
    »Thou art drunk, thou villain!« said Varney to him.
    »Doubtless, noble sir,« replied the unabashed Michael, »we have been
drinking all even to the glories of the day, and to my noble Lord of Leicester,
and his valiant master of the horse. - Drunk! odds blades and poniards, he that
would refuse to swallow a dozen healths on such an evening, is a base besognio,
and a puckfoist, and shall swallow six inches of my dagger!«
    »Hark ye, scoundrel,« said Varney, »be sober on the instant - I command
thee. I know thou canst throw off thy drunken folly, like a fool's coat, at
pleasure; and if not, it were the worse for thee.«
    Lambourne drooped his head, left the apartment, and returned in two or three
minutes, with his face composed, his hair adjusted, his dress in order, and
exhibiting as great a difference from his former self as if the whole man had
been changed.
    »Art thou sober now, and dost thou comprehend me?« said Varney, sternly.
    Lambourne bowed in acquiescence.
    »Thou must presently down to Cumnor Place with the reverend man of art, who
sleeps yonder in the little vaulted chamber. Here is the key, that thou mayst
call him by times. Take another trusty fellow with you. Use him well on the
journey, but let him not escape you - pistol him if he attempt it, and I will be
your warrant. I will give thee letters to Foster. The doctor is to occupy the
lower apartments of the eastern quadrangle, with freedom to use the old
elaboratory and its implements. - He is to have no access to the lady but such
as I shall point out - only she may be amused to see his philosophical jugglery.
Thou wilt await at Cumnor Place my farther orders; and as thou livest, beware of
the ale-bench and the aquavitæ flask. Each breath drawn in Cumnor Place must be
kept severed from common air.«
    »Enough, my Lord - I mean my worshipful master - soon, I trust, to be my
worshipful knightly master. You have given me my lesson and my license; I will
execute the one, and not abuse the other. I will be in the saddle by daybreak.«
    »Do so, and deserve favour. - Stay - ere thou goest fill me a cup of wine -
not out of that flask, sirrah,« - as Lambourne was pouring out from that which
Alasco had left half finished, »fetch me a fresh one.«
    Lambourne obeyed, and Varney, after rinsing his mouth with the liquor, drank
a full cup, and said, as he took up a lamp, to retreat to his sleeping
apartment, »It is strange - I am as little the slave of fancy as any one, yet I
never speak for a few minutes with this fellow Alasco, but my mouth and lungs
feel as if soiled with the fumes of calcined arsenic - pah!«
    So saying, he left the apartment. Lambourne lingered, to drink a cup of the
freshly opened flask. »It is from Saint-John's-Berg,« he said, as he paused in
the draught to enjoy its flavour, »and has the true relish of the violet. But I
must forbear it now, that I may one day drink it at my own pleasure.« And he
quaffed a goblet of water to quench the fumes of the Rhenish wine, retired
slowly towards the door, made a pause, and then, finding the temptation
irresistible, walked hastily back, and took another long pull at the wine flask,
without the formality of a cup.
    »Were it not for this accursed custom,« he said, »I might climb as high as
Varney himself. But who can climb when the room turns round with him like a
parish-top? I would the distance were greater, or the road rougher, betwixt my
hand and mouth! - But I will drink nothing to-morrow save water - nothing save
fair water.«
 

                               Chapter Nineteenth

 Pistol. - And tidings do I bring, and lucky joys,
 And happy news of price.
 Falstaff. - I prithee now deliver them like to men of this world.
 Pistol. - A foutra for the world, and worldlings base!
 I speak of Africa, and golden joys
                                                               Henry IV. Part 2.
 
The public room of the Black Bear at Cumnor, to which the scene of our story now
returns, boasted, on the evening which we treat of, no ordinary assemblage of
guests. There had been a fair in the neighbourhood, and the cutting mercer of
Abingdon, with some of the other personages whom the reader has already been
made acquainted with, as friends and customers of Giles Gosling, had already
formed their wonted circle around the evening fire, and were talking over the
news of the day.
    A lively, bustling, arch fellow, whose pack and oaken ell wand, studded duly
with brass points, denoted him to be of Autolycus's profession, occupied a good
deal of the attention, and furnished much of the amusement, of the evening. The
pedlars of those days, it must be remembered, were men of far greater importance
than the degenerate and degraded hawkers of our modern times. It was by means of
these peripatetic venders that the country trade, in the finer manufactures used
in female dress particularly, was almost entirely carried on; and if a merchant
of this description arrived at the dignity of travelling with a pack-horse, he
was a person of no small consequence, and company for the most substantial
yeoman or Franklin whom he might meet in his wanderings.
    The pedlar of whom we speak bore, accordingly, an active and unrebuked share
in the merriment to which the rafters of the bonny Black Bear of Cumnor
resounded. He had his smile with pretty Mistress Cicely, his broad laugh with
mine host, and his jest upon dashing Master Goldthred, who, though indeed
without any such benevolent intention on his own part, was the general butt of
the evening. The pedlar and he were closely engaged in a dispute upon the
preference due to the Spanish nether-stock over the black Gascoigne hose, and
mine host had just winked to the guests around him, as who should say, »You will
have mirth presently, my masters,« when the trampling of horses was heard in the
courtyard, and the hostler was loudly summoned, with a few of the newest oaths
then in vogue, to add force to the invocation. Out tumbled Will Hostler, John
Tapster, and all the militia of the inn, who had slunk from their posts in order
to collect some scattered crumbs of the mirth which was flying about among the
customers. Out into the yard sallied mine host himself also, to do fitting
salutation to his new guests; and presently returned, ushering into the
apartment his own worthy nephew, Michael Lambourne, pretty tolerably drunk, and
having under his escort the astrologer. Alasco, though still a little old man,
had, by altering his gown to a riding-dress, trimming his beard and eyebrows,
and so forth, struck at least a score of years from his apparent age, and might
now seem an active man of sixty, or little upwards. He appeared at present
exceedingly anxious, and had insisted much with Lambourne that they should not
enter the inn, but go straight forward to the place of their destination. But
Lambourne would not be controlled. »By Cancer and Capricorn,« he vociferated,
»and the whole heavenly host - besides all the stars that these blessed eyes of
mine have seen sparkle in the southern heavens, to which these northern blinkers
are but farthing candles, I will be unkindly for no one's humour - I will stay
and salute my worthy uncle here. - Chesu! that good blood should ever be
forgotten betwixt friends! - A gallon of your best, uncle, and let it go round
to the health of the noble Earl of Liecester! - What! shall we not collogue
together, and warm the cockles of our ancient kindness? - Shall we not collogue,
I say?«
    »With all my heart, kinsman,« said mine host, who obviously wished to be rid
of him; »but are you to stand shot to all this good liquor?«
    This is a question has quelled many a jovial toper, but it moved not the
purpose of Lambourne's soul. »Question my means, nuncle!« he said, producing a
handful of mixed gold and silver pieces; »Question Mexico and Peru - question
the Queen's exchequer - God save her Majesty! - She is my good Lord's good
mistress.«
    »Well, kinsman,« said mine host, »it is my business to sell wine to those
who can buy it - So, Jack Tapster, do me thine office. - But I would I knew how
to come by money as lightly as thou dost, Mike.«
    »Why, uncle,« said Lambourne, »I will tell thee a secret - Dost see this
little old fellow here? as old and withered a chip as ever the devil put into
his porridge - and yet, uncle, between you and me - he hath Potosi in that brain
of his - 'Sblood! he can coin ducats faster than I can vent oaths.«
    »I will have none of his coinage in my purse though, Michael,« said mine
host; »I know what belongs to falsifying the Queen's coin.«
    »Thou art an ass, uncle, for as old as thou art - Pull me not by the skirts,
doctor, thou art an ass thyself to boot - so, being both asses, I tell ye I
spoke but metaphorically.«
    »Are you mad?« said the old man; »is the devil in you? - can you not let us
begone without drawing all men's eyes on us?«
    »Say'st thou?« said Lambourne; »thou art deceived now - no man shall see you
an I give the word. - By heavens, masters, an any one dare to look on this old
gentleman, I will slash the eyes out of his head with my poniard! - So sit down,
old friend, and be merry - these are mine ingles - mine ancient inmates, and
will betray no man.«
    »Had you not better withdraw to a private apartment, nephew?« said Giles
Gosling; »you speak strange matter,« he added, »and there be intelligencers
everywhere.«
    »I care not for them,« said the magnanimous Michael - »intelligencers?
pshaw! - I serve the noble Earl of Leicester - Here comes the wine - Fill round,
Master Skinker, a carouse to the health of the flower of England, the noble Earl
of Leicester! I say, the noble Earl of Leicester! He that does me not reason is
a swine of Sussex, and I'll make him kneel to the pledge, if I should cut his
hams, and smoke them for bacon.«
    None disputed a pledge given under such formidable penalties; and Michael
Lambourne, whose drunken humour was not of course diminished by this new
potation, went on in the same wild way, renewing his acquaintance with such of
the guests as he had formerly known, and experiencing a reception in which there
was now something of deference, mingled with a good deal of fear; for the least
servitor of the favourite Earl, especially such a man as Lambourne, was, for
very sufficient reasons, an object both of the one and of the other.
    In the meanwhile, the old man, seeing his guide in this uncontrollable
humour, ceased to remonstrate with him, and sitting down in the most obscure
corner of the room, called for a small measure of sack, over which he seemed, as
it were, to slumber, withdrawing himself as much as possible from general
observation, and doing nothing which could recall his existence to the
recollection of his fellow-traveller, who by this time had got into close
intimacy with his ancient comrade, Goldthred of Abingdon.
    »Never believe me, bully Mike,« said the mercer, »if I am not as glad to see
thee as ever I was to see a customer's money! - Why, thou canst give a friend a
sly place at a mask or a revel now, Mike; ay, or I warrant thee, thou canst say
in my lord's ear, when my honourable lord is down in these parts, and wants a
Spanish ruff or the like - thou canst say in his ear, There is mine old friend,
young Lawrence Goldthred of Abingdon, has as good wares, lawn, tiffany, cambric,
and so forth - ay, and is as pretty a piece of man's flesh, too, as is in
Berkshire, and will ruffle it for your lordship with any man of his inches; and
thou mayst say« -
    »I can say a hundred d-d lies, besides, mercer,« answered Lambourne; »what,
one must not stand upon a good word for a friend!«
    »Here is to thee, Mike, with all my heart,« said the mercer; »and thou canst
tell one the reality of the new fashions too - Here was a rogue pedlar but now,
was crying up the old-fashioned Spanish nether-stock over the Gascoigne hose,
although thou seest how well the French hose set off the leg and knee, being
adorned with parti-coloured garters and garniture in conformity.«
    »Excellent, excellent,« replied Lambourne; »why, thy limber bit of a thigh,
thrust through that bunch of slashed buckram and tiffany, shows like a
housewife's distaff, when the flax is half spun off!«
    »Said I not so?« said the mercer, whose shallow brain was now overflowed in
his turn; »where then, where be this rascal pedlar? - there was a pedlar here
but now, methinks - Mine host, where the foul fiend is this pedlar?«
    »Where wise men should be, Master Goldthred,« replied Giles Gosling; »even
shut up in his private chamber, telling over the sales of to-day, and preparing
for the custom of to-morrow.«
    »Hang him, a mechanical chuff!« said the mercer; »but for shame, it were a
good deed to ease him of his wares, - a set of peddling knaves, who stroll
through the land, and hurt the established trader. There are good fellows in
Berkshire yet, mine host - your pedlar may be met withal on Maiden Castle.«
    »Ay,« replied mine host, laughing, »and he who meets him may meet his match
- the pedlar is a tall man.«
    »Is he?« said Goldthred.
    »Is he?« replied the host; »ay, by cock and pie is he - the very pedlar, he
who raddled Robin Hood so tightly, as the song says, -
 
Now Robin Hood drew his sword so good,
The pedlar drew his brand,
And he hath raddled him Robin Hood,
Till he neither could see nor stand.«
 
»Hang him, foul scroyle, let him pass,« said the mercer; »if he be such a one,
there were small worship to be won upon him. - And now tell me, Mike - my honest
Mike, how wears the Hollands you won of me?«
    »Why, well, as you may see, Master Goldthred,« answered Mike; »I will bestow
a pot on thee for the handsel. Fill the flagon, Master Tapster.«
    »Thou wilt win no more Hollands, I think, on such wager, friend Mike,« said
the mercer; »for the sulky swain, Tony Foster, rails at thee all to nought, and
swears you shall ne'er darken his doors again, for that your oaths are enough to
blow the roof off a Christian man's dwelling.«
    »Doth he say so, the mincing hypocritical miser?« vociferated Lambourne; -
»Why, then, he shall come down and receive my commands here, this blessed night,
under my uncle's roof! And I will ring him such a black sanctus, that he shall
think the devil hath him by the skirts for a month to come, for barely hearing
me.«
    »Nay, now the pottle-pot is uppermost, with a witness!« said the mercer.
»Tony Foster obey thy whistle! - Alas! good Mike, go sleep - go sleep.«
    »I tell thee what, thou thin-faced gull,« said Michael Lambourne, in high
chafe, »I will wager thee fifty angels against the first five shelves of thy
shop, numbering upward from the false light, with all that is on them, that I
make Tony Foster come down to this public house before we have finished three
rounds.«
    »I will lay no bet to that amount,« said the mercer, something sobered by an
offer which intimated rather too private a knowledge, on Lambourne's part, of
the secret recesses of his shop, »I will lay no such wager,« he said; »but I
will stake five angels against thy five, if thou wilt, that Tony Foster will not
leave his own roof, or come to ale-house after prayer time, for thee, or any
man.«
    »Content,« said Lambourne. - »Here, uncle, hold stakes, and let one of your
young bleed-barrels here - one of your infant tapsters, trip presently up to The
Place, and give this letter to Master Foster, and say that I, his ingle, Michael
Lambourne, pray to speak with him at mine uncle's castle here, upon business of
grave import. - Away with thee, child, for it is now sun-down, and the wretch
goeth to bed with the birds to save mutton-suet - faugh!«
    Shortly after this messenger was despatched - an interval which was spent in
drinking and buffoonery - he returned with the answer, that Master Foster was
coming presently.
    »Won, won!« said Lambourne, darting on the stake.
    »Not till he comes, if you please,« said the mercer, interfering.
    »Why, 'sblood, he is at the threshold,« replied Michael. - »What said he,
boy?«
    »If it please your worship,« answered the messenger, »he looked out of
window, with a musquetoon in his hand, and when I delivered your errand, which I
did with fear and trembling, he said, with a vinegar aspect, that your worship
might be gone to the infernal regions.«
    »Or to hell, I suppose,« said Lambourne - »it is there he disposes of all
that are not of the congregation.«
    »Even so,« said the boy; »I used the other phrase as being the more
poetical.«
    »An ingenious youth!« said Michael; »shalt have a drop to whet thy poetical
whistle - And what said Foster next?«
    »He called me back,« answered the boy, »and bid me say, you might come to
him, if you had aught to say to him.«
    »And what next?« said Lambourne.
    »He read the letter, and seemed in a fluster, and asked if your worship was
in drink - and I said you were speaking a little Spanish, as one who had been in
the Canaries.«
    »Out, you diminutive pint-pot, whelped of an overgrown reckoning!« replied
Lambourne - »Out! - But what said he then?«
    »Why,« said the boy, »he muttered, that if he came not, your worship would
bolt out what were better kept in; and so he took his old flat cap, and
threadbare blue cloak, and, as I said before, he will be here incontinent.«
    »There is truth in what he said,« replied Lambourne, as if speaking to
himself - »My brain has played me its old dog's trick - but couragio - let him
approach! - I have not rolled about in the world for many a day, to fear Tony
Foster, be I drunk or sober. - Bring me a flagon of cold water, to christen my
sack withal.«
    While Lambourne, whom the approach of Foster seemed to have recalled to a
sense of his own condition, was busied in preparing to receive him, Giles
Gosling stole up to the apartment of the pedlar, whom he found traversing the
room in much agitation.
    »You withdrew yourself suddenly from the company,« said the landlord to the
guest.
    »It was time, when the devil became one among you,« replied the pedlar.
    »It is not courteous in you to term my nephew by such a name,« said Gosling,
»nor is it kindly in me to reply to it; and yet in some sort, Mike may be
considered as a limb of Satan.«
    »Pooh - I talk not of the swaggering ruffian,« replied the pedlar, »it is of
the other, who, for aught I know - But when go they? or wherefore come they?«
    »Marry, these are questions I cannot answer,« replied the host. »But look
you, sir, you have brought me a token from worthy Master Tressilian - a pretty
stone it is.« He took out the ring, and looked at it, adding, as he put it into
his purse again, that it was too rich a guerdon for anything he could do for the
worthy donor. He was, he said, in the public line, and it ill became him to be
too inquisitive into other folk's concerns; he had already said, that he could
hear nothing, but that the lady lived still at Cumnor Place, in the closest
seclusion, and, to such as by chance had a view of her, seemed pensive and
discontented with her solitude. »But here,« he said, »if you are desirous to
gratify your master, is the rarest chance that hath occurred for this many a
day. Tony Foster is coming down hither, and it is but letting Mike Lambourne
smell another wine-flask, and the Queen's command would not move him from the
ale-bench. So they are fast for an hour or so - Now, if you will don your pack,
which will be your best excuse, you may, perchance, win the ear of the old
servant, being assured of the master's absence, to let you try to get some
custom of the lady, and then you may learn more of her condition than I or any
other can tell you.«
    »True - very true,« answered Wayland, for he it was; »an excellent device,
but methinks something dangerous - for, say Foster should return?«
    »Very possible indeed,« replied the host.
    »Or say,« continued Wayland, »the lady should render me cold thanks for my
exertions?«
    »As is not unlikely,« replied Giles Gosling. »I marvel Master Tressilian
will take such heed of her that cares not for him.«
    »In either case I were foully sped,« said Wayland; »and therefore I do not,
on the whole, much relish your device.«
    »Nay, but take me with you, good master serving-man,« replied mine host;
»this is your master's business and not mine;
    you best know the risk to be encountered, or how far you are willing to
brave it. But that which you will not yourself hazard, you cannot expect others
to risk.«
    »Hold, hold,« said Wayland; »tell me but one thing - Goes yonder old man up
to Cumnor?«
    »Surely, I think so,« said the landlord; »their servant said he was to take
their baggage thither, but the ale-tap has been as potent for him as the
sack-spigot has been for Michael.«
    »It is enough,« said Wayland, assuming an air of resolution - »I will thwart
that old villain's projects - my affright at his baleful aspect begins to abate,
and my hatred to arise. Help me on with my pack, good mine host - And look to
thyself, old Albumazar - there is a malignant influence in thy horoscope, and it
gleams from the constellation Ursa Major.«
    So saying, he assumed his burden, and, guided by the landlord through the
postern gate of the Black Bear, took the most private way from thence up to
Cumnor Place.
 

                               Chapter Twentieth

            Clown: - You have of these pedlars, that have more in 'em than you'd
            think, sister.
                                                 Winter's Tale, Act IV. Scene 3.
 
In his anxiety to obey the Earl's repeated charges of secrecy, as well as from
his own unsocial and miserly habits, Anthony Foster was more desirous, by his
mode of housekeeping, to escape observation than to resist intrusive curiosity.
Thus, instead of a numerous household, to secure his charge, and defend his
house, he studied, as much as possible, to elude notice by diminishing his
attendants; so that, unless when there were followers of the Earl or of Varney
in the mansion, one old male domestic and two aged crones, who assisted in
keeping the Countess's apartments in order, were the only servants of the
family.
    It was one of these old women who opened the door when Wayland knocked, and
answered his petition, to be admitted to exhibit his wares to the ladies of the
family, with a volley of vituperation, couched in what is there called the
jowring dialect. The pedlar found the means of checking this vociferation, by
slipping a silver groat into her hand, and intimating the present of some stuff
for a coif, if the lady would buy of his wares.
    »God ield thee, for mine is aw in littocks - Slocket with thy pack into
gharn, mon - Her walks in gharn.« Into the garden she ushered the pedlar
accordingly, and pointing to an old ruinous garden-house, said, »Yonder be's
her, mon - yonder be's her - Zhe will buy changes an zhe loikes stuffs.«
    »She has left me to come off as I may,« thought Wayland, as he heard the hag
shut the garden door behind him. »But they shall not beat me, and they dare not
murder me, for so little trespass, and by this fair twilight. Hang it, I will on
- a brave general never thought of his retreat till he was defeated. I see two
females in the old garden-house yonder - but how to address them? - Stay - Will
Shakespeare, be my friend in need. I will give them a taste of Autolycus.« He
then sung, with a good voice, and becoming audacity, the popular playhouse ditty
-
 
»Lawn as white as driven snow,
Cyprus black as e'er was crow,
Gloves as sweet as damask roses,
Masks for faces and for noses.«
 
»What hath fortune sent us here for an unwonted sight, Janet?« said the lady.
    »One of those merchants of vanity, called pedlars,« answered Janet demurely,
»who utters his light wares in lighter measures - I marvel old Dorcas let him
pass.«
    »It is a lucky chance, girl,« said the Countess; »we lead a heavy life here,
and this may while off a weary hour.«
    »Ay, my gracious lady,« said Janet; »but my father?«
    »He is not my father, Janet, nor, I hope, my master,« answered the lady - »I
say, call the man hither - I want some things.«
    »Nay,« replied Janet, »your ladyship has just to say so in the next packet,
and if England can furnish them they will be sent. - There will come mischief
on't - Pray, dearest lady, let me bid the man begone!«
    »I will have thee bid him come hither,« said the Countess; - »or stay, thou
terrified fool, I will bid him myself, and spare thee a chiding.«
    »Ah! well-a-day, dearest lady, if that were the worst,« said Janet sadly,
while the lady called to the pedlar, »Good fellow, step forward - undo thy pack
- if thou hast good wares, chance has sent thee hither for my convenience and
thy profit.«
    »What may your ladyship please to lack?« said Wayland, unstrapping his pack,
and displaying its contents with as much dexterity as if he had been bred to the
trade. Indeed he had occasionally pursued it in the course of his roving life,
and now commended his wares with all the volubility of a trader, and showed some
skill in the main art of placing prices upon them.
    »What do I please to lack?« said the lady, »why, considering I have not for
six long months bought one yard of lawn or cambric, or one trinket, the most
inconsiderable, for my own use, and at my own choice, the better question is,
what hast thou got to sell? Lay aside for me that cambric partlet and pair of
sleeves - and those roundells of gold fringe, drawn out with cyprus - and that
short cloak of cherry-coloured fine cloth garnished with gold buttons and loops
- is it not of an absolute fancy, Janet?«
    »Nay, my lady,« replied Janet, »if you consult my poor judgment, it is,
methinks, over gaudy for a graceful habit.«
    »Now, out upon my judgment, if it be no brighter, wench,« said the Countess;
»thou shalt wear it thyself for penance sake; and I promise thee the gold
buttons, being somewhat massive, will comfort thy father, and reconcile him to
the cherry-coloured body. See that he snap them not away, Janet, and send them
to bear company with the imprisoned angels which he keeps captive in his
strong-box.«
    »May I pray your ladyship to spare my poor father!« said Janet.
    »Nay, but why should any one spare him that is so sparing of his own
nature?« replied the lady. - »Well, but to our gear. - That head garniture for
myself, and that silver bodkin, mounted with pearl; - and take off two gowns of
that russet cloth for Dorcas and Alison, Janet, to keep the old wretches warm
against winter comes - And stay, hast thou no perfumes and sweet bags, or any
handsome casting bottles, of the newest mode?«
    »Were I a pedlar in earnest, I were a made merchant,« thought Wayland, as he
busied himself to answer the demands which she thronged one on another, with the
eagerness of a young lady who has been long secluded from such a pleasing
occupation. »But how to bring her to a moment's serious reflection?« Then, as he
exhibited his choicest collection of essences and perfumes, he at once arrested
her attention by observing that these articles had almost risen to double value,
since the magnificent preparations made by the Earl of Leicester to entertain
the Queen and court at his princely Castle of Kenilworth.
    »Ha!« said the Countess, hastily; »that rumour then is true, Janet.«
    »Surely, madam,« answered Wayland; »and I marvel it hath not reached your
noble ladyship's ears. The Queen of England feasts with the noble Earl for a
week during the Summer's Progress; and there are many who will tell you England
will have a king, and England's Elizabeth - God save her! - a husband, ere the
Progress be over.«
    »They lie like villains!« said the Countess, bursting forth impatiently.
    »For God's sake, madam, consider,« said Janet, trembling with apprehension;
»who would cumber themselves about pedlar's tidings?«
    »Yes, Janet!« exclaimed the Countess; »right, thou hast corrected me justly.
Such reports, blighting the reputation of England's brightest and noblest peer,
can only find currency amongst the mean, the abject, and the infamous!«
    »May I perish, lady,« said Wayland Smith, observing that her violence
directed itself towards him, »if I have done anything to merit this strange
passion! - I have said but what many men say.«
    By this time the Countess had recovered her composure, and endeavoured,
alarmed by the anxious hints of Janet, to suppress all appearance of
displeasure. »I were loath,« she said, »good fellow, that our Queen should
change the virgin style, so dear to us her people - think not of it.« And then,
as if desirous to change the subject, she added, »And what is this paste, so
carefully put up in the silver box?« as she examined the contents of a casket in
which drugs and perfumes were contained in separate drawers.
    »It is a remedy, madam, for a disorder of which I trust your ladyship will
never have reason to complain. The amount of a small turkey-bean, swallowed
daily for a week, fortifies the heart against those black vapours, which arise
from solitude, melancholy, unrequited affection, disappointed hope« -
    »Are you a fool, friend?« said the Countess, sharply; »or do you think,
because I have good-naturedly purchased your trumpery goods at your roguish
prices, that you may put any gullery you will on me? - who ever heard that
affections of the heart were cured by medicines given to the body?«
    »Under your honourable favour,« said Wayland, »I am an honest man, and I
have sold my goods at an honest price - As to this most precious medicine, when
I told its qualities, I asked you not to purchase it, so why should I lie to
you? I say not it will cure a rooted affection of the mind, which only God and
time can do; but I say, that this restorative relieves the black vapours which
are engendered in the body of that melancholy which broodeth on the mind. I have
relieved many with it, both in court and city, and of late one Master Edmund
Tressilian, a worshipful gentleman in Cornwall, who, on some slight received, it
was told me, where he had set his affections, was brought into that state of
melancholy, which made his friends alarmed for his life.«
    He paused, and the lady remained silent for some time, and then asked, with
a voice which she strove in vain to render firm and indifferent in its tone, »Is
the gentleman you have mentioned perfectly recovered?«
    »Passably, madam,« answered Wayland; »he hath at least no bodily complaint.«
    »I will take some of the medicine, Janet,« said the Countess. »I too have
sometimes that dark melancholy which overclouds the brain.«
    »You shall not do so, madam,« said Janet; »who shall answer that this fellow
vends what is wholesome?«
    »I will myself warrant my good faith,« said Wayland; and, taking a part of
the medicine, he swallowed it before them. The Countess now bought what
remained, a step to which Janet, by farther objections, only determined her the
more obstinately. She even took the first dose upon the instant, and professed
to feel her heart lightened and her spirits augmented, - a consequence which, in
all probability, existed only in her own imagination. The lady then piled the
purchases she had made together, flung her purse to Janet, and desired her to
compute the amount, and to pay the pedlar; while she herself, as if tired of the
amusement she at first found in conversing with him, wished him good evening,
and walked carelessly into the house, thus depriving Wayland of every
opportunity to speak with her in private. He hastened however, to attempt an
explanation with Janet.
    »Maiden,« he said, »thou hast the face of one who should love her mistress.
She hath much need of faithful service.«
    »And well deserves it at my hands,« replied Janet; »but what of that?«
    »Maiden, I am not altogether what I seem,« said the pedlar, lowering his
voice.
    »The less like to be an honest man,« said Janet.
    »The more so,« answered Wayland, »since I am no pedlar.«
    »Get thee gone then instantly, or I will call for assistance,« said Janet;
»my father must ere this time be returned.«
    »Do not be so rash,« said Wayland; »you will do what you may repent of. I am
one of your mistress's friends; and she had need of more, not that thou shouldst
ruin those she hath.«
    »How shall I know that?« said Janet.
    »Look me in the face,« said Wayland Smith, »and see if thou dost not read
honesty in my looks.«
    And in truth, though by no means handsome, there was in his physiognomy the
sharp, keen expression of inventive genius and prompt intellect, which, joined
to quick and brilliant eyes, a well-formed mouth, and an intelligent smile,
often gives grace and interest to features which are both homely and irregular.
Janet looked at him with the sly simplicity of her sect, and replied,
»Notwithstanding thy boasted honesty, friend, and although I am not accustomed
to read and pass judgment on such volumes as thou hast submitted to my perusal,
I think I see in thy countenance something of the pedlar - something of the
picaroon.«
    »On a small scale, perhaps,« said Wayland Smith, laughing. »But this
evening, or to-morrow, will an old man come hither with thy father, who has the
stealthy step of the cat, the shrewd and vindictive eye of the rat, the fawning
wile of the spaniel, the determined snatch of the mastiff - of him beware, for
your own sake and that of your 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 -
Hark, they enter the garden!«
    In effect, a sound of noisy mirth and loud talking approached the garden
door, alarmed by which Wayland Smith sprung into the midst of a thicket of
overgrown shrubs, while Janet withdrew to the garden-house that she might not
incur observation, and that she might at the same time conceal, at least for the
present, the purchases made from the supposed pedlar, which lay scattered on the
floor of the summer-house.
    Janet, however, had no occasion for anxiety. Her father, his old attendant,
Lord Leicester's domestic, and the astrologer, entered the garden in tumult and
in extreme perplexity, endeavouring to quiet Lambourne, whose brain had now
become completely fired with liquor, and who was one of those unfortunate
persons, who, being once stirred with the vinous stimulus, do not fall asleep
like other drunkards, but remain partially influenced by it for many hours,
until at length, by successive draughts, they are elevated into a state of
uncontrollable frenzy. Like many men in this state also, Lambourne neither lost
the power of motion, speech, or expression; but, on the contrary, spoke with
unwonted emphasis and readiness, and told all that at another time he would have
been most desirous to keep secret.
    »What!« ejaculated Michael, at the full extent of his voice, »am I to have
no welcome - no carouse, when I have brought fortune to your old ruinous dog- in
the shape of a devil's ally, that can change slate-shivers into Spanish dollars?
- Here you, Tony Fire-the-Fagot, papist, puritan, hypocrite, miser, profligate,
devil, compounded of all men's sins, bow down and reverence him who has brought
into thy house the very mammon thou worshippest.«
    »For God's sake,« said Foster, »speak low - come into the house - thou shalt
have wine, or whatever thou wilt.«
    »No, old puckfoist, I will have it here,« thundered the inebriated ruffian -
here, al fresco, as the Italian hath it. - »No, no, I will not drink with that
poisoning devil within doors, to be choked with the fumes of arsenic and
quicksilver; I learned from villain Varney to beware of that.«
    »Fetch him wine, in the name of all the fiends!« said the alchemist.
    »Aha! and thou wouldst spice it for me, old Truepenny, wouldst thou not? Ay,
I should have copperas, and hellebore, and vitriol, and aquafortis, and twenty
devilish materials, bubbling in my brainpan, like a charm to raise the devil in
a witch's caldron. Hand me the flask thyself, old Tony Fire-the-Fagot - and let
it be cool - I will have no wine mulled at the pile of the old burnt bishops -
Or stay, let Leicester be king if he will - good - and Varney, villain Varney,
grand vizier - why, excellent! - and what shall I be, then! - why, emperor -
Emperor Lambourne! - I will see this choice piece of beauty that they have
walled up here for their private pleasures - I will have her this very night to
serve my wine-cup, and put on my night-cap. What should a fellow do with two
wives, were he twenty times an Earl? - answer me that, Tony boy, you old
reprobate, hypocritical dog, whom God struck out of the book of life, but
tormented with the constant wish to be restored to it - You old bishop-burning,
blasphemous fanatic, answer me that!«
    »I will stick my knife to the haft in him,« said Foster, in a low tone,
which trembled with passion.
    »For the love of Heaven, no violence!« said the astrologer. »It cannot but
be looked closely into. - Here, honest Lambourne, wilt thou pledge me to the
health of the noble Earl of Leicester and Master Richard Varney?«
    »I will, mine old Albumazar - I will, my trusty vendor of ratsbane - I would
kiss thee, mine honest infractor of the Lex Julia (as they said at Leyden),
didst thou not flavour so damnably of sulphur, and such fiendish apothecary's
stuff. - Here goes it, up seyes - to Varney and Leicester! - two more noble
mounting spirits, and more dark-seeking, deep-diving, high-flying, malicious,
ambitious miscreants - well, I say no more, but I will whet my dagger on his
heart- that refuses to pledge me! And so, my masters« -
    Thus speaking, Lambourne exhausted the cup which the astrologer had handed
to him, and which contained not wine, but distilled spirits. He swore half an
oath, dropped the empty cup from his grasp, laid his hand on his sword without
being able to draw it, reeled, and fell without sense or motion into the arms of
the domestic, who dragged him off to his chamber and put him to bed.
    In the general confusion, Janet regained her lady's chamber unobserved,
trembling like an aspen leaf, but determined to keep secret from the Countess
the dreadful surmises which she could not help entertaining from the drunken
ravings of Lambourne. Her fears, however, though they assumed no certain shape,
kept pace with the advice of the pedlar; and she confirmed her mistress in her
purpose of taking the medicine which he had recommended, from which it is
probable she would otherwise have dissuaded her. Neither had these intimations
escaped the ears of Wayland, who knew much better how to interpret them. He felt
much compassion at beholding so lovely a creature as the Countess, and whom he
had first seen in the bosom of domestic happiness, exposed to the machinations
of such a gang of villains. His indignation, too, had been highly excited, by
hearing the voice of his old master, against whom he felt, in equal degree, the
passions of hatred and fear. He nourished also a pride in his own art and
resources; and, dangerous as the task was, he that night formed a determination
to attain the bottom of the mystery, and to aid the distressed lady, if it were
yet possible. From some words which Lambourne had dropped among his ravings,
Wayland now, for the first time, felt inclined to doubt that Varney had acted
entirely on his own account, in wooing and winning the affections of this
beautiful creature. Fame asserted of this zealous retainer, that he had
accommodated his lord in former love intrigues, and it occurred to Wayland
Smith, that Leicester himself might be the party chiefly interested. Her
marriage with the Earl he could not suspect; but even the discovery of such a
passing intrigue with a lady of Mistress Amy Robsart's rank, was a secret of the
deepest importance to the stability of the favourite's power over Elizabeth. »If
Leicester himself should hesitate to stifle such a rumour by very strange
means,« said he to himself, »he has those about him who would do him that favour
without waiting for his consent. If I would meddle in this business, it must be
in such guise as my old master uses when he compounds his manna of Satan, and
that is with a close mask on my face. So I will quit Giles Gosling to-morrow,
and change my course and place of residence as often as a hunted fox. I should
like to see this little puritan, too, once more. She looks both pretty and
intelligent, to have come of such a caitiff as Anthony Fire-the-Fagot.«
    Giles Gosling received the adieus of Wayland rather joyfully than otherwise.
The honest publican saw so much peril in crossing the course of the Earl of
Leicester's favourite, that his virtue was scarce able to support him in the
task, and he was well pleased when it was likely to be removed from his
shoulders; still, however, professing his goodwill, and readiness, in case of
need, to do Mr. Tressilian or his emissary any service, in so far as consisted
with his character of a publican.
 

                              Chapter Twenty-First

 Vaulting ambition, that o'erleaps itself,
 And falls on t'other sid
                                                                        Macbeth.
 
The splendour of the approaching revels at Kenilworth was now the conversation
through all England; and every thing was collected at home, or from abroad,
which could add to the gaiety or glory of the prepared reception of Elizabeth,
at the house of her most distinguished favourite. Meantime, Leicester appeared
daily to advance in the Queen's favour. He was perpetually by her side in
council, willingly listened to in the moments of courtly recreation - favoured
with approaches even to familiar intimacy - looked up to by all who had aught to
hope at court - courted by foreign ministers with the most flattering
testimonies of respect from their sovereigns - the Alter Ego, as it seemed, of
the stately Elizabeth, who was now very generally supposed to be studying the
time and opportunity for associating him, by marriage, into her sovereign power.
    Amid such a tide of prosperity, this minion of fortune, and of the Queen's
favour, was probably the most unhappy man in the realm which seemed at his
devotion. He had the Fairy King's superiority over his friends and dependants,
and saw much which they could not. The character of his mistress was intimately
known to him; it was his minute and studied acquaintance with her humours, as
well as her noble faculties, which, joined to his powerful mental qualities, and
his eminent external accomplishments, had raised him so high in her favour; and
it was that very knowledge of her disposition which led him to apprehend at
every turn some sudden and overwhelming disgrace. Leicester was like a pilot
possessed of a chart, which points out to him all the peculiarities of his
navigation, but which exhibits so many shoals, breakers, and reefs of rocks,
that his anxious eye reaps little more from observing them, than to be convinced
that his final escape can be little else than miraculous.
    In fact, Queen Elizabeth had a character strangely compounded of the
strongest masculine sense, with those foibles which are chiefly supposed proper
to the female sex. Her subjects had the full benefit of her virtues, which far
predominated over her weaknesses; but her courtiers, and those about her person,
had often to sustain sudden and embarrassing turns of caprice, and the sallies
of a temper which was both jealous and despotic. She was the nursing-mother of
her people, but she was also the true daughter of Henry VIII.; and though early
sufferings and an excellent education had repressed and modified, they had not
altogether destroyed, the hereditary temper of that »hard-ruled King.« - »Her
mind,« says her witty god-son, Sir John Harrington, who had experienced both the
smiles and the frowns which he describes, »was ofttime like the gentle air that
cometh from the western point in a summer's morn - 'twas sweet and refreshing to
all around her. Her speech did win all affections. And again, she could put
forth such alterations, when obedience was lacking, as left no doubting whose
daughter she was. When she smiled, it was a pure sunshine, that every one did
choose to bask in, if they could; but anon came a storm, from a sudden gathering
of clouds, and the thunder fell, in a wondrous manner, on all alike.«18
    This variability of disposition, as Leicester well knew, was chiefly
formidable to those who had a share in the Queen's affections, and who depended
rather on her personal regard, than on the indispensable services which they
could render to her councils and her crown. The favour of Burleigh, or of
Walsingham, of a description far less striking than that by which he was himself
upheld, was founded, as Leicester was well aware, on Elizabeth's solid judgment,
not on her partiality; and was, therefore, free from all those principles of
change and decay, necessarily incident to that which chiefly arose from personal
accomplishments and female predilection. These great and sage statesmen were
judged of by the Queen, only with reference to the measures they suggested, and
the reasons by which they supported their opinions in council; whereas the
success of Leicester's course depended on all those light and changeable gales
of caprice and humour, which thwart or favour the progress of a lover in the
favour of his mistress, and she, too, a mistress who was ever and anon becoming
fearful lest she should forget the dignity, or compromise the authority, of the
Queen, while she indulged the affections of the woman. Of the difficulties which
surrounded his power, »too great to keep or to resign,« Leicester was fully
sensible; and as he looked anxiously round for the means of maintaining himself
in his precarious situation, and sometimes contemplated those of descending from
it in safety, he saw but little hope of either. At such moments, his thoughts
turned to dwell upon his secret marriage, and its consequences; and it was in
bitterness against himself, if not against his unfortunate Countess, that he
ascribed to that hasty measure, adopted in the ardour of what he now called
inconsiderate passion, at once the impossibility of placing his power on a solid
basis, and the immediate prospect of its precipitate downfall.
    »Men say,« thus ran his thoughts, in these anxious and repentant moments,
»that I might marry Elizabeth, and become King of England. All things suggest
this. The match is carolled in ballads, while the rabble throw their caps up -
It has been touched upon in the schools - whispered in the presence-chamber -
recommended from the pulpit - prayed for in the Calvinistic churches abroad -
touched on by statists in the very council at home - These bold insinuations
have been rebutted by no rebuke, no resentment, no chiding, scarce even by the
usual female protestation that she would live and die a virgin princess. - Her
words have been more courteous than ever, though she knows such rumours are
abroad - her actions more gracious - her looks more kind - nought seems wanting
to make me King of England, and place me beyond the storms of court-favour,
excepting the putting forth of mine own hand to take that crown imperial, which
is the glory of the universe! And when I might stretch that hand out most
boldly, it is fettered down by a secret and inextricable bond! - And here I have
letters from Amy,« he would say, catching them up with a movement of
peevishness, »persecuting me to acknowledge her openly - to do justice to her
and to myself - and I wot not what. Methinks I have done less than justice to
myself already. And she speaks as if Elizabeth were to receive the knowledge of
this matter with the glee of a mother hearing of the happy marriage of a hopeful
son! - She, the daughter of Henry, who spared neither man in his anger, nor
woman in his desire - she to find herself tricked, drawn on with toys of passion
to the verge of acknowledging her love to a subject, and he discovered to be a
married man! - Elizabeth to learn that she had been dallied with in such
fashion, as a gay courtier might trifle with a country wench - We should then
see to our ruin furens quid fæmina!«
    He would then pause, and call for Varney, whose advice was now more
frequently resorted to than ever, because the Earl remembered the remonstrances
which he had made against his secret contract. And their consultation usually
terminated in anxious deliberation, how or in what manner the Countess was to be
produced at Kenilworth. These communings had for some time ended always in a
resolution to delay the Progress from day to day. But at length a peremptory
decision became necessary.
    »Elizabeth will not be satisfied without her presence,« said the Earl;
»whether any suspicion hath entered her mind, as my own apprehensions suggest,
or whether the petition of Tressilian is kept in her memory by Sussex, or some
other secret enemy, I know not; but amongst all the favourable expressions which
she uses to me, she often recurs to the story of Amy Robsart. I think that Amy
is the slave in the chariot, who is placed there by my evil fortune to dash and
to confound my triumph, even when at the highest. Show me thy device, Varney,
for solving the inextricable difficulty. I have thrown every such impediment in
the way of these accursed revels as I could propound even with a shade of
decency, but to-day's interview has put all to a hazard. She said to me kindly,
but peremptorily, We will give you no farther time for preparations, my lord,
lest you should altogether ruin yourself. On Saturday, the 9th of July, we will
be with you at Kenilworth - We pray you to forget none of our appointed guests
and suitors, and in especial this light-o'-love, Amy Robsart. We would wish to
see the woman who could postpone yonder poetical gentleman, Master Tressilian,
to your man, Richard Varney. - Now, Varney, ply thine invention, whose forge
hath availed us so often; for sure as my name is Dudley, the danger menaced by
my horoscope is now darkening around me.«
    »Can my lady be by no means persuaded to bear for a brief space the obscure
character which circumstances impose on her?« said Varney, after some
hesitation.
    »How, sirrah! my Countess term herself thy wife - that may neither stand
with my honour nor with hers.«
    »Alas! my lord,« answered Varney, »and yet such is the quality in which
Elizabeth now holds her; and to contradict this opinion is to discover all.«
    »Think of something else, Varney,« said the Earl, in great agitation; »this
invention is nought - if I could give way to it, she would not; for I tell thee,
Varney, if thou know'st it not, that not Elizabeth on the throne has more pride
than the daughter of this obscure gentleman of Devon. She is flexible in many
things, but where she holds her honour brought in question, she hath a spirit
and temper as apprehensive as lightning, and as swift in execution.«
    »We have experienced that, my lord, else had we not been thus
circumstanced,« said Varney. »But what else to suggest I know not - Methinks she
whose good fortune in becoming your lordship's bride, and who gives rise to the
danger, should do somewhat towards parrying it.«
    »It is impossible,« said the Earl, waving his hand; »I know neither
authority nor entreaties would make her endure thy name for an hour.«
    »It is somewhat hard, though,« said Varney, in a dry tone; and without
pausing on that topic, he added, »Suppose some one were found to represent her?
Such feats have been performed in the courts of as sharp-eyed monarchs as Queen
Elizabeth.«
    »Utter madness, Varney,« answered the Earl; »the counterfeit would be
confronted with Tressilian, and discovery become inevitable.«
    »Tressilian might be removed from court,« said the unhesitating Varney.
    »And by what means?«
    »There are many,« said Varney, »by which a statesman in your situation, my
lord, may remove from the scene one who pries into your affairs, and places
himself in perilous opposition to you.«
    »Speak not to me of such policy, Varney,« said the Earl, hastily; »which,
besides, would avail nothing in the present case. Many others there be at court,
to whom Amy may be known; and besides, on the absence of Tressilian, her father
or some of her friends would be instantly summoned hither. Urge thine invention
once more.«
    »My lord, I know not what to say,« answered Varney; »but were I myself in
such perplexity, I would ride post down to Cumnor Place, and compel my wife to
give her consent to such measures as her safety and mine required.«
    »Varney,« said Leicester, »I cannot urge her to aught so repugnant to her
noble nature, as a share in this stratagem - it would be a base requital to the
love she bears me.«
    »Well, my lord,« said Varney, »your lordship is a wise and an honourable
man, and skilled in those high points of romantic scruple, which are current in
Arcadia, perhaps, as your nephew, Philip Sidney, writes. I am your humble
servitor - a man of this world, and only happy that my knowledge of it, and its
ways, is such as your lordship has not scorned to avail yourself of. Now I would
fain know, whether the obligation lies on my lady or on you, in this fortunate
union; and which has most reason to show complaisance to the other, and to
consider that other's wishes, conveniences, and safety?«
    »I tell thee, Varney,« said the Earl, »that all it was in my power to bestow
upon her, was not merely deserved, but a thousand times overpaid, by her own
virtue and beauty; for never did greatness descend upon a creature so formed by
nature to grace and adorn it.«
    »It is well, my lord, you are so satisfied,« answered Varney, with his usual
sardonic smile, which even respect to his patron could not at all times subdue -
»you will have time enough to enjoy undisturbed the society of one so gracious
and beautiful - that is, so soon as such confinement in the Tower be over, as
may correspond to the crime of deceiving the affections of Elizabeth Tudor - A
cheaper penalty, I presume, you do not expect.«
    »Malicious fiend!« answered Leicester, »do you mock me in my misfortune? -
Manage it as thou wilt.«
    »If you are serious, my lord,« said Varney, »you must set forth instantly,
and post for Cumnor Place.«
    »Do thou go thyself, Varney; the devil has given thee that sort of
eloquence, which is most powerful in the worst cause. I should stand
self-convicted of villainy were I to urge such a deceit - Begone, I tell thee -
Must I entreat thee to mine own dishonour?«
    »No, my lord,« said Varney - »but if you are serious in intrusting me with
the task of urging this most necessary measure, you must give me a letter to my
lady, as my credentials, and trust to me for backing the advice it contains with
all the force in my power. And such is my opinion of my lady's love for your
lordship, and of her willingness to do that which is at once to contribute to
your pleasure and your safety, that I am sure she will condescend to bear for a
few brief days the name of so humble a man as myself, especially since it is not
inferior in antiquity to that of her own paternal house.«
    Leicester seized on writing materials, and twice or thrice commenced a
letter to the Countess, which he afterwards tore into fragments. At length he
finished a few distracted lines, in which he conjured her, for reasons nearly
concerning his life and honour, to consent to bear the name of Varney for a few
days, during the revels at Kenilworth. He added, that Varney would communicate
all the reasons which rendered this deception indispensable; and having signed
and sealed these credentials, he flung them over the table to Varney, with a
motion that he should depart, which his adviser was not slow to comprehend and
to obey.
    Leicester remained like one stupefied, till he heard the trampling of the
horses, as Varney, who took no time even to change his dress, threw himself into
the saddle, and, followed by a single servant, set off for Berkshire. At the
sound, the Earl started from his seat, and ran to the window, with the momentary
purpose of recalling the unworthy commission with which he had entrusted one, of
whom he used to say, he knew no virtuous property save affection to his patron.
But Varney was already beyond call - and the bright starry firmament, which the
age considered as the Book of Fate, lying spread before Leicester when he opened
the casement, diverted him from his better and more manly purpose.
    »There they roll on their silent but potential course,« said the Earl,
looking around him, »without a voice which speaks to our ear, but not without
influences which affect, at every change, the indwellers of this vile earthly
planet. This, if astrologers fable not, is the very crisis of my fate! The hour
approaches of which I was taught to beware - the hour, too, which I was
encouraged to hope for. - A king was the word - but how? - the crown matrimonial
- - all hopes of that are gone - let them go. The rich Netherlands have demanded
me for their leader, and, would Elizabeth consent, would yield to me their
crown. - And have I not such a claim, even in this kingdom? That of York,
descending from George of Clarence to the House of Huntingdon, which, this lady
failing, may have a fair chance - Huntingdon is of my house. - But I will plunge
no deeper in these high mysteries. Let me hold my course in silence for a while,
and in obscurity like a subterranean river - the time shall come, that I will
burst forth in my strength, and bear all opposition before me.«
    While Leicester was thus stupifying the remonstrances of his own conscience,
by appealing to political necessity for his apology, or losing himself amidst
the wild dreams of ambition, his agent left town and tower behind him, on his
hasty journey to Berkshire. He also nourished high hope. He had brought Lord
Leicester to the point which he had desired, of committing to him the most
intimate recesses of his breast, and of using him as the channel of his most
confidential intercourse with his lady. Henceforward it would, he foresaw, be
difficult for his patron either to dispense with his services, or refuse his
requests, however unreasonable. And if this disdainful dame, as he termed the
Countess, should comply with the request of her husband, Varney, her pretended
husband, must needs become so situated with respect to her, that there was no
knowing where his audacity might be bounded - perhaps not till circumstances
enabled him to obtain a triumph, which he thought of with a mixture of fiendish
feelings, in which revenge for her previous scorn was foremost and predominant.
Again he contemplated the possibility of her being totally intractable, and
refusing obstinately to play the part assigned to her in the drama at
Kenilworth.
    »Alasco must then do his part,« he said - »Sickness must serve her Majesty
as an excuse for not receiving the homage of Mrs. Varney - ay, and a sore and
wasting sickness it may prove, should Elizabeth continue to cast so favourable
an eye on my Lord of Leicester. I will not forego the chance of being favourite
of a monarch for want of determined measures, should these be necessary. -
Forward, good horse, forward - ambition, and haughty hope of power, pleasure,
and revenge, strike their stings as deep through my bosom as I plunge the rowels
in thy flanks - On, good horse, on - the devil urges us both forward.«
 

                             Chapter Twenty-Second

 Say that my beauty was but small,
 Among court ladies all despised,
 Why didst thou rend it from that hall,
 Where, scornful Earl, 'twas dearly prized?

 No more thou com'st with wonted speed,
 Thy once beloved bride to see;
 But be she alive, or be she dead,
 I fear, stern Earl, 's the same to thee.
                                          Cumnor Hall, by William Julius Mickle.
 
The ladies of fashion of the present, or of any other period, must have allowed,
that the young and lovely Countess of Leicester had, besides her youth and
beauty, two qualities which entitled her to a place amongst women of rank and
distinction. She displayed, as we have seen in her interview with the pedlar, a
liberal promptitude to make unnecessary purchases, solely for the pleasure of
acquiring useless and showy trifles which ceased to please as soon as they were
possessed; and she was, besides, apt to spend a considerable space of time every
day in adorning her person, although the varied splendour of her attire could
only attract the half satirical praise of the precise Janet, or an approving
glance from the bright eyes which witnessed their own beams of triumph reflected
from the mirror.
    The Countess Amy had indeed to plead, for indulgence in those frivolous
tastes, that the education of the times had done little or nothing for a mind
naturally gay and averse to study. If she had not loved to collect finery and to
wear it, she might have woven tapestry or sewed embroidery, till her labours
spread in gay profusion all over the walls and seats at Lidcote Hall; or she
might have varied Minerva's labours with the task of preparing a mighty pudding
against the time that Sir Hugh Robsart returned from the greenwood. But Amy had
no natural genius either for the loom, the needle, or the receipt-book. Her
mother had died in infancy; her father contradicted her in nothing; and
Tressilian, the only one that approached her, who was able or desirous to attend
to the cultivation of her mind, had much hurt his interest with her, by assuming
too eagerly the task of a preceptor; so that he was regarded by the lively,
indulged, and idle girl, with some fear and much respect; but with little or
nothing of that softer emotion which it had been his hope and his ambition to
inspire. And thus her heart lay readily open, and her fancy became easily
captivated by the noble exterior, and graceful deportment, and complacent
flattery of Leicester, even before he was known to her as the dazzling minion of
wealth and power.
    The frequent visits of Leicester at Cumnor, during the earlier part of their
union, had reconciled the Countess to the solitude and privacy to which she was
condemned; but when these visits became rarer and more rare, and when the void
was filled up with letters of excuse, not always very warmly expressed, and
generally extremely brief, discontent and suspicion began to haunt those
splendid apartments which love had fitted up for beauty. Her answers to
Leicester conveyed these feelings too bluntly, and pressed more naturally than
prudently that she might be relieved from this obscure and secluded residence,
by the Earl's acknowledgement of their marriage; and in arranging her arguments,
with all the skill she was mistress of, she trusted chiefly to the warmth of the
entreaties with which she urged them. Sometimes she even ventured to mingle
reproaches, of which Leicester conceived he had good reason to complain.
    »I have made her Countess,« he said to Varney; »surely she might wait till
it consisted with my pleasure that she should put on the coronet.«
    The Countess Amy viewed the subject in directly an opposite light.
    »What signifies,« she said, »that I have rank and honour in reality, if I am
to live an obscure prisoner, without either society or observance, and suffering
in my character, as one of dubious or disgraced reputation? I care not for all
those strings of pearl, which you fret me by warping into my tresses, Janet. I
tell you, that at Lidcote Hall, if I put but a fresh rose-bud among my hair, my
good father would call me to him, that he might see it more closely; and the
kind old curate would smile, and Master Mumblazen would say something about
roses gules; and now I sit here, decked out like an image with gold and gems,
and no one to see my finery but you, Janet. There was the poor Tressilian, too -
but it avails not speaking of him.«
    »It doth not indeed, madam,« said her prudent attendant; »and verily you
make me sometimes wish you would not speak of him so often, or so rashly.«
    »It signifies nothing to warn me, Janet,« said the impatient and
incorrigible Countess; »I was born free, though I am now mewed up like some fine
foreign slave, rather than the wife of an English noble. I bore it all with
pleasure while I was sure he loved me; but now, my tongue and heart shall be
free, let them fetter these limbs as they will. - I tell thee, Janet, I love my
husband - I will love him till my latest breath - I cannot cease to love him,
even if I would, or if he - which, God knows, may chance - should cease to love
me. But I will say, and loudly, I would have been happier than I now am, to have
remained in Lidcote Hall, even although I must have married poor Tressilian,
with his melancholy look, and his head full of learning, which I cared not for.
He said, if I would read his favourite volumes, there would come a time that I
should be glad of having done so - I think it is come now.«
    »I bought you some books, madam,« said Janet, »from a lame fellow who sold
them in the Market-place - and who stared something boldly at me, I promise
you.«
    »Let me see them, Janet,« said the Countess; »but let them not be of your
own precise cast. - How is this, most righteous damsel? - A Pair of Snuffers for
the Golden Candlestick - A Handful of Myrrh and Hyssop to put a Sick Soul to
Purgation - A Draught of Water from the Valley of Baca - Foxes and Firebrands -
What gear call you this, maiden?«
    »Nay, madam,« said Janet, »it was but fitting and seemly to put grace in
your ladyship's way; but an you will none of it, there are play-books, and
poet-books, I trow.«
    The Countess proceeded carelessly in her examination, turning over such rare
volumes as would now make the fortune of twenty retail booksellers. Here was a »
Boke of Cookery, Imprinted by Richard Lant,« and »Skelton's Books« - »The
Passtime of the People« - »The Castle of Knowledge,« etc. But neither to this
lore did the Countess's heart incline, and joyfully did she start up from the
listless task of turning over the leaves of the pamphlets, and hastily did she
scatter them through the floor, when the hasty clatter of horses' feet, heard in
the courtyard, called her to the window, exclaiming, »It is Leicester! - it is
my noble Earl! - it is my Dudley! - Every stroke of his horse's hoof sounds like
a note of lordly music!«
    There was a brief bustle in the mansion, and Foster, with his downward look
and sullen manner, entered the apartment to say, »That Master Richard Varney was
arrived from my lord, having ridden all night, and craved to speak with her
ladyship instantly.«
    »Varney?« said the disappointed Countess; »and to speak with me? - pshaw!
But he comes with news from Leicester - so admit him instantly.«
    Varney entered the dressing apartment, where she sat arrayed in her native
loveliness, adorned with all that Janet's art, and a rich and tasteful undress,
could bestow. But the most beautiful part of her attire was her profuse and
luxuriant light-brown locks, which floated in such rich abundance around a neck
that resembled a swan's, and over a bosom heaving with anxious expectation,
which communicated a hurried tinge of red to her whole countenance.
    Varney entered the room in the dress in which he had waited on his master
that morning to court, the splendour of which made a strange contrast with the
disorder arising from hasty riding during a dark night and foul ways. His brow
wore an anxious and hurried expression, as one who has that to say of which he
doubts the reception, and who hath yet posted on from the necessity of
communicating his tidings. The Countess's anxious eye at once caught the alarm,
as she exclaimed, »You bring news from my lord, Master Varney - Gracious Heaven!
is he ill?«
    »No, madam, thank Heaven!« said Varney. »Compose yourself, and permit me to
take breath ere I communicate my tidings.«
    »No breath, sir,« replied the Lady, impatiently; »I know your theatrical
arts. Since your breath hath sufficed to bring you hither, it may suffice to
tell your tale, at least briefly, and in the gross.«
    »Madam,« answered Varney, »we are not alone, and my lord's message was for
your ear only.«
    »Leave us, Janet, and Master Foster,« said the Lady; »but remain in the next
apartment, and within call.«
    Foster and his daughter retired, agreeably to the Lady Leicester's commands,
into the next apartment, which was the withdrawing-room. The door which led from
the sleeping-chamber was then carefully shut and bolted, and the father and
daughter remained both in a posture of anxious attention, the first with a
stern, suspicious, anxious cast of countenance, and Janet with folded hands, and
looks which seemed divided betwixt her desire to know the fortunes of her
mistress, and her prayers to heaven for her safety. Anthony Foster seemed
himself to have some idea of what was passing through his daughter's mind, for
he crossed the apartment and took her anxiously by the hand, saying, »That is
right - pray, Janet, pray - we have all need of prayers, and some of us more
than others. Pray, Janet - I would pray myself, but I must listen to what goes
on within - evil has been brewing, love - evil has been brewing. God forgive our
sins; but Varney's sudden and strange arrival bodes us no good.«
    Janet had never before heard her father excite or even permit her attention
to anything which passed in their mysterious family, and now that he did so, his
voice sounded in her ear - she knew not why - like that of a screech-owl
denouncing some deed of terror and of woe. She turned her eyes fearfully towards
the door, almost as if she expected some sounds of horror to be heard, or some
sight of fear to display itself.
    All, however, was as still as death, and the voices of those who spoke in
the inner chamber were, if they spoke at all, carefully subdued to a tone which
could not be heard in the next. At once, however, they were heard to speak fast,
thick, and hastily; and presently after the voice of the Countess was heard
exclaiming, at the highest pitch to which indignation could raise it, »Undo the
door, sir, I command you! - Undo the door! - I will have no other reply!« she
continued, drowning with her vehement accents the low and muttered sounds which
Varney was heard to utter betwixt whiles. »What ho! without there!« she
persisted, accompanying her words with shrieks, »Janet, alarm the house! -
Foster, break open the door - I am detained here by a traitor! - Use axe and
lever, Master Foster - I will be your warrant!«
    »It shall not need, madam,« Varney was at length distinctly heard to say.
»If you please to expose my Lord's important concerns and your own to the
general ear, I will not be your hindrance.«
    The door was unlocked and thrown open, and Janet and her father rushed in,
anxious to learn the cause of these reiterated exclamations.
    When they entered the apartment, Varney stood by the door grinding his
teeth, with an expression in which rage, and shame, and fear, had each their
share. The Countess stood in the midst of her apartment like a juvenile
Pythoness, under the influence of the prophetic fury. The veins in her beautiful
forehead started into swollen blue lines through the hurried impulse of her
articulation - her cheek and neck glowed like scarlet - her eyes were like those
of an imprisoned eagle, flashing red lightning on the foes whom it cannot reach
with its talons. Were it possible for one of the Graces to have been animated by
a Fury, the countenance could not have united such beauty with so much hatred,
scorn, defiance, and resentment. The gesture and attitude corresponded with the
voice and looks, and altogether presented a spectacle which was at once
beautiful and fearful; so much of the sublime had the energy of passion united
with the Countess Amy's natural loveliness. Janet, as soon as the door was open,
ran to her mistress; and more slowly, yet with more haste than he was wont,
Anthony Foster went to Richard Varney.
    »In the Truth's name, what ails your ladyship?« said the former.
    »What, in the name of Satan, have you done to her?« said Foster to his
friend.
    »Who, I? - nothing,« answered Varney, but with sunken head and sullen voice;
»nothing but communicated to her her lord's commands, which, if the lady list
not to obey, she knows better how to answer it than I may pretend to do.«
    »Now, by Heaven, Janet,« said the Countess, »the false traitor lies in his
throat! He must needs lie, for he speaks to the dishonour of my noble lord - he
must needs lie doubly, for he speaks to gain ends of his own, equally execrable
and unattainable.«
    »You have misapprehended me, lady,« said Varney, with a sulky species of
submission and apology; »let this matter rest till your passion be abated, and I
will explain all.«
    »Thou shalt never have an opportunity to do so,« said the Countess. - »Look
at him, Janet. He is fairly dressed, hath the outside of a gentleman, and hither
he came to persuade me it was my lord's pleasure - nay, more, my wedded lord's
commands, that I should go with him to Kenilworth, and before the Queen and
nobles, and in presence of my own wedded lord, that I should acknowledge him -
him there - that very cloak-brushing, shoe-cleaning fellow - him there, my
lord's lackey, for my liege lord and husband; furnishing against myself, great
God! whenever I was to vindicate my right and my rank, such weapons as would hew
my just claim from the root, and destroy my character to be regarded as an
honourable matron of the English nobility!«
    »You hear her, Foster, and you, young maiden, hear this lady,« answered
Varney, taking advantage of the pause which the Countess had made in her charge,
more for lack of breath than for lack of matter - »You hear that her heat only
objects to me the course which our good lord, for the purpose to keep certain
matters secret, suggests in the very letter which she holds in her hands.«
    Foster here attempted to interfere with a face of authority, which he
thought became the charge entrusted to him, »Nay, lady, I must needs say you are
over hasty in this - Such deceit is not utterly to be condemned when practised
for a righteous end; and thus even the patriarch Abraham feigned Sarah to be his
sister when they went down to Egypt.«
    »Ay, sir,« answered the Countess; »but God rebuked that deceit even in the
father of his chosen people, by the mouth of the heathen Pharaoh. Out upon you,
that will read Scripture only to copy those things, which are held out to us as
warnings, not as examples!«
    »But Sarah disputed not the will of her husband, an it be your pleasure,«
said Foster, in reply; »but did as Abraham commanded, calling herself his
sister, that it might be well with her husband for her sake, and that his soul
might live because of her beauty.«
    »Now, so heaven pardon me my useless anger,« answered the Countess, »thou
art as daring a hypocrite as yonder fellow is an impudent deceiver! Never will I
believe that the noble Dudley gave countenance to so dastardly, so dishonourable
a plan. Thus I tread on his infamy, if indeed it be, and thus destroy its
remembrance for ever!«
    So saying, she tore in pieces Leicester's letter, and stamped, in the
extremity of impatience, as if she would have annihilated the minute fragments
into which she had rent it.
    »Bear witness,« said Varney, collecting himself, »she hath torn my lord's
letter, in order to burden me with the scheme of his devising; and although it
promises nought but danger and trouble to me, she would lay it to my charge, as
if I had any purpose of mine own in it.«
    »Thou liest, thou treacherous slave!« said the Countess, in spite of Janet's
attempts to keep her silent, in the sad foresight that her vehemence might only
furnish arms against herself, - »Thou liest,« she continued - »Let me go, Janet
- Were it the last word I have to speak, he lies - he had his own foul ends to
seek; and broader he would have displayed them, had my passion permitted me to
preserve the silence which at first encouraged him to unfold his vile projects.«
    »Madam,« said Varney, overwhelmed in spite of his effrontery, »I entreat you
to believe yourself mistaken.«
    »As soon will I believe light darkness,« said the enraged Countess. »Have I
drank of oblivion? Do I not remember former passages, which, known to Leicester,
had given thee the preferment of a gallows, instead of the honour of his
intimacy? - I would I were a man but for five minutes! It were space enough to
make a craven like thee confess his villainy. But go - begone - Tell thy master,
that when I take the foul course to which such scandalous deceits as thou hast
recommended on his behalf must necessarily lead me, I will give him a rival
something worthy of the name. He shall not be supplanted by an ignominious
lackey, whose best fortune is to catch a gift of his master's last suit of
clothes ere it is threadbare, and who is only fit to seduce a suburb-wench by
the bravery of new roses in his master's old pantofles. Go, begone, sir - I
scorn thee so much, that I am ashamed to have been angry with thee.«
    Varney left the room with a mute expression of rage, and was followed by
Foster, whose apprehension, naturally slow, was overpowered by the eager and
abundant discharge of indignation, which, for the first time, he had heard burst
from the lips of a being, who had seemed till that moment too languid, and too
gentle, to nurse an angry thought, or utter an intemperate expression. Foster,
therefore, pursued Varney from place to place, persecuting him with
interrogatories, to which the other replied not, until they were in the opposite
side of the quadrangle, and in the old library, with which the reader has
already been made acquainted. Here he turned round on his persevering follower,
and thus addressed him, in a tone tolerably equal; that brief walk having been
sufficient to give one so habituated to command his temper, time to rally and
recover his presence of mind.
    »Tony,« he said, with his usual sneering laugh, »it avails not to deny it.
The Woman and the Devil, who as thine oracle Holdforth will confirm to thee,
cheated man at the beginning, have this day proved more powerful than my
discretion. Yon termagant looked so tempting, and had the art to preserve her
countenance so naturally, while I communicated my lord's message, that, by my
faith, I thought I might say some little thing for myself. She thinks she hath
my head under her girdle now, but she is deceived. - Where is Doctor Alasco?«
    »In his laboratory,« answered Foster; »it is the hour he is spoken not
withal - we must wait till noon is past, or spoil his important - What said I,
important? - I would say interrupt his divine studies.«
    »Ay, he studies the devil's divinity,« said Varney, - »but when I want him,
one hour must suffice as well as another. Lead the way to his pandemonium.«
    So spoke Varney, and with hasty and perturbed steps followed Foster, who
conducted him through private passages, many of which were well-nigh ruinous, to
the opposite side of the quadrangle, where, in a subterranean apartment, now
occupied by the chemist Alasco, one of the Abbots of Abingdon, who had a turn
for the occult sciences, had, much to the scandal of his convent, established a
laboratory, in which, like other fools of the period, he spent much precious
time, and money besides, in the pursuit of the grand arcanum.
    Anthony Foster paused before the door, which was scrupulously secured
within, and again showed a marked hesitation to disturb the sage in his
operations. But Varney, less scrupulous, roused him, by knocking and voice,
until at length, slowly and reluctantly, the inmate of the apartment undid the
door. The chemist appeared, with his eyes bleared with the heat and vapours of
the stove or alembic over which he brooded, and the interior of his cell
displayed the confused assemblage of heterogeneous substances and extraordinary
implements belonging to his profession. The old man was muttering, with spiteful
impatience, »Am I for ever to be recalled to the affairs of earth from those of
heaven?«
    »To the affairs of hell,« answered Varney, »for that is thy proper element.
- Foster, we need thee at our conference.«
    Foster slowly entered the room. Varney, following, barred the door, and they
betook themselves to secret council.
    In the meanwhile, the Countess traversed the apartment, with shame and anger
contending on her lovely cheek.
    »The villain,« she said, »the cold-blooded calculating slave! - But I
unmasked him, Janet - I made the snake uncoil all his folds before me, and crawl
abroad in his naked deformity - I suspended my resentment, at the danger of
suffocating under the effort, until he had let me see the very bottom of a heart
more foul than hell's darkest corner. - And thou, Leicester, is it possible thou
couldst bid me for a moment deny my wedded right in thee, or thyself yield it to
another? - But it is impossible - the villain has lied in all. - Janet, I will
not remain here longer - I fear him - I fear thy father - I grieve to say it,
Janet - but I fear thy father, and, worst of all, this odious Varney. I will
escape from Cumnor.«
    »Alas! madam, whither would you fly, or by what means will you escape from
these walls?«
    »I know not, Janet,« said the unfortunate young lady, looking upwards, and
clasping her hands together, »I know not where I shall fly, or by what means;
but I am certain the God I have served will not abandon me in this dreadful
crisis, for I am in the hands of wicked men.«
    »Do not think so, dear lady,« said Janet; »my father is stern and strict in
his temper, and severely true to his trust - but yet« -
    At this moment Anthony Foster entered the apartment, bearing in his hand a
glass cup, and a small flask. His manner was singular; for, while approaching
the Countess with the respect due to her rank, he had till this time suffered to
become visible, or had been unable to suppress, the obdurate sulkiness of his
natural disposition, which, as is usual with those of his unhappy temper, was
chiefly exerted towards those over whom circumstances gave him control. But at
present he showed nothing of that sullen consciousness of authority which he was
wont to conceal under a clumsy affectation of civility and deference, as a
ruffian hides his pistols and bludgeon under his ill-fashioned gaberdine. And
yet it seemed as if his smile was more in fear than courtesy, and as if, while
he pressed the Countess to taste of the choice cordial, which should refresh her
spirits after her late alarm, he was conscious of meditating some farther
injury. His hand trembled also, his voice faltered, and his whole outward
behaviour exhibited so much that was suspicious, that his daughter Janet, after
she had stood looking at him in astonishment for some seconds, seemed at once to
collect herself to execute some hardy resolution, raised her head, assumed an
attitude and gait of determination and authority, and walking slowly betwixt her
father and her mistress, took the salver from the hand of the former, and said
in a low, but marked and decided tone, »Father, I will fill for my noble
mistress, when such is her pleasure.«
    »Thou, my child?« said Foster, eagerly and apprehensively; »no, my child -
it is not thou shalt render the lady this service.«
    »And why, I pray you,« said Janet, »if it be fitting that the noble lady
should partake of the cup at all?«
    »Why - why?« said the seneschal, hesitating, and then bursting into passion
as the readiest mode of supplying the lack of all other reason - »Why, because
it is my pleasure, minion, that you should not! - Get you gone to the evening
lecture.«
    »Now, as I hope to hear lecture again,« replied Janet, »I will not go
thither this night, unless I am better assured of my mistress's safety. Give me
that flask, father;« - and she took it from his reluctant hand, while he
resigned it as if conscience-struck - »And now,« she said, »father, that which
shall benefit my mistress cannot do me prejudice. Father, I drink to you.«
    Foster, without speaking a word, rushed on his daughter, and wrested the
flask from her hand; then, as if embarrassed by what he had done, and totally
unable to resolve what he should do next, he stood with it in his hand, one foot
advanced and the other drawn back, glaring on his daughter with a countenance,
in which rage, fear, and convicted villainy, formed a hideous combination.
    »This is strange, my father,« said Janet, keeping her eye fixed on his, in
the manner in which those who have the charge of lunatics are said to overawe
their unhappy patients; »will you neither let me serve my lady, nor drink to her
myself?«
    The courage of the Countess sustained her through this dreadful scene, of
which the import was not the less obvious that it was not even hinted at. She
preserved even the rash carelessness of her temper, and though her cheek had
grown pale at the first alarm, her eye was calm, and almost scornful. »Will you
taste this rare cordial, Master Foster? Perhaps you will not yourself refuse to
pledge us, though you permit not Janet to do so - Drink, sir, I pray you.«
    »I will not,« answered Foster.
    »And for whom, then, is the precious beverage reserved, sir?« said the
Countess.
    »For the devil, who brewed it!« answered Foster; and, turning on his heel,
he left the chamber.
    Janet looked at her mistress with a countenance expressive in the highest
degree of shame, dismay, and sorrow.
    »Do not weep for me, Janet,« said the Countess, kindly.
    »No, madam,« replied her attendant, in a voice broken by sobs, »it is not
for you I weep, it is for myself - it is for that unhappy man. Those who are
dishonoured before man - those who are condemned by God, have cause to mourn -
not those who are innocent! - Farewell, madam!« she said, hastily assuming the
mantle in which she was wont to go abroad.
    »Do you leave me, Janet?« said her mistress - »desert me in such an evil
strait?«
    »Desert you, madam!« exclaimed Janet; and running back to her mistress, she
imprinted a thousand kisses on her hand - »desert you! - may the Hope of my
trust desert me when I do so! - No, madam; well you said the God you serve will
open you a path for deliverance. There is a way of escape; I have prayed night
and day for light, that I might see how to act betwixt my duty to yonder unhappy
man, and that which I owe to you. Sternly and fearfully that light has now
dawned, and I must not shut the door which God opens. - Ask me no more. I will
return in brief space.«
    So speaking, she wrapped herself in her mantle, and saying to the old woman
whom she passed in the outer room, that she was going to evening prayer, she
left the house.
    Meanwhile her father had reached once more the laboratory, where he found
the accomplices of his intended guilt.
    »Has the sweet bird sipped?« said Varney, with half a smile; while the
astrologer put the same question with his eyes, but spoke not a word.
    »She has not, nor she shall not from my hands,« replied Foster; »would you
have me do murder in my daughter's presence?«
    »Wert thou not told, thou sullen and yet faint-hearted slave,« answered
Varney, with bitterness, »that no murder, as thou call'st it, with that staring
look and stammering tone, is designed in the matter? Wert thou not told, that a
brief illness, such as woman puts on in very wantonness, that she may wear her
night-gear at noon, and lie on a settle when she should mind her domestic
business, is all here aimed at? Here is a learned man will swear it to thee by
the key of the Castle of Wisdom.«
    »I swear it,« said Alasco, »that the elixir thou hast there in the flask
will not prejudice life! I swear it by that immortal and indestructible
quintessence of gold, which pervades every substance in nature, though its
secret existence can be traced by him only to whom Trismegistus renders the key
of the Cabala.«
    »An oath of force,« said Varney. »Foster, thou wert worse than a Pagan to
disbelieve it. Believe me, moreover, who swear by nothing but by my own word,
that if you be not conformable, there is no hope, no, not a glimpse of hope,
that this thy leasehold may be transmuted into a copyhold. Thus, Alasco will
leave your pewter artillery untransmigrated, and I, honest Anthony, will still
have thee for my tenant.«
    »I know not, gentlemen,« said Foster, »where your designs tend to; but in
one thing I am bound up, - that, fall back fall edge, I will have one in this
place that may pray for me, and that one shall be my daughter. I have lived ill,
and the world has been too weighty with me; but she is as innocent as ever she
was when on her mother's lap, and she, at least, shall have her portion in that
happy City, whose walls are of pure gold, and the foundations garnished with all
manner of precious stones.«
    »Ay, Tony,« said Varney, »that were a paradise to thy heart's content. -
Debate the matter with him, Doctor Alasco; I will be with you anon.«
    So speaking, Varney arose, and taking the flask from the table, he left the
room.
    »I tell thee, my son,« said Alasco to Foster, as soon as Varney had left
them, »that whatever this bold and profligate railer may say of the mighty
science, in which, by Heaven's blessing, I have advanced so far, that I would
not call the wisest of living artists my better or my teacher - I say, howsoever
yonder reprobate may scoff at things too holy to be apprehended by men merely of
carnal and evil thoughts, yet believe, that the city beheld by St. John, in that
bright vision of the Christian Apocalypse, that New Jerusalem, of which all
Christian men hope to partake, sets forth typically the discovery of the GRAND
SECRET, whereby the most precious and perfect of nature's works are elicited out
of her basest and most crude productions; just as the light and gaudy butterfly,
the most beautiful child of the summer's breeze, breaks forth from the dungeon
of a sordid chrysalis.«
    »Master Holdforth said nought of this exposition,« said Foster doubtfully;
»and moreover, Doctor Alasco, the Holy Writ says, that the gold and precious
stones of the Holy City are in no sort for those who work abomination, or who
frame lies.«
    »Well, my son,« said the Doctor, »and what is your inference from thence?«
    »That those,« said Foster, »who distil poisons, and administer them in
secrecy, can have no portion in those unspeakable riches.«
    »You are to distinguish, my son,« replied the alchemist, »betwixt that which
is necessarily evil in its progress and in its end also, and that which, being
evil, is, nevertheless, capable of working forth good. If, by the death of one
person, the happy period shall be brought nearer to us, in which all that is
good shall be attained, by wishing its presence - all that is evil escaped, by
desiring its absence - in which sickness, and pain, and sorrow, shall be the
obedient servants of human wisdom, - and made to fly at the slightest signal of
a sage, - in which that which is now richest and rarest shall be within the
compass of every one who shall be obedient to the voice of wisdom, - when the
art of healing shall be lost and absorbed in the one universal medicine, - when
sages shall become monarchs of the earth, and death itself retreat before their
frown, - if this blessed consummation of all things can be hastened by the
slight circumstance, that a frail earthly body, which must needs partake
corruption, shall be consigned to the grave a short space earlier than in the
course of nature, what is such a sacrifice to the advancement of the holy
Millennium?«
    »Millennium is the reign of the Saints,« said Foster, somewhat doubtfully.
    »Say it is the reign of the Sages, my son,« answered Alasco; »or rather the
reign of Wisdom itself.«
    »I touched on the question with Master Holdforth last exercising night,«
said Foster; »but he says your doctrine is heterodox, and a damnable and false
exposition.«
    »He is in the bonds of ignorance, my son,« answered Alasco, »and as yet
burning bricks in Egypt; or, at best, wandering in the dry desert of Sinai. Thou
didst ill to speak to such a man of such matters. I will, however, give thee
proof, and that shortly, which I will defy that peevish divine to confute,
though he should strive with me as the magicians strove with Moses before King
Pharaoh. I will do projection in thy presence, my son, - in thy very presence,
and thine eyes shall witness the truth.«
    »Stick to that, learned sage,« said Varney, who at this moment entered the
apartment; »if he refuse the testimony of thy tongue, yet how shall he deny that
of his own eyes?«
    »Varney!« said the adept - »Varney already returned! Hast thou« -- he
stopped short.
    »Have I done mine errand, thou wouldst say,« replied Varney - »I have! - And
thou,« he added, showing more symptoms of interest than he had hitherto
exhibited, »art thou sure thou hast poured forth neither more nor less than the
just measure?«
    »Ay,« replied the alchemist, »as sure as men can be in these nice
proportions; for there is diversity of constitutions.«
    »Nay, then,« said Varney, »I fear nothing. I know thou wilt not go a step
farther to the devil than thou art justly considered for. Thou wert paid to
create illness, and wouldst esteem it thriftless prodigality to do murder at the
same price. Come, let us each to our chamber - We shall see the event
to-morrow.«
    »What didst thou do to make her swallow it?« said Foster, shuddering.
    »Nothing,« answered Varney, »but looked on her with that aspect which
governs madmen, women, and children. They told me, in Saint Luke's Hospital,
that I have the right look for overpowering a refractory patient. The keepers
made me their compliments on't; so I know how to win my bread, when my
court-favour fails me.«
    »And art thou not afraid,« said Foster, »lest the dose be disproportioned?«
    »If so,« replied Varney, »she will but sleep the sounder, and the fear of
that shall not break my rest. Good night, my masters.«
    Anthony Foster groaned heavily, and lifted up his hands and eyes. The
alchemist intimated his purpose to continue some experiment of high import
during the greater part of the night, and the others separated to their places
of repose.
 

                              Chapter Twenty-Third

 Now God be good to me in this wild pilgrimage!
 All hope in human aid I cast behind me.
 Oh, who would be a woman? - who that fool,
 A weeping, pining, faithful, loving woman?
 She hath hard measure still where she hopes kindest,
 And all her bounties only make ingrates.
                                                              Love's Pilgrimage.
 
The summer evening was closed, and Janet, just when her longer stay might have
occasioned suspicion and inquiry in that jealous household, returned to Cumnor
Place, and hastened to the apartment in which she had left her lady. She found
her with her head resting on her arms, and these crossed upon a table which
stood before her. As Janet came in, she neither looked up nor stirred.
    Her faithful attendant ran to her mistress with the speed of lightning, and
rousing her at the same time with her hand, conjured the Countess, in the most
earnest manner, to look up, and say what thus affected her. The unhappy lady
raised her head accordingly, and looking on her attendant with a ghastly eye,
and cheek as pale as clay, »Janet,« she said, »I have drunk it.«
    »God be praised!« said Janet, hastily - »I mean, God be praised that it is
no worse - the potion will not harm you. - Rise, shake this lethargy from your
limbs, and this despair from your mind.«
    »Janet,« repeated the Countess again, »disturb me not - leave me at peace -
let life pass quietly, - I am poisoned.«
    »You are not, my dearest lady,« answered the maiden, eagerly - »What you
have swallowed cannot injure you, for the antidote has been taken before it, and
I hastened hither to tell you that the means of escape are open to you.«
    »Escape!« exclaimed the lady, as she raised herself hastily in her chair,
while light returned to her eye and life to her cheek; »but ah! Janet, it comes
too late.«
    »Not so, dearest lady - Rise, take mine arm, walk through the apartment -
Let not fancy do the work of poison! - So; feel you not now that you are
possessed of the full use of your limbs?«
    »The torpor seems to diminish,« said the Countess, as, supported by Janet,
she walked to and fro in the apartment; »but is it then so, and have I not
swallowed a deadly draught? Varney was here since thou wert gone, and commanded
me, with eyes in which I read my fate, to swallow yon horrible drug. Oh, Janet!
it must be fatal; never was harmless drug served by such a cup-bearer!«
    »He did not deem it harmless, I fear,« replied the maiden; »but God
confounds the devices of the wicked. Believe me, as I swear by the dear Gospel
in which we trust, your life is safe from his practice. Did you not debate with
him?«
    »The house was silent,« answered the lady - »thou gone - no other but he in
the chamber - and he capable of every crime. I did but stipulate he would remove
his hateful presence, and I drank whatever he offered. - But you spoke of
escape, Janet; can I be so happy?«
    »Are you strong enough to bear the tidings, and make the effort?« said the
maiden.
    »Strong!« answered the Countess - »Ask the hind, when the fangs of the
deer-hound are stretched to gripe her, if she is strong enough to spring over a
chasm. I am equal to every effort that may relieve me from this place.«
    »Hear me, then,« said Janet. »One, whom I deem an assured friend of yours,
has shown himself to me in various disguises, and sought speech of me, which, -
for my mind was not clear on the matter until this evening, - I have ever
declined. He was the pedlar who brought you goods - the itinerant hawker who
sold me books - whenever I stirred abroad I was sure to see him. The event of
this night determined me to speak with him. He waits even now at the
postern-gate of the park with means for your flight. - But have you strength of
body? - Have you courage of mind? - Can you undertake the enterprise?«
    »She that flies from death,« said the lady, »finds strength of body - she
that would escape from shame, lacks no strength of mind. The thoughts of leaving
behind me the villain who menaces both my life and honour, would give me
strength to rise from my death-bed.«
    »In God's name, then, lady,« said Janet, »I must bid you adieu, and to God's
charge I must commit you!«
    »Will you not fly with me, then, Janet?« said the Countess, anxiously - »Am
I to lose thee? Is this thy faithful service?«
    »Lady, I would fly with you as willingly as bird ever fled from cage, but my
doing so would occasion instant discovery and pursuit. I must remain, and use
means to disguise the truth for some time - May Heaven pardon the falsehood,
because of the necessity!«
    »And am I then to travel alone with this stranger?« said the lady - »Bethink
thee, Janet, may not this prove some deeper and darker scheme to separate me
perhaps from you, who are my only friend?«
    »No, madam, do not suppose it,« answered Janet, readily; »the youth is an
honest youth in his purpose to you; and a friend to Mr. Tressilian, under whose
direction he has come hither.«
    »If he be a friend of Tressilian,« said the Countess, »I will commit myself
to his charge, as to that of an angel sent from heaven; for than Tressilian,
never breathed mortal man more free of whatever was base, false, or selfish. He
forgot himself whenever he could be of use to others - Alas! and how was he
requited!«
    With eager haste they collected the few necessaries which it was thought
proper the Countess should take with her, and which Janet, with speed and
dexterity, formed into a small bundle, not forgetting to add such ornaments of
intrinsic value as came most readily in her way, and particularly a casket of
jewels, which she wisely judged might prove of service in some future emergency.
The Countess of Leicester next changed her dress for one which Janet usually
wore upon any brief journey, for they judged it necessary to avoid every
external distinction which might attract attention. Ere these preparations were
fully made, the moon had arisen in the summer heaven, and all in the mansion had
betaken themselves to rest, or at least to the silence and retirement of their
chambers.
    There was no difficulty anticipated in escaping, whether from the house or
garden, provided only they could elude observation. Anthony Foster had
accustomed himself to consider his daughter as a conscious sinner might regard a
visible guardian angel, which, notwithstanding his guilt, continued to hover
around him, and therefore his trust in her knew no bounds. Janet commanded her
own motions during the day-time, and had a master-key which opened the
postern-door of the park, so that she could go to the village at pleasure,
either upon the household affairs, which were entirely confided to her
management, or to attend her devotions at the meeting-house of her sect. It is
true, the daughter of Foster was thus liberally entrusted under the solemn
condition that she should not avail herself of these privileges, to do anything
inconsistent with the safe-keeping of the Countess; for so her residence at
Cumnor Place had been termed, since she began of late to exhibit impatience of
the restrictions to which she was subjected. Nor is there reason to suppose,
that anything short of the dreadful suspicions which the scene of that evening
had excited, could have induced Janet to violate her word, or deceive her
father's confidence. But from what she had witnessed, she now conceived herself
not only justified, but imperatively called upon, to make her lady's safety the
principal object of her care, setting all other considerations aside.
    The fugitive Countess, with her guide, traversed with hasty steps the broken
and interrupted path, which had once been an avenue, now totally darkened by the
boughs of spreading trees which met above their head, and now receiving a
doubtful and deceiving light from the beams of the moon, which penetrated where
the axe had made openings in the wood. Their path was repeatedly interrupted by
felled trees, or the large boughs which had been left on the ground till time
served to make them into fagots and billets. The inconvenience and difficulty
attending these interruptions, the breathless haste of the first part of their
route, the exhausting sensations of hope and fear, so much affected the
Countess's strength, that Janet was forced to propose that they should pause for
a few minutes to recover breath and spirits. Both therefore stood still beneath
the shadow of a huge old gnarled oak-tree, and both naturally looked back to the
mansion which they had left behind them, whose long dark front was seen in the
gloomy distance, with its huge stacks of chimneys, turrets, and clock-house,
rising above the line of the roof, and definedly visible against the pure azure
blue of the summer sky. One light only twinkled from the extended and shadowy
mass, and it was placed so low, that it rather seemed to glimmer from the ground
in front of the mansion, than from one of the windows. The Countess's terror was
awakened. - »They follow us!« she said, pointing out to Janet the light which
thus alarmed her.
    Less agitated than her mistress, Janet perceived that the gleam was
stationary, and informed the Countess, in a whisper, that the light proceeded
from the solitary cell in which the alchemist pursued his occult experiments. -
»He is of those,« she added, »who sit up and watch by night that they may commit
iniquity. Evil was the chance which sent hither a man, whose mixed speech of
earthly wealth and unearthly or superhuman knowledge, hath in it what doth so
especially captivate my poor father. Well spoke the good Master Holdforth - and,
methought, not without meaning that those of our household should find therein a
practical use. There be those, he said, and their number is legion, who will
rather, like the wicked Ahab, listen to the dreams of the false prophet
Zedechias, than to the words of him by whom the Lord has spoken. And he farther
insisted - Ah, my brethren, there be many Zedechiases among you - men that
promise you the light of their carnal knowledge, so you will surrender to them
that of your heavenly understanding. What are they better than the tyrant Naas,
who demanded the right eye of those who were subjected to him? And farther he
insisted« -
    It is uncertain how long the fair puritan's memory might have supported her
in the recapitulation of Master Holdforth's discourse; but the Countess now
interrupted her, and assured her she was so much recovered that she could now
reach the postern without the necessity of a second delay.
    They set out accordingly, and performed the second part of their journey
with more deliberation, and of course more easily, than the first hasty
commencement. This gave them leisure for reflection; and Janet now, for the
first time, ventured to ask her lady, which way she proposed to direct her
flight. Receiving no immediate answer - for, perhaps, in the confusion of her
mind, this very obvious subject of deliberation had not occurred to the Countess
- Janet ventured to add, »Probably to your father's house, where you are sure of
safety and protection?«
    »No, Janet,« said the Lady, mournfully, »I left Lidcote Hall while my heart
was light and my name was honourable, and I will not return thither till my
lord's permission and public acknowledgement of our marriage restore me to my
native home, with all the rank and honour which he has bestowed on me.«
    »And whither will you, then, madam?« said Janet.
    »To Kenilworth, girl,« said the Countess, boldly and freely. »I will see
these revels - these princely revels - the preparation for which makes the land
ring from side to side. Methinks, when the Queen of England feasts within my
husband's halls, the Countess of Leicester should be no unbeseeming guest.«
    »I pray God you may be a welcome one!« said Janet, hastily.
    »You abuse my situation, Janet,« said the Countess, angrily, »and you forget
your own.«
    »I do neither, dearest madam,« said the sorrowful maiden; »but have you
forgotten that the noble Earl has given such strict charges to keep your
marriage secret, that he may preserve his court-favour? and can you think that
your sudden appearance at his castle, at such a juncture, and in such a
presence, will be acceptable to him?«
    »Thou thinkest I would disgrace him,« said the Countess; - »nay, let go my
arm, I can walk without aid, and work without counsel.«
    »Be not angry with me, lady,« said Janet, meekly, »and let me still support
you; the road is rough, and you are little accustomed to walk in darkness.«
    »If you deem me not so mean as may disgrace my husband,« said the Countess,
in the same resentful tone, »you suppose my Lord of Leicester capable of
abetting, perhaps of giving aim and authority, to the base proceedings of your
father and Varney, whose errand I will do to the good Earl.«
    »For God's sake, madam, spare my father in your report,« said Janet; »let my
services, however poor, be some atonement for his errors!«
    »I were most unjust, dearest Janet, were it otherwise,« said the Countess,
resuming at once the fondness and confidence of her manner towards her faithful
attendant. »No, Janet, not a word of mine shall do your father prejudice. But
thou seest, my love, I have no desire but to throw myself on my husband's
protection. I have left the abode he assigned for me because of the villainy of
the persons by whom I was surrounded - but I will disobey his commands in no
other particular. I will appeal to him alone - I will be protected by him alone
- To no other, than at his pleasure, have I or will I communicate the secret
union which combines our hearts and our destinies. I will see him, and receive
from his own lips the directions for my future conduct. Do not argue against my
resolution, Janet; you will only confirm me in it, and, to own the truth, I am
resolved to know my fate at once, and from my husband's own mouth, and to seek
him at Kenilworth is the surest way to attain my purpose.«
    While Janet hastily revolved in her mind the difficulties and uncertainties
attendant on the unfortunate lady's situation, she was inclined to alter her
first opinion, and to think, upon the whole, that since the Countess had
withdrawn herself from the retreat in which she had been placed by her husband,
it was her first duty to repair to his presence, and possess him with the
reasons of such conduct. She knew what importance the Earl attached to the
concealment of their marriage, and could not but own, that by taking any step to
make it public without his permission, the Countess would incur, in a high
degree, the indignation of her husband. If she retired to her father's house
without an explicit avowal of her rank, her situation was likely greatly to
prejudice her character; and if she made such an avowal, it might occasion an
irreconcilable breach with her husband. At Kenilworth, again, she might plead
her cause with her husband himself, whom Janet, though distrusting him more than
the Countess did, believed incapable of being accessory to the base and
desperate means which his dependants, from whose power the lady was now
escaping, might resort to, in order to stifle her complaints of the treatment
she had received at their hands. But at the worst, and were the Earl himself to
deny her justice and protection, still at Kenilworth, if she chose to make her
wrongs public, the Countess might have Tressilian for her advocate, and the
Queen for her judge; for so much Janet had learned in her short conference with
Wayland. She was, therefore, on the whole, reconciled to her lady's proposal of
going towards Kenilworth, and so expressed herself; recommending, however, to
the Countess the utmost caution in making her arrival known to her husband.
    »Hast thou thyself been cautious, Janet?« said the Countess; »this guide, in
whom I must put my confidence, hast thou not entrusted to him the secret of my
condition?«
    »From me he has learned nothing,« said Janet; »nor do I think that he knows
more than what the public in general believe of your situation.«
    »And what is that?« said the lady.
    »That you left your father's house - but I shall offend you again if I go
on,« said Janet, interrupting herself.
    »Nay, go on,« said the Countess; »I must learn to endure the evil report
which my folly has brought upon me. They think, I suppose, that I have left my
father's house to follow lawless pleasure - It is an error which will soon be
removed - indeed it shall, for I will live with spotless fame, or I shall cease
to live. - I am accounted, then, the paramour of my Leicester?«
    »Most men say of Varney,« said Janet; »yet some call him only the convenient
cloak of his master's pleasures; for reports of the profuse expense in
garnishing yonder apartments have secretly gone abroad, and such doings far
surpass the means of Varney. But this latter opinion is little prevalent; for
men dare hardly even hint suspicion when so high a name is concerned, lest the
Star-chamber should punish them for scandal of the nobility.«
    »They do well to speak low,« said the Countess, »who would mention the
illustrious Dudley as the accomplice of such a wretch as Varney. - We have
reached the postern - Ah! Janet, I must bid thee farewell! - Weep not, my good
girl,« said she, endeavouring to cover her own reluctance to part with her
faithful attendant under an attempt at playfulness, »and against we meet again,
reform me, Janet, that precise ruff of thine for an open rabatine of lace and
cut work, that will let men see thou hast a fair neck; and that kirtle of
Philippine chency, with that bugle lace which befits only a chamber-maid, into
three-piled velvet and cloth of gold - thou wilt find plenty of stuffs in my
chamber, and I freely bestow them on you. Thou must be brave, Janet; for though
thou art now but the attendant of a distressed and errant lady, who is both
nameless and fameless, yet when we meet again, thou must be dressed as becomes
the gentlewoman nearest in love and in service to the first Countess in
England.«
    »Now, may God grant it, dear lady!« said Janet; - »not that I may go with
gayer apparel, but that we may both wear our kirtles over lighter hearts.«
    By this time the lock of the postern-door had, after some hard wrenching,
yielded to the master-key; and the Countess, not without internal shuddering,
saw herself beyond the walls which her husband's strict commands had assigned to
her as the boundary of her walks. Waiting with much anxiety for their
appearance, Wayland Smith stood at some distance, shrouding himself behind a
hedge which bordered the high-road.
    »Is all safe?« said Janet to him, anxiously, as he approached them with
caution.
    »All,« he replied; »but I have been unable to procure a horse for the lady.
Giles Gosling, the cowardly hilding, refused me one on any terms whatever; lest,
forsooth, he should suffer - but no matter. She must ride on my palfrey, and I
must walk by her side until I come by another horse. There will be no pursuit,
if you, pretty Mistress Janet, forget not thy lesson.«
    »No more than the wise widow of Tekoa forgot the words which Joab put into
her mouth,« answered Janet. »To-morrow, I say that my lady is unable to rise.«
    »Ay, and that she hath aching and heaviness of the head - a throbbing at the
heart, and lists not to be disturbed. - Fear not; they will take the hint, and
trouble thee with few questions - they understand the disease.«
    »But,« said the Lady, »my absence must be soon discovered, and they will
murder her in revenge. - I will rather return than expose her to such danger.«
    »Be at ease on my account, madam,« said Janet; »I would you were as sure of
receiving the favour you desire from those to whom you must make appeal, as I am
that my father, however angry, will suffer no harm to befall me.«
    The Countess was now placed by Wayland upon his horse, around the saddle of
which he had placed his cloak, so folded as to make her a commodious seat.
    »Adieu, and may the blessing of God wend with you!« said Janet, again
kissing her mistress's hand, who returned her benediction with a mute caress.
They then tore themselves asunder, and Janet, addressing Wayland, exclaimed,
»May Heaven deal with you at your need, as you are true or false to this most
injured and most helpless lady!«
    »Amen! dearest Janet,« replied Wayland; - »and believe me, I will so acquit
myself of my trust, as may tempt even your pretty eyes, saint-like as they are,
to look less scornfully on me when we next meet.«
    The latter part of this adieu was whispered into Janet's ear; and, although
she made no reply to it directly, yet her manner, influenced no doubt by her
desire to leave every motive in force which could operate towards her mistress's
safety, did not discourage the hope which Wayland's words expressed. She
re-entered the postern-door, and locked it behind her, while Wayland, taking the
horse's bridle in his hand, and walking close by its head, they began in silence
their dubious and moonlight journey.
    Although Wayland Smith used the utmost despatch which he could make, yet
this mode of travelling was so slow, that when morning began to dawn through the
eastern mist, he found himself no farther than about ten miles distant from
Cumnor. »Now a plague upon all smooth-spoken hosts!« said Wayland, unable longer
to suppress his mortification and uneasiness. »Had the false loon, Giles
Gosling, but told me plainly two days since, that I was to reckon nought upon
him, I had shifted better for myself. But your hosts have such a custom of
promising whatever is called for, that it is not till the steed is to be shod
you find they are out of iron. Had I but known, I could have made twenty shifts;
nay, for that matter, and in so good a cause, I would have thought little to
have prigged a prancer from the next common - it had but been sending back the
brute to the head borough. The farcy and the founders confound every horse in
the stables of the Black Bear!«
    The lady endeavoured to comfort her guide, observing, that the dawn would
enable him to make more speed.
    »True, madam,« he replied; »but then it will enable other folk to take note
of us, and that may prove an ill beginning of our journey. I had not cared a
spark from anvil about the matter, had we been farther advanced on our way. But
this Berkshire has been notoriously haunted ever since I knew the country, with
that sort of malicious elves, who sit up late and rise early, for no other
purpose than to pry into other folk's affairs. I have been endangered by them
ere now. But do not fear,« he added, »good madam; for wit meeting with
opportunity, will not miss to find a salve for every sore.«
    The alarms of her guide made more impression on the Countess's mind than the
comfort which he judged fit to administer along with it. She looked anxiously
around her, and as the shadows withdrew from the landscape, and the heightening
glow of the eastern sky promised the speedy rise of the sun, expected at every
turn that the increasing light would expose them to the view of the vengeful
pursuers, or present some dangerous and insurmountable obstacle to the
prosecution of their journey. Wayland Smith perceived her uneasiness, and,
displeased with himself for having given her cause of alarm, strode on with
affected alacrity, now talking to the horse as one expert in the language of the
stable, now whistling to himself low and interrupted snatches of tunes, and now
assuring the lady there was no danger; while at the same time he looked sharply
around to see that there was nothing in sight, which might give the lie to his
words while they were issuing from his mouth. Thus did they journey on, until an
unexpected incident gave them the means of continuing their pilgrimage with more
speed and convenience.
 

                             Chapter Twenty-Fourth

 Richard: A horse! - a horse! - my kingdom for a horse!
 Catesby: -- My lord, I'll help you to a horse.
                                                                    Richard III.
 
Our travellers were in the act of passing a small thicket of trees dose by the
road side, when the first living being presented himself whom they had seen
since their departure from Cumnor Place. This was a stupid lout, seemingly a
farmer's boy, in a grey jerkin, with his head bare, his hose about his heels,
and huge startups upon his feet. He held by the bridle what of all things they
most wanted, a palfrey, namely, with a side-saddle, and all other garniture for
a woman's mounting; and he hailed Wayland Smith with, »Zur, be ye zure the
party?«
    »Ay, that I be, my lad,« answered Wayland, without an instant's hesitation;
and it must be owned that consciences, trained in a stricter school of morality,
might have given way to an occasion so tempting. While he spoke, he caught the
rein out of the boy's hand, and almost at the same time helped down the Countess
from his own horse, and aided her to mount on that which chance had thus
presented for her acceptance. Indeed so naturally did the whole take place, that
the Countess, as it afterwards appeared, never suspected but that the horse had
been placed there to meet them by the precaution of the guide, or some of his
friends.
    The lad, however, who was thus hastily dispossessed of his charge, began to
stare hard, and scratch his head, as if seized with some qualms of conscience
for delivering up the animal on such brief explanation. - »I be right zure thou
be'st the party,« said he, muttering to himself, »but thou shouldst ha zaid
Beans, thou knaw'st.«
    »Ay, ay,« said Wayland, speaking at a venture; »and thou Bacon, thou
know'st.«
    »Noa, noa,« said the lad; »bide ye - bide ye - it was Peas a should ha
said.«
    »Well, well,« answered Wayland, »peas be it, a God's name! though bacon were
the better pass-word.«
    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
farther 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 God-send,« said Wayland; »this is a bonny
well-ridden bit of a going thing, and it will carry us so far till we get you as
well mounted, and then we will send it back time enough to satisfy the Hue and
Cry.«
    But he was deceived in his expectations; and fate, which seemed at first to
promise so fairly, soon threatened to turn the incident, which he thus gloried
in, into the cause of their utter ruin.
    They had not ridden a short mile from the place where they left the lad,
before they heard a man's voice shouting on the wind behind them, »Robbery!
robbery! - Stop thief!« and similar exclamations, which Wayland's conscience
readily assured him must arise out of the transaction to which he had been just
accessory.
    »I had better have gone barefoot all my life,« he said; »it is the Hue and
Cry, and I am a lost man. Ah! Wayland, Wayland, many a time thy father said
horse-flesh would be the death of thee. Were I once safe among the
horse-coursers in Smithfield, or Turnball Street, they should have leave to hang
me as high as St. Paul's, if I e'er meddled more with nobles, knights, or
gentlewomen.«
    Amidst these dismal reflections he turned his head repeatedly to see by whom
he was chased, and was much comforted when he could only discover a single
rider, who was, however, well mounted, and came after them at a speed which left
them no chance of escaping, even had the lady's strength permitted her to ride
as fast as her palfrey might have been able to gallop.
    »There may be fair play betwixt us, sure,« thought Wayland, »where there is
but one man on each side, and yonder fellow sits on his horse more like a monkey
than a cavalier. Pshaw! if it come to the worst, it will be easy unhorsing him.
Nay, 'snails! I think his horse will take the matter in his own hand, for he has
the bridle betwixt his teeth. Oons, what care I for him?« said he, as the
pursuer drew yet nearer; »it is but the little animal of a mercer from Abingdon,
when all is over.«
    Even so it was, as the experienced eye of Wayland had descried at a
distance. For the valiant mercer's horse, which was a beast of mettle, feeling
himself put to his speed, and discerning a couple of horses riding fast, at some
hundred yards' distance before him, betook himself to the road with such
alacrity as totally deranged the seat of his rider, who not only came up with,
but passed, at full gallop, those whom he had been pursuing, pulling the reins
with all his might, and ejaculating »Stop! stop!« an interjection which seemed
rather to regard his own palfrey, than what seamen call »the chase.« With the
same involuntary speed, he shot ahead (to use another nautical phrase) about a
furlong, ere he was able to stop and turn his horse, and then rode back towards
our travellers, adjusting, as well as he could, his disordered dress, resettling
himself in the saddle, and endeavouring to substitute a bold and martial frown,
for the confusion and dismay which sate upon his visage during his involuntary
career.
    Wayland had just time to caution the lady not to be alarmed, adding, »This
fellow is a gull, and I will use him as such.«
    When the mercer had recovered breath and audacity enough to confront them,
he ordered Wayland, in a menacing tone, to deliver up his palfrey.
    »How?« said the smith, in King Cambyses' vein, »are we commanded to stand
and deliver on the King's highway? Then out, Excalibar, and tell this knight of
prowess that dire blows must decide between us!«
    »Haro and help, and hue and cry, every true man!« said the mercer; »I am
withstood in seeking to recover mine own!«
    »Thou swearest thy gods in vain, foul paynim,« said Wayland, »for I will
through with my purpose were death at the end on't. Nevertheless, know, thou
false man of frail cambric and ferrateen, that I am he, even the pedlar, whom
thou didst boast to meet on Maiden-castle moor, and despoil of his pack;
wherefore betake thee to thy weapons presently.«
    »I spoke but in jest, man,« said Goldthred; »I am an honest shopkeeper and
citizen, who scorns to leap forth on any man from behind a hedge.«
    »Then, by my faith, most puissant mercer,« answered Wayland, »I am sorry for
my vow, which was, that wherever I met thee I would despoil thee of thy palfrey,
and bestow it upon my leman, unless thou couldst defend it by blows of force.
But the vow is passed and registered, and all that I can do for thee, is to
leave the horse at Donnington, in the nearest hostelry.«
    »But I tell thee, friend,« said the mercer, »it is the very horse on which I
was this day to carry Jane Thackham of Shottesbrok as far as the parish church
yonder, to become Dame Goldthred. She hath jumped out of the shot-window of old
Gaffer Thackham's grange; and lo ye, yonder she stands at the place where she
should have met the palfrey, with her camlet riding-cloak, and ivory-handled
whip, like a picture of Lot's wife. I pray you, in good terms, let me have back
the palfrey.«
    »Grieved am I,« said Wayland, »as much for the fair damsel as for thee, most
noble imp of muslin. But vows must have their course - thou wilt find the
palfrey at the Angel yonder at Donnington. It is all I may do for thee with a
safe conscience.«
    »To the devil with thy conscience!« said the dismayed mercer - »Wouldst thou
have a bride walk to church on foot?«
    »Thou mayst take her on thy crupper, Sir Goldthred,« answered Wayland; »it
will take down thy steed's mettle.«
    »And how if you - if you forget to leave my horse, as you propose?« said
Goldthred, not without hesitation, for his soul was afraid within him.
    »My pack shall be pledged for it - yonder it lies with Giles Gosling, in his
chamber with the damask'd leathern hangings, stuffed full with velvet, single,
double, treble-piled - rash-taffeta and parapa - shag, damask, and mocado,
plush, and grogram« -
    »Hold! hold!« exclaimed the mercer; »nay, if there be, in truth and
sincerity, but the half of these wares - but if ever I trust bumpkin with bonny
Bayard again!«
    »As you list for that, good Master Goldthred - and so good-morrow to you -
and well parted,« he added, riding on cheerfully with the lady, while the
discountenanced mercer rode back much slower than he came, pondering what excuse
he should make to the disappointed bride, who stood waiting for her gallant
groom in the midst of the king's highway.
    »Methought,« said the lady, as they rode on, »yonder fool stared at me as if
he had some remembrance of me; yet I kept my muffler as high as I might.«
    »If I thought so,« said Wayland, »I would ride back, and cut him over the
pate - there would be no fear of harming his brains, for he never had so much as
would make pap to a sucking gosling. We must now push on, however, and at
Donnington we will leave the oaf's horse, that he may have no farther temptation
to pursue us, and endeavour to assume such a change of shape as may baffle his
pursuit, if he should persevere in it.«
    The travellers reached Donnington without farther alarm, where it became
matter of necessity that the Countess should enjoy two or three hours' repose,
during which Wayland disposed himself, with equal address and alacrity, to carry
through those measures on which the safety of their future journey seemed to
depend.
    Exchanging his pedlar's gaberdine for a smock-frock, he carried the palfrey
of Goldthred to the Angel Inn, which was at the other end of the village from
that where our travellers had taken up their quarters. In the progress of the
morning, as he travelled about his other business, he saw the steed brought
forth and delivered to the cutting mercer himself, who, at the head of a
valorous posse of the Hue and Cry, came to rescue, by force of arms, what was
delivered to him without any other ransom than the price of a huge quantity of
ale, drunk out by his assistants, thirsty, it would seem, with their walk, and
concerning the price of which Master Goldthred had a fierce dispute with the
head borough, whom he had summoned to aid him in raising the country.
    Having made this act of prudent, as well as just restitution, Wayland
procured such change of apparel for the lady, as well as himself, as gave them
both the appearance of country people of the better class; it being farther
resolved, that in order to attract the less observation, she should pass upon
the road for the sister of her guide. A good, but not a gay horse, fit to keep
pace with his own, and gentle enough for a lady's use, completed the
preparations for the journey; for making which, and for other expenses, he had
been furnished with sufficient funds by Tressilian. And thus, about noon, after
the Countess had been refreshed by the sound repose of several hours, they
resumed their journey, with the purpose of making the best of their way to
Kenilworth, by Coventry and Warwick. They were not, however, destined to travel
far, without meeting some cause of apprehension.
    It is necessary to premise, that the landlord of the inn had informed them
that a jovial party, intended, as he understood, to present some of the masques
or mummeries, which made a part of the entertainment with which the Queen was
usually welcomed on the royal Progresses, had left the village of Donnington an
hour or two before them, in order to proceed to Kenilworth. Now it had occurred
to Wayland, that, by attaching themselves in some sort to this group, as soon as
they should overtake them on the road, they would be less likely to attract
notice, than if they continued to travel entirely by themselves. He communicated
his idea to the Countess, who, only anxious to arrive at Kenilworth without
interruption, left him free to choose the manner in which this was to be
accomplished. They pressed forward their horses, therefore, with the purpose of
overtaking the party of intended revellers, and making the journey in their
company; and had just seen the little party, consisting partly of riders, partly
of people on foot, crossing the summit of a gentle hill, at about half-a-mile's
distance, and disappearing on the other side, when Wayland, who maintained the
most circumspect observation of all that met his eye in every direction, was
aware that a rider was coming up behind them on a horse of uncommon action,
accompanied by a serving-man, whose utmost efforts were unable to keep up with
his master's trotting hackney, and who, therefore, was fain to follow him at a
hand gallop. Wayland looked anxiously back at these horsemen, became
considerably disturbed in his manner, looked back again, and became pale, as he
said to the lady - »That is Richard Varney's trotting gelding - I would know him
among a thousand nags - this is a worse business than meeting the mercer.«
    »Draw your sword,« answered the lady, »and pierce my bosom with it, rather
than I should fall into his hands!«
    »I would rather by a thousand times,« answered Wayland, »pass it through his
body, or even mine own. But, to say truth, fighting is not my best point, though
I can look on cold iron, like another, when needs must be. And indeed, as for my
sword - (put on, I pray you), it is a poor provant rapier, and I warrant you he
has a special Toledo. He has a serving-man, too, and I think it is the drunken
ruffian Lambourne, upon the horse on which men say - (I pray you heartily to put
on) - he did the great robbery of the west country grazier. It is not that I
fear either Varney or Lambourne in a good cause - (your palfrey will go yet
faster if you urge him) - But yet - (nay, I pray you let him not break off into
the gallop, lest they should see we fear them, and give chase - keep him only at
the full trot) - But yet, though I fear them not, I would we were well rid of
them, and that rather by policy than by violence. Could we once reach the party
before us, we may herd among them, and pass unobserved, unless Varney be really
come in express pursuit of us, and then, happy man be his dole!«
    While he thus spoke, he alternately urged and restrained his horse, desirous
to maintain the fleetest pace that was consistent with the idea of an ordinary
journey on the road, but to avoid such rapidity of movement as might give rise
to suspicion that they were flying.
    At such a pace they ascended the gentle hill we have mentioned, and, looking
from the top, had the pleasure to see that the party which had left Donnington
before them, were in the little valley or bottom on the other side, where the
road was traversed by a rivulet, beside which was a cottage or two. In this
place they seemed to have made a pause, which gave Wayland the hope of joining
them, and becoming a part of their company, ere Varney should overtake them. He
was the more anxious, as his companion, though she made no complaints, and
expressed no fear, began to look so deadly pale, that he was afraid she might
drop from her horse. Notwithstanding this symptom of decaying strength, she
pushed on her palfrey so briskly, that they joined the party in the bottom of
the valley, ere Varney appeared on the top of the gentle eminence which they
descended.
    They found the company to which they meant to associate themselves, in great
disorder. The women with dishevelled locks, and looks of great importance, ran
in and out of one of the cottages, and the men stood around holding the horses,
and looking silly enough, as is usual in cases where their assistance is not
wanted.
    Wayland and his charge paused, as if out of curiosity, and then gradually,
without making any inquiries, or being asked any questions, they mingled with
the group, as if they had always made part of it.
    They had not stood there above five minutes, anxiously keeping as much to
the side of the road as possible, so as to place the other travellers betwixt
them and Varney, when Lord Leicester's master of the horse, followed by
Lambourne, came riding fiercely down the hill, their horses' flanks and the
rowels of their spurs showing bloody tokens of the rate at which they travelled.
The appearance of the stationary group around the cottages, wearing their
buckram suits in order to protect their masquing dresses, having their light
cart for transporting their scenery, and carrying various fantastic properties
in their hands for the more easy conveyance, let the riders at once into the
character and purpose of the company.
    »You are revellers,« said Varney, »designing for Kenilworth.«
    »Recte quidem, Domine spectatissime,« answered one of the party.
    »And why the devil stand you here,« said Varney, »when your utmost despatch
will but bring you to Kenilworth in time? The Queen dines at Warwick to-morrow,
and you loiter here, ye knaves.«
    »In very truth, sir,« said a little diminutive urchin, wearing a vizard with
a couple of sprouting horns of an elegant scarlet hue, having moreover a black
serge jerkin drawn close to his body by lacing, garnished with red stockings,
and shoes so shaped as to resemble cloven feet, - »in very truth, sir, and you
are in the right on't. - It is my father the Devil, who, being taken in labour,
has delayed our present purpose, by increasing our company with an imp too
many.«
    »The devil he has!« answered Varney, whose laugh, however, never exceeded a
sarcastic smile.
    »It is even as the juvenal hath said,« added the masquer who spoke first;
»our major devil, for this is but our minor one, is even now at Lucina fer opem,
within that very tugurium.«
    »By Saint George, or rather by the Dragon, who may be a kinsman of the fiend
in the straw, a most comical chance!« said Varney. »How sayest thou, Lambourne,
wilt thou stand godfather for the nonce? - if the devil were to choose a gossip,
I know no one more fit for the office.«
    »Saving always when my betters are in presence,« said Lambourne, with the
civil impudence of a servant who knows his services to be so indispensable, that
his jest will be permitted to pass muster.
    »And what is the name of this devil or devil's dam, who has timed her turns
so strangely?« said Varney. »We can ill afford to spare any of our actors.«
    »Gaudet nomine Sibyllæ,« said the first speaker, »she is called Sibyl
Laneham, wife of Master Richard Laneham« -
    »Clerk to the Council-Chamber door,« said Varney; »why, she is inexcusable,
having had experience how to have ordered her matters better. But who were
those, a man and a woman, I think, who rode so hastily up the hill before me
even now? - do they belong to your company?«
    Wayland was about to hazard a reply to this alarming inquiry, when the
little diablotin again thrust in his oar.
    »So please you,« he said, coming close up to Varney, and speaking so as not
to be overheard by his companions, »the man was our devil major, who has tricks
enough to supply the lack of a hundred such as Dame Laneham; and the woman - if
you please, is the sage person whose assistance is most particularly necessary
to our distressed comrade.«
    »Oh, what, you have got the wise woman, then?« said Varney. - »Why, truly,
she rode like one bound to a place where she was needed - And you have a spare
limb of Satan, besides, to supply the place of Mistress Laneham!«
    »Ay, sir,« said the boy, »they are not so scarce in this world as your
honour's virtuous eminence would suppose. - This master-fiend shall spit a few
flashes of fire, and eruct a volume or two of smoke on the spot, if it will do
you pleasure - you would think he had Ætna in his abdomen.«
    »I lack time just now, most hopeful imp of darkness, to witness his
performance,« said Varney; »but here is something for you all to drink the lucky
hour - and so, as the play says, God be with your labour!«
    Thus speaking, he struck his horse with the spurs, and rode on his way.
    Lambourne tarried a moment or two behind his master, and rummaged his pouch
for a piece of silver, which he bestowed on the communicative imp, as he said,
for his encouragement on his path to the infernal regions, some sparks of whose
fire, he said, he could discover flashing from him already. Then having received
the boy's thanks for his generosity, he also spurred his horse, and rode after
his master as fast as the fire flashes from flint.
    »And now,« said the wily imp, sideling close up to Wayland's horse, and
cutting a gambol in the air, which seemed to vindicate his title to relationship
with the prince of that element, »I have told them who you are, do you in return
tell me who I am?«
    »Either Flibbertigibbet,« answered Wayland Smith, »or else an imp of the
devil in good earnest.«
    »Thou hast hit it,« answered Dickie Sludge; »I am thine own Flibbertigibbet,
man; and I have broken forth of bounds, along with my learned preceptor, as I
told thee I would do, whether he would or not. - But what lady hast thou got
with thee? I saw thou wert at fault the first question was asked, and so I drew
up for thy assistance. But I must know all who she is, dear Wayland.«
    »Thou shalt know fifty finer things, my dear ingle,« said Wayland; »but a
truce to thine inquiries just now; and since you are bound for Kenilworth,
thither will I too, even for the love of thy sweet face and waggish company.«
    »Thou shouldst have said my waggish face and sweet company,« said Dickie;
»but how wilt thou travel with us - I mean in what character?«
    »E'en in that thou hast assigned me, to be sure - as a juggler; thou know'st
I am used to the craft,« answered Wayland.
    »Ay, but the lady?« answered Flibbertigibbet; »credit me, I think she is
one, and thou art in a sea of troubles about her at this moment, as I can
perceive by thy fidgeting.«
    »O, she, man? - she is a poor sister of mine,« said Wayland - »she can sing
and play o' the lute, would win the fish out o' the stream.«
    »Let me hear her instantly,« said the boy; »I love the lute rarely; I love
it of all things, though I never heard it.«
    »Then how canst thou love it, Flibbertigibbet?« said Wayland.
    »As knights love ladies in old tales,« answered Dickie - »on hearsay.«
    »Then love it on hearsay a little longer, till my sister is recovered from
the fatigue of her journey,« said Wayland; - muttering afterwards betwixt his
teeth, »The devil take the imp's curiosity! - I must keep fair weather with him,
or we shall fare the worse.«
    He then proceeded to state to Master Holiday his own talents as a juggler,
with those of his sister as a musician. Some proof of his dexterity was
demanded, which he gave in such a style of excellence, that, delighted at
obtaining such an accession to their party, they readily acquiesced in the
apology which he offered, when a display of his sister's talents was required.
The new-comers were invited to partake of the refreshments with which the party
were provided; and it was with some difficulty that Wayland Smith obtained an
opportunity of being apart with his supposed sister during the meal, of which
interval he availed himself to entreat her to forget for the present both her
rank and her sorrows, and condescend, as the most probable chance of remaining
concealed, to mix in the society of those with whom she was to travel.
    The Countess allowed the necessity of the case, and when they resumed their
journey, endeavoured to comply with her guide's advice, by addressing herself to
a female near her, and expressing her concern for the woman whom they were thus
obliged to leave behind them.
    »Oh, she is well attended, madam,« replied the dame whom she addressed, who,
from her jolly and laughter-loving demeanour, might have been the very emblem of
the Wife of Bath; »and my gossip Laneham thinks as little of these matters as
any one. By the ninth day, an the revels last so long, we shall have her with us
at Kenilworth, even if she should travel with her bantling on her back.«
    There was something in this speech which took away all desire on the
Countess of Leicester's part to continue the conversation; but having broken the
charm by speaking to her fellow-traveller first, the good dame, who was to play
Rare Gillian of Croydon, in one of the interludes, took care that silence did
not again settle on the journey, but entertained her mute companion with a
thousand anecdotes of revels, from the days of King Harry downwards, with the
reception given them by the great folk, and all the names of those who played
the principal characters; but ever concluding with, »they would be nothing to
the princely pleasures of Kenilworth.«
    »And when shall we reach Kenilworth?« said the Countess, with an agitation
which she in vain attempted to conceal.
    »We that have horses may, with late riding, get to Warwick to-night, and
Kenilworth may be distant some four or five miles, - but then we must wait till
the foot-people come up; although it is like my good Lord of Leicester will have
horses or light carriages to meet them, and bring them up without being
travel-toiled, which last is no good preparation, as you may suppose, for
dancing before your betters - And yet, Lord help me, I have seen the day I would
have tramped five leagues of lea-land, and turned on 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 heys yet with any merry lass in
Warwickshire, that writes that unhappy figure four with a round O after it.«
    If the Countess was overwhelmed with the garrulity of this good dame,
Wayland Smith, on his part, had enough to do to sustain and parry the constant
attacks made upon him by the indefatigable curiosity of his old acquaintance
Richard Sludge. Nature had given that arch youngster a prying cast of
disposition, which matched admirably with his sharp wit; the former inducing him
to plant himself as a spy on other people's affairs, and the latter quality
leading him perpetually to interfere, after he had made himself master of that
which concerned him not. He spent the live-long day in attempting to peer under
the Countess's muffler, and apparently what he could there discern greatly
sharpened his curiosity.
    »That sister of thine, Wayland,« he said, »has a fair neck to have been born
in a smithy, and a pretty taper hand to have been used for twirling a spindle -
faith, I'll believe in your relationship when the crow's egg is hatched into a
cygnet.«
    »Go to,« said Wayland, »thou art a prating boy, and should be breeched for
thine assurance.«
    »Well,« said the imp, drawing off, »all I say is, - remember you have kept a
secret from me, and if I give thee not a Rowland for thine Oliver, my name is
not Dickon Sludge!«
    This threat, and the distance at which Hobgoblin kept from him for the rest
of the way, alarmed Wayland very much, and he suggested to his pretended sister,
that, on pretext of weariness, she should express a desire to stop two or three
miles short of the fair town of Warwick, promising to rejoin the troop in the
morning. A small village inn afforded them a resting-place; and it was with
secret pleasure that Wayland saw the whole party, including Dickon, pass on,
after a courteous farewell, and leave them behind.
    »To-morrow, madam,« he said to his charge, »we will, with your leave, again
start early, and reach Kenilworth before the rout which are to assemble there.«
    The Countess gave assent to the proposal of her faithful guide; but,
somewhat to his surprise, said nothing farther on the subject, which left
Wayland under the disagreeable uncertainty whether or no she had formed any plan
for her own future proceedings, as he knew her situation demanded
circumspection, although he was but imperfectly acquainted with all its
peculiarities. Concluding, however, that she must have friends within the
castle, whose advice and assistance she could safely trust, he supposed his task
would be best accomplished by conducting her thither in safety, agreeably to her
repeated commands.
 

                              Chapter Twenty-Fifth

 Hark, the bells summon, and the bugle calls,
 But she the fairest answers not - the tide
 Of nobles and of ladies throngs the halls,
 But she the loveliest must in secret hide.
 What eyes were thine, proud Prince, which in the gleam
 Of yon gay meteors lost that better sense,
 That o'er the glow-worm doth the star esteem,
 And merit's modest blush o'er courtly insolence?
                                                              The Glass Slipper.
 
The unfortunate Countess of Leicester had, from her infancy upwards, been
treated by those around her with indulgence as unbounded as injudicious. The
natural sweetness of her disposition had saved her from becoming insolent and
ill-humoured; but the caprice which preferred the handsome and insinuating
Leicester before Tressilian, of whose high honour and unalterable affection she
herself entertained so firm an opinion - that fatal error, which ruined the
happiness of her life, had its origin in the mistaken kindness that had spared
her childhood the painful but most necessary lesson of submission and
self-command. From the same indulgence, it followed that she had only been
accustomed to form and to express her wishes, leaving to others the task of
fulfilling them; and thus, at the most momentous period of her life, she was
alike destitute of presence of mind and of ability to form for herself any
reasonable or prudent plan of conduct.
    These difficulties pressed on the unfortunate lady with overwhelming force
on the morning which seemed to be the crisis of her fate. Overlooking every
intermediate consideration, she had only desired to be at Kenilworth, and to
approach her husband's presence; and now, when she was in the vicinity of both,
a thousand considerations arose at once upon her mind, startling her with
accumulated doubts and dangers, some real, some imaginary, and all exalted and
exaggerated by a situation alike helpless and destitute of aid and counsel.
    A sleepless night rendered her so weak in the morning, that she was
altogether unable to attend Wayland's early summons. The trusty guide became
extremely distressed on the lady's account, and somewhat alarmed on his own, and
was on the point of going alone to Kenilworth, in the hope of discovering
Tressilian, and intimating to him this lady's approach, when about nine in the
morning he was summoned to attend her. He found her dressed, and ready for
resuming her journey, but with a paleness of countenance which alarmed him for
her health. She intimated her desire that the horses might be got instantly
ready, and resisted with impatience her guide's request, that she would take
some refreshment before setting forward. »I have had,« she said, »a cup of water
- the wretch who is dragged to execution needs no stronger cordial, and that may
serve me which suffices for him - do as I command you.« Wayland Smith still
hesitated. »What would you have?« said she - »Have I not spoken plainly?«
    »Yes, madam,« answered Wayland; »but may I ask what is your farther purpose?
- I only wish to know, that I may guide myself by your wishes. The whole country
is afloat, and streaming towards the Castle of Kenilworth. It will be difficult
travelling thither even if we had the necessary passports for safe-conduct and
free admittance - Unknown and unfriended, we may come by mishap. - Your ladyship
will forgive my speaking my poor mind - Were we not better try to find out the
masquers, and again join ourselves with them?« - The Countess shook her head,
and her guide proceeded, »Then I see but one other remedy.«
    »Speak out, then,« said the lady, not displeased, perhaps, that he should
thus offer the advice which she was ashamed to ask; »I believe thee faithful -
what wouldst thou counsel?«
    »That I should warn Master Tressilian,« said Wayland, »that you are in this
place. I am right certain he would get to horse with a few of Lord Sussex's
followers, and ensure your personal safety.«
    »And is it to me you advise,« said the Countess, »to put myself under the
protection of Sussex, the unworthy rival of the noble Leicester?« Then, seeing
the surprise with which Wayland stared upon her, and afraid of having too
strongly intimated her interest in Leicester, she added, »And for Tressilian, it
must not be - mention not to him, I charge you, my unhappy name; it would but
double my misfortunes, and involve him in dangers beyond the power of rescue.«
She paused; but when she observed that Wayland continued to look on her with
that anxious and uncertain gaze, which indicated a doubt whether her brain was
settled, she assumed an air of composure, and added, »Do thou but guide me to
Kenilworth Castle, good fellow, and thy task is ended, since I will then judge
what farther is to be done. Thou hast yet been true to me - here is something
that will make thee rich amends.«
    She offered the artist a ring, containing a valuable stone. Wayland looked
at it, hesitated a moment, and then returned it. »Not,« he said, »that I am
above your kindness, madam, being but a poor fellow, who have been forced, God
help me! to live by worse shifts than the bounty of such a person as you. But,
as my old master the farrier used to say to his customers, No cure, no pay. We
are not yet in Kenilworth Castle, and it is time enough to discharge your guide,
as they say, when you take your boots off. I trust in God your ladyship is as
well assured of fitting reception when you arrive, as you may hold yourself
certain of my best endeavours to conduct you thither safely. I go to get the
horses; meantime, let me pray you once more, as your poor physician as well as
guide, to take some sustenance.«
    »I will - I will,« said the lady hastily. »Begone, begone, instantly! - It
is in vain I assume audacity,« said she, when he left the room; »even this poor
groom sees through my affectation of courage, and fathoms the very ground of my
fears.«
    She then attempted to follow her guide's advice by taking some food, but was
compelled to desist, as the effort to swallow even a single morsel gave her so
much uneasiness as amounted well-nigh to suffocation. A moment afterwards the
horses appeared at the latticed window - the lady mounted, and found that relief
from the free air and change of place which is frequently experienced in similar
circumstances.
    It chanced well for the Countess's purpose, that Wayland Smith, whose
previous wandering and unsettled life had made him acquainted with almost all
England, was intimate with all the by-roads, as well as direct communications,
through the beautiful county of Warwick. For such and so great was the throng
which flocked in all directions towards Kenilworth, to see the entry of
Elizabeth into that splendid mansion of her prime favourite, that the principal
roads were actually blocked up and interrupted, and it was only by circuitous
by-paths that the travellers could proceed on their journey.
    The Queen's purveyors had been abroad, sweeping the farms and villages of
those articles usually exacted during a royal Progress, and for which the owners
were afterwards to obtain a tardy payment from the Board of Green Cloth. The
Earl of Leicester's household officers had been scouring the country for the
same purpose; and many of his friends and allies, both near and remote, took
this opportunity of ingratiating themselves, by sending large quantities of
provisions and delicacies of all kinds, with game in huge numbers, and whole
tuns of the best liquors, foreign and domestic. Thus the high roads 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 quarter-staves, which occasional riots were usually quieted by a purveyor,
deputy-marshal's man, or some other person in authority, breaking the heads of
both parties.
    Here were, besides, players and mummers, jugglers and showmen, of every
description, traversing in joyous bands the paths which led to the Palace of
Princely Pleasure; for so the travelling minstrels had termed Kenilworth in the
songs which already had come forth in anticipation of the revels which were
there expected. In the midst of this motley show, mendicants were exhibiting
their real or pretended miseries, forming a strange, though common, contrast
betwixt the vanities and the sorrows of human existence. All these floated along
with the immense tide of population, whom mere curiosity had drawn together; and
where the mechanic, in his leather 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 onward, amongst those prim and
pretty moppets, whose sires were knights and squires.
    The throng and confusion was, however, of a gay and cheerful character. All
came forth to see and to enjoy, and all laughed at the trifling inconveniences
which at another time might have chafed their temper. Excepting the occasional
brawls which we have mentioned among that irritable race the carmen, the mingled
sounds which arose from the multitude were those of light-hearted mirth, and
tiptoe jollity. The musicians preluded on their instruments - the minstrels
hummed their songs - the licensed jester whooped betwixt mirth and madness, as
he brandished his bauble - the morrice-dancers jangled their bells - the rustics
halloo'd and whistled - men laughed loud, and maidens giggled shrill; while many
a broad jest flew like a shuttlecock from one party, to be caught in the air and
returned from the opposite side of the road by another, at which it was aimed.
    No infliction can be so distressing to a mind absorbed in melancholy, as
being plunged into a scene of mirth and revelry, forming an accompaniment so
dissonant from its own feelings. Yet, in the case of the Countess of Leicester,
the noise and tumult of this giddy scene distracted her thoughts, and rendered
her this sad service, that it became impossible for her to brood on her own
misery, or to form terrible anticipations of her approaching fate. She travelled
on, like one in a dream, following implicitly the guidance of Wayland, who, with
great address, now threaded his way through the general throng of passengers,
now stood still until a favourable opportunity occurred of again moving forward,
and frequently turning altogether out of the direct road, followed some
circuitous by-path, which brought them into the highway again, after having
given them the opportunity of traversing a considerable way with greater ease
and rapidity.
    It was thus he avoided Warwick, within whose Castle (that fairest monument
of ancient and chivalrous splendour which yet remains uninjured by time)
Elizabeth had passed the previous night, and where she was to tarry until past
noon, at that time the general hour of dinner throughout England, after which
repast she was to proceed to Kenilworth. In the meanwhile, each passing group
had something to say in the Sovereign's praise, though not absolutely without
the usual mixture of satire which qualifies more or less our estimate of our
neighbours, especially if they chance to be also our betters.
    »Heard you,« said one, »how graciously she spoke to Master Bailiff and the
Recorder, and to good Master Griffin the preacher, as they kneeled down at her
coach-window?«
    »Ay, and how she said to little Aglionby, Master Recorder, men would have
persuaded me that you were afraid of me, but truly I think, so well did you
reckon up to me the virtues of a sovereign, that I have more reason to be afraid
of you - And then with what grace she took the fair-wrought purse with the
twenty gold sovereigns, seeming as though she would not willingly handle it, and
yet taking it withal.«
    »Ay, ay,« said another, »her fingers closed on it pretty willingly
methought, when all was done; and methought, too, she weighed them for a second
in her hand, as she would say, I hope they be avoirdupois.«
    »She needed not, neighbour,« said a third; »it is only when the corporation
pay the accounts of a poor handicraft like me, that they put him off with clipt
coin. - Well, there is a God above all - Little Master Recorder, since that is
the word, will be greater now than ever.«
    »Come, good neighbour,« said the first speaker, »be not envious - She is a
good Queen, and a generous - She gave the purse to the Earl of Leicester.«
    »I envious? - beshrew thy heart for the word!« replied the handicraft - »But
she will give all to the Earl of Leicester anon, methinks.«
    »You are turning ill, lady,« said Wayland Smith to the Countess of
Leicester, and proposed that she should draw off from the road, and halt till
she recovered. But, subduing her feelings at this, and different speeches to the
same purpose which caught her ear as they passed on, she insisted that her guide
should proceed to Kenilworth with all the haste which the numerous impediments
of their journey permitted. Meanwhile, Wayland's anxiety at her repeated fits of
indisposition, and her obvious distraction of mind, was hourly increasing, and
he became extremely desirous, that, according to her reiterated requests, she
should be safely introduced into the Castle, where, he doubted not, she was
secure of a kind reception, though she seemed unwilling to reveal on whom she
reposed her hopes.
    »An I were once rid of this peril,« thought he, »and if any man shall find
me playing squire of the body to a damosel-errant, he shall have leave to beat
my brains out with my own sledge-hammer!«
    At length the princely Castle appeared, upon improving which, and the
domains around, the Earl of Leicester had, it is said, expended sixty thousand
pounds sterling, a sum equal to half a million of our present money.
    The outer wall of this splendid and gigantic structure enclosed seven acres,
a part of which was occupied by extensive stables, and by a pleasure-garden,
with its trim arbours and parterres, and the rest formed the large base-court,
or outer yard, of the noble Castle. The lordly structure itself, which rose near
the centre of this spacious enclosure, was composed of a huge pile of
magnificent castellated buildings, apparently of different ages, surrounding an
inner court, and bearing in the names attached to each portion of the
magnificent mass, and in the armorial bearings which were there blazoned, the
emblems of mighty chiefs who had long passed away, and whose history, could
Ambition have lent ear to it, might have read a lesson to the haughty favourite,
who had now acquired and was augmenting the fair domain. A large and massive
Keep, which formed the citadel of the Castle, was of uncertain though great
antiquity. It bore the name of Cæsar, 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 gate-house, or barbican, which still exists, and is equal in extent,
and superior in architecture, to the baronial castle of many a northern chief.
    Beyond the lake lay an extensive chase, full of red-deer, fallow-deer, roes,
and every species of game, and abounding with lofty trees, from amongst which
the extended front and massive towers of the castle were seen to rise in majesty
and beauty. We cannot but add, that of this lordly palace, where princes feasted
and heroes fought, now in the bloody earnest of storm and siege, and now in the
games of chivalry, where beauty dealt the prize which valour won, all is now
desolate. The bed of the lake is but a rushy swamp; and the massive ruins of the
Castle only serve to show what their splendour once was, and to impress on the
musing visitor the transitory value of human possessions, and the happiness of
those who enjoy a humble lot in virtuous contentment.
    It was with far different feelings that the unfortunate Countess of
Leicester viewed those grey and massive towers, when she first beheld them rise
above the embowering and richly shaded woods, over which they seemed to preside.
She, the undoubted wife of the great Earl, of Elizabeth's minion, and England's
mighty favourite, was approaching the presence of her husband, and that
husband's sovereign, under the protection, rather than the guidance, of a poor
juggler; and though unquestioned Mistress of that proud Castle, whose lightest
word ought to have had force sufficient to make its gates leap from their
massive hinges to receive her, yet she could not conceal from herself the
difficulty and peril which she must experience in gaining admission into her own
halls.
    The risk and difficulty, indeed, seemed to increase every moment, and at
length threatened altogether to put a stop to her farther progress, at the great
gate leading to a broad and fair road, which, traversing the breadth of the
chase for the space of two miles, and commanding several most beautiful views of
the Castle and lake, terminated at the newly-constructed bridge, to which it was
an appendage, and which was destined to form the Queen's approach to the Castle
on that memorable occasion.
    Here the Countess and Wayland found the gate at the end of this avenue,
which opened on the Warwick road, guarded by a body of the Queen's mounted
yeomen of the guard, armed in corselets richly carved and gilded, and wearing
morions instead of bonnets, having their carabines resting with the butt-end on
their thighs. These guards, distinguished for strength and stature, who did duty
wherever the Queen went in person, were here stationed under the direction of a
pursuivant, graced with the Bear and Ragged Staff on his arm, as belonging to
the Earl of Leicester, and peremptorily refused all admittance, excepting to
such as were guests invited to the festival, or persons who were to perform some
part in the mirthful exhibitions which were proposed.
    The press was of consequence great around the entrance, and persons of all
kinds presented every sort of plea for admittance; to which the guards turned an
inexorable ear, pleading, in return to fair words, and even to fair offers, the
strictness of their orders, founded on the Queen's well-known dislike to the
rude pressing of a multitude. With those whom such reasons did not serve, they
dealt more rudely, repelling them without ceremony by the pressure of their
powerful barbed horses, and good round blows from the stock of their carabines.
These last manoeuvres produced undulations amongst the crowd, which rendered
Wayland much afraid that he might perforce be separated from his charge in the
throng. Neither did he know what excuse to make in order to obtain admittance,
and he was debating the matter in his head with great uncertainty, when the
Earl's pursuivant having cast an eye upon him, exclaimed, to his no small
surprise, »Yeomen, make room for the fellow in the orange-tawny cloak - Come
forward, Sir Coxcomb, and make haste. What, in the fiend's name, has kept you
waiting? Come forward with your bale of woman's gear.«
    While the pursuivant gave Wayland this pressing yet uncourteous invitation,
which, for a minute or two, he could not imagine was applied to him, the yeomen
speedily made a free passage for him, while, only cautioning his companion to
keep the muffler close around her face, he entered the gate leading her palfrey,
but with such a drooping crest, and such a look of conscious fear and anxiety,
that the crowd, not greatly pleased at any rate with the preference bestowed
upon them, accompanied their admission with hooting, and a loud laugh of
derision.
    Admitted thus within the chase, though with no very flattering notice or
distinction, Wayland and his charge rode forward, musing what difficulties it
would be next their lot to encounter, through the broad avenue, which was
sentinelled on either side by a long line of retainers, armed with swords and
partisans, richly dressed in the Earl of Leicester's liveries, and bearing his
cognisance of the Bear and Ragged Staff, each placed within three paces of each
other, so as to line the whole road from the entrance into the park to the
bridge. And indeed, when the lady obtained the first commanding view of the
castle, with its stately towers rising from within a long sweeping line of
outward walls, ornamented with battlements, and turrets, and platforms, at every
point of defence, with many a banner streaming from its walls, and such a bustle
of gay crests, and waving plumes, disposed on the terraces and battlements, and
all the gay and gorgeous scene, her heart, unaccustomed to such splendour, sank
as if it died within her, and for a moment she asked herself, what she had
offered up to Leicester to deserve to become the partner of this princely
splendour. But her pride and generous spirit resisted the whisper which bade her
despair.
    »I have given him,« she said, »all that woman has to give. Name and fame,
heart and hand, have I given the Lord of all this magnificence, at the altar,
and England's Queen could give him no more. He is my husband - I am his wife -
Whom God hath joined, man cannot sunder. I will be bold in claiming my right;
even the bolder, that I come thus unexpected, and thus forlorn. I know my noble
Dudley well! He will be something impatient at my disobeying him, but Amy will
weep, and Dudley will forgive her.«
    These meditations were interrupted by a cry of surprise from her guide
Wayland, who suddenly felt himself grasped firmly round the body by a pair of
long thin black arms, belonging to some one who had dropped himself out of an
oak-tree upon the croup of his horse, amidst the shouts of laughter which burst
from the sentinels.
    »This must be the devil, or Flibbertigibbet again!« said Wayland, after a
vain struggle to disengage himself, and unhorse the urchin who clung to him; »Do
Kenilworth oaks bear such acorns?«
    »In sooth do they, Master Wayland,« said his unexpected adjunct, »and many
others, too hard for you to crack, for as old as you are, without my teaching
you. How would you have passed the pursuivant at the upper gate yonder, had not
I warned him our principal juggler was to follow us? and here have I waited for
you, having clambered up into the tree from the top of the wain, and I suppose
they are all mad for want of me by this time.«
    »Nay, then, thou art a limb of the devil in good earnest,« said Wayland. »I
give thee way, good imp, and will walk by thy counsel; only, as thou art
powerful, be merciful.«
    As he spoke, they approached a strong tower, at the south extremity of the
long bridge we have mentioned, which served to protect the outer gateway of the
Castle of Kenilworth.
    Under such disastrous circumstances, and in such singular company, did the
unfortunate Countess of Leicester approach, for the first time, the magnificent
abode of her almost princely husband.
 

                              Chapter Twenty-Sixth

            Snug: - Have you the lion's part written? pray, if it be, give it
            me, for I am slow of study.
             Quince: - You may do it extempore, for it is nothing but roaring.
                                                        Midsummer-Night's Dream.
 
When the Countess of Leicester arrived at the outer gate of the Castle of
Kenilworth, she found the tower, beneath which its ample portal arch opened,
guarded in a singular manner. Upon the battlements were placed gigantic warders,
with clubs, battle-axes, and other implements of ancient warfare, designed to
represent the soldiers of King Arthur; those primitive Britons, by whom,
according to romantic tradition, the Castle had been first tenanted, though
history carried back its antiquity only to the times of the Heptarchy. Some of
these tremendous figures were real men, dressed up with vizards and buskins;
others were mere pageants composed of pasteboard and buckram, which, viewed from
beneath, and mingled with those that were real, formed a sufficiently striking
representation of what was intended. But the gigantic porter who waited at the
gate beneath, and actually discharged the duties of warder, owed none of his
terrors to fictitious means. He was a man whose huge stature, thewes, 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 part of his limbs; and he wore on his
shoulders, instead of a cloak, the skin of a black bear. The head of this
formidable person was uncovered, except by his shaggy black hair, which
descended on either side around features of that huge, lumpish, and heavy cast,
which are often annexed to men of very uncommon size, and which, notwithstanding
some distinguished exceptions, have created a general prejudice against giants,
as being a dull and sullen kind of persons. This tremendous warder was
appropriately armed with a heavy club spiked with steel. In fine, he represented
excellently one of those giants of popular romance, who figure in every fairy
tale, or legend of knight-errantry.
    The demeanour of this modern Titan, when Wayland Smith bent his attention to
him, had in it something arguing much mental embarrassment and vexation; for
sometimes he sat down for an instant on a massive stone bench, which seemed
placed for his accommodation beside the gateway, and then ever and anon he
started up scratching his huge head, and striding to and fro on his post, like
one under a fit of impatience and anxiety. It was while the porter was pacing
before the gate in this agitated manner, that Wayland, modestly, yet as a matter
of course (not, however, without some mental misgiving), was about to pass him,
and enter the portal arch. The porter, however, stopped his progress, bidding
him, in a thundering voice, »Stand back!« and enforcing his injunction by
heaving up his steel-shod mace, and dashing it on the ground before Wayland's
horse's nose with such vehemence, that the pavement flashed fire, and the
archway rang to the clamour. Wayland, availing himself of Dickie's hints, began
to state that he belonged to a band of performers to which his presence was
indispensable, - that he had been accidentally detained behind, - and much to
the same purpose. But the warden was inexorable, and kept muttering and
murmuring something betwixt his teeth, which Wayland could make little of; and
addressing betwixt whiles a refusal of admittance, couched in language which was
but too intelligible. A specimen of his speech might run thus: - »What, how now,
my masters?« (to himself) - »Here's a stir - here's a coil.« - (Then to Wayland)
- »You are a loitering knave, and shall have no entrance.« - (Again to himself)
- »Here's a throng - here's a thrusting. - I shall never get through with it -
Here's a - humph - ha« - (To Wayland) - »Back from the gate, or I'll break the
pate of thee« - (Once more to himself) - »Here's a - no - I shall never get
through it.«
    »Stand still,« whispered Flibbertigibbet into Wayland's ear, »I know where
the shoes pinches, and will tame him in an instant.«
    He dropped down from the horse, and skipping up to the porter, plucked him
by the tail of the bear-skin, so as to induce him to decline his huge head, and
whispered something in his ear. Not at the command of the lord of some Eastern
talisman did ever Afrite change his horrid frown into a look of smooth
submission, more suddenly than the gigantic porter of Kenilworth relaxed the
terrors of his looks, at the instant Flibbertigibbet's whisper reached his ears.
He flung his club upon the ground, and caught up Dickie Sludge, raising him to
such a distance from the earth, as might have proved perilous had he chanced to
let him slip.
    »It is even so,« he said, with a thundering sound of exultation - »it is
even so, my little dandieprat - But who the devil could teach it thee?«
    »Do not thou care about that,« said Flibbertigibbet; »but,« -- he looked at
Wayland and the lady, and then sunk what he had to say in a whisper, which
needed not be a loud one, as the giant held him for his convenience close to his
ear. The porter then gave Dickie a warm caress, and set him on the ground with
the same care which a careful housewife uses in replacing a cracked china-cup
upon her mantelpiece, calling out at the same time to Wayland and the lady, »In
with you - in with you - and take heed how you come too late another day when I
chance to be porter.«
    »Ay, ay, in with you,« added Flibbertigibbet; »I must stay a short space
with my honest Philistine, my Goliath of Gath here; but I will be with you anon,
and at the bottom of all your secrets, were they as deep and dark as the castle
dungeon.«
    »I do believe thou wouldst,« said Wayland; »but I trust the secret will be
soon out of my keeping, and then I shall care the less whether thou or any one
knows it.«
    They now crossed the entrance-tower, which obtained the name of the Gallery
Tower from the following circumstance: - The whole bridge, extending from the
entrance to another tower on the opposite side of the lake, called Mortimer's
Tower, was so disposed as to make a spacious tilt-yard about one hundred and
thirty yards in length, and ten in breadth, strewed with the finest sand, and
defended on either side by strong and high palisades. The broad and fair
gallery, destined for the ladies who were to witness the feats of chivalry
presented on this area, was erected on the northern side of the outer tower, to
which it gave name. Our travellers passed slowly along the bridge or tilt-yard,
and arrived at Mortimer's Tower, at its farthest extremity, through which the
approach led into the outer, or base court of the Castle. Mortimer's Tower bore
on its front the scutcheon of the Earl of March, whose daring ambition overthrew
the throne of Edward II. and aspired to share his power with the »She-wolf of
France,« to whom the unhappy monarch was wedded. The gate, which opened under
this ominous memorial, was guarded by many warders in rich liveries; but they
offered no opposition to the entrance of the Countess and her guide, who, having
passed by license of the principal porter at the Gallery Tower, were not, it may
be supposed, liable to interruption from his deputies. They entered accordingly,
in silence, the great outward court of the Castle, having then full before them
that vast and lordly pile, with all its stately towers, each gate open, as if in
sign of unlimited hospitality, and the apartments filled with noble guests of
every degree, besides dependants, retainers, domestics of every description, and
all the appendages and promoters of mirth and revelry.
    Amid this stately and busy scene, Wayland halted his horse, and looked upon
the lady, as if waiting her commands what was next to be done, since they had
safely reached the place of destination. As she remained silent, Wayland, after
waiting a minute or two, ventured to ask her, in direct terms, what were her
next commands. She raised her hand to her forehead, as if in the act of
collecting her thoughts and resolution, while she answered him in a low and
suppressed voice, like the murmurs of one who speaks in a dream - »Commands? I
may indeed claim right to command, but who is there will obey me?«
    Then suddenly raising her head, like one who had formed a decisive
resolution, she addressed a gaily dressed domestic, who was crossing the court
with importance and bustle in his countenance. - »Stop, sir,« she said, »I
desire to speak with the Earl of Leicester.«
    »With whom, an it please you?« said the man, surprised at the demand; and
then, looking upon the mean equipage of her who used towards him such a tone of
authority, he added, with insolence, »Why, what Bess of Bedlam is this, would
ask to see my lord on such a day as the present?«
    »Friend,« said the Countess, »be not insolent - my business with the Earl is
most urgent.«
    »You must get some one else to do it, were it thrice as urgent,« said the
fellow, - »I should summon my lord from the Queen's royal presence to do your
business, should I? - I were liked to be thanked with a horse-whip. I marvel our
old porter took not measure of such ware with his club, instead of giving them
passage; but his brain is addled with getting his speech by heart.«
    Two or three persons stopped, attracted by the fleering way in which the
serving-man expressed himself; and Wayland, alarmed both for himself and the
lady, hastily addressed himself to one who appeared the most civil, and,
thrusting a piece of money into his hand, held a moment's counsel with him, on
the subject of finding a place of temporary retreat for the lady. The person to
whom he spoke, being one in some authority, rebuked the others for their
incivility, and commanding one fellow to take care of the strangers' horses, he
desired them to follow him. The Countess retained presence of mind sufficient to
see that it was absolutely necessary she should comply with his request; and,
leaving the rude lackeys and grooms to crack their brutal jests about light
heads, light heels, and so forth, Wayland and she followed in silence the
deputy-usher, who undertook to be their conductor.
    They entered the inner court of the Castle by the great gateway, which
extended betwixt the principal keep, or Donjon, called Cæsar's Tower, and a
stately building which passed by the name of King Henry's Lodging, and were thus
placed in the centre of the noble pile, which presented on its different fronts
magnificent specimens of every species of castellated architecture, from the
Conquest to the reign of Elizabeth, with the appropriate style and ornaments of
each.
    Across this inner court also they were conducted by their guide to a small
but strong tower occupying the north-east angle of the building, adjacent to the
great hall, and filling up a space betwixt the immense range of kitchens and the
end of the great hall itself. The lower part of this tower was occupied by some
of the household officers of Leicester, owing to its convenient vicinity to the
places where their duty lay; but in the upper storey, 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 storey 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 bed-rooms of those days), which instantly suggested
the idea of writing to Leicester, and remaining private until she had received
his answer.
    The deputy-usher having introduced them into this commodious apartment,
courteously asked Wayland, whose generosity he had experienced, whether he could
do anything farther for his service. Upon receiving a gentle hint, that some
refreshment would not be unacceptable, he presently conveyed the smith to the
buttery-hatch, where dressed provisions of all sorts were distributed, with
hospitable profusion, to all who asked for them. Wayland was readily supplied
with some light provisions, such as he thought would best suit the faded
appetite of the lady, and did not omit the opportunity of himself making a hasty
but hearty meal on more substantial fare. He then returned to the apartment in
the turret, where he found the Countess, who had finished her letter to
Leicester; and, in lieu of a seal and silken thread, had secured it with a braid
of her own beautiful tresses, fastened by what is called a true-love knot.
    »Good friend,« said she to Wayland, »whom God hath sent to aid me at my
utmost need, I do beseech thee, as the last trouble you shall take for an
unfortunate lady, to deliver this letter to the noble Earl of Leicester. Be it
received as it may,« she said, with features agitated betwixt hope and fear,
»thou, good fellow, shalt have no more cumber with me. But I hope the best; and
if ever lady made a poor man rich, thou hast surely deserved it at my hand,
should my happy days ever come round again. Give it, I pray you, into Lord
Leicester's own hand, and mark how he looks on receiving it.«
    Wayland, on his part, readily undertook the commission, but anxiously prayed
the lady, in his turn, to partake of some refreshment; in which he at length
prevailed, more through importunity, and her desire to see him begone on his
errand, than from any inclination the Countess felt to comply with his request.
He then left her, advising her to lock her door on the inside, and not to stir
from her little apartment - and went to seek an opportunity of discharging her
errand, as well as of carrying into effect a purpose of his own, which
circumstances had induced him to form.
    In fact, from the conduct of the lady during the journey - her long fits of
profound silence - the irresolution and uncertainty which seemed to pervade all
her movements, and the obvious incapacity of thinking and acting for herself,
under which she seemed to labour, Wayland had formed the not improbable opinion,
that the difficulties of her situation had in some degree affected her
understanding.
    When she had escaped from the seclusion of Cumnor Place, and the dangers to
which she was there exposed, it would have seemed her most rational course to
retire to her father's, or elsewhere, at a distance from the power of those by
whom these dangers had been created. When, instead of doing so, she demanded to
be conveyed to Kenilworth, Wayland had been only able to account for her
conduct, by supposing that she meant to put herself under the tutelage of
Tressilian, and to appeal to the protection of the Queen. But now, instead of
following this natural course, she entrusted him with a letter to Leicester, the
patron of Varney, and within whose jurisdiction at least, if not under his
express authority, all the evils she had already suffered were inflicted upon
her. This seemed an unsafe and even a desperate measure, and Wayland felt
anxiety for his own safety, as well as that of the lady, should he execute her
commission before he had secured the advice and countenance of a protector. He
therefore resolved, before delivering the letter to Leicester, that he would
seek out Tressilian, and communicate to him the arrival of the lady at
Kenilworth, and thus at once rid himself of all farther responsibility, and
devolve the task of guiding and protecting this unfortunate lady upon the patron
who had at first employed him in her service.
    »He will be a better judge than I am,« said Wayland, »whether she is to be
gratified in this humour of appeal to my Lord of Leicester, which seems like an
act of insanity; and, therefore, I will turn the matter over on his hands,
deliver him the letter, receive what they list to give me by way of guerdon, and
then show the Castle of Kenilworth a pair of light heels; for, after the work I
have been engaged in, it will be, I fear, neither a safe nor wholesome place of
residence; and I would rather shoe colts on the coldest common in England than
share in their gayest revels.«
 

                             Chapter Twenty-Seventh

 In my time I have seen a boy do wonders.
 Robin, the red tinker, had a boy,
 Would ha' run through a cat-hole.
                                                                    The Coxcomb.
 
Amid the universal bustle which filled the Castle and its environs, it was no
easy matter to find out any individual; and Wayland was still less likely to
light upon Tressilian, whom he sought so anxiously, because, sensible of the
danger of attracting attention, in the circumstances in which he was placed, he
dared not make general inquiries among the retainers or domestics of Leicester.
He learned, however, by indirect questions, that, in all probability, Tressilian
must have been one of a large party of gentlemen in attendance on the Earl of
Sussex, who had accompanied their patron that morning to Kenilworth, when
Leicester had received them with marks of the most formal respect and
distinction. He farther learned, that both Earls, with their followers, and many
other nobles, knights, and gentlemen, had taken horse, and gone towards Warwick
several hours since, for the purpose of escorting the Queen to Kenilworth.
    Her Majesty's arrival, like other great events, was delayed from hour to
hour; and it was now announced by a breathless post, that her Majesty being
detained by her gracious desire to receive the homage of her lieges who had
thronged to wait upon her at Warwick, it would be the hour of twilight ere she
entered the Castle. The intelligence released for a time those who were upon
duty, in the immediate expectation of the Queen's appearance, and ready to play
their part in the solemnities with which it was to be accompanied; and Wayland,
seeing several horsemen enter the Castle, was not without hopes that Tressilian
might be of the number. That he might not lose an opportunity of meeting his
patron in the event of this being the case, Wayland placed himself in the
base-court of the Castle, near Mortimer's Tower, and watched every one who went
or came by the bridge, the extremity of which was protected by that building.
Thus stationed, nobody could enter or leave the Castle without his observation,
and most anxiously did he study the garb and countenance of every horseman, as,
passing from under the opposite Gallery Tower, they paced slowly, or curveted,
along the tilt-yard, and approached the entrance of the base-court.
    But while Wayland gazed thus eagerly to discover him whom he saw not, he was
pulled by the sleeve by one by whom he himself would not willingly have been
seen.
    This was Dickie Sludge, or Flibbertigibbet, who, like the imp whose name he
bore, and whom he had been accoutred in order to resemble, seemed to be ever at
the ear of those who thought least of him. Whatever were Wayland's internal
feelings, he judged it necessary to express pleasure at their unexpected
meeting.
    »Ha! is it thou, my minikin - my miller's thumb - my prince of Cacodemons -
my little mouse?«
    »Ay,« said Dickie, »the mouse which gnawed asunder the toils, just when the
lion who was caught in them began to look wonderfully like an ass.«
    »Why, 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 had left thee with? - I was afraid he would have stripped thy clothes,
and so swallowed thee, as men peel and eat a roasted chestnut.«
    »Had he done so,« replied the boy, »he would have had more brains in his
guts than ever he had in his noddle. But the giant is a courteous monster, and
more grateful than many other folk whom I have helped at a pinch, Master Wayland
Smith.«
    »Beshrew me, Flibbertigibbet,« replied Wayland, »but thou art sharper than a
Sheffield whittle! I would I knew by what charm you muzzled yonder old bear.«
    »Ay, that is in your own manner,« answered Dickie; »you think fine speeches
will pass muster instead of good-will. However, as to this honest porter, you
must know, that when we presented ourselves at the gate yonder, his brain was
overburdened with a speech that had been penned for him, and which proved rather
an overmatch for his gigantic faculties. Now this same pithy oration had been
indited, like sundry others, by my learned magister, Erasmus Holiday, so I had
heard it often enough to remember every line. As soon as I heard him blundering
and floundering like a fish upon dry land, through the first verse, and
perceived him at a stand, I knew where the shoe pinched, and helped him to the
next word, when he caught me up in an ecstasy, even as you saw but now. I
promised, as the price of your admission, to hide me under his bearish
gaberdine, and prompt him in the hour of need. I have just now been getting some
food in the Castle, and am about to return to him.«
    »That's right - that's right, my dear Dickie,« replied Wayland; »haste thee,
for Heaven's sake! else the poor giant will be utterly disconsolate for want of
his dwarfish auxiliary - Away with thee, Dickie!«
    »Ay, ay!« answered the boy - »Away with Dickie, when we have got what good
of him we can. - You will not let me know the story of this lady, then, who is
as much sister of thine as I am?«
    »Why, what good would it do thee, thou silly elf?« said Wayland.
    »Oh, stand ye on these terms?« said the boy; »well, I care not greatly about
the matter, - only, I never smell out a secret, but I try to be either at the
right or the wrong end of it, and so good evening to ye.«
    »Nay, but, Dickie,« said Wayland, who knew the boy's restless and intriguing
disposition too well not to fear his enmity - »stay, my dear Dickie - part not
with old friends so shortly! - thou shalt know all I know of the lady one day.«
    »Ay!« said Dickie; »and that day may prove a nigh one. Fare-thee-well,
Wayland - I will to my large-limbed friend, who, if he have not so sharp a wit
as some folk, is at least more grateful for the service which other folk render
him. And so again, good evening to ye.«
    So saying, he cast a somersault through the gateway, and, lighting on the
bridge, ran with the extraordinary agility, which was one of his distinguishing
attributes, towards the Gallery Tower, and was out of sight in an instant.
    »I would to God I were safe out of this Castle again!« prayed Wayland,
internally; »for now that this mischievous imp has put his finger in the pie, it
cannot but prove a mess fit for the devil's eating. I would to Heaven Master
Tressilian would appear!«
    Tressilian, whom he was thus anxiously expecting in one direction, had
returned to Kenilworth by another access. It was indeed true, as Wayland had
conjectured, that, in the earlier part of the day, he had accompanied the Earls
on their cavalcade towards Warwick, not without hope that he might in that town
hear some tidings of his emissary. Being disappointed in this expectation, and
observing Varney amongst Leicester's attendants, seeming as if he had some
purpose of advancing to and addressing him, he conceived, in the present
circumstances, it was wisest to avoid the interview. He, therefore, left the
presence-chamber when the High-Sheriff of the county was in the very midst of
his dutiful address to her Majesty; and, mounting his horse, rode back to
Kenilworth, by a remote and circuitous road, and entered the castle by a small
sally-port in the western wall, at which he was readily admitted, as one of the
followers of the Earl of Sussex, towards whom Leicester had commanded the utmost
courtesy to be exercised. It was thus that he met not Wayland, who was
impatiently watching his arrival, and whom he himself would have been, at least,
equally desirous to see.
    Having delivered his horse to the charge of his attendant, he walked for a
space in the Pleasance and in the garden, rather to indulge in comparative
solitude his own reflections than to admire those singular beauties of nature
and art which the magnificence of Leicester had there assembled. The greater
part of the persons of condition had left the Castle for the present, to form
part of the Earl's cavalcade; others, who remained behind, were on the
battlements, outer walls, and towers, eager to view the splendid spectacle of
the royal entry. The garden, therefore, while every other part of the Castle
resounded with the human voice, was silent, but for the whispering of the
leaves, the emulous warbling of the tenants of a large aviary, with their
happier companions who remained denizens of the free air, and the plashing of
the fountains, which, forced into the air from sculptures of fantastic and
grotesque forms, fell down with ceaseless sound into the great basins of Italian
marble.
    The melancholy thoughts of Tressilian cast a gloomy shade on all the objects
with which he was surrounded. He compared the magnificent scenes which he here
traversed, with the deep woodland and wild moorland which surrounded Lidcote
Hall, and the image of Amy Robsart glided like a phantom through every landscape
which his imagination summoned up. Nothing is perhaps more dangerous to the
future happiness of men of deep thought and retired habits, than the
entertaining an early, long, and unfortunate attachment. It frequently sinks so
deep into the mind, that it becomes their dream by night and their vision by day
- mixes itself with every source of interest and enjoyment; and when blighted
and withered by final disappointment, it seems as if the springs of the heart
were dried up along with it. This aching of the heart, this languishing after a
shadow which has lost all the gaiety of its colouring, this dwelling on the
remembrance of a dream from which we have been long roughly awakened, is the
weakness of a gentle and generous heart, and it was that of Tressilian.
    He himself at length became sensible of the necessity of forcing other
objects upon his mind; and for this purpose he left the Pleasance, in order to
mingle with the noisy crowd upon the walls, and view the preparation for the
pageants. But as he left the garden, and heard the busy hum mixed with music and
laughter, which floated around him, he felt an uncontrollable reluctance to mix
with society, whose feelings were in a tone so different from his own, and
resolved, instead of doing so, to retire to the chamber assigned him, and employ
himself in study until the tolling of the great castle-bell should announce the
arrival of Elizabeth.
    Tressilian crossed accordingly by the passage betwixt the immense range of
kitchens and the great hall, and ascended to the third storey 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 recognised that form to
be Amy Robsart. His first idea was, that a heated imagination had raised the
image on which it doted into visible existence; his second, that he beheld an
apparition - the third and abiding conviction, that it was Amy herself, paler,
indeed, and thinner than in the days of heedless happiness, when she possessed
the form and hue of a wood-nymph, with the beauty of a sylph; but still Amy,
unequalled in loveliness by aught which had ever visited his eyes.
    The astonishment of the Countess was scarce less than that of Tressilian,
although it was of shorter duration, because she had heard from Wayland that he
was in the Castle. She had started up on his first entrance, and now stood
facing him, the paleness of her cheeks having given way to a deep blush.
    »Tressilian,« she said at length, »why come you here?«
    »Nay, why come you here, Amy,« returned Tressilian, »unless it be at length
to claim that aid, which, as far as one man's heart and arm can extend, shall
instantly be rendered to you?«
    She was silent a moment, and then answered in a sorrowful, rather than an
angry tone, - »I require no aid, Tressilian, and would rather be injured than
benefited by any which your kindness can offer me. Believe me, I am near one
whom law and love oblige to protect me.«
    »The villain, then, hath done you the poor justice which remained in his
power,« said Tressilian; »and I behold before me the wife of Varney!«
    »The wife of Varney!« she replied, with all the emphasis of scorn; »with
what base name, sir, does your boldness stigmatise the - the - the« - She
hesitated, dropped her tone of scorn, looked down, and was confused and silent,
for she recollected what fatal consequences might attend her completing the
sentence with »the Countess of Leicester,« which were the words that had
naturally suggested themselves. It would have been a betrayal of the secret, on
which her husband had assured her that his fortunes depended, to Tressilian, to
Sussex, to the Queen, and to the whole assembled court. »Never,« she thought,
»will I break my promised silence. I will submit to every suspicion rather than
that.«
    The tears rose to her eyes, as she stood silent before Tressilian; while,
looking on her with mingled grief and pity, he said, »Alas! Amy, your eyes
contradict your tongue. That speaks of a protector, willing and able to watch
over you; but these tell me you are ruined, and deserted by the wretch to whom
you have attached yourself.«
    She looked on him with eyes in which anger sparkled through her tears, but
only repeated the word »wretch!« with a scornful emphasis.
    »Yes, wretch!« said Tressilian; »for were he aught better, why are you here,
and alone in my apartment? why was not fitting provision made for your
honourable reception?«
    »In your apartment?« repeated Amy; »in your apartment? It shall instantly be
relieved of my presence.« She hastened towards the door; but the sad
recollection of her deserted state at once pressed on her mind, and, pausing on
the threshold, she added, in a tone unutterably pathetic, »Alas! I had forgot -
I know not where to go« -
    »I see - I see it all,« said Tressilian, springing to her side, and leading
her back to the seat, on which she sunk down - »You do need aid - you do need
protection, though you will not own it; and you shall not need it long. Leaning
on my arm, as the representative of your excellent and broken-hearted father, on
the very threshold of the Castle-gate, you shall meet Elizabeth; and the first
deed she shall do in the halls of Kenilworth shall be an act of justice to her
sex and her subjects. Strong in my good cause, and in the Queen's justice, the
power of her minion shall not shake my resolution. I will instantly seek
Sussex.«
    »Not for all that is under heaven!« said the Countess, much alarmed, and
feeling the absolute necessity of obtaining time, at least, for consideration.
»Tressilian, you were wont to be generous - Grant me one request, and believe,
if it be your wish to save me from misery, and from madness, you will do more by
making me the promise I ask of you, than Elizabeth can do for me with all her
power.«
    »Ask me anything for which you can allege reason,« said Tressilian; »but
demand not of me« -
    »Oh, limit not your boon, dear Edmund!« exclaimed the Countess - »you once
loved that I should call you so - Limit not your boon to reason! for my case is
all madness, and frenzy must guide the counsels which alone can aid me.«
    »If you speak thus wildly,« said Tressilian, astonishment again overpowering
both his grief and his resolution, »I must believe you indeed incapable of
thinking or acting for yourself.«
    »Oh, no!« she exclaimed, sinking on one knee before him, »I am not mad - I
am but a creature unutterably miserable, and, from circumstances the most
singular, dragged on to a precipice by the arm of him who thinks he is keeping
me from it - even by yours, Tressilian - by yours, whom I have honoured,
respected - all but loved - and yet loved, too - loved, too, Tressilian - though
not as you wished to be.«
    There was an energy - a self-possession - an abandonment in her voice and
manner - a total resignation of herself to his generosity, which, together with
the kindness of her expressions to himself, moved him deeply. He raised her, and
in broken accents entreated her to be comforted.
    »I cannot,« she said, »I will not be comforted, till you grant me my
request! I will speak as plainly as I dare - I am now awaiting the commands of
one who has a right to issue them - The interference of a third person - of you
in especial, Tressilian, will be ruin - utter ruin to me. Wait but
four-and-twenty hours, and it may be that the poor Amy may have the means to
show that she values, and can reward, your disinterested friendship - that she
is happy herself, and has the means to make you so - It is surely worth your
patience, for so short a space?«
    Tressilian paused, and weighing in his mind the various probabilities which
might render a violent interference on his part more prejudicial than
advantageous, both to the happiness and reputation of Amy, considering also that
she was within the walls of Kenilworth, and could suffer no injury in a castle
honoured with the Queen's residence, and filled with her guards and attendants,
- he conceived, upon the whole, that he might render her more evil than good
service, by intruding upon her his appeal to Elizabeth in her behalf. He
expressed his resolution cautiously, however, doubting naturally whether Amy's
hopes of extricating herself from her difficulties rested on anything stronger
than a blinded attachment to Varney, whom he supposed to be her seducer.
    »Amy,« he said, while he fixed his sad and expressive eyes on hers, which,
in her ecstasy of doubt, terror, and perplexity, she cast up towards him, »I
have ever remarked, that when others called thee girlish and wilful, there lay
under that external semblance of youthful and self-willed folly, deep feeling
and strong sense. In this I will confide, trusting your own fate in your own
hands for the space of twenty-four hours, without my interference by word or
act.«
    »Do you promise me this, Tressilian?« said the Countess. »Is it possible you
can yet repose so much confidence in me? Do you promise, as you are a gentleman
and a man of honour, to intrude in my matters, neither by speech nor action,
whatever you may see or hear that seems to you to demand your interference? -
Will you so far trust me?«
    »I will, upon my honour,« said Tressilian; »but when that space is expired«
-
    »When that space is expired,« she said, interrupting him, »you are free to
act as your judgment shall determine.«
    »Is there nought besides which I can do for you, Amy?« said Tressilian.
    »Nothing,« said she, »save to leave me, - that is, if - I blush to
acknowledge my helplessness by asking it - if you can spare me the use of this
apartment for the next twenty-four hours.«
    »This is most wonderful!« said Tressilian; »what hope or interest can you
have in a castle, where you cannot command even an apartment?«
    »Argue not, but leave me,« she said; and added, as he slowly and unwillingly
retired, »Generous Edmund! the time may come, when Amy may show she deserved thy
noble attachment.«
 

                             Chapter Twenty-Eighth

 What, man, ne'er lack a draught, when the full can
 Stands at thine elbow, and craves emptying! -
 Nay, fear not me, for I have no delight
 To, watch men's vices, since I have myself
 Of virtue nought to boast of. - I'm a striker,
 Would have the world strike with me, pell-mell, all.
                                                                    Pandæmonium.
 
Tressilian, in strange agitation of mind, had hardly stepped down the first two
or three steps of the winding staircase, when, greatly to his surprise and
displeasure, he met Michael Lambourne, wearing an impudent familiarity of
visage, for which Tressilian felt much disposed to throw him down stairs; until
he remembered the prejudice which Amy, the only object of his solicitude, was
likely to receive from his engaging in any act of violence at that time, and in
that place.
    He therefore contented himself with looking sternly upon Lambourne, as upon
one whom he deemed unworthy of notice, and attempted to pass him in his way down
stairs, without any symptom of recognition. But Lambourne, who, amidst the
profusion of that day's hospitality, had not failed to take a deep, though not
an overpowering cup of sack, was not in the humour of humbling himself before
any man's looks. He stopped Tressilian upon the staircase without the least
bashfulness or embarrassment, and addressed him as if he had been on kind and
intimate terms: - »What, no grudge between us, I hope, upon old scores, Master
Tressilian? - nay, I am one who remember former kindness rather than latter feud
- I'll convince you that I meant honestly and kindly, ay, and comfortably by
you.«
    »I desire none of your intimacy,« said Tressilian - »keep company with your
mates.«
    »Now, see how hasty he is!« said Lambourne: »and how these gentles, that are
made questionless out of the porcelain clay of the earth, look down upon poor
Michael Lambourne! You would take Master Tressilian now for the most maid-like,
modest, simpering squire of dames, that ever made love when candles were long i'
the stuff - snuff, call you it? - Why, you would play the saint on us, Master
Tressilian, and forget that even now thou hast commodity in thy very bedchamber,
to the shame of my lord's castle, ha! ha! ha! Have I touched you. Master
Tressilian?«
    »I know not what you mean,« said Tressilian, inferring, however, too surely,
that this licentious ruffian must have been sensible of Amy's presence in his
apartment; »but if,« he continued, »thou art varlet of the chambers, and lackest
a fee, there is one to leave mine unmolested.«
    Lambourne looked at the piece of gold, and put it in his pocket, saying -
»Now, I know not but you might have done more with me by a kind word, than by
this chiming rogue. But after all he pays well that pays with gold - and Mike
Lambourne was never a make-bate, or a spoil-sport, or the like. E'en live and
let others live, that is my motto - only, I would not let some folks cock their
beaver at me neither, as if they were made of silver ore, and I of Dutch pewter.
So if I keep your secret, Master Tressilian, you may look sweet on me at least;
and were I to want a little backing or countenance, being caught, as you see the
best of us may be, in a sort of peccadillo - why, you owe it me - and so e'en
make your chamber serve you and that same bird in bower beside - it's all one to
Mike Lambourne.«
    »Make way, sir,« said Tressilian, unable to bridle his indignation, »you
have had your fee.«
    »Um!« said Lambourne, giving place, however, while he sulkily muttered
between his teeth, repeating Tressilian's words - »Make way - and you have had
your fee - but it matters not, I will spoil no sport, as I said before; I am no
dog in the manger - mind that.«
    He spoke louder and louder, as Tressilian, by whom he felt himself overawed,
got farther and farther out of hearing.
    »I am no dog in the manger - but I will not carry coals neither - mind that,
my Master Tressilian; and I will have a peep at this wench, whom you have
quartered so commodiously in your old haunted room - afraid of ghosts, belike,
and not too willing to sleep alone. If I had done this now in a strange lord's
castle, the word had been, - The porter's lodge for the knave! and - Have him
flogged - trundle him down stairs like a turnip! - Ay, but your virtuous
gentlemen take strange privileges over us, who are downright servants of our
senses. Well - I have my Master Tressilian's head under my belt by this lucky
discovery, that is one thing certain; and I will try to get a sight of this
Lindabrides of his, that is another.«
 

                              Chapter Twenty-Ninth

 Now fare-thee-well, my master - if true service
 Be guerdon'd with hard looks, e'en cut the tow-line,
 And let our barks across the pathless flood
 Hold different courses -
                                                                      Shipwreck.
 
Tressilian walked into the outer yard of the Castle, scarce knowing what to
think of his late strange and most unexpected interview with Amy Robsart, and
dubious if he had done well, being entrusted with the delegated authority of her
father, to pass his word so solemnly to leave her to her own guidance for so
many hours. Yet how could he have denied her request, - dependent as she had too
probably rendered herself upon Varney? Such was his natural reasoning. The
happiness of her future life might depend upon his not driving her to
extremities, and since no authority of Tressilian's could extricate her from the
power of Varney, supposing he was to acknowledge Amy to be his wife, what title
had he to destroy the hope of domestic peace, which might yet remain to her, by
setting enmity betwixt them? Tressilian resolved, therefore, scrupulously to
observe his word pledged to Amy, both because it had been given, and because, as
he still thought, while he considered and reconsidered that extraordinary
interview, it could not with justice or propriety have been refused.
    In one respect, he had gained much towards securing effectual protection for
this unhappy and still beloved object of his early affection. Amy was no longer
mewed up in a distant and solitary retreat, under the charge of persons of
doubtful reputation. She was in the Castle of Kenilworth, within the verge of
the Royal Court for the time, free from all risk of violence, and liable to be
produced before Elizabeth on the first summons. These were circumstances which
could not but assist greatly the efforts which he might have occasion to use in
her behalf.
    While he was thus balancing the advantages and perils which attended her
unexpected presence in Kenilworth, Tressilian was hastily and anxiously accosted
by Wayland, who, after ejaculating, »Thank God, your worship is found at last!«
proceeded, with breathless caution, to pour into his ear the intelligence that
the lady had escaped from Cumnor Place.
    »And is at present in this Castle,« said Tressilian; »I know it, and I have
seen her - Was it by her own choice she found refuge in my apartment?«
    »No,« answered Wayland; »but I could think of no other way of safely
bestowing her, and was but too happy to find a deputy-usher who knew where you
were quartered; - in jolly society truly, the hall on the one hand and the
kitchen on the other!«
    »Peace, this is no time for jesting,« answered Tressilian sternly.
    »I wot that but too well,« said the artist, »for I have felt these three
days as if I had a halter round my neck. This lady knows not her own mind - she
will have none of your aid - commands you not to be named to her - and is about
to put herself into the hands of my Lord Leicester. I had never got her safe
into your chamber, had she known the owner of it.«
    »Is it possible?« said Tressilian. »But she may have hopes the Earl will
exert his influence in her favour over his villainous dependant.«
    »I know nothing of that,« said Wayland - »but I believe, if she is to
reconcile herself with either Leicester or Varney, the side of the Castle of
Kenilworth which will be safest for us will be the outside, from which we can
fastest fly away. It is not my purpose to abide an instant after delivery of the
letter to Leicester, which waits but your commands to find its way to him. See,
here it is - but no - a plague on it - I must have left it in my dog-hole, in
the hay-loft yonder, where I am to sleep.«
    »Death and fury!« said Tressilian, transported beyond his usual patience;
»thou hast not lost that on which may depend a stake more important than a
thousand such lives as thine?«
    »Lost it!« answered Wayland, readily; »that were a jest indeed! No, sir, I
have it carefully put up with my night-sack, and some matters I have occasion to
use - I will fetch it in an instant.«
    »Do so,« said Tressilian; »be faithful, and thou shalt be well rewarded. But
if I have reason to suspect thee, a dead dog were in better case than thou!«
    Wayland bowed, and took his leave with seeming confidence and alacrity; but,
in fact, filled with the utmost dread and confusion. The letter was lost, that
was certain, notwithstanding the apology which he had made to appease the
impatient displeasure of Tressilian. It was lost - it might fall into wrong
hands - it would then, certainly, occasion a discovery of the whole intrigue in
which he had been engaged; nor, indeed, did Wayland see much prospect of its
remaining concealed, in any event. He felt much hurt besides, at Tressilian's
burst of impatience.
    »Nay, if I am to be paid in this coin for services where my neck is
concerned, it is time I should look to myself. Here have I offended, for aught I
know, to the death, the lord of this stately castle, whose word were as powerful
to take away my life, as the breath which speaks it to blow out a farthing
candle. And all this for a mad lady, and a melancholy gallant; who, on the loss
of a four-nooked bit of paper, has his hand on his poignado, and swears death
and fury! - Then there is the Doctor and Varney - I will save myself from the
whole mess of them - Life is dearer than gold - I will fly this instant, though
I leave my reward behind me.«
    These reflections naturally enough occurred to a mind like Wayland's, who
found himself engaged far deeper than he had expected in a train of mysterious
and unintelligible intrigues, in which the actors seemed hardly to know their
own course. And yet, to do him justice, his personal fears were, in some degree,
counterbalanced by his compassion for the deserted state of the lady.
    »I care not a groat for Master Tressilian,« he said; »I have done more than
bargain by him, and I have brought his errant-damozel within his reach, so that
he may look after her himself; but I fear the poor thing is in much danger
amongst these stormy spirits. I will to her chamber, and tell her the fate which
has befallen her letter, that she may write another if she list. She cannot lack
a messenger, I trow, where there are so many lackeys that can carry a letter to
their lord. And I will tell her also that I leave the Castle, trusting her to
God, her own guidance, and Master Tressilian's care and looking after. - Perhaps
she may remember the ring she offered me - it was well earned, I trow; but she
is a lovely creature, and - marry hang the ring! I will not bear a base spirit
for the matter. If I fare ill in this world for my good nature, I shall have
better chance in the next. - So now for the lady, and then for the road.«
    With the stealthy step and jealous eye of the cat that steals on her prey,
Wayland resumed the way to the Countess's chamber, sliding along by the side of
the courts and passages, alike observant of all around him, and studious himself
to escape observation. In this manner, he crossed the outward and inward
castle-yard, and the great arched passage, which, running betwixt the range of
kitchen offices and the hall, led to the bottom of the little winding stair that
gave access to the chambers of Mervyn's Tower.
    The artist congratulated himself on having escaped the various perils of his
journey, and was in the act of ascending by two steps at once, when he observed
that the shadow of a man, thrown from a door which stood ajar, darkened the
opposite wall of the staircase. Wayland drew back cautiously, went down to the
inner courtyard, spent about a quarter of an hour, which seemed at least
quadruple its usual duration, in walking from place to place, and then returned
to the tower, in hopes to find that the lurker had disappeared. He ascended as
high as the suspicious spot - there was no shadow on the wall - he ascended a
few yards farther - the door was still ajar, and he was doubtful whether to
advance or retreat, when it was suddenly thrown wide open, and Michael Lambourne
bolted out upon the astonished Wayland. »Who the devil art thou? and what
seek'st thou in this part of the Castle? March into that chamber, and be hanged
to thee!«
    »I am no dog to go at every man's whistle,« said the artist, affecting a
confidence which was belied by a timid shake in his voice.
    »Say'st thou me so? - Come hither, Lawrence Staples.«
    A huge ill-made and ill-looked fellow, upwards of six feet high, appeared at
the door, and Lambourne proceeded: »If thou be'st so fond of this tower, my
friend, thou shalt see its foundations, good twelve feet below the bed of the
lake, and tenanted by certain jolly toads, snakes, and so forth, which thou wilt
find mighty good company. Therefore once more I ask you, in fair play, who thou
art, and what thou seek'st here?«
    »If the dungeon-grate once clashes behind me,« thought Wayland, »I am a gone
man.« He therefore answered submissively, »He was the poor juggler whom his
honour had met yesterday in Weatherly-bottom.«
    »And what juggling trick art thou playing in this tower? Thy gang,« said
Lambourne, »lie over against Clinton's buildings.«
    »I came here to see my sister,« said the juggler, »who is in Master
Tressilian's chamber, just above.«
    »Aha!« said Lambourne, smiling, »here be truths! Upon my honour, for a
stranger, this same Master Tressilian makes himself at home among us, and
furnishes out his cell handsomely, with all sort of commodities. This will be a
precious tale of the sainted Master Tressilian, and will be welcome to some
folks, as a purse of broad pieces to me. - Hark ye, fellow,« he continued,
addressing Wayland, »thou shalt not give Puss a hint to steal away - we must
catch her in her form. So, back with that pitiful sheep-biting visage of thine,
or I will fling thee from the window of the tower, and try if your juggling
skill can save thy bones.«
    »Your worship will not be so hard-hearted, I trust,« said Wayland; »poor
folk must live. I trust your honour will allow me to speak with my sister?«
    »Sister on Adam's side, I warrant,« said Lambourne; »or, if otherwise, the
more knave thou. But, sister or no sister, thou diest on point of fox, if thou
comest a-prying to this tower once more. And now I think of it - uds daggers and
death! - I will see thee out of the Castle, for this is a more main concern than
thy jugglery.«
    »But, please your worship,« said Wayland, »I am to enact Arion in the
pageant upon the lake this very evening.«
    »I will act it myself, by Saint Christopher!« said Lambourne - »Orion,
call'st thou him? - I will act Orion, his belt, and his seven stars to boot.
Come along, for a rascal knave as thou art - follow me! - Or stay - Lawrence, do
thou bring him along.«
    Lawrence seized by the collar of the cloak the unresisting juggler, while
Lambourne, with hasty steps, led the way to that same sallyport, or secret
postern, by which Tressilian had returned to the Castle, and which opened in the
western wall, at no great distance from Mervyn's Tower.
    While traversing with a rapid foot the space betwixt the tower and the
sallyport, Wayland in vain racked his brain for some device which might avail
the poor lady, for whom, notwithstanding his own imminent danger, he felt deep
interest. But when he was thrust out of the Castle, and informed by Lambourne,
with a tremendous oath, that instant death would be the consequence of his again
approaching it, he cast up his hands and eyes to heaven, as if to call God to
witness he had stood to the uttermost in defence of the oppressed; then turned
his back on the proud towers of Kenilworth, and went his way to seek a humbler
and safer place of refuge.
    Lawrence and Lambourne gazed a little while after Wayland, and then turned
to go back to their tower, when the former thus addressed his companion: »Never
credit me, Master Lambourne, if I can guess why thou hast driven this poor
caitiff from the Castle, just when he was to bear a part in the show that was
beginning, and all this about a wench.«
    »Ah, Lawrence,« replied Lambourne, »thou art thinking of Black Joan Jugges
of Slingdon, and hast sympathy with human frailty. But couragio, most noble Duke
of the Dungeon and Lord of Limbo, for thou art as dark in this matter as thine
own dominions of Little-ease. My most reverend Signior of the Low Countries of
Kenilworth, know that our most notable master, Richard Varney, would give as
much to have a hole in this same Tressilian's coat, as would make us some fifty
midnight carousals, with the full leave of bidding the steward go snick up, if
he came to startle us too soon from our goblets.«
    »Nay, an that be the case, thou hast right,« said Lawrence Staples, the
upper-warder, or, in common phrase, the first jailer, of Kenilworth Castle, and
of the Liberty and Honour belonging thereto; »but how will you manage when you
are absent at the Queen's entrance, Master Lambourne; for methinks thou must
attend thy master there?«
    »Why thou, mine honest prince of prisons, must keep ward in my absence - Let
Tressilian enter if he will, but see thou let no one come out. If the damsel
herself would make a break, as 'tis not unlike she may, scare her back with
rough words - she is but a paltry player's wench after all.«
    »Nay, for that matter,« said Lawrence, »I might shut the iron wicket upon
her, that stands without the double door, and so force per force she will be
bound to her answer without more trouble.«
    »Then Tressilian will not get access to her,« said Lambourne, reflecting a
moment. »But 'tis no matter - she will be detected in his chamber, and that is
all one. - But confess, thou old bat'seyed dungeon-keeper, that you fear to keep
awake by yourself in that Mervyn's Tower of thine.«
    »Why, as to fear, Master Lambourne,« said the fellow, »I mind it not the
turning of a key; but strange things have been heard and seen in that tower. -
You must have heard, for as short a time as you have been in Kenilworth, that it
is haunted by the spirit of Arthur ap Mervyn, a wild chief taken by fierce Lord
Mortimer, when he was one of the Lords Marchers of Wales, and murdered, as they
say, in that same tower which bears his name?«
    »Oh, I have heard the tale five hundred times,« said Lambourne, »and how the
ghost is always most vociferous when they boil leeks and stirabout, or fry
toasted cheese, in the culinary regions. Santo Diavolo, man, hold thy tongue, I
know all about it!«
    »Ay, but thou dost not, though,« said the turnkey, »for as wise as thou
wouldst make thyself. Ah, it is an awful thing to murder a prisoner in his ward!
- You, that may have given a man a stab in a dark street, know nothing of it. To
give a mutinous fellow a knock on the head with the keys, and bid him be quiet,
that's what I call keeping order in the ward; but to draw weapon and slay him,
as was done to this Welsh lord, that raises you a ghost that will render your
prison-house untenantable by any decent captive for some hundred years. And I
have that regard for my prisoners, poor things, that I have put good squires and
men of worship, that have taken a ride on the highway, or slandered my Lord of
Leicester, or the like, fifty feet under ground, rather than I would put them
into that upper chamber yonder that they call Mervyn's Bower. Indeed, by good
Saint Peter of the Fetters, I marvel, my noble lord, or Master Varney, could
think of lodging guests there, and if this Master Tressilian could get any one
to keep him company, and in especial a pretty wench, why, truly, I think he was
in the right on't.«
    »I tell thee,« said Lambourne, leading the way into the turnkey's apartment,
»thou art an ass - Go bolt the wicket on the stair, and trouble not thy noddle
about ghosts - Give me the wine-stoup, man; I am somewhat heated with chafing
with yonder rascal.«
    While Lambourne drew a long draught from a pitcher of claret, which he made
use of without any cup, the warder went on vindicating his own belief in the
supernatural.
    »Thou hast been few hours in this Castle, and hast been for the whole space
so drunk, Lambourne, that thou art deaf, dumb, and blind. But we should hear
less of your bragging, were you to pass a night with us at full moon, for then
the ghost is busiest; and more especially when a rattling wind sets in from the
north-west, with some sprinkling of rain, and now and then a growl of thunder.
Body o' me, what crackings and clashings, what groanings and what howlings, will
there be at such times in Mervyn's Bower, right as it were over our heads, till
the matter of two quarts of distilled waters has not been enough to keep my lads
and me in some heart!«
    »Pshaw, man!« replied Lambourne, on whom his last draught, joined to
repeated visitations of the pitcher upon former occasions, began to make some
innovation, »thou speak'st thou know'st not what about spirits. No one knows
justly what to say about them; and, in short, least said may in that matter be
soonest amended. Some men believe in one thing, some in another - it is all
matter of fancy. I have known them of all sorts, my dear Lawrence Lock-the-door,
and sensible men too. There's a great lord - we'll pass his name, Lawrence - he
believes in the stars and the moon, the planets and their courses, and so forth,
and that they twinkle exclusively for his benefit, when in sober, or rather in
drunken truth, Lawrence, they are only shining to keep honest fellows like me
out of the kennel. Well, sir, let his humour pass, he is great enough to indulge
it. Then look ye, there is another - a very learned man, I promise you, and can
vent Greek and Hebrew as fast as I can Thieves'-Latin - he has a humour of
sympathies and antipathies - of changing lead into gold, and the like - why,
via, let that pass too, and let him pay those in transmigrated coin, who are
fools enough to let it be current with them. - Then here comest thou thyself,
another great man, though neither learned nor noble, yet full six feet high, and
thou, like a purblind mole, must needs believe in ghosts and goblins, and such
like. - Now, there is, besides, a great man - that is a great little man, or a
little great man, my dear Lawrence - and his name begins with V, and what
believes he? Why, nothing, honest Lawrence - nothing in earth, heaven, or hell;
and for my part, if I believe there is a devil, it is only because I think there
must be some one to catch our aforesaid friend by the back when soul and body
sever, as the ballad says - for your antecedent will have a consequent - raro
antecedentem, as Doctor Bircham was wont to say - But this is Greek to you now,
honest Lawrence, and in sooth learning is dry work - Hand me the pitcher once
more.«
    »In faith, if you drink more, Michael,« said the warder, »you will be in
sorry case either to play Arion or to wait on your master on such a solemn
night; and I expect each moment to hear the great bell toll for the muster at
Mortimer's Tower to receive the Queen.«
    While Staples remonstrated, Lambourne drank; and then setting down the
pitcher, which vas nearly emptied, with a deep sigh, he said, in an under tone,
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
twelvepence out-mouth me! What if they see me a little disguised? - Wherefore
should any man be sober to-night? answer me that - It is matter of loyalty to be
merry - and I tell thee, there are those in the Castle, who, if they are not
merry when drunk, have little chance to be merry when sober - I name no names,
Lawrence. But your pottle of sack is a fine shoeing horn to pull on a loyal
humour, and a merry one. Huzza for Queen Elizabeth! - for the noble Leicester! -
for the worshipful Master Varney! - and for Michael Lambourne, that can turn
them all round his finger!«
    So saying, he walked down stairs, and across the inner court.
    The warder looked after him, shook his head, and, while he drew close and
locked a wicket, which, crossing the staircase, rendered it impossible for any
one to ascend higher than the storey immediately beneath Mervyn's Bower, as
Tressilian's chamber was named, he thus soliloquised with himself - »It's a good
thing to be a favourite - I well-nigh lost mine office, because one frosty
morning Master Varney thought I smelled of aquavitæ; and this fellow can appear
before him drunk as a wineskin, and yet meet no rebuke. But then he is a
pestilent clever fellow withal, and no one can understand above one-half of what
he says.«
 

                               Chapter Thirtieth

 Now bid the steeple rock - she comes, she comes! -
 Speak for us, bells - speak for us, shrill-tongued tuckets.
 Stand to thy linstock, gunner; let thy cannon
 Play such a peal, as if a paynim foe
 Came stretch'd in turban'd ranks to storm the ramparts.
 We will have pageants too - but that craves wit,
 And I'm a rough-hewn soldier.
                                              The Virgin Queen - a Tragi-Comedy.
 
Tressilian, when Wayland had left him, as mentioned in the last chapter,
remained uncertain what he ought next to do, when Raleigh and Blount came up to
him arm in arm, yet, according to their wont, very eagerly disputing together.
Tressilian had no great desire for their society in the present state of his
feelings, but there was no possibility of avoiding them; and indeed he felt
that, bound by his promise not to approach Amy, or take any step in her behalf,
it would be his best course at once to mix with general society, and to exhibit
on his brow as little as he could of the anguish and uncertainty which sat heavy
at his heart. He therefore made a virtue of necessity, and hailed his comrades
with, »All mirth to you, gentlemen. Whence come ye?«
    »From Warwick, to be sure,« said Blount; »we must needs home to change our
habits, like poor players, who are fain to multiply their persons to outward
appearance by change of suits; and you had better do the like, Tressilian.«
    »Blount is right,« said Raleigh; »the Queen loves such marks of deference,
and notices, as wanting in respect, those who, not arriving in her immediate
attendance, may appear in their soiled and ruffled riding-dress. But look at
Blount himself, Tressilian, for the love of laughter, and see how his villainous
tailor hath apparelled him - in blue, green, and crimson, with carnation
ribbons, and yellow roses in his shoes!«
    »Why, what wouldst thou have?« said Blount. »I told the crossed-legged thief
to do his best, and spare no cost; and methinks these things are gay enough -
gayer than thine own - I'll be judged by Tressilian.«
    »I agree - I agree,« said Walter Raleigh. »Judge betwixt us, Tressilian, for
the love of heaven!«
    Tressilian, thus appealed to, looked at them both, and was immediately
sensible, at a single glance, that honest Blount had taken upon the tailor's
warrant the pied garments which he had chosen to make, and was as much
embarrassed by the quantity of points and ribbons which garnished his dress, as
a clown is in his holiday clothes; while the dress of Raleigh was a well-fancied
and rich suit, which the wearer bore as a garb too well adapted to his elegant
person to attract particular attention. Tressilian said, therefore, »That
Blount's dress was finest, but Raleigh's the best fancied.«
    Blount was satisfied with his decision. »I knew mine was finest,« he said;
»if that knave Double-stitch had brought me home such a simple doublet as that
of Raleigh's, I would have beat his brains out with his own pressing-iron. Nay,
if we must be fools, ever let us be fools of the first head, say I.«
    »But why gettest thou not on thy braveries, Tressilian?« said Raleigh.
    »I am excluded from my apartment by a silly mistake,« said Tressilian, »and
separated for the time from my baggage. I was about to seek thee, to beseech a
share of thy lodging.«
    »And welcome,« said Raleigh; »it is a noble one. My Lord of Leicester has
done us that kindness, and lodged us in princely fashion. If his courtesy be
extorted reluctantly, it is at least extended far. I would advise you to tell
your strait to the Earl's chamberlain - you will have instant redress.«
    »Nay, it is not worth while, since you can spare me room,« replied
Tressilian - »I would not be troublesome. - Has any one come hither with you?«
    »Oh, ay,« said Blount, »Varney and a whole tribe of Leicesterians, besides
about a score of us honest Sussex folk. We are all, it seems, to receive the
Queen at what they call the Gallery Tower, and witness some fooleries there; and
then we're to remain in attendance upon the Queen in the Great Hall - God bless
the mark - while those who are now waiting upon her Grace get rid of their
slough, and doff their riding-suits. Heaven help me, if her Grace should speak
to me, I shall never know what to answer!«
    »And what has detained them so long at Warwick?« said Tressilian, unwilling
that their conversation should return to his own affairs.
    »Such a succession of fooleries,« said Blount, »as were never seen at
Bartholomew fair. We have had speeches and players, and dogs and bears, and men
making monkeys, and women moppets, of themselves - I marvel the Queen could
endure it. But ever and anon came in something of the lovely light of her
gracious countenance, or some such trash. Ah! vanity makes a fool of the wisest.
But come, let us on to this same Gallery Tower - though I see not what thou,
Tressilian, canst do with thy riding-dress and boots.«
    »I will take my station behind thee, Blount,« said Tressilian, who saw that
his friend's unusual finery had taken a strong hold of his imagination, »thy
goodly size and gay dress will cover my defects.«
    »And so thou shalt, Edmund,« said Blount. »In faith, I am glad thou think'st
my garb well-fancied, for all Mr. Witty-pate here, for, when one does a foolish
thing, it is right to do it handsomely.«
    So saying, Blount cocked his beaver, threw out his leg, and marched manfully
forward, as if at the head of his brigade of pikemen, ever and anon looking with
complaisance on his crimson stockings, and the huge yellow roses which blossomed
on his shoes. Tressilian followed, wrapt in his own sad thoughts, and scarce
minding Raleigh, whose quick fancy, amused by the awkward vanity of his
respectable friend, vented itself in jests, which he whispered into Tressilian's
ear.
    In this manner they crossed the long bridge or tilt-yard, and took their
station, with other gentlemen of quality, before the outer gate of the Gallery
or Entrance Tower. The whole amounted to about forty persons, all selected as of
the first rank under that of knighthood, and were disposed in double rows on
either side of the gate, like a guard of honour, within the close hedge of pikes
and partisans, which was formed by Leicester's retainers, wearing his liveries.
The gentlemen carried no arms save their swords and daggers. These gallants were
as gaily dressed as imagination could devise; and as the garb of the time
permitted a great display of expensive magnificence, nought was to be seen but
velvet and cloth of gold and silver, ribbons, 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 dishabille was the subject of wonder among his own friends, and of
scorn among the partisans of Leicester.
    We could not suppress this fact, though it may seem something at variance
with the gravity of Tressilian's character; but the truth is, that a regard for
personal appearance is a species of self-love from which the wisest are not
exempt, and to which the mind clings so instinctively, that not only the soldier
advancing to almost inevitable death, but even the doomed criminal who goes to
certain execution, shows an anxiety to array his person to the best advantage.
But this is a digression.
    It was the twilight of a summer night (9th July 1575), the sun having for
some time set, and all were in anxious expectation of the Queen's immediate
approach. The multitude had remained assembled for many hours, and their numbers
were still rather on the increase. A profuse distribution of refreshments,
together with roasted oxen, and barrels of ale set abroach in different places
of the road, had kept the populace in perfect love and loyalty towards the Queen
and her favourite, which might have somewhat abated had fasting been added to
watching. They passed away the time, therefore, with the usual popular
amusements of whooping, hallooing, shrieking, and playing rude tricks upon each
other, forming the chorus of discordant sounds usual on such occasions. These
prevailed all through the crowded roads and fields, and especially beyond the
gate of the Chase, where the greater number of the common sort were stationed;
when, all of a sudden, a single rocket was seen to shoot into the atmosphere,
and at the instant, far heard over flood and field, the great bell of the Castle
tolled.
    Immediately there was a pause of dead silence, succeeded by a deep hum of
expectation, the united voice of many thousands, none of whom spoke above their
breath; or, to use a singular expression, the whisper of an immense multitude.
    »They come now for certain,« said Raleigh. »Tressilian, that sound is grand.
We hear it from this distance as mariners, after a long voyage, hear, upon their
night watch, the tide rush upon some distant and unknown shore.«
    »Mass!« answered Blount, »I hear it rather as I used to hear mine own kine
lowing from the close of Wittens-westlowe.«
    »He will assuredly graze presently,« said Raleigh to Tressilian; »his
thought is all of fat oxen and fertile meadows - he grows little better than one
of his own beeves, and only becomes grand when he is provoked to pushing and
goring.«
    »We shall have him at that presently,« said Tressilian, »if you spare not
your wit.«
    »Tush, I care not,« answered Raleigh; »but thou too, Tressilian, hast turned
a kind of owl, that flies only by night; hast exchanged thy songs for
screechings, and good company for an ivy-tod.«
    »But what manner of animal art thou thyself, Raleigh,« said Tressilian,
»that thou holdest us all so lightly?«
    »Who, I?« replied Raleigh. »An eagle am I, that never will think of dull
earth while there is a heaven to soar in, and a sun to gaze upon.«
    »Well bragged, by Saint Barnaby!« said Blount, »but, good Master Eagle,
beware the cage, and beware the fowler Many birds have flown as high, that I
have seen stuffed with straw, and hung up to scare kites. But hark, what a dead
silence hath fallen on them at once!«
    »The procession pauses,« said Raleigh, »at the gate of the Chase, where a
sibyl, one of the fatidicæ, 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 pertæsa barbaræ loquelæ.«
    »The Queen whispered to him!« said Blount, in a kind of soliloquy; »Good
God, to what will this world come!«
    His farther meditations were interrupted by a shout of applause from the
multitude, so tremendously vociferous, that the country echoed for miles round.
The guards, thickly stationed upon the road by which the Queen was to advance,
caught up the acclamation, which ran like wildfire to the Castle, and announced
to all within that Queen Elizabeth had entered the Royal Chase of Kenilworth.
The whole music of the Castle sounded at once, and a round of artillery, with a
salvo of small arms, was discharged from the battlements; but the noise of drums
and trumpets, and even of the cannon themselves, was but faintly heard amidst
the roaring and reiterated welcomes of the multitude.
    As the noise began to abate, a broad glare of light was seen to appear from
the gate of the Park, and, broadening and brightening as it came nearer,
advanced along the open and fair avenue that led towards the Gallery Tower; and
which, as we have already noticed, was lined on either hand by the retainers of
the Earl of Leicester. The word was passed along the line, »The Queen! The
Queen! Silence, and stand fast!« Onward came the cavalcade, illuminated by two
hundred thick waxen torches, in the hands of as many horsemen, which cast a
light like that of broad day all around the procession, but especially on the
principal group, of which the Queen herself, arrayed in the most splendid
manner, and blazing with jewels, formed the central figure. She was mounted on a
milk-white horse, which she reined with peculiar grace and dignity; and in the
whole of her stately and noble carriage you saw the daughter of an hundred
kings.
    The ladies of the court who rode beside her Majesty had taken especial care
that their own external appearance should not be more glorious than their rank
and the occasion altogether demanded, so that no inferior luminary might appear
to approach the orbit of royalty. But their personal charms, and the
magnificence by which, under every prudential restraint, they were necessarily
distinguished, exhibited them as the very flower of a realm so far famed for
splendour and beauty. The magnificence of the courtiers, free from such
restraints as prudence imposed on the ladies, was yet more unbounded.
    Leicester, who glittered like a golden image with jewels and cloth of gold,
rode on her Majesty's right hand, as well in quality of her host as of her
Master of the Horse. The black steed which he mounted had not a single white
hair on his body, and was one of the most renowned chargers in Europe, having
been purchased by the Earl at large expense for this royal occasion. As the
noble animal chafed at the slow pace of the procession, and, arching his stately
neck, champed on the silver bits which restrained him, the foam flew from his
mouth, and specked 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
bare-headed, as were all the courtiers in the train; and the red torchlight
shone upon his long curled tresses of dark hair, and on his noble features, to
the beauty of which even the severest criticism could only object the lordly
fault, as it may be termed, of a forehead somewhat too high. On that proud
evening, those features wore all the grateful solicitude of a subject, to show
himself sensible of the high honour which the Queen was conferring on him, and
all the pride and satisfaction which became so glorious a moment. Yet, though
neither eye nor feature betrayed aught but feelings which suited the occasion,
some of the Earl's personal attendants remarked, that he was unusually pale, and
they expressed to each other their fear that he was taking more fatigue than
consisted with his health.
    Varney followed close behind his master, as the principal esquire in
waiting, and had charge of his lordship's black velvet bonnet, garnished with a
clasp of diamonds, and surmounted by a white plume. He kept his eye constantly
on his master; and, for reasons with which the reader is not unacquainted, was,
among Leicester's numerous dependants, the one who was most anxious that his
lord's strength and resolution should carry him successfully through a day so
agitating. For although Varney was one of the few - the very few moral monsters,
who contrive to lull to sleep the remorse of their own bosoms, and are drugged
into moral insensibility by atheism, as men in extreme agony are lulled by
opium, yet he knew that in the breast of his patron there was already awakened
the fire that is never quenched, and that his lord felt, amid all the pomp and
magnificence we have described, the gnawing of the worm that dieth not. Still,
however, assured as Lord Leicester stood, by Varney's own intelligence, that his
Countess laboured under an indisposition which formed an unanswerable apology to
the Queen for her not appearing at Kenilworth, there was little danger, his wily
retainer thought, that a man so ambitious would betray himself by giving way to
any external weakness.
    The train, male and female, who attended immediately upon the Queen's
person, were of course of the bravest and the fairest, - the highest born
nobles, and the wisest counsellors, of that distinguished reign, to repeat whose
names were but to weary the reader. Behind came a long crowd of knights and
gentlemen, whose rank and birth, however distinguished, were thrown into shade,
as their persons into the rear of a procession, whose front was of such august
majesty.
    Thus marshalled, the cavalcade approached the Gallery Tower, which formed,
as we have often observed, the extreme barrier of the Castle.
    It was now the part of the huge porter to step forward; but the lubbard was
so overwhelmed with confusion of spirit, - the contents of one immense black
jack of double ale which he had just drunk to quicken his memory, having
treacherously confused the brain it was intended to clear, - that he only
groaned piteously, and remained sitting on his stone-seat; and the Queen would
have passed on without greeting, had not the gigantic warder's secret ally,
Flibbertigibbet, who lay perdue behind him, thrust a pin into the rear of the
short femoral garment which we elsewhere described.
    The porter uttered a sort of yell, which came not amiss into his part,
started up with his club, and dealt a sound douse or two on each side of him;
and then, like a coach-horse pricked by the spur, started off at once into the
full career of his address, and by dint of active prompting on the part of
Dickie Sludge, delivered, in sounds of gigantic intonation, a speech which may
be thus abridged; - the reader being to suppose that the first lines were
addressed to the throng who approached the gateway; the conclusion, at the
approach of the Queen, upon sight of whom, as struck by some heavenly vision,
the gigantic warder dropped his club, resigned his keys, and gave open way to
the Goddess of the night, and all her magnificent train.
 
»What stir, what turmoil, have we for the nones?
Stand back, my masters, or beware your bones!
Sirs, I'm a warder, and no man of straw,
My voice keeps order, and my club gives law.
Yet soft - nay, stay - what vision have we here?
What dainty darling's this? - what peerless peer?
What loveliest face, that loving ranks unfold,
Like brightest diamond chased in purest gold?
Dazzled and blind, mine office I forsake,
My club, my key. My knee, my homage take,
Bright paragon; pass on in joy and bliss; -
Beshrew the gate that opes not wide at such a sight as this!«19
 
Elizabeth received most graciously the homage of the Herculean porter, and,
bending her head to him in requital, passed through his guarded tower, from the
top of which was poured a clamorous blast of warlike music, which was replied to
by other bands of minstrelsy placed at different points on the Castle walls, and
by others again stationed in the Chase; while the tones of the one, as they yet
vibrated on the echoes, were caught up and answered by new harmony from
different quarters.
    Amidst these bursts of music, which, as if the work of enchantment, seemed
now close at hand, now softened by distant space, now wailing so low and sweet
as if that distance were gradually prolonged until only the last lingering
strains could reach the ear, Queen Elizabeth crossed the Gallery Tower, and came
upon the long bridge, which extended from thence to Mortimer's Tower, and which
was already as light as day, so many torches had been fastened to the palisades
on either side. Most of the nobles here alighted, and sent their horses to the
neighbouring village of Kenilworth, following the Queen on foot, as did the
gentlemen who had stood in array to receive her at the Gallery Tower.
    On this occasion, as at different times during the evening, Raleigh
addressed himself to Tressilian, and was not a little surprised at his vague and
unsatisfactory answers; which, joined to his leaving his apartment without any
assigned reason, appearing in an undress when it was likely to be offensive to
the Queen, and some other symptoms of irregularity which he thought he
discovered, led him to doubt whether his friend did not labour under some
temporary derangement.
    Meanwhile, the Queen had no sooner stepped on the bridge than a new
spectacle was provided; for as soon as the music gave signal that she was so far
advanced, a raft, so disposed as to resemble a small floating island,
illuminated by a great variety of torches, and surrounded by floating pageants
formed to represent sea-horses, on which sat Tritons, Nereids, and other
fabulous deities of the seas and rivers, made its appearance upon the lake, and
issuing from behind a small heronry where it had been concealed, floated gently
towards the farther end of the bridge.
    On the islet appeared a beautiful woman, clad in a watchet-coloured silken
mantle, bound with a broad girdle, inscribed with characters like the
phylacteries of the Hebrews. Her feet and arms were bare, but her wrists and
ankles were adorned with gold bracelets of uncommon size. Amidst her long silky
black hair she wore a crown or chaplet of artificial mistleto, and bore in her
hand a rod of ebony tipped with silver. Two Nymphs attended on her, dressed in
the same antique and mystical guise.
    The pageant was so well managed, that this Lady of the Floating Island,
having performed her voyage with much picturesque effect, landed at Mortimer's
Tower with her two attendants, just as Elizabeth presented herself before that
outwork. The stranger then, in a well-penned speech, announced herself as that
famous Lady of the Lake, renowned in the stories of King Arthur, who had nursed
the youth of the redoubted Sir Lancelot, and whose beauty had proved too
powerful both for the wisdom and the spells of the mighty Merlin. Since that
early period she had remained possessed of her crystal dominions, she said,
despite the various men of fame and might by whom Kenilworth had been
successively tenanted. The Saxons, the Danes, the Normans, the Saintlowes, the
Clintons, the Mountforts, the Mortimers, the Plantagenets, great though they
were in arms and magnificence, had never, she said, caused her to raise her head
from the waters which hid her crystal palace. But a greater than all these great
names had now appeared, and she came in homage and duty to welcome the peerless
Elizabeth to all sport, which the Castle and its environs, which lake or land,
could afford.
    The Queen received this address also with great courtesy, and made answer in
raillery, »We thought this lake had belonged to our own dominions, fair dame;
but since so famed a lady claims it for hers, we will be glad at some other time
to have farther communing with you touching our joint interests.«
    With this gracious answer the Lady of the Lake vanished, and Arion, who was
amongst the maritime deities, appeared upon his dolphin. But Lambourne, who had
taken upon him the part in the absence of Wayland, being chilled with remaining
immersed in an element to which he was not friendly, having never got his speech
by heart, and not having, like the porter, the advantage of a prompter, paid it
off with impudence, tearing off his vizard and swearing, »Cogs bones! he was
none of Arion or Orion either, but honest Mike Lambourne, that had been drinking
her Majesty's health from morning till midnight, and was come to bid her
heartily welcome to Kenilworth Castle.«
    This unpremeditated buffoonery answered the purpose probably better than the
set speech would have done. The Queen laughed heartily, and swore (in her turn)
that he had made the best speech she had heard that day. Lambourne, who
instantly saw his jest had saved his bones, jumped on shore, gave his dolphin a
kick, and declared he would never meddle with fish again, except at dinner.
    At the same time that the Queen was about to enter the Castle, that
memorable discharge of fireworks, by water and land, took place, which Master
Laneham, formerly introduced to the reader, has strained all his eloquence to
describe.
    »Such,« says the Clerk of the Council-chamber door, »was the blaze of
burning darts, the gleams of stars coruscant, the streams and hail of fiery
sparks, lightnings of wildfire, and flight-shot of thunder-bolts, 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.«20
 

                              Chapter Thirty-First

 Nay, this is matter for the month of March,
 When hares are maddest. Either speak in reason,
 Giving cold argument the wall of passion,
 Or I break up the court
                                                          Beaumont and Fletcher.
 
It is by no means our purpose to detail minutely all the princely festivities of
Kenilworth, after the fashion of Master Robert Laneham, whom we quoted in the
conclusion of the last chapter. It is sufficient to say, that, under discharge
of the splendid fireworks, which we have borrowed Laneham's eloquence to
describe, the Queen entered the base-court of Kenilworth through Mortimer's
Tower, and moving on through pageants of heathen gods and heroes of antiquity,
who offered gifts and compliments on the bended knee, at length found her way to
the great hall of the Castle, gorgeously hung for her reception with the richest
silken tapestry, misty with perfumes, and sounding to strains of soft and
delicious music. From the highly-carved oaken roof hung a superb chandelier of
gilt bronze, formed like a spread eagle, whose outstretched wings supported
three male and three female figures, grasping a pair of branches in each hand.
The hall was thus illuminated by twenty-four torches of wax. At the upper end of
the splendid apartment was a state canopy, overshadowing a royal throne, and
beside was a door, which opened to a long suite of apartments, decorated with
the utmost magnificence for the Queen and her ladies, whenever it should be her
pleasure to be private.
    The Earl of Leicester having handed the Queen up to her throne, and seated
her there, knelt down before her, and kissing the hand which she held out, with
an air in which romantic and respectful gallantry was happily mingled with the
air of loyal devotion, he thanked her, in terms of the deepest gratitude, for
the highest honour which a sovereign could render to a subject. So handsome did
he look when kneeling before her, that Elizabeth was tempted to prolong the
scene a little longer than there was, strictly speaking, necessity for; and ere
she raised him, she passed her hand over his head, so near, as almost to touch
his long curled and perfumed hair, and with a movement of fondness, that seemed
to intimate, she would, if she dared, have made the motion a slight caress.21
    She at length raised him, and, standing beside the throne, he explained to
her the various preparations which had been made for her amusement and
accommodation, all of which received her prompt and gracious approbation. The
Earl then prayed her Majesty for permission, that he himself, and the nobles who
had been in attendance upon her during the journey, might retire for a few
minutes, and put themselves into a guise more fitting for dutiful attendance,
during which space, those gentlemen of worship (pointing to Varney, Blount,
Tressilian, and others), who had already put themselves into fresh attire, would
have the honour of keeping her presence-chamber.
    »Be it so, my lord,« answered the Queen; »you could manage a theatre well,
who can thus command a double set of actors. For ourselves, we will receive your
courtesies this evening but clownishly, since it is not our purpose to change
our riding attire, being in effect something fatigued with a journey which the
concourse of our good people hath rendered slow, though the love they have shown
our person hath, at the same time, made it delightful.«
    Leicester, having received this permission, retired accordingly, and was
followed by those nobles who had attended the Queen to Kenilworth in person. The
gentlemen who had preceded them, and were of course dressed for the solemnity,
remained in attendance. But being most of them of rather inferior rank, they
remained at an awful distance from the throne which Elizabeth occupied. The
Queen's sharp eye soon distinguished Raleigh amongst them, with one or two
others who were personally known to her, and she instantly made them a sign to
approach, and accosted them very graciously. Raleigh, in particular, the
adventure of whose cloak, as well as the incident of the verses, remained on her
mind, was very graciously received; and to him she most frequently applied for
information concerning the names and rank of those who were in presence. These
he communicated concisely, and not without some traits of humorous satire, by
which Elizabeth seemed much amused. »And who is yonder clownish fellow?« she
said, looking at Tressilian, whose soiled dress on this occasion greatly
obscured his good mien.
    »A poet, if it please your Grace,« replied Raleigh.
    »I might have guessed that from his careless garb,« said Elizabeth. »I have
known some poets so thoughtless as to throw their cloaks into gutters.«
    »It must have been when the sun dazzled both their eyes and their judgment,«
answered Raleigh.
    Elizabeth smiled and proceeded, »I asked that slovenly fellow's name, and
you only told me his profession.«
    »Tressilian is his name,« said Raleigh, with internal reluctance, for he
foresaw nothing favourable to his friend from the manner in which she took
notice of him.
    »Tressilian!« answered Elizabeth. »Oh, the Menelaus of our romance! Why, he
has dressed himself in a guise that will go far to exculpate his fair and false
Helen. And where is Farnham, or whatever his name is - my Lord of Leicester's
man, I mean - the Paris of this Devonshire tale?«
    With still greater reluctance Raleigh named and pointed out to her Varney,
for whom the tailor had done all that art could perform in making his exterior
agreeable; and who, if he had not grace, had a sort of tact and habitual
knowledge of breeding, which came in place of it.
    The Queen turned her eyes from the one to the other - »I doubt,« she said,
»this same poetical Master Tressilian, who is too learned, I warrant me, to
remember what 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 run-away hath had reasons
for breaking her faith.«
    To this Raleigh durst make no answer, aware how little he should benefit
Tressilian by contradicting the Queen's sentiments, and not at all certain on
the whole, whether the best thing that could befall him, would not be that she
should put an end at once by her authority to this affair, upon which it seemed
to him Tressilian's thoughts were fixed with unavailing and distressing
pertinacity. As these reflections passed through his active brain, the lower
door of the hall opened, and Leicester, accompanied by several of his kinsmen,
and of the nobles who had embraced his faction, re-entered the Castle-hall.
    The favourite Earl was now apparelled all in white, his shoes being of white
velvet; his understocks (or stockings) of knit silk; his upper stocks of white
velvet, lined with cloth of silver, which was shown at the slashed part of the
middle thigh; his doublet of cloth of silver, the close jerkin of white velvet,
embroidered with silver and seed-pearl, his girdle and the scabbard of his sword
of white velvet with golden buckles; his poniard and sword hilted and mounted
with gold; and over all a rich loose robe of white satin, with a border of
golden embroidery a foot in breadth. The collar of the Garter, and the azure
Garter itself around his knee, completed the appointments of the Earl of
Leicester; which were so well matched by his fair stature, graceful gesture,
fine proportion of body, and handsome countenance, that at that moment he was
admitted by all who saw him, as the goodliest person whom they had ever looked
upon. Sussex and the other nobles were also richly attired, but in point of
splendour and gracefulness of mien, Leicester far exceeded them all.
    Elizabeth received him with great complacency. »We have one piece of royal
justice,« she said, »to attend to. It is a piece of justice, too, which
interests us as a woman, as well in the character of mother and guardian of the
English people.«
    An involuntary shudder came over Leicester, as he bowed low, expressive of
his readiness to receive her royal commands; and a similar cold fit came over
Varney, whose eyes (seldom during that evening removed from his patron)
instantly perceived, from the change in his looks, slight as that was, of what
the Queen was speaking. But Leicester had wrought his resolution up to the point
which, in his crooked policy, he judged necessary; and when Elizabeth added -
»It is of the matter of Varney and Tressilian we speak - is the lady here, my
lord?« his answer was ready; - »Gracious madam, she is not.«
    Elizabeth bent her brows and compressed her lips. »Our orders were strict
and positive, my lord,« was her answer -
    »And should have been obeyed, good my liege,« replied Leicester, »had they
been expressed in the form of the lightest wish. But - Varney, step forward -
this gentleman will inform your Grace of the cause why the lady« (he could not
force his rebellious tongue to utter the words - his wife) »cannot attend on
your royal presence.«
    Varney advanced, and pleaded with readiness, what indeed he firmly believed,
the absolute incapacity of the party (for neither did he dare, in Leicester's
presence, term her his wife) to wait on her Grace.
    »Here,« said he, »are attestations from a most learned physician, whose
skill and honour are well known to my good Lord of Leicester; and from an honest
and devout Protestant, a man of credit and substance, one Anthony Foster, the
gentleman in whose house she is at present bestowed, that she now labours under
an illness which altogether unfits her for such a journey as betwixt this Castle
and the neighbourhood of Oxford.«
    »This alters the matter,« said the Queen, taking the certificates in her
hand, and glancing at their contents - »Let Tressilian come forward. - Master
Tressilian, we have much sympathy for your situation, the rather that you seem
to have set your heart deeply on this Amy Robsart, or Varney. Our power, thanks
to God, and the willing obedience of a loving people, is worth much, but there
are some things which it cannot compass. We cannot, for example, command the
affections of a giddy young girl, or make her love sense and learning better
than a courtier's fine doublet; and we cannot control sickness, with which it
seems this lady is afflicted, who may not, by reason of such infirmity, attend
our court here, as we had required her to do. Here are the testimonials of the
physician who hath her under his charge, and the gentleman in whose house she
resides, so setting forth.«
    »Under your Majesty's favour,« said Tressilian, hastily, and, in his alarm
for the consequence of the imposition practised on the Queen, forgetting, in
part at least, his own promise to Amy, »these certificates speak not the truth.«
    »How, sir!« said the Queen - »Impeach my Lord of Leicester's veracity! But
you shall have a fair hearing. In our presence the meanest of our subjects shall
be heard against the proudest, and the least known against the most favoured;
therefore you shall be heard fairly, but beware you speak not without a warrant!
Take these certificates in your own hand; look at them carefully, and say
manfully if you impugn the truth of them, and upon what evidence.«
    As the Queen spoke, his promise and all its consequences rushed on the mind
of the unfortunate Tressilian, and while it controlled his natural inclination
to pronounce that a falsehood which he knew from the evidence of his senses to
be untrue, gave an indecision and irresolution to his appearance and utterance,
which made strongly against him in the mind of Elizabeth, as well as of all who
beheld him. He turned the papers over and over, as if he had been an idiot,
incapable of comprehending their contents. The Queen's impatience began to
become visible. - »You are a scholar, sir,« she said, »and of some note, as I
have heard, yet you seem wondrous slow in reading text hand. How say you, are
these certificates true or no?«
    »Madam,« said Tressilian, with obvious embarrassment and hesitation, anxious
to avoid admitting evidence which he might afterwards have reason to confute,
yet equally desirous to keep his word to Amy, and to give her, as he had
promised, space to plead her own cause in her own way - »Madam - Madam, your
Grace calls on me to admit evidence which ought to be proved valid by those who
found their defence upon them.«
    »Why, Tressilian, thou art critical as well as poetical,« said the Queen,
bending on him a brow of displeasure; »methinks these writings, being produced
in the presence of the noble Earl to whom this Castle pertains, and his honour
being appealed to as the guarantee of their authenticity, might be evidence
enough for thee. But since thou lists to be so formal - Varney, or rather my
Lord of Leicester, for the affair becomes yours« (these words, though spoken at
random, thrilled through the Earl's marrow and bones), »what evidence have you
as touching these certificates?«
    Varney hastened to reply, preventing Leicester, - »So please your Majesty,
my young Lord of Oxford, who is here in presence, knows Master Anthony Foster's
hand and his character.«
    The Earl of Oxford, a young unthrift, whom Foster had more than once
accommodated with loans on usurious interest, acknowledged, on this appeal, that
he knew him as a wealthy and independent franklin, supposed to be worth much
money, and verified the certificate produced to be his handwriting.
    »And who speaks to the Doctor's certificate?« said the Queen. »Alasco,
methinks, is his name.«
    Masters, her Majesty's physician (not the less willingly that he remembered
his repulse from Say's 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
recipes, and which corresponded to the certificate produced as his.
    »And now, I trust, Master Tressilian, this matter is ended,« said the Queen.
»We will do something ere the night is older to reconcile old Sir Hugh Robsart
to the match. You have done your duty something more than boldly; but we were no
woman had we not compassion for the wounds which true love deals; so we forgive
your audacity, and your uncleansed boots withal, which have well-nigh
overpowered my Lord of Leicester's perfumes.«
    So spoke Elizabeth, whose nicety of scent was one of the characteristics of
her organisation, as appeared long afterwards when she expelled Essex from her
presence, on a charge against his boots similar to that which she now expressed
against those of Tressilian.
    But Tressilian had by this time collected himself, astonished as he had at
first been by the audacity of the falsehood so feasibly supported, and placed in
array against the evidence of his own eyes. He rushed forward, kneeled down, and
caught the Queen by the skirt of the robe. »As you are Christian woman,« he
said, »madam, as you are crowned Queen, to do equal justice among your subjects
- as you hope yourself to have fair hearing (which God grant you) at that last
bar at which we must all plead, grant me one small request! Decide not this
matter so hastily. Give me but twenty-four hours' interval, and I will, at the
end of that brief space, produce evidence which will show to demonstration, that
these certificates, which state this unhappy lady to be now ill at ease in
Oxfordshire, are false as hell!«
    »Let go my train, sir!« said Elizabeth, who was startled at his vehemence,
though she had too much of the lion in her to fear; »the fellow must be
distraught - that witty knave, my godson Harrington, must have him into his
rhymes of Orlando Furioso! - And yet, by this light, there is something strange
in the vehemence of his demand. - Speak, Tressilian; what wilt thou do if, at
the end of these four-and-twenty hours, thou canst not confute a fact so
solemnly proved as this lady's illness?«
    »I will lay down my head on the block,« answered Tressilian.
    »Pshaw!« replied the Queen. »God's light! thou speak'st like a fool. What
head falls in England but by just sentence of English law? - I ask thee, man -
if thou hast sense to understand me - wilt thou, if thou shall fail in this
improbable attempt of thine, render me a good and sufficient reason why thou
dost undertake it?«
    Tressilian paused, and again hesitated; because he felt convinced that if,
within the interval demanded, Amy should become reconciled to her husband, he
would in that case do her the worst offices by again ripping up the whole
circumstances before Elizabeth, and showing how that wise and jealous princess
had been imposed upon by false testimonials. The consciousness of this dilemma
renewed his extreme embarrassment of look, voice, and manner; he hesitated,
looked down, and on the Queen repeating her question with a stern voice and
flashing eye, he admitted with faltering words, »That it might be - he could not
positively - that is, in certain events - explain the reasons and grounds on
which he acted.«
    »Now, by the soul of King Henry,« said the Queen, »this is either moonstruck
madness, or very knavery! - Seest thou, Raleigh, thy friend is far too Pindaric
for this presence. Have him away, and make us quit of him, or it shall be the
worse for him; for his flights are too unbridled for any place but Parnassus, or
Saint Luke's Hospital. But come back instantly thyself, when he is placed under
fitting restraint. - We wish we had seen the beauty which could make such havoc
in a wise man's brain.«
    Tressilian was again endeavouring to address the Queen, when Raleigh, in
obedience to the orders he had received, interfered, and, with Blount's
assistance, half led half forced him out of the presence chamber, where he
himself indeed began to think his appearance did his cause more harm than good.
    When they had attained the antechamber, Raleigh entreated Blount to see
Tressilian safely conducted into the apartments allotted to the Earl of Sussex's
followers, and, if necessary, recommended that a guard should be mounted on him.
    »This extravagant passion,« he said, »and, as it would seem, the news of the
lady's illness, has utterly wrecked his excellent judgment. But it will pass
away if he be kept quiet. Only let him break forth again at no rate; for he is
already far in her Highness's displeasure, and should she be again provoked she
will find for him a worse place of confinement, and sterner keepers.«
    »I judged as much as that he was mad,« said Nicholas Blount, looking down
upon his own crimson stockings and yellow roses, »whenever I saw him wearing
yonder damned boots, which stunk so in her nostrils. - I will but see him
stowed, and be back with you presently. - But, Walter, did the Queen ask who I
was? - methought she glanced an eye at me.«
    »Twenty - twenty eye-glances she sent, and I told her all how thou wert a
brave soldier, and a - But for God's sake get off Tressilian!«
    »I will - I will,« said Blount; »but methinks this court-haunting is no such
bad pastime, after all. We shall rise by it, Walter, my brave lad. Thou saidst I
was a good soldier, and a - What besides, dearest Walter?«
    »An all unutterable - codshead. - For God's sake, begone!«
    Tressilian, without farther 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 farther interference with the fortunes of Amy, by her having found
means to place herself in a state of reconciliation with her husband.
    With great difficulty, and only by the most patient and mild remonstrances
with Blount, he escaped the disgrace and mortification of having two of Sussex's
stoutest yeomen quartered in his apartment. At last, however, when Nicholas had
seen him fairly deposited in his truckle-bed, and had bestowed one or two hearty
kicks, and as hearty curses, on the boots, which, in his lately acquired spirit
of foppery, he considered as a strong symptom, if not the cause, of his friend's
malady, he contented himself with the modified measure of locking the door on
the unfortunate Tressilian; whose gallant and disinterested efforts to save a
female who had treated him with ingratitude, thus terminated for the present, in
the displeasure of his Sovereign, and the conviction of his friends that he was
little better than a madman.
 

                             Chapter Thirty-Second

 The wisest Sovereigns err like private men,
 And royal hand has sometimes laid the sword
 Of chivalry upon a worthless shoulder,
 Which better had been branded by the hangman.
 What then? - Kings do their best - and they and we
 Must answer for the intent, and not the event.
                                                                       Old Play.
 
»It is a melancholy matter,« said the Queen, when Tressilian was withdrawn, »to
see a wise and learned man's wit thus pitifully unsettled. Yet this public
display of his imperfection of brain plainly shows us that his supposed injury
and accusation were fruitless; and therefore, my lord of Leicester, we remember
your suit formerly made to us in behalf of your faithful servant Varney, whose
good gifts and fidelity, as they are useful to you, ought to have due reward
from us, knowing well that your lordship, and all you have, are so earnestly
devoted to our service. And we render Varney the honour more especially that we
are a guest, and we fear a chargeable and troublesome one, under your lordship's
roof; and also for the satisfaction of the good old Knight of Devon, Sir Hugh
Robsart, whose daughter he hath married; and we trust the especial mark of grace
which we are about to confer may reconcile him to his son-in-law. - Your sword,
my Lord of Leicester.«
    The Earl unbuckled his sword, and taking it by the point, presented on
bending knee the hilt to Elizabeth.
    She took it slowly, drew it from the scabbard, and while the ladies who
stood around turned away their eyes with real or affected shuddering, she noted
with a curious eye the high polish and rich damasked ornaments upon the
glittering blade.
    »Had I been a man,« she said, »methinks none of my ancestors would have
loved a good sword better. As it is with me, I like to look on one, and could,
like the fairy of whom I have read in some Italian rhymes - were my godson
Harrington here he could tell me the passage22 - even trim my hair and arrange
my head-gear in such a steel mirror as this is. - Richard Varney, come forth,
and kneel down. In the name of God and Saint George, we dub thee knight! Be
Faithful, Brave, and Fortunate. - Arise, Sir Richard Varney.«
    Varney arose and retired, making a deep obeisance to the Sovereign who had
done him so much honour.
    »The buckling of the spur, and what other rites remain,« said the Queen,
»may be finished to-morrow in the chapel: for we intend Sir Richard Varney a
companion in his honours. And as we must not be partial in conferring such
distinction, we mean on this matter to confer with our cousin of Sussex.«
    That noble Earl, who, since his arrival at Kenilworth, and indeed since the
commencement of this Progress, had found himself in a subordinate situation to
Leicester, was now wearing a heavy cloud on his brow - a circumstance which had
not escaped the Queen, who hoped to appease his discontent, and to follow out
her system of balancing policy by a mark of peculiar favour, the more gratifying
as it was tendered at a moment when his rival's triumph appeared to be complete.
    At the summons of Queen Elizabeth, Sussex hastily approached her person; and
being asked on which of his followers, being a gentleman and of merit, he would
wish the honour of knighthood to be conferred, he answered, with more sincerity
than policy, that he would have ventured to speak for Tressilian, to whom he
conceived he owed his own life, and who was a distinguished soldier and scholar,
besides a man of unstained lineage, »only,« he said, »he feared the events of
that night« - And then he stopped.
    »I am glad your lordship is thus considerate,« said Elizabeth; »the events
of this night would make us, in the eyes of our subjects, as mad as this poor
brain-sick gentleman himself - for we ascribe his conduct to no malice - should
we choose this moment to do him grace.«
    »In that case,« said the Earl of Sussex, somewhat discountenanced, »your
Majesty will allow me to name my master of the horse, Master Nicholas Blount, a
gentleman of fair estate and ancient name, who has served your Majesty both in
Scotland and Ireland, and brought away bloody marks on his person, all
honourably taken and requited.«
    The Queen could not help shrugging her shoulders slightly even at this
second suggestion; and the Duchess of Rutland, who read in the Queen's manner
that she had expected Sussex would have named Raleigh, and thus would have
enabled her to gratify her own wish while she honoured his recommendation, only
waited the Queen's assent to what he had proposed, and then said, that she
hoped, since these two high nobles had been each permitted to suggest a
candidate for the honours of chivalry, she, in behalf of the ladies in presence,
might have a similar indulgence.
    »I were no woman to refuse you such a boon,« said the Queen, smiling.
    »Then,« pursued the Duchess, »in the name of these fair ladies present, I
request your Majesty to confer the rank of knighthood on Walter Raleigh, whose
birth, deeds of arms, and promptitude to serve our sex with sword or pen,
deserve such distinction from us all.«
    »Gramercy, fair ladies,« said Elizabeth, smiling, »your boon is granted, and
the gentle squire Lack-Cloak shall become the good knight Lack-Cloak, at your
desire. Let the two aspirants for the honour of chivalry step forward.«
    Blount was not as yet returned from seeing Tressilian, as he conceived,
safely disposed of; but Raleigh came forth, and kneeling down, received at the
hand of the Virgin Queen that title of honour, which was never conferred on a
more distinguished or more illustrious object.
    Shortly afterwards Nicholas Blount entered, and, hastily apprised by Sussex,
who met him at the door of the hall, of the Queen's gracious purpose regarding
him, he was desired to advance towards the throne. It is a sight sometimes seen,
and it is both ludicrous and pitiable, when an honest man of plain common sense
is surprised by the coquetry of a pretty woman, or any other cause, into those
frivolous fopperies which only sit well upon the youthful, the gay, and those to
whom long practice has rendered them a second nature. Poor Blount was in this
situation. His head was already giddy from a consciousness of unusual finery,
and the supposed necessity of suiting his manners to the gaiety of his dress;
and now this sudden view of promotion altogether completed the conquest of the
newly inhaled spirit of foppery over his natural disposition, and converted a
plain, honest, awkward man into a coxcomb of a new and most ridiculous kind.
    The knight-expectant advanced up the hall, the whole length of which he had
unfortunately to traverse, turning out his toes with so much zeal, that he
presented his leg at every step with its broad side foremost, so that he 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 fear and self-satisfaction was so unutterably ridiculous,
that Leicester's friends did not suppress a titter, in which many of Sussex's
partisans were unable to resist joining, though ready to eat their nails with
mortification. Sussex himself lost all patience, and could not forbear
whispering into the ear of his friend, »Curse thee! canst thou not walk like a
man and a soldier?« an interjection which only made honest Blount start and
stop, until a glance at his yellow roses and crimson stockings restored his
self-confidence, when on he went at the same pace as before.
    The Queen conferred on poor Blount the honour of knighthood with a marked
sense of reluctance. That wise Princess was fully aware of the propriety of
using great circumspection and economy in bestowing those titles of honour,
which the Stewarts, who succeeded to her throne, distributed with an imprudent
liberality, which greatly diminished their value. Blount had no sooner arisen
and retired than she turned to the Duchess of Rutland, »Our woman wit,« she
said, »dear Rutland, is sharper than that of those proud things in doublet and
hose. Seest thou, out of these three knights, thine is the only true metal to
stamp chivalry's imprint upon?«
    »Sir Richard Varney, surely - the friend of my Lord of Leicester - surely he
has merit,« replied the Duchess.
    »Varney has a sly countenance, and a smooth tongue,« replied the Queen. »I
fear me he will prove a knave - but the promise was of ancient standing. My Lord
of Sussex must have lost his own wits, I think, to recommend to us first a
madman like Tressilian, and then a clownish fool like this other fellow. I
protest, Rutland, that while he sat on his knees before me, mopping and mowing,
as if he had scalding porridge in his mouth, I had much ado to forbear cutting
him over the pate, instead of striking his shoulder.«
    »Your Majesty gave him a smart accolade,« said the Duchess; »we who stood
behind heard the blade clatter on his collarbone, and the poor man fidgeted too
as if he felt it.«
    »I could not help it, wench,« said the Queen, laughing; »but we will have
this same Sir Nicholas sent to Ireland or Scotland, or somewhere, to rid our
court of so antic a chevalier; he may be a good soldier in the field, though a
preposterous ass in a banqueting hall.«
    The discourse became then more general, and soon after there was a summons
to the banquet.
    In order to obey this signal, the company were under the necessity of
crossing the inner court of the Castle, that they might reach the new buildings,
containing the large banqueting room, in which preparations for supper were made
upon a scale of profuse magnificence, corresponding to the occasion.
    The livery cupboards were loaded with plate of the richest description, and
the most varied; some articles tasteful, some perhaps grotesque, in the
invention and decoration, but all gorgeously magnificent, both from the richness
of the work and value of the materials. Thus the chief table was adorned by a
salt ship-fashion, made of mother of pearl, garnished with silver and divers
warlike ensigns and other ornaments, anchors, sails, and sixteen pieces of
ordnance. It bore a figure of Fortune, placed on a globe, with a flag in her
hand. Another salt was fashioned of silver, in form of a swan in full sail. That
chivalry might not be omitted amid this splendour, a silver Saint George was
presented, mounted and equipped in the usual fashion in which he bestrides the
dragon. The figures were moulded to be in some sort useful. The horse's tail was
managed to hold a case of knives, while the breast of the dragon presented a
similar accommodation for oyster knives.
    In the course of the passage from the hall of reception to the banqueting
room, and especially in the courtyard, the new-made knights were assailed by the
heralds, pursuivants, minstrels, etc., with the usual cry of Largesse, largesse,
chevaliers très 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.
    These donations were accepted with the usual clamour and vivats of applause
common on such occasions; but as the parties gratified were chiefly dependants
of Lord Leicester, it was Varney whose name was repeated with the loudest
acclamations. Lambourne, especially, distinguished himself by his vociferations
of »Long life to Sir Richard Varney! - Health and honour to Sir Richard! - Never
was a more worthy knight dubbed!« - then, suddenly sinking his voice, he added,
- »since the valiant Sir Pandarus of Troy,« - a winding-up of his clamorous
applause, which set all men a-laughing who were within hearing of it.
    It is unnecessary to say anything farther of the festivities of the evening,
which were so brilliant in themselves, and received with such obvious and
willing satisfaction by the Queen, that Leicester retired to his own apartment,
with all the giddy raptures of successful ambition. Varney, who had changed his
splendid attire, and now waited on his patron in a very modest and plain
undress, attended to do the honours of the Earl's coucher.
    »How! Sir Richard,« said Leicester, smiling, »your new rank scarce suits the
humility of this attendance.«
    »I would disown that rank, my lord,« said Varney, »could I think it was to
remove me to a distance from your lordship's person.«
    »Thou art a grateful fellow,« said Leicester; »but I must not allow you to
do what would abate you in the opinion of others.«
    While thus speaking, he still accepted, without hesitation the offices about
his person, which the new-made knight seemed to render as eagerly as if he had
really felt, in discharging the task, that pleasure which his words expressed.
    »I am not afraid of men's misconstruction,« he said, in answer to
Leicester's remark, »since there is not - (permit me to undo the collar) - a man
within the Castle, who does not expect very soon to see persons of a rank far
superior to that which, by your goodness, I now hold, rendering the duties of
the bedchamber to you, and accounting it an honour.«
    »It might, indeed, so have been,« said the Earl, with an involuntary sigh;
and then presently added, »My gown, Varney - I will look out on the night. Is
not the moon near to the full?«
    »I think so, my lord, according to the calendar,« answered Varney.
    There was an abutting window, which opened on a small projecting balcony of
stone, battlemented as is usual in Gothic castles. The Earl undid the lattice,
and stepped out into the open air. The station he had chosen commanded an
extensive view of the lake, and woodlands beyond, where the bright moonlight
rested on the clear blue waters, and the distant masses of oak and elm trees.
The moon rode high in the heavens, attended by thousands and thousands of
inferior luminaries. All seemed already to be hushed in the nether world,
excepting occasionally the voice of the watch (for the yeomen of the guard
performed that duty wherever the Queen was present in person), and the distant
baying of the hounds, disturbed by the preparations amongst the grooms and
prickers for a magnificent hunt, which was to be the amusement of the next day.
    Leicester looked out on the blue arch of heaven, with gestures and a
countenance expressive of anxious exultation, while Varney, who remained within
the darkened apartment, could (himself unnoticed), with a secret satisfaction,
see his patron stretch his hands with earnest gesticulation towards the heavenly
bodies.
    »Ye distant orbs of living fire,« so ran the muttered invocation of the
ambitious Earl, »ye are silent while you wheel your mystic rounds, but Wisdom
has given to you a voice. Tell me, then, to what end is my high course destined?
Shall the greatness to which I have aspired be bright, pre-eminent, and stable
as your own; or am I but doomed to draw a brief and glittering train along the
nightly darkness, and then to sink down to earth, like the base refuse of those
artificial fires with which men emulate your rays?«
    He looked on the heavens in profound silence for a minute or two longer, and
then again stepped into the apartment, where Varney seemed to have been engaged
in putting the Earl's jewels into a casket.
    »What said Alasco of my horoscope?« demanded Leicester. »You already told
me, but it has escaped me, for I think but lightly of that art.«
    »Many learned and great men have thought otherwise,« said Varney; »and, not
to flatter your lordship, my own opinion leans that way.«
    »Ay, Saul among the prophets?« said Leicester - »I thought thou wert
sceptical in all such matters as thou couldst neither see, hear, smell, taste,
or touch, and that thy belief was limited by thy senses.«
    »Perhaps, my Lord,« said Varney, »I may be misled on the present occasion by
my wish to find the predictions of astrology true. Alasco says, that your
favourite planet is culminating, and that the adverse influence - he would not
use a plainer term - though not overcome, was evidently combust, I think he
said, or retrograde.«
    »It is even so,« said Leicester, looking at an abstract of astrological
calculations which he had in his hand; »the stronger influence will prevail,
and, as I think, the evil hour pass away. - Lend me your hand, Sir Richard, to
doff my gown - and remain an instant, if it is not too burdensome to your
knighthood, while I compose myself to sleep. I believe the bustle of this day
has fevered my blood, for it streams through my veins like a current of molten
lead - remain an instant, I pray you - I would fain feel my eyes heavy ere I
closed them.«
    Varney officiously assisted his lord to bed, and placed a massive silver
night-lamp, with a short sword, on a marble table which stood close by the head
of the couch. Either in order to avoid the light of the lamp, or to hide his
countenance from Varney, Leicester drew the curtain, heavy with entwined silk
and gold, so as completely to shade his face. Varney took a seat near the bed,
but with his back towards his master, as if to intimate that he was not watching
him, and quietly waited till Leicester himself led the way to the topic by which
his mind was engrossed.
    »And so, Varney,« said the Earl, after waiting in vain till his dependant
should commence the conversation, »men talk of the Queen's favour towards me?«
    »Ay, my good lord,« said Varney; »of what can they else, since it is so
strongly manifested?«
    »She is indeed my good and gracious mistress,« said Leicester, after another
pause; »but it is written, Put not thy trust in Princes.«
    »A good sentence and a true,« said Varney, »unless you can unite their
interest with yours so absolutely, that they must needs sit on your wrist like
hooded hawks.«
    »I know what thou meanest,« said Leicester, impatiently, »though thou art
to-night so prudentially careful of what thou sayest to me - Thou wouldst
intimate, I might marry the Queen if I would?«
    »It is your speech, my lord, not mine,« answered Varney; »but whose soever
be the speech, it is the thought of ninety-nine out of an hundred men throughout
broad England.«
    »Ay, but,« said Leicester, turning himself in his bed, »the hundredth man
knows better. Thou, for example, knows the obstacle that cannot be
overleaped.«
    »It must, my lord, if the stars speak true,« said Varney, composedly.
    »What, talk'st thou of them,« said Leicester, »that believest not in them or
in aught else?«
    »You mistake, my lord, under your gracious pardon,« said Varney; »I believe
in many things that predict the future. I believe, if showers fall in April,
that we shall have flowers in May; that if the sun shines, grain will ripen; and
I believe in much natural philosophy to the same effect, which, if the stars
swear to me, I will say the stars speak the truth. And in like manner, I will
not disbelieve that which I see wished for and expected on earth, solely because
the astrologers have read it in the heavens.«
    »Thou art right,« said Leicester, again tossing himself on his couch -
»Earth does wish for it. I have had advices from the reformed churches of
Germany - from the Low Countries - from Switzerland, urging this as a point on
which Europe's safety depends. France will not oppose it - The ruling party in
Scotland look to it as their best security - Spain fears it, but cannot prevent
it - and yet thou knows it is impossible.«
    »I know not that, my lord,« said Varney, »the Countess is indisposed.«
    »Villain!« said Leicester, starting up on his couch, and seizing the sword
which lay on the table beside him, »go thy thoughts that way? - thou wouldst not
do murder!«
    »For whom or what do you hold me, my lord?« said Varney, assuming the
superiority of an innocent man subjected to unjust suspicion. »I said nothing to
deserve such a horrid imputation as your violence infers. I said but that the
Countess was ill. And Countess though she be - lovely and beloved as she is,
surely your lordship must hold her to be mortal? She may die, and your
lordship's hand become once more your own.«
    »Away! away!« said Leicester; »let me have no more of this!«
    »Good-night, my lord,« said Varney, seeming to understand this as a command
to depart; but Leicester's voice interrupted his purpose.
    »Thou 'scapest me not thus, Sir Fool,« said he; »I think thy knighthood has
addled thy brains - Confess thou hast talked of impossibilities, as of things
which may come to pass.«
    »My lord, long live your fair Countess,« said Varney; »but neither your love
nor my good wishes can make her immortal. But God grant she live long to be
happy herself, and to render you so! I see not but you may be King of England
notwithstanding.«
    »Nay, now, Varney, thou art stark mad,« said Leicester.
    »I would I were myself within the same nearness to a good estate of
freehold,« said Varney. »Have we not known in other countries, how a left-handed
marriage might subsist betwixt persons of differing degree? - ay, and be no
hindrance to prevent the husband from conjoining himself afterwards with a more
suitable partner!«
    »I have heard of such things in Germany,« said Leicester.
    »Ay, and the most learned doctors in foreign universities justify the
practice from the Old Testament,« said Varney. »And after all, where is the
harm? The beautiful partner, whom you have chosen for true love, has your secret
hours of relaxation and affection. Her fame is safe - her conscience may slumber
securely - You have wealth to provide royally for your issue, should heaven
bless you with offspring. Meanwhile you may give to Elizabeth ten times the
leisure, and ten thousand times the affection, that ever Don Philip of Spain
spared to her sister Mary; yet you know how she doted on him though so cold and
neglectful. It requires but a close mouth and an open brow, and you keep your
Eleanor and your fair Rosamond far enough separate. - Leave me to build you a
bower to which no jealous Queen shall find a clue.«
    Leicester was silent for a moment, then sighed, and said, »It is impossible.
- Good-night, Sir Richard Varney - yet stay - Can you guess what meant
Tressilian by showing himself in such careless guise before the Queen to-day? -
to strike her tender heart, I should guess, with all the sympathies due to a
lover, abandoned by his mistress, and abandoning himself.«
    Varney, smothering a sneering laugh, answered, »He believed Master
Tressilian had no such matter in his head.«
    »How!« said Leicester; »what mean'st thou? There is ever knavery in that
laugh of thine, Varney.«
    »I only meant, my lord,« said Varney, »that Tressilian has taken the sure
way to avoid heart- He hath had a companion - a female companion - a mistress -
a sort of player's wife or sister, as I believe, - with him in Mervyn's Bower,
where I quartered him for certain reasons of my own.«
    »A mistress! - mean'st thou a paramour?«
    »Ay, my lord; what female else waits for hours in a gentleman's chamber?«
    »By my faith, time and space fitting, this were a good tale to tell,« said
Leicester. »I ever distrusted those bookish, hypocritical, seeming-virtuous
scholars. Well, Master Tressilian makes somewhat familiar with my house - if I
look it over, he is indebted to it for certain recollections. I would not harm
him more than I can help. Keep eye on him, however, Varney.«
    »I lodged him for that reason,« said Varney, »in Mervyn's Tower, where he is
under the eye of my very vigilant, if he were not also my very drunken, servant,
Michael Lambourne, whom I have told your Grace of.«
    »Grace!« said Leicester; »what mean'st thou by that epithet?«
    »It came unawares, my lord; and yet it sounds so very natural, that I cannot
recall it.«
    »It is thine own preferment that hath turned thy brain,« said Leicester,
laughing; »new honours are as heady as new wine.«
    »May your lordship soon have cause to say so from experience,« said Varney;
and wishing his patron good-night, he withdrew.23
 

                              Chapter Thirty-Third

 Here stands the victim - there the proud betrayer,
 E'en as the hind pull'd down by strangling dogs
 Lies at the hunter's feet - who courteous proffers
 To some high dame, the Dian of the chase,
 To whom he looks for guerdon, his sharp blade,
 To gash the sobbing throat.
                                                                   The Woodsman.
 
We are now to return to Mervyn's Bower, the apartment, or rather the prison, of
the unfortunate Countess of Leicester, who for some time kept within bounds her
uncertainty and her impatience. She was aware that, in the tumult of the day,
there might be some delay ere her letter could be safely conveyed to the hands
of Leicester, and that some time more might elapse ere he could extricate
himself from the necessary attendance on Elizabeth to come and visit her in her
secret bower. »I will not expect him,« she said, »till night - he cannot be
absent from his royal guest, even to see me. He will, I know, come earlier, if
it be possible, but I will not expect him before night.« - And yet all the while
she did expect him; and, while she tried to argue herself into a contrary
belief, each hasty noise, of the hundred which she heard, sounded like the
hurried step of Leicester on the staircase, hasting to fold her in his arms.
    The fatigue of body which Amy had lately undergone, with the agitation of
mind natural to so cruel a state of uncertainty, began by degrees strongly to
affect her nerves, and she almost feared her total inability to maintain the
necessary self-command through the scenes which might lie before her. But,
although spoiled by an over-indulgent system of education, Amy had naturally a
mind of great power, united with a frame which her share in her father's
woodland exercises had rendered uncommonly healthy. She summoned to her aid such
mental and bodily resources; and not unconscious how much the issue of her fate
might depend on her own self-possession, she prayed internally for strength of
body and for mental fortitude, and resolved, at the same time, to yield to no
nervous impulse which might weaken either.
    Yet when the great bell of the Castle, which was placed in Cæsar's Tower, at
no great distance from that called Mervyn's, began to send its pealing clamour
abroad, in signal of the arrival of the royal procession, the din was so
painfully acute to ears rendered nervously sensitive by anxiety, that she could
hardly forbear shrieking with anguish, in answer to every stunning clash of the
relentless peal.
    Shortly afterwards, when the small apartment was at once enlightened by the
shower of artificial fires with which the air was suddenly filled, and which
crossed each other like fiery spirits, each bent on his own separate mission, or
like salamanders executing a frolic dance in the region of the sylphs, the
Countess felt at first as if each rocket shot close by her eyes, and discharged
its sparks and flashes so nigh that she could feel a sense of the heat. But she
struggled against these fantastic terrors, and compelled herself to arise, stand
by the window, look out, and gaze upon a sight, which at another time would have
appeared to her at once captivating and fearful. The magnificent towers of the
Castle were enveloped in garlands of artificial fire, or shrouded with tiaras of
pale smoke. The surface of the lake glowed like molten iron, while many
fireworks (then thought extremely wonderful, though now common), whose flame
continued to exist in the opposing element, dived and rose, hissed and roared,
and spouted fire, like so many dragons of enchantment, sporting upon a burning
lake.
    Even Amy was for a moment interested by what was to her so new a scene. »I
had thought it magical art,« she said, »but poor Tressilian taught me to judge
of such things as they are. Great God! and may not these idle splendours
resemble my own hoped for happiness, - a single spark, which is instantly
swallowed up by surrounding darkness, - a precarious glow, which rises but for a
brief space into the air, that its fall may be the lower? Oh, Leicester! after
all - all that thou hast said - hast sworn - that Amy was thy love, thy life,
can it be that thou art the magician at whose nod these enchantments arise, and
that she sees them, as an outcast, if not a captive?«
    The sustained, prolonged, and repeated bursts of music, from so many
different quarters, and at so many varying points of distance, which sounded as
if not the Castle of Kenilworth only, but the whole country around, had been at
once the scene of solemnising 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. »Those sounds,« she said, »are mine - mine, because they are
HIS; but I cannot say, - Be still, these loud strains suit me not; - and the
voice of the meanest peasant that mingles in the dance, would have more power to
modulate the music, than the command of her who is mistress of all.«
    By degrees the sounds of revelry died away, and the Countess withdrew from
the window at which she had sate 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 unauthorised intruder. She had lost
confidence in the key, since Tressilian had entered so easily, though the door
was locked on the inside; yet all the additional security she could think of,
was to place the table across the door, that she might be warned by the noise,
should any one attempt to enter. Having taken these necessary precautions, the
unfortunate lady withdrew to her couch, stretched herself down on it, mused in
anxious expectation, and counted more than one hour after midnight, till
exhausted nature proved too strong for love, for grief, for fear, nay, even for
uncertainty, and she slept.
    Yes, she slept. The Indian sleeps at the stake, in the intervals between his
tortures; and mental torments, in like manner, exhaust by long continuance the
sensibility of the sufferer, so that an interval of lethargic repose must
necessarily ensue, ere the pangs which they inflict can again be renewed.
    The Countess slept, then, for several hours, and dreamed that she was in the
ancient house at Cumnor Place, listening for the low whistle with which
Leicester often used to announce his presence in the courtyard, when arriving
suddenly on one of his stolen visits. But on this occasion, instead of a
whistle, she heard the peculiar blast of a bugle-horn, such as her father used
to wind on the fall of the stag, and which huntsmen then called a mort. She ran,
as she thought, to a window that looked into the courtyard, which she saw filled
with men in mourning garments. The old Curate seemed about to read the funeral
service. Mumblazen, tricked out in an antique dress, like an ancient herald,
held aloft a scutcheon, with its usual decorations of skulls, cross-bones, and
hour-glasses, surrounding a coat-of-arms, of which she could only distinguish
that it was surmounted with an Earl's coronet. The old man looked at her with a
ghastly smile, and said, »Amy, are they not rightly quartered?« Just as he
spoke, the horns again poured on her ear the melancholy yet wild strain of the
mort, or death-note, and she awoke.
    The Countess awoke to hear a real bugle-note, or rather the combined breath
of many bugles, sounding not the mort, but the jolly réveillée, to remind the
inmates of the Castle of Kenilworth that the pleasures of the day were to
commence with a magnificent stag-hunting in the neighbouring Chase. Amy started
up from her couch, listened to the sound, saw the first beams of the summer
morning already twinkle through the lattice of her window, and recollected, with
feelings of giddy agony, where she was, and how circumstanced.
    »He thinks not of me,« she said - »he will not come nigh me! A Queen is his
guest, and what cares he in what corner of his huge Castle a wretch like me
pines in doubt, which is fast fading into despair?« At once a sound at the door,
as of some one attempting to open it softly, filled her with an ineffable
mixture of joy and fear; and, hastening to remove the obstacle she had placed
against the door, and to unlock it, she had the precaution to ask. »Is it thou,
my love?«
    »Yes, my Countess,« murmured a whisper in reply.
    She threw open the door, and exclaiming »Leicester!« flung her arms around
the neck of the man who stood without, muffled in his cloak.
    »No - not quite Leicester,« answered Michael Lambourne, for he it was,
returning the caress with vehemence, - »not quite Leicester, my lovely and most
loving duchess, but as good a man.«
    With an exertion of force, of which she would at another time have thought
herself incapable, the Countess freed herself from the profane and profaning
grasp of the drunken debauchee, and retreated into the midst of her apartment,
where despair gave her courage to make a stand.
    As Lambourne, on entering, dropped the lap of his cloak from his face, she
knew Varney's profligate servant; the very last person, excepting his detested
master, by whom she would have wished to be discovered. But she was still
closely muffled in her travelling dress, and as Lambourne had scarce ever been
admitted to her presence at Cumnor Place, her person, she hoped, might not be so
well known to him as his was to her, owing to Janet's pointing him frequently
out as he crossed the court, and telling stories of his wickedness. She might
have had still greater confidence in her disguise, had her experience enabled
her to discover that he was much intoxicated; but this could scarce have
consoled her for the risk which she might incur, from such a character, in such
a time, place, and circumstances.
    Lambourne flung the door behind him as he entered, and folding his arms, as
if in mockery of the attitude of distraction into which Amy had thrown herself,
he proceeded thus: »Hark ye, most fair Callipolis - or most lovely Countess of
clouts, and divine Duchess of dark corners - if thou takest all that trouble of
skewering thyself together, like a trussed fowl, that there may be more pleasure
in the carving, even save thyself the labour. I love thy first frank manner the
best - like thy present as little« - (he made a step towards her, and staggered)
- »as little as - such a damned uneven floor as this, where a gentleman may
break his neck, if he does not walk as upright as a posture master on the
tight-rope.«
    »Stand back!« said the Countess; »do not approach nearer to me on thy
peril!«
    »My peril! - and stand back! - Why, how now, madam? Must you have a better
mate than honest Mike Lambourne? I have been in America, girl, where the gold
grows, and have brought off such a load on't« -
    »Good friend,« said the Countess, in great terror at the ruffian's
determined and audacious manner, »I prithee begone, and leave me.«
    »And so I will, pretty one, when we are tired of each other's company - not
a jot sooner.« - He seized her by the arm, while, incapable of farther defence,
she uttered shriek upon shriek. »Nay, scream away if you like it,« said he,
still holding her fast; »I have heard the sea at the loudest, and I mind a
squalling woman no more than a miauling kitten - Damn me! - I have heard fifty
or a hundred screaming at once, when there was a town stormed.«
    The cries of the Countess, however, brought unexpected aid, in the person of
Lawrence Staples, who had heard her exclamations from his apartment below, and
entered in good time to save her from being discovered, if not from more
atrocious violence. Lawrence was drunk also from the debauch of the preceding
night, but fortunately his intoxication had taken a different turn from that of
Lambourne.
    »What the devil's noise is this in the ward?« he said - »What! man and woman
together in the same cell? that is against rule. I will have decency under my
rule, by Saint Peter of the Fetters!«
    »Get thee down stairs, thou drunken beast,« said Lambourne; » seest thou not
the lady and I would be private?«
    »Good sir, worthy sir!« said the Countess, addressing the jailer, »do but
save me from him, for the sake of mercy!«
    »She speaks fairly,« said the jailer, »and I will take her part. I love my
prisoners; and I have had as good prisoners under my key, as they have had in
Newgate or the Compter. And so, being one of my lambkins, as I say, no one shall
disturb her in her pen-fold. So, let go the woman, or I'll knock your brains out
with my keys.«
    »I'll make a blood-pudding of thy midriff first,« answered Lambourne, laying
his left hand on his dagger, but still detaining the Countess by the arm with
his right - »So have at thee, thou old ostrich, whose only living is upon a
bunch of iron keys!«
    Lawrence raised the arm of Michael, and prevented him from drawing his
dagger; and as Lambourne struggled and strove to shake him off, the Countess
made a sudden exertion on her side, and slipping her hand out of the glove on
which the ruffian still kept hold, she gained her liberty, and escaping from the
apartment, ran down stairs; while at the same moment, she heard the two
combatants fall on the floor with a noise which increased her terror. The outer
wicket offered no impediment to her flight, having been opened for Lambourne's
admittance; so that she succeeded in escaping down the stair, and fled into the
Pleasance, which seemed to her hasty glance the direction in which she was most
likely to avoid pursuit.
    Meanwhile, Lawrence and Lambourne rolled on the floor of the apartment,
closely grappled together. Neither had, happily, opportunity to draw their
daggers; but Lawrence found space enough to dash his heavy keys across Michael's
face, and Michael, in return, grasped the turnkey so felly by the throat, that
the blood gushed from nose and mouth; so that they were both gory and filthy
spectacles, when one of the other officers of the household, attracted by the
noise of the fray, entered the room, and with some difficulty effected the
separation of the combatants.
    »A murrain on you both,« said the charitable mediator, »and especially on
you, Master Lambourne! What the fiend lie you here for, fighting on the floor
like two butcher's curs in the kennel of the shambles?«
    Lambourne arose, and somewhat sobered by the interposition of a third party,
looked with something less than his usual brazen impudence of visage; »We fought
for a wench, an thou must know,« was his reply.
    »A wench! Where is she?« said the officer.
    »Why, vanished, I think,« said Lambourne, looking around him; »unless
Lawrence hath swallowed her. That filthy paunch of his devours as many
distressed damsels and oppressed orphans, as e'er a giant in King Arthur's
history: they are his prime food; he worries them body, soul, and substance.«
    »Ay, ay! It's no matter,« said Lawrence, gathering up his huge ungainly form
from the floor; »but I have had your betters, Master Michael Lambourne, under
the little turn of my forefinger and thumb; and I shall have thee, before all's
done, under my hatches. The impudence of thy brow will not always save thy
shin-bones from iron, and thy foul thirsty gullet from a hempen cord.« - The
words were no sooner out of his mouth, than Lambourne again made at him.
    »Nay, go not to it again,« said the sever, »or I will call for him shall
tame you both, and that is Master Varney - Sir Richard, I mean - he is stirring,
I promise you - I saw him cross the court just now.«
    »Didst thou, by G-!« said Lambourne, seizing on the basin and ewer which
stood in the apartment; »nay, then, element, do thy work - I thought I had
enough of thee last night when I floated about for Orion, like a cork on a
fermenting cask of ale.«
    So saying, he fell to work to cleanse from his face and hands the signs of
the fray, and get his apparel into some order.
    »What hast thou done to him?« said the sewer, speaking aside to the jailer;
»his face is fearfully swelled.«
    »It is but the imprint of the key of my cabinet - too good a mark for his
gallows-face. No man shall abuse or insult my prisoners; they are my jewels, and
I lock them in safe casket accordingly. - And so, mistress, leave off your
wailing - Hey! why, surely, there was a woman here!«
    »I think you are all mad this morning,« said the sewer; »I saw no woman
here, nor no man neither in a proper sense, but only two beasts rolling on the
floor.«
    »Nay, then, I am undone,« said the jailer; » the prison's broken, that is
all. Kenilworth prison is broken,« he continued, in a tone of maudlin
lamentation, »which was the strongest jail betwixt this and the Welsh marches -
ay, and a house that has had knights, and earls, and kings sleeping in it, as
secure as if they had been in the Tower of London. It is broken, the prisoners
fled, and the jailer in much danger of being hanged!«
    So saying, he retreated down to his own den, to conclude his lamentations,
or to sleep himself sober. Lambourne and the sewer followed him close, and it
was well for them, since the jailer, out of mere habit, was about to lock the
wicket after him; and had they not been within the reach of interfering, they
would have had the pleasure of being shut up in the turret-chamber, from which
the Countess had been just delivered.
    That unhappy lady, as soon as she found herself at liberty, fled, as we have
already mentioned, into the Pleasance. She had seen this richly ornamented space
of ground from the window of Mervyn's Tower; and it occurred to her at the
moment of her escape, that among its numerous arbours, bowers, fountains,
statues, and grottoes, she might find some recess, in which she could lie
concealed until she had an opportunity of addressing herself to a protector, to
whom she might communicate as much as she dared of her forlorn situation, and
through whose means she might supplicate an interview with her husband.
    »If I could see my guide,« she thought, »I would learn if he had delivered
my letter. Even did I but see Tressilian, it were better to risk Dudley's anger,
by confiding my whole situation to one who is the very soul of honour, than to
run the hazard of farther insult among the insolent menials of this ill-ruled
place. I will not again venture into an enclosed apartment. I will wait, I will
watch - amidst so many human beings, there must be some kind heart which can
judge and compassionate what mine endures.«
    In truth, more than one party entered and traversed the Pleasance. But they
were in joyous groups of four or five persons together, laughing and jesting in
their own fullness of mirth and lightness of heart.
    The retreat which she had chosen gave her the easy alternative of avoiding
observation. It was but stepping back to the farthest recess of a grotto,
ornamented with rustic work and moss-seats, and terminated by a fountain, and
she might easily remain concealed, or at her pleasure discover herself to any
solitary wanderer whose curiosity might lead him to that romantic retirement.
Anticipating such an opportunity, she looked into the clear basin, which the
silent fountain held up to her like a mirror, and felt shocked at her own
appearance, and doubtful at the same time, muffled and disfigured as her
disguise made her seem to herself, whether any female (and it was from the
compassion of her own sex that she chiefly expected sympathy) would engage in
conference with so suspicious an object. Reasoning thus like a woman, to whom
external appearance is scarcely in any circumstances a matter of unimportance,
and like a beauty who had some confidence in the power of her own charms, she
laid aside her travelling cloak and capotaine hat, and placed them beside her,
so that she could assume them in an instant, ere one could penetrate from the
entrance of the grotto to its extremity, in case the intrusion of Varney or of
Lambourne should render such disguise necessary. The dress which she wore under
these vestments was somewhat of a theatrical cast, so as to suit the assumed
personage of one of the females who was to act in the pageant. Wayland had found
the means of arranging it thus upon the second day of their journey, having
experienced the service arising from the assumption of such a character on the
preceding day. The fountain, acting both as a mirror and ewer, afforded Amy the
means of a brief toilette, of which she availed herself as hastily as possible;
then took in her hand her small casket of jewels, in case she might find them
useful intercessors, and retiring to the darkest and most sequestered nook, sat
down on a seat of moss, and awaited till fate should give her some chance of
rescue, or of propitiating an intercessor.
 

                             Chapter Thirty-Fourth

 Have you not seen the partridge quake,
 Viewing the hawk approaching nigh?
 She cuddles close beneath the brake
 Afraid to sit, afraid to fly.
                                                                          Prior.
 
It chanced upon that memorable morning, that one of the earliest of the huntress
train, who appeared from her chamber in full array for the Chase, was the
Princess, for whom all these pleasures were instituted, England's Maiden Queen.
I know not if it were by chance, or out of the befitting courtesy due to a
mistress by whom he was so much honoured, that she had scarcely made one step
beyond the threshold of her chamber ere Leicester was by her side, and proposed
to her, until the preparations for the Chase had been completed, to view the
Pleasance, and the gardens which it connected with the Castle-yard.
    To this new scene of pleasures they walked, the Earl's arm affording his
Sovereign the occasional support which she required, where flights of steps,
then a favourite ornament in a garden, conducted them from terrace to terrace,
and from parterre to parterre. The ladies in attendance, gifted with prudence,
or endowed perhaps with the amiable desire of acting as they would be done by,
did not conceive their duty to the Queen's person required them though they lost
not sight of her, to approach so near as to share, or perhaps disturb, the
conversation betwixt the Queen and the Earl, who was not only her host but also
her most trusted, esteemed, and favoured servant. They contented themselves with
admiring the grace of this illustrious couple, whose robes of state were now
exchanged for hunting suits, almost equally magnificent.
    Elizabeth's silvan dress, which was of a pale blue silk, with silver lace
and aiguillettes, approached in form to that of the ancient amazons; and was,
therefore, well suited at once to her height, and to the dignity of her mien,
which her conscious rank and long habits of authority had rendered in some
degree too masculine to be seen to the best advantage in ordinary female weeds.
Leicester's hunting-suit of Lincoln-green, richly embroidered with gold, and
crossed by the gay baldric, which sustained a bugle-horn, and a wood-knife
instead of a sword, became its master, as did his other vestments of court or of
war. For such were the perfections of his form and mien, that Leicester was
always supposed to be seen to the greatest advantage in the character and dress
which for the time he represented or wore.
    The conversation of Elizabeth and the favourite Earl has not reached us in
detail. But those who watched at some distance (and the eyes of courtiers and
court ladies are right sharp) were of opinion, that on no occasion did the
dignity of Elizabeth, in gesture and motion, seem so decidedly to soften away
into a mien expressive of indecision and tenderness. Her step was not only slow,
but even unequal, a thing most unwonted in her carriage; her looks seemed bent
on the ground, and there was a timid disposition to withdraw from her companion,
which external gesture in females often indicates exactly the opposite tendency
in the secret mind. The Duchess of Rutland, who ventured nearest, was even heard
to aver, that she discerned a tear in Elizabeth's eye, and a blush on the cheek;
and still farther, »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 private conversation, betwixt two persons
of different sexes, is often decisive of their fate, and gives it a turn very
different perhaps from what they themselves anticipated. Gallantry becomes
mingled with conversation, and affection and passion come gradually to mix with
gallantry. Nobles, as well as shepherd swains, will, in such a trying moment,
say more than they intended; and Queens, like village maidens, will listen
longer than they should.
    Horses in the meanwhile neighed, and champed the bits with impatience in the
base-court; hounds yelled in their couples, and yeomen, rangers, and prickers,
lamented the exhaling of the dew, which would prevent the scent from lying. But
Leicester had another chase in view, or, to speak more justly towards him, had
become engaged in it without premeditation, as the high-spirited hunter which
follows the cry of the hounds that have crossed his path by accident. The Queen
- an accomplished and handsome woman - the pride of England, the hope of France
and Holland, and the dread of Spain, had probably listened with more than usual
favour to that mixture of romantic gallantry with which she always loved to be
addressed; and the Earl had, in vanity, in ambition, or in both, thrown in more
and more of that delicious ingredient, until his importunity became the language
of love itself.
    »No, Dudley,« said Elizabeth, yet it was with broken accents - »No, I must
be the mother of my people. Other ties, that make the lowly maiden happy, are
denied to her Sovereign - No, Leicester, urge it no more - Were I as others,
free to seek my own happiness - then, indeed - but it cannot - cannot be. -
Delay the chase - delay it for half-an-hour - and leave me, my lord.«
    »How, leave you, madam!« said Leicester, - »Has my madness offended you!«
    »No, Leicester, not so!« answered the Queen hastily; »but it is madness, and
must not be repeated. Go - but go not far from hence - and meantime let no one
intrude on my privacy.«
    While she spoke thus, Dudley bowed deeply, and retired with a slow and
melancholy air. The Queen stood gazing after him, and murmured to herself -
»Were it possible - were it but possible! - but no - no - Elizabeth must be the
wife and mother of England alone.«
    As she spoke thus, and in order to avoid some one whose step she heard
approaching, the Queen turned into the grotto in which her hapless, and vet but
too successful rival, lay concealed.
    The mind of England's Elizabeth, if somewhat shaken by the agitating
interview to which she had just put a period, was of that firm and decided
character which soon recovers its natural tone. It was like one of those ancient
druidical monuments, called Rocking-stones. The finger of Cupid, boy as he is
painted, could put her feelings in motion, but the power of Hercules could not
have destroyed their equilibrium. As she advanced with a slow pace towards the
inmost extremity of the grotto, her countenance, ere she had proceeded half the
length, had recovered its dignity of look, and her mien its air of command.
    It was then the Queen became aware, that a female figure was placed beside,
or rather partly behind, an alabaster column, at the foot of which arose the
pellucid fountain, which occupied the inmost recess of the twilight grotto. The
classical mind of Elizabeth suggested the story of Numa and Egeria, and she
doubted not that some Italian sculptor had here represented the Naiad, whose
inspirations gave laws to Rome. As she advanced, she became doubtful whether she
beheld a statue or a form of flesh and blood. The unfortunate Amy, indeed,
remained motionless, betwixt the desire which she had to make her condition
known to one of her own sex, and her awe for the stately form which approached
her, and which, though her eyes had never before beheld, her fears instantly
suspected to be the personage she really was. Amy had arisen from her seat with
the purpose of addressing the lady, who entered the grotto alone, and, as she at
first thought, so opportunely. But when she recollected the alarm which
Leicester had expressed at the Queen's knowing aught of their union, and became
more and more satisfied that the person whom she now beheld was Elizabeth
herself, she stood with one foot advanced and one withdrawn, her arms, head, and
hands, perfectly motionless, and her cheek as pallid as the alabaster pedestal
against which she leaned. Her dress was of pale sea-green silk, little
distinguished in that imperfect light, and somewhat resembled the drapery of a
Grecian Nymph, such an antique disguise having been thought the most secure,
where so many masquers 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 fixed eye.
    Elizabeth remained in doubt, even after she had approached within a few
paces, whether she did not gaze on a statue so cunningly fashioned, that by the
doubtful light it could not be distinguished from reality. She stopped,
therefore, and fixed upon this interesting object her princely look with so much
keenness, that the astonishment which had kept Amy immovable gave way to awe,
and she gradually cast down her eyes and drooped her head under the commanding
gaze of the Sovereign. Still, however, she remained in all respects, saving this
slow and profound inclination of the head, motionless and silent.
    From her dress, and the casket which she instinctively held in her hand,
Elizabeth naturally conjectured that the beautiful but mute figure which she
beheld was a performer in one of the various theatrical pageants which had been
placed in different situations to surprise her with their homage, and that the
poor player, overcome with awe at her presence, had either forgot the part
assigned her, or lacked courage to go through it. It was natural and courteous
to give her some encouragement; and Elizabeth accordingly said, in a tone of
condescending kindness, - »How now, fair Nymph of this lovely grotto - art thou
spellbound and struck with dumbness by the wicked enchanter whom men term Fear?
- We are his sworn enemy, maiden, and can reverse his charm. Speak, we command
thee.«
    Instead of answering her by speech, the unfortunate Countess dropped on her
knee before the Queen, let her casket fall from her hand, and clasping her palms
together, looked up in the Queen's face with such a mixed agony of fear and
supplication, that Elizabeth was considerably affected.
    »What may this mean?« she said; »this is a stronger passion than befits the
occasion. Stand up, damsel - what wouldst thou have with us?«
    »Your protection, madam,« faltered forth the unhappy petitioner.
    »Each daughter of England has it while she is worthy of it,« replied the
Queen; »but your distress seems to have a deeper root than a forgotten task.
Why, and in what, do you crave our protection?«
    Amy hastily endeavoured to recall what she were best to say, which might
secure herself from the imminent dangers that surrounded her, without
endangering her husband; and plunging from one thought to another, amidst the
chaos which filled her mind, she could at length, in answer to the Queen's
repeated inquiries in what she sought protection, only falter out, »Alas! I know
not.«
    »This is folly, maiden,« said Elizabeth, impatiently; for there was
something in the extreme confusion of the suppliant, which irritated her
curiosity, as well as interested her feelings. »The sick man must tell his
malady to the physician, nor are WE accustomed to ask questions so oft, without
receiving an answer.«
    »I request - I implore,« stammered forth the unfortunate Countess, - »I
beseech your gracious protection - against - against one Varney.« She choked
well-nigh as she uttered the fatal word, which was instantly caught up by the
Queen.
    »What, Varney, - Sir Richard Varney - the servant of Lord Leicester! - What,
damsel, are you to him, or he to you?«
    »I - I - was his prisoner - and he practised on my life - and I broke forth
to - to« -
    »To throw thyself on my protection, doubtless,« said Elizabeth. »Thou shalt
have it - that is if thou art worthy; for we will sift this matter to the
uttermost. - Thou art,« she said, bending on the Countess an eye which seemed
designed to pierce her very inmost soul, - »Thou art Amy, daughter of Sir Hugh
Robsart of Lidcote Hall?«
    »Forgive me - forgive me - most gracious princess!« said Amy, dropping once
more on her knee from which she had arisen.
    »For what should I forgive thee, silly wench?« said Elizabeth; »for being
the daughter of thine own father? Thou art brain-sick, surely. Well, I see I
must wring the story from thee by inches - Thou didst deceive thine old and
honoured father - thy look confesses it - cheated Master Tressilian - thy blush
avouches it - and married this same Varney.«
    Amy sprung on her feet, and interrupted the Queen eagerly, with, »No, madam,
no - as there is a God above us, I am not the sordid wretch you would make me! I
am not the wife of that contemptible slave - of that most deliberate villain! I
am not the wife of Varney! I would rather be the bride of Destruction!«
    The Queen, overwhelmed in her turn by Amy's vehemence, stood silent for an
instant, and then replied, »Why, God ha' mercy, woman! - I see thou canst talk
fast enough when the theme likes thee. Nay, tell me, woman,« she continued, for
to the impulse of curiosity was now added that of an undefined jealousy that
some deception had been practised on her, - »tell me, woman - for by God's day,
I WILL know - whose wife or whose paramour art thou? Speak out, and be speedy -
Thou wert better dally with a lioness than with Elizabeth.«
    Urged to this extremity, dragged as it were by irresistible force to the
verge of a precipice, which she saw but could not avoid, - permitted not a
moment's respite by the eager words and menacing gestures of the offended Queen,
Amy at length uttered in despair, »The Earl of Leicester knows it all.«
    »The Earl of Leicester!« said Elizabeth, in utter astonishment - »The Earl
of Leicester!« she repeated, with kindling anger, - »Woman, thou art set on to
this - thou dost belie him - he takes no keep of such things as thou art. Thou
art suborned to slander the noblest lord, and the truest-hearted gentleman, in
England! But were he the right hand of our trust, or something yet dearer to us,
thou shalt have thy hearing, and that in his presence. Come with me - come with
me instantly!«
    As Amy shrunk back with terror, which the incensed Queen interpreted as that
of conscious guilt, Elizabeth rapidly advanced, seized on her arm, and hastened
with swift and long steps out of the grotto, and along the principal alley of
the Pleasance, dragging with her the terrified Countess, whom she still held by
the arm, and whose utmost exertions could but just keep pace with those of the
indignant Queen.
    Leicester was at this moment the centre of a splendid group of lords and
ladies assembled together under an arcade, or portico, which closed the alley.
The company had drawn together in that place, to attend the commands of her
Majesty when the hunting party should go forward, and their astonishment may be
imagined, when, instead of seeing Elizabeth advance towards them with her usual
measured dignity of motion, they beheld her, walking so rapidly, that she was in
the midst of them ere they were aware; and then observed, with fear and
surprise, that her features were flushed betwixt anger and agitation, that her
hair was loosened by her haste of motion, and that her eyes sparkled as they
were wont when the spirit of Henry VIII. mounted highest in his daughter. Nor
were they less astonished at the appearance of the pale, attenuated, half dead,
yet still lovely female, whom the Queen upheld by main strength with one hand,
while with the other she waved aside the ladies and nobles who pressed towards
her, under the idea that she was taken suddenly ill. - »Where is my Lord of
Leicester?« she said, in a tone that thrilled with astonishment all the
courtiers who stood around - »Stand forth, my Lord of Leicester!«
    If, in the midst of the most serene day of summer, when all is light and
laughing around, a thunderbolt were to fall from the clear blue vault of heaven,
and rend the earth at the very feet of some careless traveller, he could not
gaze upon the smouldering chasm, which so unexpectedly yawned before him, with
half the astonishment and fear which Leicester felt at the sight that so
suddenly presented itself. He had that instant been receiving, with a political
affectation of disavowing and misunderstanding their meaning, the half uttered,
half intimated congratulations of the courtiers, upon the favour of the Queen,
carried apparently to its highest pitch during the interview of that morning;
from which most of them seemed to augur, that he might soon arise from their
equal in rank to become their master. And now, while the subdued yet proud smile
with which he disclaimed those inferences was yet curling his cheek, the Queen
shot into the circle, her passions excited to the uttermost; and, supporting
with one hand, and apparently without an effort, the pale and sinking form of
his almost expiring wife, and pointing with the finger of the other to her
half-dead features, demanded in a voice that sounded to the ear of the astounded
statesman like the last dread trumpet-call, that is to summon body and spirit to
the judgment-seat, »Knowest thou this woman?«
    As, at the blast of that last trumpet, the guilty shall call upon the
mountains to cover them, Leicester's inward thoughts invoked the stately arch
which he had built in his pride, to burst its strong conjunction, and overwhelm
them in its ruins. But the cemented stones, architrave and battlement, stood
fast; and it was the proud master himself, who, as if some actual pressure had
bent him to the earth, kneeled down before Elizabeth, and prostrated his brow to
the marble flag-stones on which she stood.
    »Leicester,« said Elizabeth, in a voice which trembled with passion, »could
I think thou hast practised on me - on me thy Sovereign - on me thy confiding,
thy too partial mistress, the base and ungrateful deception which thy present
confusion surmises - by all that is holy, false lord, that head of thine were in
as great peril as ever was thy father's!«
    Leicester had not conscious innocence, but he had pride to support him. He
raised slowly his brow and features, which were black and swollen with contending
emotions, and only replied, »My head cannot fall but by the sentence of my peers
- to them I will plead, and not to a princess who thus requites my faithful
service.«
    »What! my lords,« said Elizabeth, looking around, »we are defied, I think -
defied in the Castle we have ourselves bestowed on this proud man? - My Lord
Shrewsbury, you are marshal of England, attach him of high treason.«
    »Whom does your Grace mean?« said Shrewsbury, much surprised, for he had
that instant joined the astonished circle.
    »Whom should I mean, but that traitor Dudley, Earl of Leicester! - Cousin of
Hunsdon, order out your band of gentlemen pensioners, and take him into instant
custody. - I say, villain, make haste!«
    Hunsdon, a rough old noble, who, from his relationship to the Boleyns, was
accustomed to use more freedom with the Queen than almost any other dared to do,
replied bluntly, »And it is like your Grace might order me to the Tower
to-morrow, for making too much haste. I do beseech you to be patient.«
    »Patient - God's life!« exclaimed the Queen, »name not the word to me - thou
know'st not of what he is guilty!«
    Amy, who had by this time in some degree recovered herself, and who saw her
husband, as she conceived, in the utmost danger from the rage of an offended
Sovereign, instantly (and alas, how many women have done the same!) forgot her
own wrongs, and her own danger, in her apprehensions for him, and throwing
herself before the Queen, embraced her knees, while she exclaimed, »He is
guiltless, madam, he is guiltless - no one can lay aught to the charge of the
noble Leicester.«
    »Why, minion,« answered the Queen, »didst not thou, thyself, say that the
Earl of Leicester was privy to thy whole history?«
    »Did I say so?« repeated the unhappy Amy, laying aside every consideration
of consistency, and of self-interest, »Oh, if I did, I foully belied him. May
God so judge me, as I believe he was never privy to a thought that would harm
me!«
    »Woman!« said Elizabeth, »I will know who has moved thee to this; or my
wrath - and the wrath of kings is a flaming fire - shall wither and consume thee
like a weed in the furnace.«
    As the Queen uttered this threat, Leicester's better angel called his pride
to his aid, and reproached him with the utter extremity of meanness which would
overwhelm him for ever, if he stooped to take shelter under the generous
interposition of his wife, and abandoned her, in return for her kindness, to the
resentment of the Queen. He had already raised his head, with the dignity of a
man of honour, to avow his marriage, and proclaim himself the protector of his
Countess, when Varney, born, as it appeared, to be his master's evil genius,
rushed into the presence, with every mark of disorder on his face and apparel.
    »What means this saucy intrusion?« said Elizabeth.
    Varney, with the air of a man overwhelmed with grief and confusion,
prostrated himself before her feet, exclaiming, »Pardon, my Liege, pardon! - or
at least let your justice avenge itself on me, where it is due; but spare my
noble, my generous, my innocent patron and master!«
    Amy, who was yet kneeling, started up as she saw the man whom she deemed
most odious place himself so near her, and was about to fly towards Leicester,
when, checked at once by the uncertainty and even timidity which his looks had
re-assumed as soon as the appearance of his confidant seemed to open a new
scene, she hung back, and uttering a faint scream, besought of her Majesty to
cause her to be imprisoned in the lowest dungeon of the Castle - to deal with
her as the worst of criminals - »But spare,« she exclaimed, »my sight and
hearing, what will destroy the little judgment I have left - the sight of that
unutterable and most shameless villain!«
    »And why, sweetheart?« said the Queen, moved by a new impulse; »what hath
he, this false knight, since such thou accountest him, done to thee?«
    »Oh, worse than sorrow, madam, and worse than injury - he has sown
dissension where most there should be peace. I shall go mad if I look longer on
him.«
    »Beshrew me, but I think thou art distraught already,« answered the Queen. -
»My Lord Hunsdon, look to this poor distressed young woman, and let her be
safely bestowed and in honest keeping, till we require her to be forthcoming.«
    Two or three of the ladies in attendance, either moved by compassion for a
creature so interesting, or by some other motive, offered their service to look
after her; but the Queen briefly answered, »Ladies, under favour, no. - You have
all (give God thanks) sharp ears and nimble tongues - our kinsman Hunsdon has
ears of the dullest, and a tongue somewhat rough, but yet of the slowest. -
Hunsdon, look to it that none have speech of her.«
    »By Our Lady!« said Hunsdon, taking in his strong sinewy arms the fading and
almost swooning form of Amy, »she is a lovely child; and though a rough nurse,
your Grace hath given her a kind one. She is safe with me as one of my own
lady-birds of daughters.«
    So saying, he carried her off, unresistingly and almost unconsciously; his
war-worn locks and long grey beard mingling with her light-brown tresses, as her
head reclined on his strong square shoulder. The Queen followed him with her eye
- she had already, with that self-command which forms so necessary a part of a
Sovereign's accomplishments, suppressed every appearance of agitation, and
seemed as if she desired to banish all traces of her burst of passion from the
recollection of those who had witnessed it. »My Lord of Hunsdon says well,« she
observed, »he is indeed but a rough nurse for so tender a babe.«
    »My Lord of Hunsdon,« said the Dean of Saint Asaph, »I speak it not in
defamation of his more noble qualities, hath a broad license in speech, and
garnishes his discourse somewhat too freely with the cruel and superstitious
oaths, which savour both of profaneness and of old papistrie.«
    »If is the fault of his blood, Mr. Dean,« said the Queen, turning sharply
round upon the reverend dignitary as she spoke; »and you may blame mine for the
same distemperature. The Boleyns were ever a hot and plain-spoken race, more
hasty to speak their mind than careful to choose their expressions. And, by my
word - I hope there is no sin in that affirmation - I question if it were much
cooled by mixing with that of Tudor.«
    As she made this last observation, she smiled graciously and stole her eyes
almost insensibly round to seek those of the Earl of Leicester, to whom she now
began to think she had spoken with hasty harshness upon the unfounded suspicion
of a moment.
    The Queen's eye found the Earl in no mood to accept the implied offer of
conciliation. His own looks had followed, with late and rueful repentance, the
faded form which Hunsdon had just borne from the presence; they now reposed
gloomily on the ground, but more - so at least it seemed to Elizabeth - with the
expression of one who has received an unjust affront, than of him who is
conscious of guilt. She turned her face angrily from him, and said to Varney,
»Speak, Sir Richard, and explain these riddles - thou hast sense and the use of
speech, at least, which elsewhere we look for in vain.«
    As she said this, she darted another resentful glance towards Leicester,
while the wily Varney hastened to tell his own story.
    »Your Majesty's piercing eye,« he said, »has already detected the cruel
malady of my beloved lady; which, unhappy that I am, I would not suffer to be
expressed in the certificate of her physician, seeking to conceal what has now
broken out with so much the more scandal.«
    »She is then distraught?« said the Queen - »indeed we doubted not of it -
her whole demeanour bears it out. I found her moping in a corner of yonder
grotto; and every word she spoke - which indeed I dragged from her as by the
rack - she instantly recalled and forswore. But how came she hither? Why had you
her not in safe-keeping?«
    »My gracious Liege,« said Varney, »the worthy gentleman under whose charge I
left her, Master Anthony Foster, has come hither but now, as fast as man and
horse can travel, to show me of her escape, which she managed with the art
peculiar to many who are afflicted with this malady. He is at hand for
examination.«
    »Let it be for another time,« said the Queen. »But, Sir Richard, we envy you
not your domestic felicity; your lady railed on you bitterly, and seemed ready
to swoon at beholding you.«
    »It is the nature of persons in her disorder, so please your Grace,«
answered Varney, »to be ever most inveterate in their spleen against those whom,
in their better moments, they hold nearest and dearest.«
    »We have heard so, indeed,« said Elizabeth, »and give faith to the saying.«
    »May your Grace then be pleased,« said Varney, »to command my unfortunate
wife to be delivered into the custody of her friends?«
    Leicester partly started; but, making a strong effort, he subdued his
emotion, while Elizabeth answered sharply, »You are something too hasty, Master
Varney; we will have first a report of the lady's health and state of mind from
Masters, our own physician, and then determine what shall be thought just. You
shall have license, however, to see her, that if there be any matrimonial
quarrel betwixt you - such things we have heard do occur, even betwixt a loving
couple - you may make it up, without farther scandal to our court, or trouble to
ourselves.«
    Varney bowed low, and made no other answer.
    Elizabeth again looked towards Leicester, and said, with a degree of
condescension which could only arise out of the most heartfelt interest,
»Discord, as the Italian poet says, will find her way into peaceful convents, as
well as into the privacy of families; and we fear our own guards and ushers will
hardly exclude her from courts. My Lord of Leicester, you are offended with us,
and we have right to be offended with you. We will take the lion's part upon us,
and be the first to forgive.«
    Leicester smoothed his brow, as if by an effort, but the trouble was too
deep-seated that its placidity should at once return. He said, however, that
which fitted the occasion, »that he could not have the happiness of forgiving,
because she who commanded him to do so, could commit no injury towards him.«
    Elizabeth seemed content with this reply, and intimated her pleasure that
the sports of the morning should proceed. The bugles sounded - the hounds bayed
- the horses pranced - but the courtiers and ladies sought the amusements to
which they were summoned with hearts very different from those which had leaped
to the morning's réveil. There was doubt, and fear, and expectation, on every
brow, and surmise and intrigue in every whisper.
    Blount took an opportunity to whisper into Raleigh's ear, »This storm came
like a levanter in the Mediterranean.«
    »Varium et mutabile,« answered Raleigh, in a similar tone.
    »Nay, I know nought of your Latin,« said Blount; »but I thank God Tressilian
took not the sea during that hurricane. He could scarce have missed shipwreck,
knowing as he does so little how to trim his sails to a court gale.«
    »Thou wouldst have instructed him?« said Raleigh.
    »Why, I have profited by my time as well as thou, Sir Walter,« replied
honest Blount. »I am knight as well as thou, and of the earlier creation.«
    »Now, God farther thy wit,« said Raleigh; »but for Tressilian, I would I
knew what were the matter with him. He told me this morning he would not leave
his chamber for the space of twelve hours or thereby, being bound by a promise.
This lady's madness, when he shall learn it, will not, I fear, cure his
infirmity. The moon is at the fullest, and men's brains are working like yeast.
But hark! they sound to mount. Let us to horse, Blount; we young knights must
deserve our spurs.«
 

                              Chapter Thirty-Fifth

 -- Sincerity,
 Thou first of virtues! let no mortal leave
 Thy onward path, although the earth should gape,
 And from the gulf of hell destruction cry,
 To take dissimulation's winding way.
                                                                        Douglas.
 
It was not till after a long and successful morning's sport, and a prolonged
repast which followed the return of the Queen to the Castle, that Leicester at
length found himself alone with Varney, from whom he now learned the whole
particulars of the Countess's escape, as they had been brought to Kenilworth by
Foster, who, in his terror for the consequences, had himself posted thither with
the tidings. As Varney, in his narrative, took especial care to be silent
concerning those practices on the Countess's health which had driven her to so
desperate a resolution, Leicester, who could only suppose that she had adopted
it out of jealous impatience, to attain the avowed state and appearance
belonging to her rank, was not a little offended at the levity with which his
wife had broken his strict commands, and exposed him to the resentment of
Elizabeth.
    »I have given,« he said, »to this daughter of an obscure Devonshire
gentleman, the proudest name in England. I have made her sharer of my bed and of
my fortunes. I ask but of her a little patience, ere she launches forth upon the
full current of her grandeur, and the infatuated woman will rather hazard her
own shipwreck and mine, will rather involve me in a thousand whirlpools, shoals,
and quicksands, and compel me to a thousand devices which shame me in mine own
eyes, than tarry for a little space longer in the obscurity to which she was
born. - So lovely, so delicate, so fond, so faithful - yet to lack in so grave a
matter the prudence which one might hope from the veriest fool - it puts me
beyond my patience.«
    »We may post it over yet well enough,« said Varney, »if my lady will be but
ruled, and take on her the character which the time commands.«
    »It is but too true, Sir Richard,« said Leicester, »there is indeed no other
remedy. I have heard her termed thy wife in my presence without contradiction.
She must bear the title until she is far from Kenilworth.«
    »And long afterwards, I trust,« said Varney; then instantly added, »For I
cannot but hope it will be long after ere she bear the title of Lady Leicester -
I fear me it may scarce be with safety during the life of this Queen. But your
lordship is best judge, you alone knowing what passages have taken place betwixt
Elizabeth and you.«
    »You are right, Varney,« said Leicester; »I have this morning been both fool
and villain; and when Elizabeth hears of my unhappy marriage, she cannot but
think herself treated with that premeditated slight which women never forgive.
We have once this day stood upon terms little short of defiance; and to those, I
fear, we must again return.«
    »Is her resentment, then, so implacable« said Varney.
    »Far from it,« replied the Earl; »for being what she is in spirit and in
station, she has even this day been but too condescending, in giving me
opportunities to repair what she thinks my faulty heat of temper.«
    »Ay,« answered Varney; »the Italians say right - in lovers' quarrels, the
party that loves most is always most willing to acknowledge the greater fault. -
So then, my lord, if this union with the lady could be concealed, you stand with
Elizabeth as you did?«
    Leicester sighed, and was silent for a moment ere he replied.
    »Varney, I think thou art true to me, and I will tell thee all. I do not
stand where I did. I have spoken to Elizabeth - under what mad impulse I know
not - on a theme which cannot be abandoned without touching every female feeling
to the quick, and which yet I dare not and cannot prosecute. She can never,
never forgive me, for having caused and witnessed those yieldings to human
passion.«
    »We must do something, my lord,« said Varney, »and that speedily.«
    »There is nought to be done,« answered Leicester, despondingly, »I am like
one that has long toiled up a dangerous precipice, and when he is within one
perilous stride of the top, finds his progress arrested when retreat has become
impossible. I see above me the pinnacle which I cannot reach - beneath me the
abyss into which I must fall, as soon as my relaxing grasp and dizzy brain join
to hurl me from my present precarious stance.«
    »Think better of your situation, my lord,« said Varney - »let us try the
experiment in which you have but now acquiesced. Keep we your marriage from
Elizabeth's knowledge, and all may yet be well. I will instantly go to the lady
myself - She hates me, because I have been earnest with your lordship, as she
truly suspects, in opposition to what she terms her rights. I care not for her
prejudices - She shall listen to me; and I will show her such reasons for
yielding to the pressure of the times, that I doubt not to bring back her
consent to whatever measures these exigencies may require.«
    »No, Varney,« said Leicester; »I have thought upon what is to be done, and I
will myself speak with Amy.«
    It was now Varney's turn to feel, upon his own account, the terrors which he
affected to participate solely on account of his patron. »Your lordship will not
yourself speak with the lady?«
    »It is my fixed purpose,« said Leicester; »fetch me one of the livery
cloaks; I will pass the sentinel as thy servant. Thou art to have free access to
her.«
    »But, my lord« -
    »I will have no buts,« replied Leicester; »it shall be even thus, and not
otherwise. Hunsdon sleeps, I think, in Saint-lowe's Tower. We can go thither
from these apartments by the private passage, without risk of meeting any one.
Or what if I do meet Hunsdon? he is more my friend than enemy, and thick-witted
enough to adopt any belief that is thrust on him. Fetch me the cloak instantly.«
    Varney had no alternative save obedience. In a few minutes Leicester was
muffled in the mantle, pulled his bonnet over his brows, and followed Varney
along the secret passage of the Castle which communicated with Hunsdon's
apartments, in which there was scarce a chance of meeting any inquisitive
person, and hardly light enough for any such to have satisfied their curiosity.
They emerged at a door where Lord Hunsdon had, with military precaution, placed
a sentinel, one of his own northern retainers as it fortuned, who readily
admitted Sir Richard Varney and his attendant, saying only, in his northern
dialect, »I would, man, thou couldst make the mad lady be still yonder; for her
moans do sae dirl through my head, that I would rather keep watch on a
snow-drift in the wastes of Catlowdie.«
    They hastily entered and shut the door behind them.
    »Now, good devil, if there be one,« said Varney, within himself, »for once
help a votary at a dead pinch, for my boat is among the breakers!«
    The Countess Amy, with her hair and her garments dishevelled, was seated
upon a sort of couch, in an attitude of the deepest affliction, out of which she
was startled by the opening of the door. She turned hastily round, and fixing
her eye on Varney, exclaimed, »Wretch! art thou come to frame some new plan of
villainy?«
    Leicester cut short her reproaches by stepping forward, and dropping his
cloak, while he said, in a voice rather of authority, than of affection, »It is
with me, madam, you have to commune, not with Sir Richard Varney.«
    The change effected on the Countess's look and manner was like magic.
»Dudley!« she exclaimed, »Dudley! and art thou come at last?« And with the speed
of lightning she flew to her husband, clung around his neck, and, unheeding the
presence of Varney, overwhelmed him with caresses, while she bathed his face in
a flood of tears; muttering, at the same time, but in broken and disjointed
monosyllables, the fondest expressions which love teaches his votaries.
    Leicester, as it seemed to him, had reason to be angry with his lady for
transgressing his commands, and thus placing him in the perilous situation in
which he had that morning stood. But what displeasure could keep its ground
before these testimonies of affection from a being so lovely, that even the
negligence of dress, and the withering effects of fear, grief, and fatigue,
which would have impaired the beauty of others, rendered hers but the more
interesting? He received and repaid her caresses with fondness, mingled with
melancholy, the last of which she seemed scarcely to observe, until the first
transport of her own joy was over; when, looking anxiously in his face, she
asked if he was ill
    »Not in my body, Amy,« was his answer.
    »Then I will be well too. - O Dudley! I have been ill! - very ill, since we
last met! - for I call not this morning's horrible vision a meeting. I have been
in sickness, in grief, and in danger - But thou art come, and all is joy, and
health, and safety!«
    »Alas! Amy,« said Leicester, »thou hast undone me!«
    »I, my lord?« said Amy, her cheek at once losing its transient flush of joy,
- »how could I injure that which I love better than myself?«
    »I would not upbraid you, Amy,« replied the Earl; »but are you not here
contrary to my express commands - and does not your presence here endanger both
yourself and me?«
    »Does it, does it indeed?« she exclaimed, eagerly; »then why am I here a
moment longer? Oh, if you knew by what fears I was urged to quit Cumnor Place! -
But I will say nothing of myself - only that if it might be otherwise, I would
not willingly return thither; - yet if it concern your safety« -
    »We will think, Amy, of some other retreat,« said Leicester; »and you shall
go to one of my Northern Castles, under the personage - it will be but needful,
I trust, for a very few days - of Varney's wife.«
    »How, my Lord of Leicester!« said the lady, disengaging herself from his
embraces; »is it to your wife you give the dishonourable counsel to acknowledge
herself the bride of another - and of all men the bride of that Varney?«
    »Madam, I speak it in earnest - Varney is my true and faithful servant,
trusted in my deepest secrets. I had better lose my right hand than his service
at this moment. You have no cause to scorn him as you do.«
    »I could assign one, my lord,« replied the Countess; »and I see he shakes
even under that assured look of his. But he that is necessary as your right hand
to your safety, is free from any accusation of mine. May he be true to you; and
that he may be true, trust him not too much or too far. But it is enough to say,
that I will not go with him unless by violence, nor would I acknowledge him as
my husband, were all« -
    »It is a temporary deception, madam,« said Leicester, irritated by her
opposition, »necessary for both our safeties, endangered by you through female
caprice, or the premature desire to seize on a rank to which I gave you title,
only under condition that our marriage, for a time, should continue secret. If
my proposal disgust you, it is yourself has brought it on both of us. There is
no other remedy - you must do what your own impatient folly hath rendered
necessary - I command you.«
    »I cannot put your commands, my lord,« said Amy, »in balance with those of
honour and conscience. I will NOT, in this instance, obey you. You may achieve
your own dishonour, to which these crooked policies naturally tend, but I will
do nought that can blemish mine. How could you again, my lord, acknowledge me as
a pure and chaste matron, worthy to share your fortunes, when, holding that high
character, I had strolled the country the acknowledged wife of such a profligate
fellow as your servant Varney?«
    »My lord,« said Varney, interposing, »my lady is too much prejudiced against
me, unhappily, to listen to what I can offer; yet it may please her better than
what she proposes. She has good interest with Master Edmund Tressilian, and
could doubtless prevail on him to consent to be her companion to Lidcote Hall,
and there she might remain in safety until time permitted the development of
this mystery.«
    Leicester was silent, but stood looking eagerly on Amy, with eyes which
seemed suddenly to glow as much with suspicion as with pleasure.
    The Countess only said, »Would to God I were in my father's house! - When I
left it, I little thought I was leaving peace of mind and honour behind me!«
    Varney proceeded with a tone of deliberation. »Doubtless this will make it
necessary to take strangers into my lord's counsels; but surely the Countess
will be warrant for the honour of Master Tressilian and such of her father's
family« -
    »Peace, Varney« said Leicester; »by Heaven, I will strike my dagger into
thee, if again thou namest Tressilian as a partner of my counsels!«
    »And wherefore not?« said the Countess; »unless they be counsels fitter for
such as Varney, than for a man of stainless honour and integrity. - My lord, my
lord, bend no angry brows on me - it is the truth, and it is I who speak it. I
once did Tressilian wrong for your sake - I will not do him the farther
injustice of being silent when his honour is brought in question. I can
forbear,« she said, looking at Varney, »to pull the mask off hypocrisy, but I
will not permit virtue to be slandered in my hearing.«
    There was a dead pause. Leicester stood displeased, yet undetermined, and
too conscious of the weakness of his cause; while Varney, with a deep and
hypocritical affectation of sorrow, mingled with humility, bent his eyes on the
ground.
    It was then that the Countess Amy displayed, in the midst of distress and
difficulty, the natural energy of character, which would have rendered her, had
fate allowed, a distinguished ornament of the rank which she held. She walked up
to Leicester with a composed step, a dignified air, and looks in which strong
affection essayed in vain to shake the firmness of conscious truth and rectitude
of principle. »You have spoke your mind, my lord,« she said, »in these
difficulties, with which, unhappily, I have found myself unable to comply. This
gentleman - this person I would say - has hinted at another scheme, to which I
object not but as it displeases you. Will your lordship be pleased to hear what
a young and timid woman, but your most affectionate wife, can suggest in the
present extremity?«
    Leicester was silent, but bent his head towards the Countess, as an
intimation that she was at liberty to proceed.
    »There hath been but one cause for all these evils, my lord,« she proceeded,
»and it resolves itself into the mysterious duplicity with which you have been
induced to surround yourself. Extricate yourself at once, my lord, from the
tyranny of these disgraceful trammels. Be like a true English gentleman, knight,
and earl, who holds that truth is the foundation of honour, and that honour is
dear to him as the breath of his nostrils. Take your ill-fated wife by the hand,
lead her to the footstool of Elizabeth's throne. - Say, that in a moment of
infatuation, moved by supposed beauty, of which none perhaps can now trace even
the remains, I gave my hand to this Amy Robsart. - You will then have done
justice to me, my lord, and to your own honour; and should law or power require
you to part from me, I will oppose no objection - since I may then with honour
hide a grieved and broken heart in those shades from which your love withdrew
me. Then - have but a little patience, and Amy's life will not long darken your
brighter prospects.«
    There was so much of dignity, so much of tenderness, in the Countess's
remonstrance, that it moved all that was noble and generous in the soul of her
husband. The scales seemed to fall from his eyes, and the duplicity and
tergiversation of which he had been guilty, stung him at once with remorse and
shame.
    »I am not worthy of you, Amy,« he said, »that could weigh aught which
ambition has to give against such a heart as thine. I have a bitter penance to
perform, in disentangling, before sneering foes and astounded friends, all the
meshes of my own deceitful policy. - And the Queen - but let her take my head,
as she has threatened.«
    »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
straight-forward path, which, as it is the best, is also the safest.«
    »Ah, Amy, thou little knows!« said Dudley; but, instantly checking
himself, he added, »Yet she shall not find in me a safe or easy victim of
arbitrary vengeance. - I have friends - I have allies - I will not, like
Norfolk, be dragged to the block, as a victim to sacrifice. Fear not, Amy; thou
shalt see Dudley bear himself worthy of his name. I must instantly communicate
with some of those friends on whom I can best rely; for, as things stand, I may
be made prisoner in my own Castle.«
    »Oh, my good lord,« said Amy, »make no faction in a peaceful state! There is
no friend can help us so well as our own candid truth and honour. Bring but
these to our assistance, and you are safe amidst a whole army of the envious and
malignant. Leave these behind you, and all other defence will be fruitless.
Truth, my noble lord, is well painted unarmed.«
    »But Wisdom, Amy,« answered Leicester, »is arrayed in panoply of proof.
Argue not with me on the means I shall use to render my confession - since it
must be called so - as safe as may be; it will be fraught with enough of danger,
do what we will. - Varney, we must hence - Farewell, Amy, whom I am to vindicate
as mine own, at an expense and risk of which thou alone couldst be worthy. You
shall soon hear farther from me.«
    He embraced her fervently, muffled himself as before, and accompanied Varney
from the apartment. The latter, as he left the room, bowed low, and, as he
raised his body, regarded Amy with a peculiar expression, as if he desired to
know how far his own pardon was included in the reconciliation which had taken
place betwixt her and her lord. The Countess looked upon him with a fixed eye,
but seemed no more conscious of his presence than if there had been nothing but
vacant air on the spot where he stood.
    »She, has brought me to the crisis,« he muttered. - »She or I are lost.
There was something - I wot not if it was fear or pity - that prompted me to
avoid this fatal crisis. It is now decided - She or I must perish.«
    While he thus spoke, he observed, with surprise, that a boy, repulsed by the
sentinel, made up to Leicester, and spoke with him. Varney was one of those
politicians, whom not the slightest appearances escape without inquiry. He asked
the sentinel what the lad wanted with him, and received for answer, that the boy
had wished him to transmit a parcel to the mad lady, but that he cared not to
take charge of it, such communication being beyond his commission. His curiosity
satisfied in that particular, he approached his patron, and heard him say -
»Well, boy, the packet shall be delivered.«
    »Thanks, good Master Serving-man,« said the boy, and was out of sight in an
instant.
    Leicester and Varney returned with hasty steps to the Earl's private
apartment, by the same passage which had conducted them to Saintlowe's Tower.
 

                              Chapter Thirty-Sixth

 -- I have said
 This is an adulteress - I have said with whom;
 More, she's a traitor, and Camillo is
 A federary with her, and one that knows
 What she should shame to know herself.
                                                                  Winter's Tale.
 
They were no sooner in the Earl's cabinet, than, taking his tablets from his
pocket, he began to write, speaking partly to Varney, and partly to himself: -
»There are many of them close bounden to me, and especially those in good estate
and high office; many who, if they look back towards my benefits, or forward
towards the perils which may befall themselves, will not, I think, be disposed
to see me stagger unsupported. Let me see - Knollis is sure, and through his
means Guernsey and Jersey - Horsey commands in the Isle of Wight - My
brother-in-law, Huntingdon, and Pembroke, have authority in Wales - Through
Bedford I lead the Puritans, with their interest, so powerful in all the
boroughs - My brother of Warwick is equal, well-nigh, to myself, in wealth,
followers, and dependencies - Sir Owen Hopton is at my devotion; he commands the
Tower of London, and the national treasure deposited there - My father and
grandfather needed never to have stooped their heads to the block, had they thus
forecast their enterprises. - Why look you so sad, Varney? I tell thee, a tree
so deep rooted is not easily to be torn up by the tempest!«
    »Alas! my lord,« said Varney, with well-acted passion, and then resumed the
same look of despondency which Leicester had before noted.
    »Alas!« repeated Leicester, »and wherefore alas, Sir Richard? Doth your new
spirit of chivalry supply no more vigorous ejaculation, when a noble struggle is
impending? Or, if alas means thou wilt flinch from the conflict, thou mayst
leave the Castle, or go join mine enemies, whichever thou thinkest best.«
    »Not so, my lord,« answered his confidant; »Varney will be found fighting or
dying by your side. Forgive me, if in love to you, I see more fully than your
noble heart permits you to do, the inextricable difficulties with which you are
surrounded. You are strong, my lord, and powerful; yet, let me say it without
offence, you are so only by the reflected light of the Queen's favour. While you
are Elizabeth's favourite, you are all, save in name, like an actual sovereign.
But let her call back the honours she has bestowed, and the Prophet's gourd did
not wither more suddenly. Declare against the Queen, and I do not say that in
the wide nation, or in this province alone, you would find yourself instantly
deserted and outnumbered; but I will say, that even in this very Castle, and in
the midst of your vassals, kinsmen, and dependants, you would be a captive, nay,
a sentenced captive, should she please to say the word. Think upon Norfolk, my
lord - upon the powerful Northumberland - the splendid Westmoreland; - think on
all who have made head against this sage Princess. They are dead, captive, or
fugitive. This is not like other thrones, which can be overturned by a
combination of powerful nobles; the broad foundations which support it are in
the extended love and affections of the people. You might share it with
Elizabeth if you would; but neither yours nor any other power, foreign or
domestic, will avail to overthrow, or even to shake it.«
    He paused, and Leicester threw his tablets from him with an air of reckless
despite. »It may be as thou sayest,« he said; »and, in sooth, I care not whether
truth or cowardice dictate thy forebodings. But it shall not be said I fell
without a struggle. - Give orders, that those of my retainers who served under
me in Ireland be gradually drawn into the main Keep, and let our gentlemen and
friends stand on their guard, and go armed, as if they expected an onset from
the followers of Sussex. Possess the townspeople with some apprehension; let
them take arms, and be ready, at a given signal, to overpower the Pensioners and
Yeomen of the Guard.«
    »Let me remind you, my lord,« said Varney, with the same appearance of deep
and melancholy interest, »that you have given me orders to prepare for disarming
the Queen's guard. It is an act of high treason, but you shall nevertheless be
obeyed.«
    »I care not,« said Leicester, desperately, - »I care not. Shame is behind
me, Ruin before me; I must on.«
    Here there was another pause, which Varney at length broke with the
following words: »It is come to the point I have long dreaded. I must either
witness, like an ungrateful beast, the downfall of the best and kindest of
masters, or I must speak what I would have buried in the deepest oblivion, or
told by any other mouth than mine.«
    »What is that thou sayest, or wouldst say?« replied the Earl; »we have no
time to waste on words, when the times call us to action.«
    »My speech is soon made, my lord - would to God it were as soon answered!
Your marriage is the sole cause of the threatened breach with your sovereign, my
lord, is it not?«
    »Thou knows it is!« replied Leicester. »What needs so fruitless a
question?«
    »Pardon me, my lord,« said Varney; »the use lies here. Men will wager their
lands and lives in defence of a rich diamond, my lord; but were it not first
prudent to look if there is no flaw in it?«
    »What means this?« said Leicester, with eyes sternly fixed on his dependant;
»of whom dost thou dare to speak?«
    »It is -- of the Countess Amy, my lord, of whom I am unhappily bound to
speak; and of whom I will speak, were your lordship to kill me for my zeal.«
    »Thou mayst happen to deserve it at my hand,« said the Earl; »but speak on,
I will hear thee.«
    »Nay, then, my lord, I will be bold. I speak for my own life as well as for
your lordship's. I like not this lady's tampering and trickstering with this
same Edmund Tressilian. You know him, my lord. You know he had formerly an
interest in her, which it cost your lordship some pains to supersede. You know
the eagerness with which he has pressed on the suit against me in behalf of this
lady, the open object of which is to drive your lordship to an avowal of what I
must ever call your most unhappy marriage, the point to which my lady also is
willing, at any risk, to urge you.«
    Leicester smiled constrainedly. »Thou meanest well, good Sir Richard, and
wouldst, I think, sacrifice thine own honour, as well as that of any other
person, to save me from what thou think'st a step so terrible. But, remember,« -
he spoke these words with the most stern decision, - »you speak of the Countess
of Leicester.«
    »I do, my lord,« said Varney; »but it is for the welfare of the Earl of
Leicester. My tale is but begun. I do most strongly believe that this Tressilian
has, from the beginning of his moving in her cause, been in connivance with her
ladyship the Countess.«
    »Thou speak'st wild madness, Varney, with the sober face of a preacher.
Where or how could they communicate together?«
    »My lord,« said Varney, »unfortunately I can show that but too well. It was
just before the supplication was presented to the Queen, in Tressilian's name,
that I met him, to my utter astonishment, at the postern-gate which leads from
the demesne at Cumnor Place.«
    »Thou met'st him, villain! and why didst thou not strike him dead?«
exclaimed Leicester.
    »I drew on him, my lord, and he on me; and had not my foot slipped, he would
not, perhaps, have been again a stumbling-block in your lordship's path.«
    Leicester seemed struck dumb with surprise. At length he answered, »What
other evidence hast thou of this, Varney, save thine own assertion? - for, as I
will punish deeply, I will examine coolly and warily. Sacred Heaven! but no - I
will examine coldly and warily - coldly and warily.« He repeated these words
more than once to himself, as if in the very sound there was a sedative quality;
and again compressing his lips, as if he feared some violent expression might
escape from them, he asked again, »What farther proof?«
    »Enough, my lord,« said Varney, »and to spare. I would it rested with me
alone, for with me it might have been silenced for ever. But my servant, Michael
Lambourne, witnessed the whole, and was, indeed, the means of first introducing
Tressilian into Cumnor Place; and therefore I took him into my service, and
retained him in it, though something of a debauched fellow, that I might have
his tongue always under my own command.« He then acquainted Lord Leicester how
easy it was to prove the circumstance of their interview true, by evidence of
Anthony Foster, with the corroborative testimonies of the various persons at
Cumnor, who had heard the wager laid, and had seen Lambourne and Tressilian set
off together. In the whole narrative, Varney hazarded nothing fabulous,
excepting that, not indeed by direct assertion, but by inference, he led his
patron to suppose that the interview betwixt Amy and Tressilian at Cumnor Place
had been longer than the few minutes to which it was in reality limited.
    »And wherefore was I not told of all this?« said Leicester, sternly. »Why
did all of ye - and in particular thou, Varney - keep back from me such material
information?«
    »Because, my lord,« replied Varney, »the Countess pretended to Foster and to
me, that Tressilian had intruded himself upon her; and I concluded their
interview had been in all honour, and that she would at her own time tell it to
your lordship. Your lordship knows with what unwilling ears we listen to evil
surmises against those whom we love; and I thank Heaven, I am no make-bate or
informer, to be the first to sow them.«
    »You are but too ready to receive them, however, Sir Richard,« replied his
patron. »How knows thou that this interview was not in all honour, as thou
hast said? Methinks the wife of the Earl of Leicester might speak for a short
time with such a person as Tressilian, without injury to me or suspicion to
herself.«
    »Questionless, my lord,« answered Varney; »had I thought otherwise, I had
been no keeper of the secret. But here lies the rub - Tressilian leaves not the
place without establishing a correspondence with a poor man, the landlord of an
inn in Cumnor, for the purpose of carrying off the lady. He sent down an
emissary of his, whom I trust soon to have in right sure keeping under Mervyn's
Tower. Killigrew and Lambsbey are scouring the country in quest of him. The host
is rewarded with a ring for keeping counsel - your lordship may have noted it on
Tressilian's hand - here it is. This fellow, this agent, makes his way to the
Place as a pedlar, holds conferences with the lady, and they make their escape
together by night - rob a poor fellow of a horse by the way, such was their
guilty haste; and at length reach this castle, where the Countess of Leicester
finds refuge - I dare not say in what place.«
    »Speak, I command thee,« said Leicester; »speak while I retain sense enough
to hear thee.«
    »Since it must be so,« answered Varney, »the lady resorted immediately to
the apartment of Tressilian, where she remained many hours, partly in company
with him, and partly alone. I told you Tressilian had a paramour in his chamber
- I little dreamed that paramour was« -
    »Amy, thou wouldst say,« answered Leicester; »but it is false, false as the
smoke of hell! Ambitious she may be - fickle and impatient - 'tis a woman's
fault; but false to me! - never, never. - The proof - the proof of this!« he
exclaimed, hastily.
    »Carrol, the Deputy Marshal, ushered her thither by her own desire, on
yesterday afternoon - Lambourne and the Warder both found her there at an early
hour this morning.«
    »Was Tressilian there with her?« said Leicester, in the same hurried tone.
    »No, my lord. You may remember,« answered Varney, »that he was that night
placed with Sir Nicholas Blount, under a species of arrest.«
    »Did Carrol, or the other fellows, know who she was?« demanded Leicester.
    »No, my lord,« replied Varney; »Carrol and the Warder had never seen the
Countess, and Lambourne knew her not in her disguise; but, in seeking to prevent
her leaving the cell, he obtained possession of one of her gloves, which, I
think, your lordship may know.«
    He gave the glove which had the Bear and Ragged Staff, the Earl's impress,
embroidered upon it in seed pearls.
    »I do, I do recognise it,« said Leicester. »They were my own gift. The
fellow of it was on the arm which she threw this very day around my neck!« - He
spoke this with violent agitation.
    »Your lordship,« said Varney, »might yet farther inquire of the lady
herself, respecting the truth of these passages.«
    »It needs not - it needs not,« said the tortured Earl; »it is written in
characters of burning light, as if they were branded on my very eyeballs! I see
her infamy - I can see nought else; and - gracious Heaven! - for this vile woman
was I about to commit to danger the lives of so many noble friends - shake the
foundation of a lawful throne - carry the sword and torch through the bosom of a
peaceful land - wrong the kind mistress who made me what I am - and would, but
for that hell-framed marriage, have made me all that man can be! All this I was
ready to do for a woman, who trinkets and traffics with my worst foes! - And
thou, villain, why didst thou not speak sooner?«
    »My lord,« said Varney, »a tear from my lady would have blotted out all I
could have said. Besides, I had not these proofs until this very morning, when
Anthony Foster's sudden arrival, with the examinations and declarations, which
he had extorted from the innkeeper Gosling, and others, explained the manner of
her flight from Cumnor Place, and my own researches discovered the steps which
she had taken here.«
    »Now, may God be praised for the light he has given! so full, so
satisfactory, that there breathes not a man in England who shall call my
proceeding rash, or my revenge unjust. - And yet, Varney, so young, so fair, so
fawning, and so false! Hence, then, her hatred to thee, my trusty, my
well-beloved servant, because you withstood her plots, and endangered her
paramour's life!«
    »I never gave her any other cause of dislike, my lord,« replied Varney; »but
she knew that my counsels went directly to diminish her influence with your
lordship; and that I was, and have been, ever ready to peril my life against
your enemies.«
    »It is too, too apparent,« replied Leicester; »yet, with what an air of
magnanimity she exhorted me to commit my head to the Queen's mercy, rather than
wear the veil of falsehood a moment longer! Methinks the angel of truth himself
can have no such tones of high-souled impulse. Can it be so, Varney? - Can
falsehood use thus boldly the language of truth? - Can infamy thus assume the
guise of purity? - Varney, thou hast been my servant from a child - I have
raised thee high - can raise thee higher. Think, think for me! Thy brain was
ever shrewd and piercing - May she not be innocent? Prove her so, and all I have
yet done for thee shall be as nothing - nothing - in comparison of thy
recompense?«
    The agony with which his master spoke had some effect even on the hardened
Varney, who, in the midst of his own wicked and ambitious designs, really loved
his patron as well as such a wretch was capable of loving anything; but he
comforted himself, and subdued his self-reproaches, with the reflection, that if
he inflicted upon the Earl some immediate and transitory pain, it was in order
to pave his way to the throne, which, were this marriage dissolved by death or
otherwise, he deemed Elizabeth would willingly share with his benefactor. He
therefore persevered in his diabolical policy; and, after a moment's
consideration, answered the anxious queries of the Earl with a melancholy look,
as if he had in vain sought some exculpation for the Countess; then suddenly
raising his head, he said with an expression of hope, which instantly
communicated itself to the countenance of his patron - »Yet wherefore, if
guilty, should she have perilled herself by coming hither? Why not rather have
fled to her father's or elsewhere? - though that, indeed, might have interfered
with her desire to be acknowledged as Countess of Leicester.«
    »True, true, true!« exclaimed Leicester, his transient gleam of hope giving
way to the utmost bitterness of feeling and expression; »thou art not fit to
fathom a woman's depth of wit, Varney. I see it all. She would not quit the
estate and title of the wittol who had wedded her. Ay, and if in my madness I
had started into rebellion, or if the angry Queen had taken my head, as she this
morning threatened, the wealthy dower which law would have assigned to the
Countess Dowager of Leicester, had been no bad windfall to the beggarly
Tressilian. Well might she goad me on to danger, which could not end otherwise
than profitably to her. - Speak not for her, Varney! I will have her blood!«
    »My lord,« replied Varney, »the wildness of your distress breaks forth in
the wildness of your language.«
    »I say, speak not for her!« replied Leicester; »she has dishonoured me - she
would have murdered me - all ties are burst between us. She shall die the death
of a traitress and adulteress, well merited both by the laws of God and man! And
- what is this casket,« he said, »which was even now thrust into my hand by a
boy, with the desire I would convey it to Tressilian, as he could not give it to
the Countess? By Heaven! the words surprised me as he spoke them, though other
matters chased them from my brain; but now they return with double force. - It
is her casket of jewels! - Force it open, Varney; force the hinges open with thy
poniard.«
    »She refused the aid of my dagger once,« thought Varney, as he unsheathed
the weapon to cut the string which bound a letter, »but now it shall work a
mightier ministry in her fortunes.«
    With this reflection, by using the three-cornered stiletto-blade as a wedge,
he forced open the slender silver hinges of the casket. The Earl no sooner saw
them give way, than he snatched the casket from Sir Richard's hand, wrenched off
the cover, and tearing out the splendid contents, flung them on the floor in a
transport of rage, while he eagerly searched for some letter or billet, which
should make the fancied guilt of his innocent Countess yet more apparent. Then
stamping furiously on the gems, he exclaimed, »Thus I annihilate the miserable
toys for which thou hast sold thyself, body and soul, consigned thyself to an
early and timeless death, and me to misery and remorse for ever! - Tell me not
of forgiveness, Varney - She is doomed!«
    So saying, he left the room, and rushed into an adjacent closet, the door of
which he locked and bolted.
    Varney looked after him, while something of a more human feeling seemed to
contend with his habitual sneer. »I am sorry for his weakness,« he said, »but
love has made him a child. He throws down and treads on these costly toys - with
the same vehemence would he dash to pieces this frailest toy of all, of which he
used to rave so fondly. But that taste also will be forgotten when its object is
no more. Well, he has no eye to value things as they deserve, and that nature
has given to Varney. When Leicester shall be a sovereign, he will think as
little of the gales of passion, through which he gained that royal port, as ever
did sailor in harbour of the perils of a voyage. But these tell-tale articles
must not remain here - they are rather too rich vails for the drudges who dress
the chamber.«
    While Varney was employed in gathering together and putting them into a
secret drawer of a cabinet that chanced to be open, he saw the door of
Leicester's closet open, the tapestry pushed aside, and the Earl's face thrust
out, but with eyes so dead, and lips and cheeks so bloodless and pale, that he
started at the sudden change. No sooner did his eyes encounter the Earl's than
the latter withdrew his head, and shut the door of the closet. This manoeuvre
Leicester repeated twice, without speaking a word, so that Varney began to doubt
whether his brain was not actually affected by his mental agony. The third time,
however, he beckoned, and Varney obeyed the signal. When he entered, he soon
found his patron's perturbation was not caused by insanity, but by the fellness
of purpose which he entertained, contending with various contrary passions. They
passed a full hour in close consultation; after which the Earl of Leicester,
with an incredible exertion, dressed himself, and went to attend his royal
guest.
 

                             Chapter Thirty-Seventh

 You have displaced the mirth, broke the good meeting
 With most admired disorder.
                                                                        Macbeth.
 
It was afterwards remembered, that during the banquets and revels which occupied
the remainder of this eventful day, the bearing of Leicester and Varney was
totally different from their usual demeanour. Sir Richard Varney had been held
rather a man of counsel and of action, than a votary of pleasure. Business,
whether civil or military, seemed always to be his proper sphere; and while in
festivals and revels, although he well understood how to trick them up and
present them, his own part was that of a mere spectator; or if he exercised his
wit, it was in a rough, caustic, and severe manner, rather as if he scoffed at
the exhibition and the guests, than shared the common pleasure.
    But upon the present day his character seemed changed. He mixed among the
younger courtiers and ladies, and appeared for the moment to be actuated by a
spirit of light-hearted gaiety, which rendered him a match for the liveliest.
Those who had looked upon him as a man given up to graver and more ambitious
pursuits, a bitter sneerer and passer of sarcasms at the expense of those, who,
taking life as they find it, were disposed to snatch at each pastime it
presents, now perceived with astonishment that his wit could carry as smooth an
edge as their own, his laugh be as lively, and his brow as unclouded. By what
art of damnable hypocrisy he could draw this veil of gaiety over the black
thoughts of one of the worst of human bosoms, must remain unintelligible to all
but his compeers, if any such ever existed; but he was a man of extraordinary
powers, and those powers were unhappily dedicated in all their energy to the
very worst of purposes.
    It was entirely different with Leicester. However habituated his mind
usually was to play the part of a good courtier, and appear gay, assiduous, and
free from all care but that of enhancing the pleasure of the moment, while his
bosom internally throbbed with the pangs of unsatisfied ambition, jealousy, or
resentment, his heart had now a yet more dreadful guest, whose workings could
not be overshadowed or suppressed; and you might read in his vacant eye and
troubled brow, that his thoughts were far absent from the scenes in which he was
compelling himself to play a part. He looked, moved, and spoke, as if by a
succession of continued efforts; and it seemed as if his will had in some degree
lost the promptitude of command over the acute mind and goodly form of which it
was the regent. His actions and gestures, instead of appearing the consequence
of simple volition, seemed, like those of an automaton, to wait the revolution
of some internal machinery ere they could be performed; and his words fell from
him piecemeal, interrupted, as if he had first to think what he was to say, then
how it was to be said, and as if, after all, it was only by an effort of
continued attention that he completed a sentence without forgetting both the one
and the other.
    The singular effects which these distractions of mind produced upon the
behaviour and conversation of the most accomplished courtier of England, as they
were visible to the lowest and dullest menial who approached his person, could
not escape the notice of the most intelligent princess of the age. Nor is there
the least doubt, that the alternate negligence and irregularity of his manner,
would have called down Elizabeth's severe displeasure on the Earl of Leicester,
had it not occurred to her to account for it, by supposing that the apprehension
of that displeasure which she had expressed towards him with such vivacity that
very morning, was dwelling upon the spirits of her favourite, and, spite of his
efforts to the contrary, distracted the usual graceful tenor of his mien, and
the charms of his conversation. When this idea, so flattering to female vanity,
had once obtained possession of her mind, it proved a full and satisfactory
apology for the numerous errors and mistakes of the Earl of Leicester; and the
watchful circle around observed with astonishment, that, instead of resenting
his repeated negligence, and want of even ordinary attention (although these
were points on which she was usually extremely punctilious), the Queen sought,
on the contrary, to afford him time and means to recollect himself, and deigned
to assist him in doing so, with an indulgence which seemed altogether
inconsistent with her usual character. It was clear, however, that this could
not last much longer, and that Elizabeth must finally put another and more
severe construction on Leicester's uncourteous conduct, when the Earl was
summoned by Varney to speak with him in a different apartment.
    After having had the message twice delivered to him, he rose, and was about
to withdraw, as it were by instinct - then stopped, and turning round, entreated
permission of the Queen to absent himself for a brief space upon matters of
pressing importance.
    »Go, my lord,« said the Queen; »we are aware our presence must occasion
sudden and unexpected occurrences, which require to be provided for on the
instant. Yet, my lord, as you would have us believe ourself your welcome and
honoured guest, we entreat you to think less of our good cheer, and favour us
with more of your good countenance, than we have this day enjoyed; for whether
prince or peasant be the guest, the welcome of the host will always be the
better part of the entertainment. Go, my lord; and we trust to see you return
with an unwrinkled brow, and those free thoughts which you are wont to have at
the disposal of your friends.«
    Leicester only bowed low in answer to this rebuke, and retired. At the door
of the apartment he was met by Varney, who eagerly drew him apart, and whispered
in his ear, »All is well!«
    »Has Masters seen her?« said the Earl.
    »He has, my lord; and as she would neither answer his queries, nor allege
any reason for her refusal, he will give full testimony that she labours under a
mental disorder, and may be best committed to the charge of her friends. The
opportunity is therefore free, to remove her as we proposed.«
    »But Tressilian?« said Leicester.
    »He will not know of her departure for some time,« replied Varney; »it shall
take place this very evening, and to-morrow he shall be cared for.«
    »No, by my soul,« answered Leicester; »I will take vengeance on him with
mine own hand!«
    »You, my lord, and on so inconsiderable a man as Tressilian! No, my lord, he
hath long wished to visit foreign parts. Trust him to me - I will take care he
returns not hither to tell tales.«
    »Not so, by Heaven, Varney!« exclaimed Leicester. - »Inconsiderable do you
call an enemy, that hath had power to wound me so deeply, that my whole after
life must be one scene of remorse and misery? - No; rather than forego the right
of doing myself justice with my hand on that accursed villain, I will unfold the
whole truth at Elizabeth's footstool, and let her vengeance descend at once on
them and on myself.«
    Varney saw with great alarm that his lord was wrought up to such a pitch of
agitation, that if he gave not way to him, he was perfectly capable of adopting
the desperate resolution which he had announced, and which was instant ruin to
all the schemes of ambition which Varney had formed for his patron and for
himself. But the Earl's rage seemed at once uncontrollable and deeply
concentrated; and while he spoke, his eyes shot fire, his voice trembled with
excess of passion, and the light foam stood on his lip.
    His confidant made a bold and successful effort to obtain the mastery of him
even in this hour of emotion. - »My lord,« he said, leading him to a mirror,
»behold your reflection in that glass, and think if these agitated features
belong to one who, in a condition so extreme, is capable of forming a resolution
for himself.«
    »What, then, wouldst thou make me?« said Leicester, struck at the change in
his own physiognomy, though offended at the freedom with which Varney made the
appeal. »Am I to be thy ward, thy vassal, - the property and subject of my
servant?«
    »No, my lord,« said Varney, firmly, »but be master of yourself, and of your
own passion. My lord, I, your born servant, am shamed to see how poorly you bear
yourself in the storm of fury. Go to Elizabeth's feet, confess your marriage -
impeach your wife and her paramour of adultery - and avow yourself, amongst all
your peers, the wittol who married a country girl, and was cozened by her and
her book-learned gallant. - Go, my lord - but first take farewell of Richard
Varney, with all the benefits you ever conferred on him. He served the noble,
the lofty, the high-minded Leicester, and was more proud of depending on him,
than he would be of commanding thousands. But the abject lord who stoops to
every adverse circumstance, whose judicious resolves are scattered like chaff
before every wind of passion, him Richard Varney serves not. He is as much above
him in constancy of mind, as beneath him in rank and fortune.«
    Varney spoke thus without hypocrisy, for, though the firmness of mind which
he boasted was hardness and impenetrability, yet he really felt the ascendency
which he vaunted; while the interest which he actually felt in the fortunes of
Leicester, gave unusual emotion to his voice and manner.
    Leicester was overpowered by his assumed superiority; it seemed to the
unfortunate Earl as if his last friend was about to abandon him. He stretched
his hand towards Varney, as he uttered the words, »Do not leave me - What
wouldst thou have me do?«
    »Be thyself, my noble master,« said Varney, touching the Earl's hand with
his lips, after having respectfully grasped it in his own; »be yourself,
superior to those storms of passion which wreck inferior minds. Are you the
first who has been cozened in love? The first whom a vain and licentious woman
has cheated into an affection, which she has afterwards scorned and misused? And
will you suffer yourself to be driven frantic, because you have not been wiser
than the wisest men whom the world has seen? Let her be as if she had not been -
let her pass from your memory, as unworthy of ever having held a place there.
Let your strong resolve of this morning, which I have both courage, zeal, and
means enough to execute, be like the fiat of a superior being, a passionless act
of justice. She hath deserved death - let her die!«
    While he was speaking, the Earl held his hand fast, compressed his lips
hard, and frowned, as if he laboured to catch from Varney a portion of the cold,
ruthless, and dispassionate firmness which he recommended. When he was silent,
the Earl still continued to grasp his hand, until, with an effort at calm
decision, he was able to articulate, »Be it so - she dies! - But one tear might
be permitted.«
    »Not one, my lord,« interrupted Varney, who saw by the quivering eye and
convulsed cheek of his patron, that he was about to give way to a burst of
emotion, - »Not a tear - the time permits it not - Tressilian must be thought
of« -
    »That indeed is a name,« said the Earl, »to convert tears into blood.
Varney, I have thought on this, and I have determined - neither entreaty nor
argument shall move me - Tressilian shall be my own victim.«
    »It is madness, my lord; but you are too mighty for me to bar your way to
your revenge. Yet resolve at least to choose fitting time and opportunity, and
to forbear him until these shall be found.«
    »Thou shalt order me in what thou wilt,« said Leicester »only thwart me not
in this.«
    »Then, my lord,« said Varney, »I first request of you to lay aside the wild,
suspected, and half-frenzied demeanour, which hath this day drawn the eyes of
all the court upon you; and which, but for the Queen's partial indulgence, which
she hath extended towards you in a degree far beyond her nature, she had never
given you the opportunity to atone for.«
    »Have I indeed been so negligent?« said Leicester, as one who awakes from a
dream; »I thought I had coloured it well; but fear nothing, my mind is now eased
- I am calm. My horoscope shall be fulfilled; and that it may be fulfilled, I
will tax to the highest every faculty of my mind. Fear me not, I say, - I will
to the Queen instantly - not thine own looks and language shall be more
impenetrable than mine. - Hast thou aught else to say?«
    »I must crave your signet-ring,« said Varney, gravely, »in token to those of
your servants whom I must employ, that I possess your full authority in
commanding their aid.«
    Leicester drew off the signet-ring, which he commonly used, and gave it to
Varney with a haggard and stern expression of countenance, adding only, in a low
half-whispered tone, but with terrific emphasis, the words, »What thou dost, do
quickly.«
    Some anxiety and wonder took place, meanwhile, in the Presence hall, at the
prolonged absence of the noble Lord of the Castle, and great was the delight of
his friends, when they saw him enter as a man, from whose bosom, to all human
seeming, a weight of care had been just removed. Amply did Leicester that day
redeem the pledge he had given to Varney, who soon saw himself no longer under
the necessity of maintaining a character so different from his own, as that
which he had assumed in the earlier part of the day, and gradually relapsed into
the same grave, shrewd, caustic observer of conversation and incident, which
constituted his usual part in society.
    With Elizabeth, Leicester played his game as one, to whom her natural
strength of talent, and her weakness in one or two particular points, were well
known. He was too wary to exchange on a sudden the sullen personage which he had
played before he retired with Varney; but, on approaching her, it seemed
softened into a melancholy, which had a touch of tenderness in it, and which, in
the course of conversing with Elizabeth, and as she dropped in compassion one
mark of favour after another to console him, passed into a flow of affectionate
gallantry, the most assiduous, the most delicate, the most insinuating, yet at
the same time the most respectful, with which a Queen was ever addressed by a
subject. Elizabeth listened, as in a sort of enchantment; her jealousy of power
was lulled asleep; her resolution to forsake all social or domestic ties, and
dedicate herself exclusively to the care of her people, began to be shaken, and
once more the star of Dudley culminated in the court horizon.
    But Leicester did not enjoy this triumph over nature, and over conscience,
without its being imbittered to him, not only by the internal rebellion of his
feelings against the violence which he exercised over them, but by many
accidental circumstances, which, in the course of the banquet, and during the
subsequent amusements of the evening, jarred upon that nerve, the least
vibration of which was agony.
    The courtiers were, for example, in the great hall, after having left the
banqueting-room, awaiting the appearance of a splendid masque, which was the
expected entertaniment of this evening, when the Queen interrupted a wild career
of wit, which the Earl of Leicester was running against Lord Willoughby,
Raleigh, and some other courtiers, by saying - »We will impeach you of high
treason, my lord, if you proceed in this attempt to slay us with laughter. And
here comes a thing may make us all grave at his pleasure, our learned physician
Masters, with news belike of our poor suppliant, Lady Varney - nay, my lord, we
will not have you leave us, for this being a dispute betwixt married persons, we
do not hold our own experience deep enough to decide thereon, without good
counsel. - How now, Masters, what think'st thou of the runaway bride?«
    The smile with which Leicester had been speaking, when the Queen interrupted
him, remained arrested on his lips, as if it had been carved there by the chisel
of Michael Angelo, or of Chantrey; and he listened to the speech of the
physician with the same immovable cast of countenance.
    »The Lady Varney, gracious Sovereign,« said the court physician Masters, »is
sullen, and would hold little conference with me, touching the state of her
health, talking wildly of being soon to plead her own cause before your own
presence, and of answering no meaner person's inquiries.«
    »Now, the heavens forefend!« said the Queen; »we have already suffered from
the misconstructions and broils which seem to follow this poor brain-sick lady
wherever she comes. - Think you not so, my lord?« she added, appealing to
Leicester, with something in her look that indicated regret, even tenderly
expressed, for their disagreement of that morning. Leicester compelled himself
to bow low. The utmost force he could exert was inadequate to the farther effort
of expressing in words his acquiescence in the Queen's sentiment.
    »You are vindictive,« she said, »my lord; but we will find time and place to
punish you. But once more to this same trouble-mirth, this Lady Varney - What of
her health, Masters?«
    »She is sullen, madam, as I already said,« replied Masters, »and refuses to
answer interrogatories, or be amenable to the authority of the mediciner. I
conceive her to be possessed with a delirium, which I incline to term rather
hypochondria than phrenesis; and I think she were best cared for by her husband
in his own house, and removed from all this bustle of pageants, which disturbs
her weak brain with the most fantastic phantoms. She drops hints as if she were
some great person in disguise - some Countess or Princess perchance. God help
them, such are often the hallucinations of these infirm persons!«
    »Nay, then,« said the Queen, »away with her with all speed. Let Varney care
for her with fitting humanity; but let them rid the Castle of her forthwith. She
will think herself lady of all, I warrant you. It is pity so fair a form,
however, should have an infirm understanding. - What think you, my lord?«
    »It is pity indeed,« said the Earl, repeating the words like a task which
was set him.
    »But, perhaps,« said Elizabeth, »you do not join with us in our opinion of
her beauty; and indeed we have known men prefer a statelier and more Juno-like
form, to that drooping fragile one, that hung its head like a broken lily. Ay,
men are tyrants, my lord, who esteem the animation of the strife above the
triumph of an unresisting conquest, and, like sturdy champions, love best those
women who can wage contest with them. - I could think with you, Rutland, that,
give my lord of Leicester such a piece of painted wax for a bride, he would have
wished her dead ere the end of the honeymoon.«
    As she said this, she looked on Leicester so expressively, that, while his
heart revolted against the egregious falsehood, he did himself so much violence
as to reply in a whisper, that Leicester's love was more lowly than her majesty
deemed, since it was settled where he could never command, but must ever obey.
    The Queen blushed, and bid him be silent; yet looked as if she expected that
he would not obey her commands. But at that moment the flourish of trumpets and
kettledrums from a high balcony which overlooked the hall, announced the
entrance of the masquers, and relieved Leicester from the horrible state of
constraint and dissimulation in which the result of his own duplicity had placed
him.
    The masque which entered consisted of four separate bands which followed
each other at brief intervals, each consisting of six principal persons and as
many torch-bearers, and each representing one of the various nations by which
England had at different times been occupied.
    The aboriginal Britons, who first entered, were ushered in by two ancient
Druids, whose hoary hair was crowned with a chaplet of oak, and who bore in
their hands branches of mistleto. The masquers who followed these venerable
figures were succeeded by two Bards, arrayed in white, and bearing harps, which
they occasionally touched, singing at the same time certain stanzas of an
ancient hymn to Belus, or the Sun. The aboriginal Britons had been selected from
amongst the tallest and most robust young gentlemen in attendance on the court.
Their masks were accommodated with long shaggy beards and hair; their vestments
were of the hides of wolves and bears; while their legs, arms, and the upper
parts of their bodies, being sheathed in flesh-coloured silk, on which were
traced in grotesque lines representations of the heavenly bodies, and of animals
and other terrestrial objects, gave them the lively appearance of our painted
ancestors, whose freedom was first trenched upon by the Romans.
    The sons of Rome, who came to civilise as well as to conquer, were next
produced before the princely assembly; and the manager of the revels had
correctly imitated the high crest and military habits of that celebrated people,
accommodating them with the light yet strong buckler, and the short two-edged
sword, the use of which had made them victors of the world. The Roman eagles
were borne before them by two standard-bearers, who recited a hymn to Mars, and
the classical warriors followed with the grave and haughty step of men who
aspired at universal conquest.
    The third quadrille represented the Saxons, clad in the bearskins which they
had brought with them from the German forests, and bearing in their hands the
redoubtable battle-axes which made such havoc among the natives of Britain. They
were preceded by two Scalds, who chanted the praises of Odin.
    Last came the knightly Normans, in their mail-shirts and hoods of steel,
with all the panoply of chivalry, and marshalled by two Minstrels, who sung of
war and ladies' love.
    These four bands entered the spacious hall with the utmost order, a short
pause being made, that the spectators might satisfy their curiosity as to each
quadrille before the appearance of the next. They then marched completely round
the hall, in order the more fully to display themselves, regulating their steps
to organs, shalms, hautboys, and virginals, the music of the Lord Leicester's
household. At length the four quadrilles of masquers, 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 masquers drew their swords on all
sides, and advanced against each other in the measured steps of a sort of
Pyrrhic or military dance, clashing their swords against their adversaries'
shields, and clattering them against their blades as they passed each other in
the progress of the dance. It was a very pleasant spectacle to see how the
various bands, preserving regularity amid motions which seemed to be totally
irregular, mixed together, and then disengaging themselves, resumed each their
own original rank as the music varied.
    In this symbolical dance were represented the conflicts which had taken
place among the various nations which had anciently inhabited Britain.
    At length, after many mazy evolutions, which afforded great pleasure to the
spectators, the sound of a loud-voiced trumpet was heard, as if it blew for
instant battle, or for victory won. The masquers instantly ceased their mimic
strife, and collecting themselves under their original leaders, or presenters,
for such was the appropriate phrase, seemed to share the anxious expectation
which the spectators experienced concerning what was next to appear.
    The doors of the hall were thrown wide, and no less a person entered than
the fiend-born Merlin, dressed in a strange and mystical attire, suited to his
ambiguous birth and magical power. About him and behind him fluttered or
gambolled many extraordinary forms, intended to represent the spirits who waited
to do his powerful bidding; and so much did this part of the pageant interest
the menials and others of the lower class then in the Castle, that many of them
forgot even the reverence due to the Queen's presence, so far as to thrust
themselves into the lower part of the hall.
    The Earl of Leicester, seeing his officers had some difficulty to repel
these intruders without more disturbance than was fitting where the Queen was in
presence, arose and went himself to the bottom of the hall; Elizabeth, at the
same time, with her usual feeling for the common people, requesting that they
might be permitted to remain undisturbed to witness the pageant. Leicester went
under this pretext; but his real motive was to gain a moment to himself, and to
relieve his mind, were it but for one instant, from the dreadful task of hiding,
under the guise of gaiety and gallantry, the lacerating pangs of shame, anger,
remorse, and thirst for vengeance. He imposed silence by his look and sign upon
the vulgar crowd, at the lower end of the apartment; but instead of instantly
returning to wait on her Majesty, he wrapped his cloak around him, and mixing
with the crowd, stood in some degree an undistinguished spectator of the
progress of the masque.
    Merlin having entered, and advanced into the midst of the hall, summoned the
presenters of the contending bands around him by a wave of his magical rod, and
announced to them, in a poetical speech, that the isle of Britain was now
commanded by a Royal Maiden, to whom it was the will of fate that they should
all do homage, and request of her to pronounce on the various pretensions which
each set forth to be esteemed the pre-eminent stock, from which the present
natives, the happy subjects of that angelical Princess, derived their lineage.
    In obedience to this mandate, the bands, each moving to solemn music, passed
in succession before Elizabeth; doing her as they passed, each after the fashion
of the people whom they represented, the lowest and most devotional homage,
which she returned with the same gracious courtesy that had marked her whole
conduct since she came to Kenilworth.
    The presenters of the several masques or quadrilles then alleged, each in
behalf of his own troop, the reasons which they had for claiming pre-eminence
over the rest; and when they had been all heard in turn, she returned them this
gracious answer: »That she was sorry she was not better qualified to decide upon
the doubtful question which had been propounded to her by the direction of the
famous Merlin, but that it seemed to her that no single one of these celebrated
nations could claim pre-eminence over the others, as having most contributed to
form the Englishman of her own time, who unquestionably derived from each of
them some worthy attribute of his character. Thus,« she said, »the Englishman
had from the ancient Briton his bold and tameless spirit of freedom, - from the
Roman his disciplined courage in war, with his love of letters and civilisation
in time of peace, - from the Saxon his wise and equitable laws, - and from the
chivalrous Norman his love of honour and courtesy, with his generous desire for
glory.«
    Merlin answered with readiness, that it did indeed require that so many
choice qualities should meet in the English, as might render them in some
measure the muster of the perfections of other nations, since that alone could
render them in some degree deserving of the blessings they enjoyed under the
reign of England's Elizabeth.
    The music then sounded, and the quadrilles, together with Merlin and his
assistants, had begun to remove from the crowded hall, when Leicester, who was,
as we have mentioned, stationed for the moment near the bottom of the hall, and
consequently engaged in some degree in the crowd, felt himself pulled by the
cloak, while a voice whispered in his ear, »My lord, I do desire some instant
conference with you.«
 

                             Chapter Thirty-Eighth

 How is 't with me when every noise appals me?
                                                                        Macbeth.
 
»I desire some conference with you.« The words were simple in themselves, but
Lord Leicester was in that alarmed and feverish state of mind when the most
ordinary occurrences seem fraught with alarming import; and he turned hastily
round to survey the person by whom they had been spoken. There was nothing
remarkable in the speaker's appearance, which consisted of a black silk doublet
and short mantle, with a black vizard on his face; for it appeared he had been
among the crowd of masks who had thronged into the hall in the retinue of
Merlin, though he did not wear any of the extravagant disguises by which most of
them were distinguished.
    »Who are you, or what do you want with me?« said Leicester, not without
betraying, by his accents, the hurried state of his spirits.
    »No evil, my lord,« answered the mask, »but much good and honour, if you
will rightly understand my purpose. But I must speak with you more privately.«
    »I can speak with no nameless stranger,« answered Leicester, dreading he
knew not precisely what from the request of the stranger; »and those who are
known to me, must seek another and a fitter time to ask an interview.«
    He would have hurried away, but the mask still detained him.
    »Those who talk to your lordship of what your own honour demands, have a
right over your time, whatever occupations you may lay aside in order to indulge
them.«
    »How! my honour? Who dare impeach it?« said Leicester
    »Your own conduct alone can furnish grounds for accusing it, my lord, and it
is that topic on which I would speak with you.«
    »You are insolent,« said Leicester, »and abuse the hospitable license of the
time, which prevents me from having you punished. I demand your name?«
    »Edmund Tressilian of Cornwall,« answered the mask. »My tongue has been
bound by a promise for four-and-twenty hours, - the space is passed, - I now
speak and do your lord ship the justice to address myself first to you.«
    The thrill of astonishment which had penetrated to Leicester's very heart at
hearing that name pronounced by the voice of the man he most detested, and by
whom he conceived himself so deeply injured, at first rendered him immovable,
but instantly gave way to such a thirst for revenge as the pilgrim in the desert
feels for the water-brooks. He had but sense and self-government enough left to
prevent his stabbing to the heart the audacious villain, who, after the ruin he
had brought upon him, dared, with such unmoved assurance, thus to practise upon
him farther. Determined to suppress for the moment every symptom of agitation,
in order to perceive the full scope of Tressilian's purpose, as well as to
secure his own vengeance, he answered in a tone so altered by restrained passion
as scarce to be intelligible, - »And what does Master Edmund Tressilian require
at my hand?«
    »Justice, my lord,« answered Tressilian, calmly but firmly.
    »Justice,« said Leicester, »all men are entitled to - YOU, Master
Tressilian, are peculiarly so, and be assured you shall have it.«
    »I expect nothing less from your nobleness,« answered Tressilian; »but time
presses, and I must speak with you to-night - May I wait on you in your
chamber?«
    »No,« answered Leicester, sternly, »not under a roof, and that roof mine own
- We will meet under the free cope of heaven.«
    »You are discomposed or displeased, my lord,« replied Tressilian; »yet there
is no occasion for distemperature. The place is equal to me, so you allow me one
half hour of your time uninterrupted.«
    »A shorter time will, I trust, suffice,« answered Leicester - »Meet me in
the Pleasance, when the Queen has retired to her chamber.«
    »Enough,« said Tressilian, and withdrew; while a sort of rapture seemed for
the moment to occupy the mind of Leicester.
    »Heaven,« he said, »is at last favourable to me, and has put within my reach
the wretch who has branded me with this deep ignominy - who has inflicted on me
this cruel agony. I will blame fate no more, since I am afforded the means of
tracing the wiles by which he means still farther to practise on me, and then of
at once convicting and punishing his villainy. To my task - to my task! - I will
not sink under it now, since midnight at farthest, will bring me vengeance.«
    While these reflections thronged through Leicester's mind, he again made his
way amid the obsequious crowd, which divided to give him passage, and resumed
his place, envied and admired, beside the person of his Sovereign. But, could
the bosom of him thus admired and envied, have been laid open before the
inhabitants of that crowded hall, with all its dark thoughts of guilty ambition,
blighted affection, deep vengeance, and conscious sense of meditated cruelty,
crossing each other like spectres in the circle of some foul enchantress; which
of them, from the most ambitious noble in the courtly circle, down to the most
wretched menial, who lived by shifting of trenchers, would have desired to
change characters with the favourite of Elizabeth, and the Lord of Kenilworth!
    New tortures awaited him as soon as he had rejoined Elizabeth.
    »You come in time, my lord,« she said, »to decide a dispute between us
ladies. Here has Sir Richard Varney asked our permission to depart from the
castle with his infirm lady, having, as he tells us, your lordship's consent to
his absence, so he can obtain ours. Certes, we have no will to withhold him from
the affectionate charge of this poor young person - but you are to know that Sir
Richard Varney hath this day shown himself so much captivated with these ladies
of ours, that here is our Duchess of Rutland says, he will carry his poor insane
wife no farther than the lake, plunge her in, to tenant the crystal palaces that
the enchanted nymph told us of, and return a jolly widower, to dry his tears,
and to make up the loss among our train. How say you, my lord? - We have seen
Varney under two or three different guises - you know what are his proper
attributes - think you he is capable of playing his lady such a knave's trick?«
    Leicester was confounded, but the danger was urgent, and a reply absolutely
necessary. »The ladies,« he said, »think too lightly of one of their own sex, in
supposing she could deserve such a fate, or too ill of ours, to think it could
be inflicted upon an innocent female.«
    »Hear him, my ladies,« said Elizabeth; »like all his sex, he would excuse
their cruelty by imputing fickleness to us.«
    »Say not us, madam,« replied the Earl; »we say that meaner women, like the
lesser lights of heaven, have revolutions and phases, but who shall impute
mutability to the sun, or to Elizabeth?«
    The discourse presently afterwards assumed a less perilous tendency, and
Leicester continued to support his part in it with spirit, at whatever expense
of mental agony. So pleasing did it seem to Elizabeth, that the Castle bell had
sounded midnight ere she retired from the company, a circumstance unusual in her
quiet and regular habits of disposing of time. Her departure was of course the
signal for breaking up the company, who dispersed to their several places of
repose, to dream over the pastimes of the day, or to anticipate those of the
morrow.
    The unfortunate Lord of the Castle, and founder of the proud festival,
retired to far different thoughts. His direction to the valet who attended him,
was to send Varney instantly to his apartment. The messenger returned after some
delay, and informed him that an hour had elapsed since Sir Richard Varney had
left the Castle, by the postern-gate, with three other persons, one of whom was
transported in a horse-litter.
    »How came he to leave the castle after the watch was set?« said Leicester;
»I thought he went not till day-break.«
    »He gave satisfactory reasons, as I understand,« said the domestic, »to the
guard, and, as I hear, showed your lordship's signet« -
    »True - true,« said the Earl; »yet he has been hasty - Do any of his
attendants remain behind?«
    »Michael Lambourne, my lord,« said the valet, »was not to be found when Sir
Richard Varney departed, and his master was much incensed at his absence. I saw
him but now saddling his horse to gallop after his master.«
    »Bid him come hither instantly,« said Leicester; »I have a message to his
master.«
    The servant left the apartment, and Leicester traversed it for some time in
deep meditation - »Varney is over-zealous,« he said, »over-pressing - He loves
me, I think - but he hath his own ends to serve, and he is inexorable in pursuit
of them. If I rise he rises, and he hath shown himself already but too eager to
rid me of this obstacle which seems to stand betwixt me and sovereignty. Yet I
will not stoop to bear this disgrace. She shall be punished, but it shall be
more advisedly. I already feel, even in anticipation, that over-haste would
light the flames of hell in my bosom. No - one victim is enough at once, and
that victim already waits me.«
    He seized upon writing materials, and hastily traced these words: - »Sir
Richard Varney, we have resolved to defer the matter entrusted to your care, and
strictly command you to proceed no farther in relation to our Countess, until
our farther order. We also command your instant return to Kenilworth, as soon as
you have safely bestowed that with which you are entrusted. But if the safe
placing of your present charge shall detain you longer than we think for, we
command you, in that case, to send back our signet-ring by a trusty and speedy
messenger, we having present need of the same. And requiring your strict
obedience in these things, and commending you to God's keeping, we rest your
assured good friend and master,
                                                                   R. LEICESTER.
 
Given at our Castle of Kenilworth, the tenth of July, in the year of Salvation
one thousand five hundred and seventy-five.«
    As Leicester had finished and sealed this mandate, Michael Lambourne, booted
up to mid-thigh, having his riding cloak girthed around him with a broad belt,
and a felt-cap on his head, like that of a courier, entered his apartment,
ushered in by the valet.
    »What is thy capacity of service?« said the Earl.
    »Equerry to your lordship's master of the horse,« answered Lambourne, with
his customary assurance.
    »Tie up thy saucy tongue, sir,« said Leicester; »the jests that may suit Sir
Richard Varney's presence, suit not mine. How soon wilt thou overtake thy
master?«
    »In one hour's riding, my lord, if man and horse hold good,« said Lambourne,
with an instant alteration of demeanour, from an approach to familiarity to the
deepest respect. The Earl measured him with his eye from top to toe.
    »I have heard of thee,« he said; »men say thou art a prompt fellow in thy
service, but too much given to brawling and to wassail to be trusted with things
of moment.«
    »My lord,« said Lambourne, »I have been soldier, sailor, traveller, and
adventurer; and these are all trades in which men enjoy to-day, because they
have no surety of to-morrow. But though I may misuse mine own leisure, I have
never neglected the duty I owe my master.«
    »See that it be so in this instance,« said Leicester, »and it shall do thee
good. Deliver this letter speedily and carefully, into Sir Richard Varney's
hands.«
    »Does my commission reach no farther?« said Lambourne.
    »No,« answered Leicester, »but it deeply concerns me that it be carefully as
well as hastily executed.«
    »I will spare neither care nor horse-flesh,« answered Lambourne, and
immediately took his leave.
    »So, this is the end of my private audience, from which I hoped so much!« he
muttered to himself, as he went through the long gallery, and down the back
staircase. »Cogs bones! I thought the Earl had wanted a cast of mine office in
some secret intrigue, and it all ends in carrying a letter! Well, his pleasure
shall be done, however, and as his lordship well says, it may do me good another
time. The child must creep ere he walk, and so must your infant courtier. I will
have a look into this letter, however, which he hath sealed so sloven-like.«
Having accomplished this, he clapped his hands together in ecstasy, exclaiming,
»The Countess - the Countess! - I have the secret that shall make or mar me. -
But come forth, Bayard,« he added, leading his horse into the courtyard, »for
your flanks and my spurs must be presently acquainted.«
    Lambourne mounted, accordingly, and left the Castle by the postern-gate,
where his free passage was permitted, in consequence of a message to that effect
left by Sir Richard Varney.
    As soon as Lambourne and the valet had left the apartment, Leicester
proceeded to change his dress for a very plain one, threw his mantle around him,
and taking a lamp in his hand, went by the private passage of communication to a
small secret postern-door, which opened into the courtyard, near to the entrance
of the Pleasance. His reflections were of a more calm and determined character
than they had been at any late period, and he endeavoured to claim, even in his
own eyes, the character of a man more sinned against than sinning.
    »I have suffered the deepest injury,« such was the tenor of his meditations,
»yet I have restricted the instant revenge which was in my power, and have
limited it to that which is manly and noble. But shall the union which this
false woman has this day disgraced, remain an abiding fetter on me, to check me
in the noble career to which my destinies invite me? No! - there are other means
of disengaging such ties, without unloosing the cords of life. In the sight of
God, I am no longer bound by the union she has broken. Kingdoms shall divide us
- oceans roll betwixt us, and their waves, whose abysses have swallowed whole
navies, shall be the sole depositories of the deadly mystery.«
    By such a train of argument did Leicester labour to reconcile his conscience
to the prosecution of plans of vengeance, so hastily adopted, and of schemes of
ambition, which had become so woven in with every purpose and action of his
life, that he was incapable of the effort of relinquishing them; until his
revenge appeared to him to wear a face of justice, and even of generous
moderation.
    In this mood the vindictive and ambitious Earl entered the superb precincts
of the Pleasance, then illumined by the full moon. The broad yellow light was
reflected on all sides from the white freestone, of which the pavement,
balustrades, and architectural ornaments of the place, were constructed; and not
a single fleecy cloud was visible in the azure sky, so that the scene was nearly
as light as if the sun had but just left the horizon. The numerous statues of
white marble glimmered in the pale light, like so many sheeted ghosts just
arisen from their sepulchres, and the fountains threw their jets into the air,
as if they sought that their waters should be brightened by the moonbeams, ere
they fell down again upon their basins in showers of sparkling silver. The day
had been sultry, and the gentle night-breeze, which sighed along the terrace of
the Pleasance, raised not a deeper breath than the fan in the hand of youthful
beauty. The bird of summer night had built many a nest in the bowers of the
adjacent garden, and the tenants now indemnified themselves for silence during
the day, by a full chorus of their own unrivalled warblings, now joyous, now
pathetic, now united, now responsive to each other, as if to express their
delight in the placid and delicious scene to which they poured their melody.
    Musing on matters far different from the fall of waters, the gleam of
moonlight, or the song of the nightingale, the stately Leicester walked slowly
from the one end of the terrace to the other, his cloak wrapped around him, and
his sword under his arm, without seeing any thing resembling the human form.
    »I have been fooled by my own generosity,« he said, »if I have suffered the
villain to escape me - ay, and perhaps to go to the rescue of the Adulteress,
who is so poorly guarded.«
    These were his thoughts, which were instantly dispelled, when turning to
look back towards the entrance, he saw a human form advancing slowly from the
portico, and darkening the various objects with its shadow, as passing them
successively, in its approach towards him.
    »Shall I strike ere I again hear his detested voice?« was Leicester's
thought, as he grasped the hilt of the sword. »But no! I will see which way his
vile practice tends. I will watch, disgusting as it is, the coils and mazes of
the loathsome snake, ere I put forth my strength and crush him.«
    His hand quitted the sword-hilt, and he advanced slowly towards Tressilian,
collecting, for their meeting, all the self-possession he could command, until
they came front to front with each other.
    Tressilian made a profound reverence, to which the Earl replied with a
haughty inclination of the head, and the words, »You sought secret conference
with me, sir - I am here and attentive.«
    »My lord,« said Tressilian, »I am so earnest in that which I have to say,
and so desirous to find a patient, nay, a favourable hearing, that I will stoop
to exculpate myself from whatever might prejudice your lordship against me. You
think me your enemy?«
    »Have I not some apparent cause?« answered Leicester, perceiving that
Tressilian paused for a reply.
    »You do me wrong, my lord. I am a friend, but neither a dependant nor
partisan of the Earl of Sussex, whom courtiers call your rival; and it is some
considerable time since I ceased to consider either courts, or court-intrigues,
as suited to my temper or genius.«
    »No doubt, sir,« answered Leicester; »there are other occupations more
worthy a scholar, and for such the world holds Master Tressilian - Love has his
intrigues as well as ambition.«
    »I perceive, my lord,« replied Tressilian, »you give much weight to my early
attachment for the unfortunate young person of whom I am about to speak, and
perhaps think I am prosecuting her cause out of rivalry, more than a sense of
justice.«
    »No matter for my thoughts, sir,« said the Earl; »proceed. You have as yet
spoken of yourself only; an important and worthy subject doubtless, but which,
perhaps, does not altogether so deeply concern me, that I should postpone my
repose to hear it. Spare me farther prelude, sir, and speak to the purpose, if
indeed you have aught to say that concerns me. When you have done, I, in my
turn, have something to communicate.«
    »I will speak, then, without farther prelude, my lord,« answered Tressilian;
»having to say that which, as it concerns your lordship's honour, I am confident
you will not think your time wasted in listening to. I have to request an
account from your lordship of the unhappy Amy Robsart, whose history is too well
known to you. I regret deeply that I did not at once take this course, and make
yourself judge between me and the villain by whom she is injured. My lord, she
extricated herself from an unlawful and most perilous state of confinement,
trusting to the effects of her own remonstrance upon her unworthy husband, and
extorted from me a promise, that I would not interfere in her behalf until she
had used her own efforts to have her rights acknowledged by him.«
    »Ha!« said Leicester, »remember you to whom you speak?«
    »I speak of her unworthy husband, my lord,« repeated Tressilian, »and my
respect can find no softer language. The unhappy young woman is withdrawn from
my knowledge, and sequestered in some secret place of this Castle, - if she be
not transferred to some place of seclusion better fitted for bad designs. This
must be reformed, my lord, - I speak it as authorised by her father, - and this
ill-fated marriage must be avouched and proved in the Queen's presence, and the
lady placed without restraint, and at her own free disposal. And, permit me to
say, it concerns no one's honour that these most just demands of mine should be
complied with, so much as it does that of your lordship.«
    The Earl stood as if he had been petrified, at the extreme coolness with
which the man, whom he considered as having injured him so deeply, pleaded the
cause of his criminal paramour, as if she had been an innocent woman, and he a
disinterested advocate; nor was his wonder lessened by the warmth with which
Tressilian seemed to demand for her the rank and situation which she had
disgraced, and the advantages of which she was doubtless to share with the lover
who advocated her cause with such effrontery. Tressilian had been silent for
more than a minute ere the Earl recovered from the excess of his astonishment;
and, considering the prepossessions with which his mind was occupied, there is
little wonder that his passion gained the mastery of every other consideration.
»I have heard you, Master Tressilian,« said he, »without interruption, and I
bless God that my ears were never before made to tingle by the words of so
frontless a villain. The task of chastising you is fitter for the hangman's
scourge than the sword of a nobleman, but yet, - Villain, draw and defend
thyself!«
    As he spoke the last words, he dropped his mantle on the ground, struck
Tressilian smartly with his sheathed sword, and instantly drawing his rapier,
put himself into a posture of assault. The vehement fury of his language at
first filled Tressilian, in his turn, with surprise equal to what Leicester had
felt when he addressed him. But astonishment gave place to resentment, when the
unmerited insults of his language were followed by a blow, which immediately put
to flight every thought save that of instant combat. Tressilian's sword was
instantly drawn, and though perhaps somewhat inferior to Leicester in the use of
the weapon, he understood it well enough to maintain the contest with great
spirit, the rather that of the two he was for the time the more cool, since he
could not help imputing Leicester's conduct either to actual frenzy, or to the
influence of some strong delusion.
    The reconnoitre had continued for several minutes, without either party
receiving a wound, when, of a sudden, voices were heard beneath the portico,
which formed the entrance of the terrace, mingled with the steps of men
advancing hastily. »We are interrupted,« said Leicester to his antagonist;
»follow me.«
    At the same time a voice from the portico said, »The jackanape is right -
they are tilting here.«
    Leicester, meanwhile, drew off Tressilian into a sort of recess behind one
of the fountains, which served to conceal them, while six of the yeomen of the
Queen's guard passed along the middle walk of the Pleasance, and they could hear
one say to the rest, »We shall never find them to-night among all these
squirting funnels, squirrel-cages, and rabbit-holes; but if we light not on
them, before we reach the farther end, we will return, and mount a guard at the
entrance, and so secure them till morning.«
    »A proper matter,« said another, »the drawing of swords so near the Queen's
presence, ay, and in her very palace, as 'twere! - Hang it, they must be some
poor drunken game-cocks fallen to sparring - 'twere pity almost we should find
them - the penalty is chopping off a hand, is it not? - 'twere hard to lose hand
for handling a bit of steel, that comes so natural to one's gripe.«
    »Thou art a brawler thyself, George,« said another; »but take heed, for the
law stands as thou sayest.«
    »Ay,« said the first, »an the act be not mildly construed; for thou know'st
'tis not the Queen's Palace, but my Lord of Leicester's.«
    »Why, for that matter, the penalty may be as severe,« said another; »for an
our Gracious Mistress be Queen, as she is, God save her, my lord of Leicester is
as good as King.«
    »Hush! thou knave!« said a third; »how knows thou who may be within
hearing?«
    They passed on, making a kind of careless search, but seemingly more intent
on their own conversation than bent on discovering the persons who had created
the nocturnal disturbance.
    They had no sooner passed forward along the terrace, than Leicester, making
a sign to Tressilian to follow him, glided away in an opposite direction, and
escaped through the portico undiscovered. He conducted Tressilian to Mervyn's
Tower, in which he was now again lodged; and then, ere parting with him, said
these words, »If thou hast courage to continue and bring to an end what is thus
broken off, be near me when the court goes forth to-morrow - we shall find a
time, and I will give you a signal when it is fitting.«
    »My lord,« said Tressilian, »at another time I might have inquired the
meaning of this strange and furious inveteracy against me. But you have laid
that on my shoulder, which only blood can wash away; and were you as high as
your proudest wishes ever carried you, I would have from you satisfaction for my
wounded honour.«
    On these terms they parted, but the adventures of the night were not yet
ended with Leicester. He was compelled to pass by Saintlowe's Tower, in order to
gain the private passage which led to his own chamber, and in the entrance
thereof he met Lord Hunsdon half clothed, and with a naked sword under his arm.
    »Are you awakened, too, with this 'larum, my Lord of Leicester?« said the
old soldier. »'Tis well - By gog's nails, the nights are as noisy as the day in
this Castle of yours. Some two hours since I was awakened by the screams of that
poor brain-sick Lady Varney, whom her husband was forcing away. I promise you,
it required both your warrant and the Queen's to keep me from entering into the
game, and cutting that Varney of yours over the head; and now there is a brawl
down in the Pleasance, or what call you the stone terrace-walk, where all yonder
gimcracks stand?«
    The first part of the old man's speech went through the Earl's heart like a
knife; to the last he answered that he himself had heard the clash of swords,
and had come down to take order with those who had been so insolent so near the
Queen's presence.
    »Nay, then,« said Hunsdon, »I will be glad of your lordship's company.«
    Leicester was thus compelled to turn back with the rough old Lord to the
Pleasance, where Hunsdon heard from the yeomen of the guard, who were under his
immediate command, the unsuccessful search they had made for the authors of the
disturbance; and bestowed for their pains some round dozen of curses on them, as
lazy knaves and blind whoresons. Leicester also thought it necessary to seem
angry that no discovery had been effected; but at length suggested to Lord
Hunsdon, that after all it could only be some foolish young men, who had been
drinking healths pottle-deep, and who would be sufficiently scared by the search
which had taken place after them. Hunsdon, who was himself attached to his cup,
allowed that a pint-flagon might cover many of the follies which it had caused.
»But,« added he, »unless your lordship will be less liberal in your
housekeeping, and restrain the overflow of ale, and wine, and wassail, I foresee
it will end in my having some of these good fellows into the guard-house, and
treating them to a dose of the strappado - And with this warning, good-night to
you.«
    Joyful at being rid of his company, Leicester took leave of him at the
entrance of his lodging, where they had first met, and entering the private
passage, took up the lamp which he had left there, and by its expiring light
found the way to his own apartment.
 

                              Chapter Thirty-Ninth

 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.
                                                    Masque of Owls - Ben Jonson.
 
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
clergyman 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 despatch of business, the
proposal, although opposed by some of the stricter sort, found favour in the
eyes of Elizabeth, who said that such toys occupied, without offence, the minds
of many, who, lacking them, might find worse subjects of pastime; and that their
pastors, however commendable for learning and godliness, were somewhat too sour
in preaching against the pastimes of their flocks; and so the pageant was
permitted to proceed.
    Accordingly, after a morning repast, which Master Laneham calls an ambrosial
breakfast, the principal persons of the court in attendance upon her Majesty,
pressed to the Gallery Tower to witness the approach of the two contending
parties of English and Danes; and after a signal had been given, the gate which
opened in the circuit of the Chase was thrown wide to admit them. On they came,
foot and horse; for some of the more ambitious burghers and yeomen had put
themselves into fantastic dresses, imitating knights, in order to resemble the
chivalry of the two different nations. However, to prevent fatal accidents, they
were not permitted to appear on real horses, but had only license to accoutre
themselves with those hobbyhorses, as they are called, which anciently formed
the chief delight of a morrice-dance, and which still are exhibited on the
stage, in the grand battle fought at the conclusion of Mr. Bayes's tragedy. The
infantry followed in similar disguises. The whole exhibition was to be
considered as a sort of anti-masque, or burlesque of the more stately pageants,
in which the nobility and gentry bore part in the show, and, to the best of
their knowledge, imitated with accuracy the personages whom they represented.
The Hocktide play was of a different character, the actors being persons of
inferior degree, and their habits the better fitted for the occasion, the more
incongruous and ridiculous that they were in themselves. Accordingly their
array, which the progress of our tale allows us no time to describe, was
ludicrous enough, and their weapons, though sufficiently formidable to deal
sound blows, were long alder-poles instead of lances, and sound cudgels for
swords; and for fence, both cavalry and infantry were well equipped with stout
headpieces and targets, both made of thick leather.
    Captain Coxe, that celebrated humorist of Coventry, whose library of
ballads, almanacs, and penny histories, fairly wrapped up in parchment, and tied
round for security with a piece of whipcord, remains still the envy of
antiquaries, being himself the ingenious person under whose direction the
pageant had been set forth, rode valiantly on his hobbyhorse 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
hobbyhorse. 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 antagonists should be fairly prepared for the onset.
    This was no long interval; for the Danish cavalry and infantry, no way
inferior to the English in number, valour, and equipment, instantly arrived,
with the northern bagpipe blowing before them in token of their country, and
headed by a cunning master of defence, only inferior to the renowned Captain
Coxe, if to him, in the discipline of war. The Danes, as invaders, took their
station under the Gallery Tower, and opposite to that of Mortimer; and, when
their arrangements were completely made, a signal was given for the encounter.
    Their first charge upon each other, was rather moderate, for either party
had some dread of being forced into the lake. But as reinforcements came up on
either side, the encounter grew from a skirmish into a blazing battle. They
rushed upon one another, as Master Laneham testifies, like rams inflamed by
jealousy, with such furious encounter, that both parties were often overthrown,
and the clubs and targets made a most horrible clatter. In many instances that
happened which had been dreaded by the more experienced warriors, who began the
day of strife. The rails which defended the ledges of the bridge had been,
perhaps on purpose, left but slightly fastened, and gave way under the pressure
of those who thronged to the combat, so that the hot courage of many of the
combatants received a sufficient cooling. These incidents might have occasioned
more serious damage than became such an affray, for many of the champions who
met with this mischance could not swim, and those who could were encumbered with
their suits of leathern and paper armour; but the case had been provided for,
and there were several boats in readiness to pick up the unfortunate warriors,
and convey them to the dry land, where, dripping and dejected, they comforted
themselves with the hot ale and strong waters which were liberally allowed to
them, without showing any desire to re-enter so desperate a conflict.
    Captain Coxe alone, that paragon of Black-Letter Antiquaries, after twice
experiencing, horse and man, the perilous leap from the bridge into the lake,
equal to any extremity to which the favourite heroes of chivalry, whose exploits
he studied in an abridged form, whether Amadis, Belianis, Bevis, or his own Guy
of Warwick, had ever been subjected to - Captain Coxe, we repeat, did alone,
after two such mischances, rush again into the heat of conflict, his bases, and
the foot-cloth of his hobbyhorse 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 hobbyhorse.
    These rough rural gambols may not altogether agree with the reader's
preconceived idea of an entertainment presented before Elizabeth, in whose reign
letters revived with such brilliancy, and whose court, governed by a female,
whose sense of propriety was equal to her strength of mind, was no less
distinguished for delicacy and refinement than her councils for wisdom and
fortitude. But whether from the political wish to seem interested in popular
sports, or whether from a spark of old Henry's rough masculine spirit, which
Elizabeth sometimes displayed, it is certain the Queen laughed heartily at the
imitation, or rather burlesque of chivalry, which was presented in the Coventry
play. She called near her person the Earl of Sussex and Lord Hunsdon, partly
perhaps to make amends to the former for the long and private audiences with
which she had indulged the Earl of Leicester, by engaging him in conversation
upon a pastime, which better suited his taste than those pageants that were
furnished forth from the stores of antiquity. The disposition which the Queen
showed to laugh and jest with her military leaders, gave the Earl of Leicester
the opportunity he had been watching for withdrawing from the royal presence,
which to the court around, so well had he chosen his time, had the graceful
appearance of leaving his rival free access to the Queen's person, instead of
availing himself of his right as her landlord, to stand perpetually betwixt
others and the light of her countenance.
    Leicester's thoughts, however, had a far different object from mere
courtesy; for no sooner did he see the Queen fairly engaged in conversation with
Sussex and Hunsdon, behind whose back stood Sir Nicholas Blount, grinning from
ear to ear at each word which was spoken, than, making a sign to Tressilian,
who, according to appointment, watched his motions at a little distance, he
extricated himself from the press, and walking towards the Chase, made his way
through the crowds of ordinary spectators, who, with open mouth, stood gazing on
the battle of the English and the Danes. When he had accomplished this, which
was a work of some difficulty, he shot another glance behind him to see that
Tressilian had been equally successful, and as soon as he saw him also free from
the crowd, he led the way to a small thicket, behind which stood a lackey, with
two horses ready saddled. He flung himself on the one, and made signs to
Tressilian to mount the other, who obeyed without speaking a single word.
    Leicester then spurred his horse, and galloped without stopping until he
reached a sequestered spot, environed by lofty oaks, about a mile's distance
from the Castle, and in an opposite direction from the scene to which curiosity
was drawing every spectator. He there dismounted, bound his horse to a tree, and
only pronouncing the words, »Here there is no risk of interruption,« laid his
cloak across his saddle, and drew his sword.
    Tressilian imitated his example punctually, yet could not forbear saying, as
he drew his weapon, »My lord, as I have been known to many as one who does not
fear death, when placed in balance with honour, methinks I may, without
derogation, ask, wherefore, in the name of all that is honourable, your lordship
has dared to offer me such a mark of disgrace, as places us on these terms with
respect to each other?«
    »If you like not such marks of my scorn,« replied the Earl, »betake yourself
instantly to your weapon, lest I repeat the usage you complain of.«
    »It shall not need, my lord,« said Tressilian. »God judge betwixt us! and
your blood, if you fall, be on your own head.«
    He had scarce completed the sentence when they instantly closed in combat.
    But Leicester, who was a perfect master of defence among all other exterior
accomplishments of the time, had seen, on the preceding night, enough of
Tressilian's strength and skill, to make him fight with more caution than
heretofore, and prefer a secure revenge to a hasty one. For some minutes they
fought with equal skill and fortune, till, in a desperate lounge which Leicester
successfully put aside, Tressilian exposed himself at disadvantage; and, in a
subsequent attempt to close, the Earl forced his sword from his hand, and
stretched him on the ground. With a grim smile he held the point of his rapier
within two inches of the throat of his fallen adversary, and placing his foot at
the same time upon his breast, bid him confess his villainous wrongs towards him,
and prepare for death.
    »I have no villainy nor wrong towards thee to confess,« answered Tressilian,
»and am better prepared for death than thou. Use thine advantage as thou wilt,
and may God forgive you! I have given you no cause for this.«
    »No cause!« exclaimed the Earl, »no cause! - but why parley with such a
slave? - Die a liar, as thou hast lived!«
    He had withdrawn his arm for the purpose of striking the fatal blow, when it
was suddenly seized from behind.
    The Earl turned in wrath to shake off the unexpected obstacle, but was
surprised to find that a strange-looking boy had hold of his sword-arm, and
clung to it with such tenacity of grasp, that he could not shake him 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.
    »Stand up, and let me go,« said Leicester, »or by Heaven, I will pierce thee
with my rapier! - What hast thou to do to bar my way to revenge?«
    »Much - much!« exclaimed the undaunted boy; »since my folly has been the
cause of these bloody quarrels between you, and perchance of worse evils. Oh, if
you would ever again enjoy the peace of an innocent mind, if you hope again to
sleep in peace and unhaunted by remorse, take so much leisure as to peruse this
letter, and then do as you list.«
    While he spoke in this eager and earnest manner, to which his singular
features and voice gave a goblin-like effect, he held up to Leicester a packet,
secured with a long tress of woman's hair, of a beautiful light brown colour.
Enraged as he was, nay, almost blinded with fury to see his destined revenge so
strangely frustrated, the Earl of Leicester could not resist this extraordinary
supplicant. He snatched the letter from his hand - changed colour as he looked
on the superscription - undid, with faltering hand, the knot which secured it -
glanced over the contents, and staggering back, would have fallen, had he not
rested against the trunk of a tree, where he stood for an instant, his eyes bent
on the letter, and his sword-point turned to the ground, without seeming to be
conscious of the presence of an antagonist, towards whom he had shown little
mercy, and who might in turn have taken him at advantage. But for such revenge
Tressilian was too noble-minded - he also stood still in surprise, waiting the
issue of this strange fit of passion, but holding his weapon ready to defend
himself in case of need, against some new and sudden attack on the part of
Leicester, whom he again suspected to be under the influence of actual frenzy.
The boy, indeed, he easily recognised as his old acquaintance Dickon, whose
face, once seen, was scarcely to be forgotten; but how he came hither at so
critical a moment, why his interference was so energetic, and above all, how it
came to produce so powerful an effect upon Leicester, were questions which he
could not solve.
    But the letter was of itself powerful enough to work effects yet more
wonderful. It was that which the unfortunate Amy had written to her husband, in
which she alleged the reasons and manner of her flight from Cumnor Place,
informed him of her having made her way to Kenilworth to enjoy his protection,
and mentioned the circumstances which had compelled her to take refuge in
Tressilian's apartment, earnestly requesting he would, without delay, assign her
a more suitable asylum. The letter concluded with the most earnest expressions
of devoted attachment, and submission to his will in all things, and
particularly respecting her situation and place of residence, conjuring him only
that she might not be placed under the guardianship or restraint of Varney.
    The letter dropped from Leicester's hand when he had perused it. »Take my
sword,« he said, »Tressilian, and pierce my heart, as I would but now have
pierced yours!«
    »My lord,« said Tressilian, »you have done me great wrong; but something
within my breast ever whispered that it was by egregious error.«
    »Error, indeed!« said Leicester, and handed him the letter; »I have been
made to believe a man of honour a villain, and the best and purest of creatures
a false profligate. - Wretched boy, why comes this letter now, and where has the
bearer lingered?«
    »I dare not tell you, my lord,« said the boy, withdrawing, as if to keep
beyond his reach; - »but here comes one who was the messenger.«
    Wayland at the same moment came up; and, interrogated by Leicester, hastily
detailed all the circumstances of his escape with Amy, - the fatal practices
which had driven her to flight, - and her anxious desire to throw herself under
the instant protection of her husband, - pointing out the evidence of the
domestics of Kenilworth, »who could not,« he observed, »but remember her eager
inquiries after the Earl of Leicester on her first arrival.«
    »The villains!« exclaimed Leicester; »but oh, that worst of villains,
Varney! - and she is even now in his power!«
    »But not, I trust in God,« said Tressilian, »with any commands of fatal
import?«
    »No, no, no!« exclaimed the Earl, hastily. - »I said something in madness -
but it was recalled, fully recalled, by a hasty messenger; and she is now - she
must now be safe.«
    »Yes,« said Tressilian, »she must be safe, and I must be assured of her
safety. My own quarrel with you is ended, my lord; but there is another to begin
with the seducer of Amy Robsart, who has screened his guilt under the cloak of
the infamous Varney.«
    »The seducer of Amy!« replied Leicester, with a voice like thunder; »say her
husband! - her misguided, blinded, most unworthy husband! - She is as surely
Countess of Leicester as I am belted Earl. Nor can you, sir, point out that
manner of justice which I will not render her at my own free will. I need scarce
say, I fear not your compulsion.«
    The generous nature of Tressilian was instantly turned from consideration of
anything personal to himself, and centred at once upon Amy's welfare. He had by
no means undoubting confidence in the fluctuating resolutions of Leicester,
whose mind seemed to him agitated beyond the government of calm reason; neither
did he, notwithstanding the assurances he had received, think Amy safe in the
hands of his dependants. »My lord,« he said calmly, »I mean you no offence, and
am far from seeking a quarrel. But my duty to Sir Hugh Robsart compels me to
carry this matter instantly to the Queen, that the Countess's rank may be
acknowledged in her person.«
    »You shall not need, sir,« replied the Earl haughtily; »do not dare to
interfere. No voice but Dudley's shall proclaim Dudley's infamy - to Elizabeth
herself will I tell it, and then for Cumnor Place with the speed of life and
death!«
    So saying, he unbound his horse from the tree, threw himself into the
saddle, and rode at full gallop towards the Castle.
    »Take me before you, Master Tressilian,« said the boy, seeing Tressilian
mount in the same haste - »my tale is not all told out, and I need your
protection.«
    Tressilian complied, and followed the Earl, though at a less furious rate.
By the way the boy confessed, with much contrition, that in resentment at
Wayland's evading all his inquiries concerning the lady, after Dickon conceived
he had in various ways merited his confidence, he had purloined from him in
revenge the letter with which Amy had entrusted him for the Earl of Leicester.
His purpose was to have restored it to him that evening, as he reckoned himself
sure of meeting with him, in consequence of Wayland's having to perform the part
of Arion in the pageant. He was indeed something alarmed when he saw to whom the
letter was addressed; but he argued that, as Leicester did not return to
Kenilworth until that evening, it would be again in the possession of the proper
messenger, as soon as, in the nature of things, it could possibly be delivered.
But Wayland came not to the pageant, having been in the interim expelled by
Lambourne from the Castle, and the boy not being able to find him, or to get
speech of Tressilian, and finding himself in possession of a letter addressed to
no less a person than the Earl of Leicester, became much afraid of the
consequences of his frolic. The caution, and indeed the alarm, which Wayland had
expressed respecting Varney and Lambourne, led him to judge, that the letter
must be designed for the Earl's own hand, and that he might prejudice the lady
by giving it to any of the domestics. He made an attempt or two to obtain an
audience of Leicester, but the singularity of his features, and the meanness of
his appearance, occasioned his being always repulsed by the insolent menials
whom he applied to for that purpose. Once, indeed, he had nearly succeeded,
when, in prowling about, he found in the grotto the casket which he knew to
belong to the unlucky Countess, having seen it on her journey; for nothing
escaped his prying eye. Having strove 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 recognise him in his disguise.
    At length the boy thought he was on the point of succeeding, when the Earl
came down to the lower part of the hall; but just as he was about to accost him,
he was prevented by Tressilian. As sharp in ear as in wit, the boy heard the
appointment settled betwixt them, to take place in the Pleasance, and resolved
to add a third to the party, in hopes that, either in coming or in 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 recognised Wayland in the crowd, much disguised,
indeed, but not sufficiently so to escape the prying glance of his old comrade.
They drew aside out of the crowd to explain their situation to each other. The
boy confessed to Wayland what we have above told, and the artist in return,
informed him that his deep anxiety for the fate of the unfortunate lady had
brought him back to the neighbourhood of the Castle, upon his learning that
morning at a village about ten miles distant that Varney and Lambourne, whose
violence he dreaded, had both left Kenilworth over-night.
    While they spoke, they saw Leicester and Tressilian separate themselves from
the crowd, dogged them until they mounted their horses, when the boy, whose
speed of foot has been before mentioned, though he could not possibly keep up
with them, yet arrived, as we have seen, soon enough to save Tressilian's life.
The boy had just finished his tale when they arrived at the Gallery Tower.
 

                                Chapter Fortieth

 High o'er the eastern steep the sun is beaming,
 And darkness flies with her deceitful shadows; -
 So truth prevails o'er falsehood.
                                                                       Old Play.
 
As Tressilian rode along the bridge, lately the scene of so much riotous sport,
he could not but observe that men's countenances had singularly changed during
the space of his brief absence. The mock fight was over, but the men, still
habited in their masquing suits, stood together in groups, like the inhabitants
of a city who have been just startled by some strange and alarming news.
    When he reached the base-court, appearances were the same - domestics,
retainers, and under officers, stood together and whispered, bending their eyes
towards the windows of the great hall with looks which seemed at once alarmed
and mysterious.
    Sir Nicholas Blount was the first person of his own particular acquaintance
Tressilian saw, who left him no time to make inquiries, but greeted him with,
»God help thy heart, Tressilian, thou art fitter for a clown than a courtier -
thou canst not attend as becomes one who follows her Majesty. - Here you are
called for, wished for, waited for - no man but you will serve the turn; and
thither you come with a misbegotten brat on thy horse's neck, as if thou wert
dry nurse to some sucking devil, and wert just returned from airing.«
    »Why, what is the matter?« said Tressilian, letting go the boy, who sprung
to ground like a feather, and himself dismounting at the same time.
    »Why, no one knows the matter,« replied Blount; »I cannot smell it out
myself, though I have a nose like other courtiers. Only my Lord of Leicester has
galloped along the bridge, as if he would have rode over all in his passage,
demanding an audience of the Queen, and is closeted even now with her, and
Burleigh, and Walsingham - and you are called for - but whether the matter be
treason or worse no one knows.«
    »He speaks true, by Heaven!« said Raleigh, who that instant appeared; »you
must immediately to the Queen's presence.«
    »Be not rash, Raleigh,« said Blount, »remember his boots - For Heaven's
sake, go to my chamber, dear Tressilian, and don my new bloom-coloured silken
hose - I have worn them but twice.«
    »Pshaw!« answered Tressilian; »do thou take care of this boy, Blount; be
kind to him, and look he escapes you not - much depends on him.«
    So saying, he followed Raleigh hastily, leaving honest Blount with the
bridle of his horse in one hand, and the boy in the other. Blount gave a long
look after him.
    »Nobody,« he said, »calls me to these mysteries - and he leaves me here to
play horse-keeper and child-keeper at once. I could excuse the one, for I love a
good horse naturally; but to be plagued with a bratchet whelp. - Whence come ye,
my fair-favoured little gossip?«
    »From the Fens,« answered the boy.
    »And what didst thou learn there, forward imp?«
    »To catch gulls, with their webbed feet and yellow stockings,« said the boy.
    »Umph!« said Blount, looking down on his own immense roses - »Nay, then the
devil take him asks thee more questions.«
    Meantime Tressilian traversed the full length of the great hall, in which
the astonished courtiers formed various groups, and were whispering mysteriously
together, while all kept their eyes fixed on the door, which led from the upper
end of the hall into the Queen's withdrawing apartment. Raleigh pointed to the
door - Tressilian knocked, and was instantly admitted. Many a neck was stretched
to gain a view into the interior of the apartment; but the tapestry which
covered the door on the inside was dropped too suddenly to admit the slightest
gratification of curiosity.
    Upon entrance, Tressilian found himself, not without a strong palpitation of
heart, in the presence of Elizabeth, who was walking to and fro in a violent
agitation, which she seemed to scorn to conceal, while two or three of her most
sage and confidential counsellors exchanged anxious looks with each other, but
delayed speaking till her wrath had abated. Before the empty chair of state in
which she had been seated, and which was half pushed aside by the violence with
which she had started from it, knelt Leicester, his arms crossed, and his brows
bent on the ground, still and motionless as the effigies upon a sepulchre.
Beside him stood the Lord Shrewsbury, then Earl Marshal of England, holding his
baton of office - the Earl's sword was unbuckled, and lay before him on the
floor.
    »Ho, sir!« said the Queen, coming close up to Tressilian, and stamping on
the floor with the action and manner of Henry himself; »you knew of this fair
work - you are an accomplice in this deception which has been practised on us -
you have been a main cause of our doing injustice?« Tressilian dropped on his
knee before the Queen, his sense showing him the risk of attempting any defence
at that moment of irritation. »Art dumb, sirrah!« she continued; »thou know'st
of this affair, dost thou not?«
    »Not, gracious madam, that this poor lady was Countess of Leicester.«
    »Nor shall any one know her for such,« said Elizabeth. »Death of my life!
Countess of Leicester! - I say Dame Amy Dudley - and well if she hath not cause
to write herself widow of the traitor Robert Dudley.«
    »Madam,« said Leicester, »do with me what it may be your will to do - but
work no injury on this gentleman - he hath in no way deserved it.«
    »And will he be the better for thy intercession,« said the Queen, leaving
Tressilian, who slowly arose, and rushing to Leicester, who continued kneeling -
»the better for thy intercession, thou doubly false - thou doubly forsworn? - of
thy intercession, whose villainy hath made me ridiculous to my subjects, and
odious to myself? - I could tear out mine eyes for their blindness!«
    Burleigh here ventured to interpose.
    »Madam,« he said, »remember that you are a Queen - Queen of England - mother
of your people. Give not way to this wild storm of passion.«
    Elizabeth turned round to him, while a tear actually twinkled in her proud
and angry eye. »Burleigh,« she said, »thou art a statesman - thou dost not, thou
canst not, comprehend half the scorn - half the misery, that man has poured on
me!«
    With the utmost caution - with the deepest reverence, Burleigh took her hand
at the moment he saw her heart was at the fullest, and led her aside to an oriel
window, apart from the others.
    »Madam,« he said, »I am a statesman, but I am also a man - a man already
grown old in your councils, who have not, and cannot have a wish on earth but
your glory and happiness - I pray you to be composed.«
    »Ah, Burleigh,« said Elizabeth, »thou little knows« - here her tears fell
over her cheeks in despite of her.
    »I do - I do know, my honoured sovereign. Oh, beware that you lead not
others to guess that which they know not!«
    »Ha!« said Elizabeth, pausing as if a new train of thought had suddenly shot
across her brain. »Burleigh, thou art right - thou art right - anything but
disgrace - anything but a confession of weakness - anything rather than seem the
cheated - slighted - 'Sdeath! to think on it is distraction!«
    »Be but yourself, my Queen,« said Burleigh; »and soar far above a weakness
which no Englishman will ever believe his Elizabeth could have entertained,
unless the violence of her disappointment carries a sad conviction to his
bosom.«
    »What weakness, my lord?« said Elizabeth, haughtily; »would you too
insinuate that the favour in which I held yonder proud traitor, derived its
source from aught« - But here she could no longer sustain the proud tone which
she had assumed, and again softened as she said, »But why should I strive to
deceive even thee, my good and wise servant!«
    Burleigh stooped to kiss her hand with affection, and - rare in the annals
of courts - a tear of true sympathy dropped from the eye of the minister on the
hand of his Sovereign.
    It is probable that the consciousness of possessing this sympathy, aided
Elizabeth in supporting her mortification, and suppressing her extreme
resentment; but she was still more moved by fear that her passion should betray
to the public the affront and the disappointment, which, alike as a woman and a
Queen, she was so anxious to conceal. She turned from Burleigh, and sternly
paced the hall till her features had recovered their usual dignity, and her mien
its wonted stateliness of regular motion.
    »Our Sovereign is her noble self once more,« whispered Burleigh to
Walsingham; »mark what she does, and take heed you thwart her not.«
    She then approached Leicester, and said, with calmness, »My Lord Shrewsbury,
we discharge you of your prisoner. My Lord of Leicester, rise and take up your
sword - a quarter of an hour's restraint, under the custody of our Marshal, my
lord, is, we think, no high penance for months of falsehood practised upon us.
We will now hear the progress of this affair.« - She then seated herself in her
chair, and said, »You, Tressilian, step forward, and say what you know.«
    Tressilian told his story, generously suppressing as much as he could what
affected Leicester, and saying nothing of their having twice actually fought
together. It is very probable that, in doing so, he did the Earl good service;
for had the Queen at that instant found anything on account of which she could
vent her wrath upon him without laying open sentiments of which she was ashamed,
it might have fared hard with him. She paused when Tressilian had finished his
tale.
    »We will take that Wayland,« she said, »into our own service, and place the
boy in our Secretary-office for instruction, that he may in future use
discretion towards letters. For you, Tressilian, you did wrong in not
communicating the whole truth to us, and your promise not to do so was both
imprudent and undutiful. Yet, having given your word to this unhappy lady, it
was the part of a man and a gentleman to keep it; and on the whole, we esteem
you for the character you have sustained in this matter. - My Lord of Leicester,
it is now your turn to tell us the truth, an exercise to which you seem of late
to have been too much a stranger.«
    Accordingly, she extorted, by successive questions, the whole history of his
first acquaintance with Amy Robsart - their marriage - his jealousy - the causes
on which it was founded, and many particulars besides. Leicester's confession,
for such it might be called, was wrenched from him piecemeal, yet was upon the
whole accurate, excepting that he totally omitted to mention that he had, by
implication, or otherwise, assented to Varney's designs upon the life of his
Countess. Yet the consciousness of this was what at that moment lay nearest to
his heart; and although he trusted in great measure to the very positive
counter-orders which he had sent by Lambourne, it was his purpose to set out for
Cumnor Place, in person, as soon as he should be dismissed from the presence of
the Queen, who, he concluded, would presently leave Kenilworth.
    But the Earl reckoned without his host. It is true, his presence and his
communications were gall and wormwood to his once partial mistress. But, barred
from every other and more direct mode of revenge, the Queen perceived that she
gave her false suitor torture by these inquiries, and dwelt on them for that
reason, no more regarding the pain which she herself experienced, than the
savage cares for the searing of his own hands by grasping the hot pincers with
which he tears the flesh of his captive enemy.
    At length, however, the haughty lord, like a deer that turns to bay, gave
intimation that his patience was failing. »Madam,« he said, »I have been much to
blame - more than even your just resentment has expressed. Yet, madam, let me
say, that my guilt, if it be unpardonable, was not unprovoked; and that, if
beauty and condescending dignity could seduce the frail heart of a human being,
I might plead both, as the causes of my concealing this secret from your
Majesty.«
    The Queen was so much struck with this reply, which Leicester took care
should be heard by no one but herself, that she was for the moment silenced, and
the Earl had the temerity to pursue his advantage. »Your Grace, who has pardoned
so much, will excuse my throwing myself on your royal mercy for those
expressions, which were yester-morning accounted but a light offence.«
    The Queen fixed her eyes on him while she replied, »Now, by Heaven, my lord,
thy effrontery passes the bounds of belief, as well as patience! But it shall
avail thee nothing. - What, ho! my lords, come all and hear the news - My Lord
of Leicester's stolen marriage has cost me a husband, and England a King. His
lordship is patriarchal in his tastes - one wife at a time was insufficient, and
he designed us the honour of his left hand. Now, is not this too insolent, -
that I could not grace him with a few marks of court-favour, but he must presume
to think my hand and crown at his disposal? - You, however, think better of me;
and I can pity this ambitious man, as I could a child, whose bubble of soap has
burst between his hands. We go to the presence-chamber - My Lord of Leicester,
we command your close attendance on us.«
    All was eager expectation in the hall, and what was the universal
astonishment, when the Queen said to those next her, »The revels of Kenilworth
are not yet exhausted, my lords and ladies - we are to solemnise the noble
owner's marriage.«
    There was a universal expression of surprise.
    »It is true, on our royal word,« said the Queen; »he hath kept this a secret
even from us, that he might surprise us with it at this very place and time. I
see you are dying of curiosity to know the happy bride - It is Amy Robsart, the
same who, to make up the May-game yesterday, figured in the pageant as the wife
of his servant Varney.«
    »For God's sake, madam,« said the Earl, approaching her with a mixture of
humility, vexation, and shame in his countenance, and speaking so low as to be
heard by no one else, »take my head, as you threatened in your anger, and spare
me these taunts! Urge not a falling man - tread not on a crushed worm.«
    »A worm, my lord,« said the Queen, in the same tone; »nay, a snake is the
nobler reptile, and the more exact similitude - the frozen snake you wot of,
which was warmed in a certain bosom« -
    »For your own sake - for mine, madam,« said the Earl - »while there is yet
some reason left in me« -
    »Speak aloud, my lord,« said Elizabeth, »and at farther distance, so please
you - your breath thaws our ruff. What have you to ask of us?«
    »Permission,« said the unfortunate Earl, humbly, »to travel to Cumnor
Place.«
    »To fetch home your bride belike? - Why, ay, - that is but right - for, as
we have heard, she is indifferently cared for there. But, my lord, you go not in
person - we have counted upon passing certain days in this Castle of Kenilworth,
and it were slight courtesy to leave us without a landlord during our residence
here. Under your favour, we cannot think to incur such disgrace in the eyes of
our subjects. Tressilian shall go to Cumnor Place instead of you, and with him
some gentleman who hath been sworn of our chamber, lest my Lord of Leicester
should be again jealous of his old rival. - Whom wouldst thou have to be in
commission with thee, Tressilian?«
    Tressilian, with humble deference, suggested the name of Raleigh.
    »Why, ay,« said the Queen; »so God ha' me, thou hast made a good choice. He
is a young knight besides, and to deliver a lady from prison is an appropriate
first adventure. - Cumnor Place is little better than a prison, you are to know,
my lords and ladies. - Besides, there are certain faitours there whom we would
willingly have in fast keeping. You will furnish them, Master Secretary, with
the warrant necessary to secure the bodies of Richard Varney and the foreign
Alasco, dead or alive. Take a sufficient force with you, gentlemen - bring the
lady here in all honour - lose no time, and God be with you!«
    They bowed and left the presence.
    Who shall describe how the rest of that day was spent at Kenilworth? The
Queen, who seemed to have remained there for the sole purpose of mortifying and
taunting the Earl of Leicester, showed herself as skilful in that female art of
vengeance, as she was in the science of wisely governing her people. The train
of state soon caught the signal, and, as he walked among his own splendid
preparations, the Lord of Kenilworth, in his own Castle, already experienced the
lot of a disgraced courtier, in the slight regard and cold manners of alienated
friends, and the ill-concealed triumph of avowed and open enemies. Sussex, from
his natural military frankness of disposition, Burleigh and Walsingham, from
their penetrating and prospective sagacity, and some of the ladies, from the
compassion of their sex, were the only persons in the crowded court who retained
towards him the countenance they had borne in the morning.
    So much had Leicester been accustomed to consider court-favour as the
principal object of his life, that all other sensations were, for the time, lost
in the agony which his haughty spirit felt at the succession of petty insults
and studied neglects to which he had been subjected; but when he retired to his
own chamber for the night, that long fair tress of hair which had once secured
Amy's letter, fell under his observation, and with the influence of a
counter-charm, awakened his heart to nobler and more natural feelings. He kissed
it a thousand times; and while he recollected that he had it always in his power
to shun the mortifications which he had that day undergone, by retiring into a
dignified and even prince-like seclusion, with the beautiful and beloved partner
of his future life, he felt that he could rise above the revenge which Elizabeth
had condescended to take.
    Accordingly, on the following day, the whole conduct of the Earl displayed
so much dignified equanimity; he seemed so solicitous about the accommodations
and amusements of his guests, yet so indifferent to their personal demeanour
towards him; so respectfully distant to the Queen, yet so patient of her
harassing displeasure, that Elizabeth changed her manner to him, and, though
cold and distant, ceased to offer him any direct affront. She intimated also
with some sharpness to others around her, who thought they were consulting her
pleasure in showing a neglectful conduct to the Earl, that while they remained
at Kenilworth, they ought to show the civility due from guests to the Lord of
the Castle. In short, matters were so far changed in twenty-four hours, that
some of the more experienced and sagacious courtiers foresaw a strong
possibility of Leicester's restoration to favour, and regulated their demeanour
towards him, as those who might one day claim merit for not having deserted him
in adversity. It is time, however, to leave these intrigues, and follow
Tressilian and Raleigh on their journey.
    The troop consisted of six persons; for, besides Wayland, they had in
company a royal pursuivant and two stout serving-men. All were well armed, and
travelled as fast as it was possible with justice to their horses, which had a
long journey before them. They endeavoured to procure some tidings as they rode
along of Varney and his party, but could hear none, as they had travelled in the
dark. At a small village about twelve miles from Kenilworth, where they gave
some refreshment to their horses, a poor clergyman, the curate of the place,
came out of a small cottage, and entreated any of the company who might know
aught of surgery, to look in for an instant on a dying man.
    The empiric Wayland undertook to do his best, and as the curate conducted
him to the spot, he learned that the man had been found on the high road 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
broil or from robbers they could not learn, as he was in a fever, and spoke
nothing connectedly. Wayland entered the dark and lowly apartment, and no sooner
had the curate drawn aside the curtain, than he knew in the distorted features
of the patient the countenance of Michael Lambourne. Under pretence of seeking
something which he wanted, Wayland hastily apprised his fellow-travellers of
this extraordinary circumstance; and both Tressilian and Raleigh, full of boding
apprehensions, hastened to the curate's house to see the dying man.
    The wretch was by this time in the agonies of death, from which a much
better surgeon than Wayland could not have rescued him, for the bullet had
passed clear through his body. He was sensible, however, at least in part, for
he knew Tressilian, and made signs that he wished him to stoop over his bed.
Tressilian did so, and after some inarticulate murmurs, in which the names of
Varney and Lady Leicester were alone distinguishable, Lambourne bade him »make
haste, or he would come too late.« It was in vain Tressilian urged the patient
for farther 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 their utmost speed, pressing horses in the Queen's name, when those
which they rode became unfit for service.
 

                              Chapter Forty-First

 The death-bell thrice was heard to ring,
 An aerial voice was heard to call,
 And thrice the raven flapp'd its wing
 Around the towers of Cumnor Hall.
                                                                         Mickle.
 
We are now to return to that part of our story where we intimated that Varney,
possessed of the authority of the Earl of Leicester, and of the Queen's
permission to the same effect, hastened to secure himself against discovery of
his perfidy, by removing the Countess from Kenilworth Castle. He had proposed to
set forth early in the morning, but reflecting that the Earl might relent in the
interim, and seek another interview with the Countess he resolved to prevent, by
immediate departure, all chance of what would probably have ended in his
detection and ruin. For this purpose he called for Lambourne, and was
exceedingly incensed to find that his trusty attendant was abroad on some ramble
in the neighbouring village, or elsewhere. As his return was expected, Sir
Richard commanded that he should prepare himself for attending him on an
immediate journey, and follow him in case he returned after his departure.
    In the meanwhile, Varney used the ministry of a servant called Robin Tider,
one to whom the mysteries of Cumnor Place were already in some degree known, as
he had been there more than once in attendance on the Earl. To this man, whose
character resembled that of Lambourne, though he was neither quite so prompt nor
altogether so profligate, Varney gave command to have three horses saddled, and
to prepare a horse-litter, and have them in readiness at the postern-gate. The
natural enough excuse of his lady's insanity, which was now universally
believed, accounted for the secrecy with which she was to be removed from the
Castle, and he reckoned on the same apology in case the unfortunate Amy's
resistance or screams should render such necessary. The agency of Anthony Foster
was indispensable, and that Varney now went to secure.
    This person, naturally of a sour unsocial disposition, and somewhat tired,
besides, with his journey from Cumnor to Warwickshire, in order to bring the
news of the Countess's escape, had early extricated himself from the crowd of
wassailers, and betaken himself to his chamber, where he lay asleep, when
Varney, completely equipped for travelling, and with a dark lantern in his hand,
entered his apartment. He paused an instant to listen to what his associate was
murmuring in his sleep, and could plainly distinguish, the words, »Ave Maria -
ora pro nobis - No - it runs not so - deliver us from evil - Ay, so it goes.«
    »Praying in his sleep,« said Varney; »and confounding his old and new
devotions - He must have more need of prayer ere I am done with him. - What ho!
holy man - most blessed penitent! - Awake - awake! - The devil has not
discharged you from service yet.«
    As Varney at the same time shook the sleeper by the arm, it changed the
current of his ideas, and he roared out, »Thieves! - thieves! I will die in
defence of my gold - my hard-won gold, that has cost me so dear. - Where is
Janet! - Is Janet safe?«
    »Safe enough, thou bellowing fool!« said Varney; »art thou not ashamed of
thy clamour?«
    Foster by this time was broad awake, and, sitting up in his bed, asked
Varney the meaning of so untimely a visit. »It augurs nothing good,« he added.
    »A false prophecy, most sainted Anthony,« returned Varney; »it augurs that
the hour is come for converting thy leasehold into copyhold - What sayest thou
to that?«
    »Hadst thou told me this in broad day,« said Foster, »I had rejoiced - but
at this dead hour, and by this dim light, and looking on thy pale face, which is
a ghastly contradiction to thy light words, I cannot but rather think of the
work that is to be done, than the guerdon to be gained by it.«
    »Why, thou fool, it is but to escort thy charge back to Cumnor Place.«
    »Is that indeed all?« said Foster; »thou look'st deadly pale, and thou art
not moved by trifles - is that indeed all?«
    »Ay, that - and maybe a trifle more,« said Varney.
    »Ah, that trifle more!« said Foster; »still thou look'st paler and paler.«
    »Heed not my countenance,« said Varney, »you see it by this wretched light.
Up and be doing, man - Think of Cumnor Place - thine own proper copyhold - Why,
thou mayst found a weekly lectureship, besides endowing Janet like a baron's
daughter. - Seventy pounds and odd.«
    »Seventy-nine pounds, five shillings and five-pence half-penny, besides the
value of the wood,« said Foster; »and I am to have it all as copyhold?«
    »All, man - squirrels and all - no gipsy shall cut the value of a broom - no
boy so much as take a bird's nest, without paying thee a quittance - Ay, that is
right - don thy matters as fast as possible - horses and every thing are ready,
all save that accursed villain Lambourne, who is out on some infernal gambol.«
    »Ay, Sir Richard,« said Foster, »you would take no advice. I ever told you
that drunken profligate would fail you at need. Now I could have helped you to a
sober young man.«
    »What, some slow-spoken, long-breathed brother of the congregation? - Why,
we shall have use for such also, man - Heaven be praised, we shall lack
labourers of every kind. - Ay, that is right, forget not your pistols - Come
now, and let us away.«
    »Whither?« said Anthony.
    »To my lady's chamber - and, mind - she must along with us. Thou art not a
fellow to be startled by a shriek?«
    »Not if Scripture reason can be rendered for it; and it is written, wives,
obey your husbands. But will my lord's commands bear us out if we use violence?«
    »Tush, man; here is his signet,« answered Varney; and, having thus silenced
the objections of his associate, they went together to Lord Hunsdon's
apartments, and, acquainting the sentinel with their purpose, as a matter
sanctioned by the Queen and the Earl of Leicester, they entered the chamber of
the unfortunate Countess.
    The horror of Amy may be conceived, when, starting from a broken slumber,
she saw at her bedside Varney, the man on earth she most feared and hated. It
was even a consolation to see that he was not alone, though she had so much
reason to dread his sullen companion.
    »Madam,« said Varney, »there is no time for ceremony. My Lord of Leicester,
having fully considered the exigencies of the time, sends you his orders
immediately to accompany us on our return to Cumnor Place. See, here is his
signet, in token of his instant and pressing commands.«
    »It is false!« said the Countess; »thou hast stolen the warrant - thou, who
art capable of every villainy, from the blackest to the basest!«
    »It is TRUE, madam,« replied Varney; »so true, that if you do not instantly
arise, and prepare to attend us, we must compel you to obey our orders.«
    »Compel! - thou darest not put it to that issue, base as thou art,«
exclaimed the unhappy Countess.
    »That remains to be proved, madam,« said Varney, who had determined on
intimidation as the only means of subduing her high spirit; »if you put me to it
you will find me a rough groom of the chambers.«
    It was at this threat that Amy screamed so fearfully, that had it not been
for the received opinion of her insanity, she would quickly have had Lord
Hunsdon and others to her aid. Perceiving, however, that her cries were vain,
she appealed to Foster in the most affecting terms, conjuring him, as his
daughter Janet's honour and purity were dear to him, not to permit her to be
treated with unwomanly violence.
    »Why, madam, wives must obey their husbands - there's Scripture warrant for
it,« said Foster; »and if you will dress yourself, and come with us patiently,
there's no one shall lay finger on you while I can draw a pistol-trigger.«
    Seeing no help arrive, and comforted even by the dogged language of Foster,
the Countess promised to rise and dress herself, if they would agree to retire
from the room. Varney at the same time assured her of all safety and honour
while in their hands, and promised, that he himself would not approach her,
since his presence was so displeasing. Her husband, he added, would be at Cumnor
Place within twenty-four hours after they had reached it.
    Somewhat comforted by this assurance, upon which, however, she saw little
reason to rely, the unhappy Amy made her toilette by the assistance of the
lantern which they left with her when they quitted the apartment.
    Weeping, trembling, and praying, the unfortunate lady dressed herself - with
sensations how different from the days in which she was wont to decorate herself
in all the pride of conscious beauty! She endeavoured to delay the completing
her dress as long as she could, until, terrified by the impatience of Varney,
she was obliged to declare herself ready to attend them.
    When they were about to move, the Countess clung to Foster with such an
appearance of terror at Varney's approach, that the latter protested to her,
with a deep oath, that he had no intention whatever of even coming near her. »If
you do but consent to execute your husband's will in quietness, you shall,« he
said, »see but little of me. I will leave you undisturbed to the care of the
usher whom your good taste prefers.«
    »My husband's will!« she exclaimed. »But it is the will of God, and let that
be sufficient to me. - I will go with Master Foster as unresistingly as ever did
a literal sacrifice. He is a father at least; and will have decency, if not
humanity. For thee, Varney, were it my latest word, thou art an equal stranger
to both.«
    Varney replied only she was at liberty to choose, and walked some paces
before them to show the way; while, half leaning on Foster, and half carried by
him, the Countess was transported from Saintlowe's Tower to the postern-gate,
where Tider waited with the litter and horses.
    The Countess was placed in the former without resistance. She saw with some
satisfaction that while Foster and Tider rode close by the litter, which the
latter conducted, the dreaded Varney lingered behind, and was soon lost in
darkness. A little while she strove, as the road winded round the verge of the
lake, to keep sight of those stately towers which called her husband lord, and
which still in some places sparkled with lights, where wassailers were yet
revelling. But when the direction of the road rendered this no longer possible,
she drew back her head, and sinking down in the litter, recommended herself to
the care of Providence.
    Besides the desire of inducing the Countess to proceed quietly on her
journey, Varney had it also in view to have an interview with Lambourne, by whom
he every moment expected to be joined, without the presence of any witnesses. He
knew the character of this man - prompt, bloody, resolute, and greedy, and
judged him the most fit agent he could employ in his farther designs. But ten
miles of their journey had been measured ere he heard the hasty clatter of
horse's hoofs behind him, and was overtaken by Michael Lambourne.
    Fretted as he was with his absence, Varney received his profligate servant
with a rebuke of unusual bitterness. »Drunken villain,« he said, »thy idleness
and debauched folly will stretch a halter ere it be long; and for me, I care not
how soon!«
    This style of objurgation, Lambourne, who was elated to an unusual degree,
not only by an extraordinary cup of wine, but by the sort of confidential
interview he had just had with the Earl, and the secret of which he had made
himself master, did not receive with his wonted humility. »He would take no
insolence of language,« he said, »from the best knight that ever wore spurs.
Lord Leicester had detained him on some business of import, and that was enough
for Varney, who was but a servant like himself.«
    Varney was not a little surprised at his unusual tone of insolence; but
ascribing it to liquor, suffered it to pass as if unnoticed, and then began to
tamper with Lambourne, touching his willingness to aid in removing out of the
Earl of Leicester's way an obstacle to a rise, which would put it in his power
to reward his trusty followers to their utmost wish. And upon Michael
Lambourne's seeming ignorant what was meant, he plainly indicated »the
litter-load, yonder,« as the impediment which he desired should be removed.
    »Look you, Sir Richard, and so forth,« said Michael, »some are wiser than
some, that is one thing, and some are worse than some, that's another. I know my
lord's mind on this matter better than thou, for he hath trusted me fully in the
matter. Here are his mandates, and his last words were, Michael Lambourne - for
his lordship speaks to me as a gentleman of the sword, and useth not the words
drunken villain, or such like phrases, of those who know not how to bear new
dignities, - Varney, says he, must pay the utmost respect to my Countess - I
trust to you for looking to it, Lambourne, says his lordship, and you must bring
back my signet from him peremptorily.«
    »Ay,« replied Varney, »said he so, indeed? You know all, then?«
    »All - all - and you were as wise to make a friend of me while the weather
is fair betwixt us.«
    »And was there no one present,« said Varney, »when my lord so spoke?«
    »Not a breathing creature,« replied Lambourne. »Think you my lord would
trust any one with such matters, save an approved man of action like myself?«
    »Most true,« said Varney; and making a pause, he looked forward on the
moonlight road. They were traversing a wide and open heath. The litter, being at
least a mile before them, was both out of sight and hearing. He looked behind,
and there was an expanse, lighted by the moonbeams, without one human being in
sight. He resumed his speech to Lambourne; »And will you turn upon your master,
who has introduced you to this career of court-like favour - whose apprentice
you have been, Michael - who has taught you the depths and shallows of court
intrigue?«
    »Michael not me!« said Lambourne; »I have a name will brook a master before
it as well as another; and as to the rest, if I have been an apprentice, my
indenture is out, and I am resolute to set up for myself.«
    »Take thy quittance first, thou fool!« said Varney; and with a pistol, which
he had for some time held in his hand, shot Lambourne through the body.
    The wretch fell from his horse, without a single groan; and Varney,
dismounting, rifled his pockets, turning out the lining, that it might appear he
had fallen by robbers. He secured the Earl's packet, which was his chief object,
but he also took Lambourne's purse, containing some gold pieces, the relics of
what his debauchery had left him, and, from a singular combination of feelings,
carried it in his hand only the length of a small river, which crossed the road,
into which he threw it as far as he could fling. Such are the strange remnants
of conscience which remain after she seems totally subdued, that this cruel and
remorseless man would have felt himself degraded had he pocketed the few pieces
belonging to the wretch whom he had thus ruthlessly slain.
    The murderer reloaded his pistol, after cleansing the lock and barrel from
the appearances of late explosion, and rode calmly after the litter, satisfying
himself that he had so adroitly removed a troublesome witness to many of his
intrigues, and the bearer of mandates which he had no intentions to obey, and
which, therefore, he was desirous it should be thought had never reached his
hand.
    The remainder of the journey was made with a degree of speed, which showed
the little care they had for the health of the unhappy Countess. They paused
only at places where all was under their command, and where the tale they were
prepared to tell of the insane Lady Varney would have obtained ready credit, had
she made an attempt to appeal to the compassion of the few persons admitted to
see her. But Amy saw no chance of obtaining a hearing from any to whom she had
an opportunity of addressing herself, and, besides, was too terrified for the
presence of Varney, to violate the implied condition, under which she was to
travel free from his company. The authority of Varney, often so used, during the
Earl's private journeys to Cumnor, readily procured relays of horses where
wanted, so that they approached Cumnor Place upon the night after they left
Kenilworth.
    At this period of the journey, Varney came up to the rear of the litter, as
he had done before repeatedly during their progress, and asked, »What does she?«
    »She sleeps,« said Foster; »I would we were home - her strength is
exhausted.«
    »Rest will restore her,« answered Varney. »She shall soon sleep sound and
long - we must consider how to lodge her in safety.«
    »In her own apartments, to be sure,« said Foster. »I have sent Janet to her
aunt's, with a proper rebuke, and the old women are truth itself - for they hate
this lady cordially.«
    »We will not trust them, however, friend Anthony,« said Varney; »we must
secure her in that stronghold where you keep your gold.«
    »My gold!« said Anthony, much alarmed; »why, what gold have I? - God help
me, I have no gold - I would I had.«
    »Now, marry hang thee, thou stupid brute - who thinks of or cares for thy
gold? - If I did, could I not find an hundred better ways to come at it? - In
one word, thy bed-chamber, which thou hast fenced so curiously, must be her
place of seclusion; and thou, thou hind, shalt press her pillows of down. - I
dare to say the Earl will never ask after the rich furniture of these four
rooms.«
    This last consideration rendered Foster tractable; he only asked permission
to ride before, to make matters ready, and spurring his horse, he posted before
the litter, while Varney falling about threescore paces behind it, it remained
only attended by Tider.
    When they had arrived at Cumnor Place, the Countess asked eagerly for Janet,
and showed much alarm when informed that she was no longer to have the
attendance of that amiable girl.
    »My daughter is dear to me, madam,« said Foster, gruffly; »and I desire not
that she should get the court-tricks of lying and 'scaping - somewhat too much
of that has she learned already, an it please your ladyship.«
    The Countess, much fatigued and greatly terrified by the circumstances of
her journey, made no answer to this insolence, but mildly expressed a wish to
retire to her chamber.
    »Ay, ay,« muttered Foster, »'tis but reasonable; but, under favour, you go
not to your gew-gaw toy-house yonder - you will sleep to-night in better
security.«
    »I would it were in my grave,« said the Countess; »but that mortal feelings
shiver at the idea of soul and body parting.«
    »You, I guess, have no chance to shiver at that,« replied Foster. »My lord
comes hither to-morrow, and doubtless you will make your own ways good with
him.«
    »But does he come hither? - does he indeed, good Foster?«
    »Oh, ay, good Foster!« replied the other. »But what Foster shall I be
to-morrow, when you speak of me to my lord - though all I have done was to obey
his own orders?«
    »You shall be my protector - a rough one indeed - but still a protector,«
answered the Countess. »Oh, that Janet were but here!«
    »She is better where she is,« answered Foster - »one of you is enough to
perplex a plain head - but will you taste any refreshment?«
    »Oh, no, no - my chamber - my chamber. I trust,« she said, apprehensively,
»I may secure it on the inside?«
    »With all my heart,« answered Foster, »so I may secure it on the outside;«
and taking a light he led the way to a part of the building where Amy had never
been, and conducted her up a stair of great height, preceded by one of the old
women with a lamp. At the head of the stair, which seemed of almost immeasurable
height, they crossed a short wooden gallery, formed of black oak, and very
narrow, at the farther end of which was a strong oaken door, which opened and
admitted them into the miser's apartment, homely in its accommodations in the
very last degree, and, except in name, little different from a prison-room.
    Foster stopped at the door, and gave the lamp to the Countess, without
either offering or permitting the attendance of the old woman who had carried
it. The lady stood not on ceremony, but taking it hastily, barred the door, and
secured it with the ample means provided on the inside for that purpose.
    Varney, meanwhile, had lurked behind on the stairs, but hearing the door
barred, he now came up on tiptoe, and Foster, winking to him, pointed with
self-complacence to a piece of concealed machinery in the wall, which, playing
with much ease and little noise, dropped a part of the wooden gallery, after the
manner of a drawbridge, so as to cut off all communication between the door of
the bed-room, 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 bed-chamber, it being Foster's object to
provide against invasion from without; but now that it was intended to secure
the prisoner within, the cord had been brought over to the landing-place, and
was there made fast, when Foster, with much complacency, had dropped the
unsuspected trap-door.
    Varney looked with great attention at the machinery, and peeped more than
once down the abyss which was opened by the fall of the trap-door. It was dark
as pitch, and seemed profoundly deep, going, as Foster informed his confederate
in a whisper, nigh to the lowest vault of the Castle. Varney cast once more a
fixed and long look down into this sable gulf, and then followed Foster to the
part of the manor-house most usually inhabited.
    When they arrived in the parlour which we have mentioned, Varney requested
Foster to get them supper, and some of the choicest wine. »I will seek Alasco,«
he added; »we have work for him to do, and we must put him in good heart.«
    Foster groaned at this intimation, but made no remonstrance. The old woman
assured Varney that Alasco had scarce eaten or drunken since her master's
departure, living perpetually shut up in the laboratory, and talking as if the
world's continuance depended on what he was doing there.
    »I will teach him that the world hath other claims on him,« said Varney,
seizing a light, and going in quest of the alchemist. He returned, after a
considerable absence, very pale, but yet with his habitual sneer on his cheek
and nostril - »Our friend,« he said, »has exhaled.«
    »How! what mean you?« said Foster - »Run away - fled with my forty pounds,
that should have been multiplied a thousand fold? I will have Hue and Cry!«
    »I will tell thee a surer way,« said Varney.
    »How! which way?« exclaimed Foster; »I will have back my forty pounds, - I
deemed them as surely a thousand times multiplied - I will have back my in-put,
at the least.«
    »Go hang thyself, then, and sue Alasco in the devil's Court of Chancery, for
thither he has carried the cause.«
    »How! - what dost thou mean - is he dead?«
    »Ay, truly is he,« said Varney, »and properly swollen already in the face and
body - He had been mixing some of his devil's medicines, and the glass mask
which he used constantly had fallen from his face, so that the subtle poison
entered the brain, and did its work.«
    »Sancta Maria!« said Foster; - »I mean, God in his mercy preserve us from
covetousness and deadly sin! - Had he not had projection, think you? Saw you no
ingots in the crucibles?«
    »Nay, I looked not but at the dead carrion,« answered Varney; »an ugly
spectacle - he was swollen like a corpse three days exposed on the wheel - Pah!
give me a cup of wine.«
    »I will go,« said Foster, »I will examine myself« - He took the lamp, and
hastened to the door, but there hesitated and paused. »Will you not go with me?«
said he to Varney.
    »To what purpose?« said Varney, »I have seen and smelled enough to spoil my
appetite. I broke the window, however, and let in the air - it reeked of
sulphur, and such like suffocating steams, as if the very devil had been there.«
    »And might it not be the act of the demon himself?« said Foster, still
hesitating; »I have heard he is powerful at such times, and with such people.«
    »Still, if it were that Satan of thine,« answered Varney, »who thus jades
thy imagination, thou art in perfect safety, unless he is a most unconscionable
devil indeed. He hath had two good sops of late.«
    »How two sops - what mean you?« said Foster - »what mean you?«
    »You will know in time,« said Varney; - »and then this other banquet - but
thou wilt esteem Her too choice a morsel for the fiend's tooth - she must have
her psalms, and harps, and seraphs.«
    Anthony Foster heard, and came slowly back to the table: »God! Sir Richard,
and must that then be done?«
    »Ay, in very truth, Anthony, or there comes no copyhold in thy way,« replied
his inflexible associate.
    »I always foresaw it would land there!« said Foster; »but how, Sir Richard,
how? - for not to win the world would I put hands on her.«
    »I cannot blame thee,« said Varney; »I should be reluctant to do that myself
- we miss Alasco and his manna sorely; ay, and the dog Lambourne.«
    »Why, where tarries Lambourne?« said Anthony.
    »Ask no questions,« said Varney, »thou wilt see him one day, if thy creed be
true. - But to our graver matter. - I will teach thee a springe, Tony, to catch
a pewit - yonder trap-door - yonder gimcrack of thine, will remain secure in
appearance, will it not, though the supports are withdrawn beneath?«
    »Ay, marry, will it,« said Foster; »so long as it is not trodden on.«
    »But were the lady to attempt an escape over it,« replied Varney, »her
weight would carry it down?«
    »A mouse's weight would do it,« said Foster.
    »Why, then, she dies in attempting her escape, and what could you or I help
it, honest Tony? Let us to bed, we will adjust our project to-morrow.«
    On the next day, when evening approached, Varney summoned Foster to the
execution of their plan. Tider and Foster's old man-servant were sent on a
feigned errand down to the village, and Anthony himself, as if anxious to see
that the Countess suffered no want of accommodation, visited her place of
confinement. He was so much staggered at the mildness and patience with which
she seemed to endure her confinement, that he could not help earnestly
recommending to her not to cross the threshold of her room on any account
whatever, until Lord Leicester should come, »Which,« he added, »I trust in God,
will be very soon.« Amy patiently promised that she would resign herself to her
fate, and Foster returned to his hardened companion with his conscience
half-eased of the perilous load that weighed on it. »I have warned her,« he
said; »surely in vain is the snare set in sight of any bird!«
    He left, therefore, the Countess's door unsecured on the outside, and, under
the eye of Varney, withdrew the supports which sustained the falling trap,
which, therefore, kept its level position merely by a slight adhesion. They
withdrew to wait the issue on the ground-floor adjoining, but they waited long
in vain. At length Varney, after walking long to and fro, with his face muffled
in his cloak, threw it suddenly back, and exclaimed, »Surely never was a woman
fool enough to neglect so fair an opportunity of escape!«
    »Perhaps she is resolved,« said Foster, »to await her husband's return.«
    »True! - most true,« said Varney, rushing out, »I had not thought of that
before.«
    In less than two minutes, Foster, who remained behind, heard the tread of a
horse in the courtyard, and then a whistle similar to that which was the Earl's
usual signal; - the instant after, the door of the Countess's chamber opened,
and in the same moment the trap-door gave way. There was a rushing sound - a
heavy fall - a faint groan - and all was over.
    At the same instant, Varney called in at the window, in an accent and tone
which was an indescribable mixture betwixt horror and raillery, »Is the bird
caught? - is the deed done?«
    »O God, forgive us!« replied Anthony Foster.
    »Why, thou fool,« said Varney, »thy toil is ended, and thy reward secure.
Look down into the vault - what seest thou?«
    »I see only a heap of white clothes, like a snow- said Foster. »O God, she
moves her arm!«
    »Hurl something down on her. - Thy gold chest, Tony - it is an heavy one.«
    »Varney, thou art an incarnate fiend!« replied Foster; - »There needs
nothing more - she is gone!«
    »So pass our troubles,« said Varney, entering the room; »I dreamed not I
could have mimicked the Earl's call so well.«
    »Oh, if there be judgment in Heaven, thou hast deserved it,« said Foster,
»and wilt meet it! - Thou hast destroyed her by means of her best affections -
It is a seething of the kid in the mother's milk!«
    »Thou art a fanatical ass,« replied Varney; »let us now think how the alarm
should be given, - the body is to remain where it is.«
    But their wickedness was to be permitted no longer; - for even while they
were at this consultation, Tressilian and Raleigh broke in upon them, having
obtained admittance by means of Tider and Foster's servant, whom they had
secured at the village.
    Anthony Foster fled on their entrance; and knowing each corner and pass of
the intricate old house, escaped all search. But Varney was taken on the spot;
and, instead of expressing compunction for what he had done, seemed to take a
fiendish pleasure in pointing out to them the remains of the murdered Countess,
while at the same time he defied them to show that he had any share in her
death. The despairing grief of Tressilian, on viewing the mangled and yet warm
remains of what had lately been so lovely and so beloved, was such, that Raleigh
was compelled to have him removed from the place by force, while he himself
assumed the direction of what was to be done.
    Varney, upon a second examination, made very little mystery either of the
crime or of its motives; alleging, as a reason for his frankness, that though
much of what he confessed could only have attached to him by suspicion, yet such
suspicion would have been sufficient to deprive him of Leicester's confidence,
and to destroy all his towering plans of ambition. »I was not born,« he said,
»to drag on the remainder of life a degraded outcast, - nor will I so die, that
my fate shall make a holiday to the vulgar herd.«
    From these words it was apprehended he had some design upon himself, and he
was carefully deprived of all means by which such could be carried into
execution. But like some of the heroes of antiquity, he carried about his person
a small quantity of strong poison, prepared probably by the celebrated Demetrius
Alasco. Having swallowed this potion over-night, he was found next morning dead
in his cell; nor did he appear to have suffered much agony, his countenance
presenting, even in death, the habitual expression of sneering sarcasm, which
was predominant while he lived. »The wicked man,« saith Scripture, »hath no
bonds in his death.«
    The fate of his colleague in wickedness was long unknown. Cumnor Place was
deserted immediately after the murder; for, in the vicinity of what was called
the Lady Dudley's Chamber, the domestics pretended to hear groans, and screams,
and other supernatural noises. After a certain length of time, Janet, hearing no
tidings of her father, became the uncontrolled mistress of his property, and
conferred it, with her hand, upon Wayland, now a man of settled character, and
holding a place in Elizabeth's household. But it was after they had been both
dead for some years, that their eldest son and heir, in making some researches
about Cumnor Hall, discovered a secret passage, closed by an iron door, which,
opening from behind the bed in the Lady Dudley's Chamber, descended to a sort of
cell, in which they found an iron chest containing a quantity of gold, and a
human skeleton stretched above it. The fate of Anthony Foster was now manifest.
He had fled to this place of concealment, forgetting the key of the spring-lock;
and, being barred from escape, by the means he had used for preservation of that
gold for which he had sold his salvation, he had there perished miserably.
Unquestionably the groans and screams heard by the domestics were not entirely
imaginary, but were those of this wretch, who, in his agony, was crying for
relief and succour.
    The news of the Countess's dreadful fate put a sudden period to the
pleasures of Kenilworth. Leicester retired from court, and for a considerable
time abandoned himself to his remorse. But as Varney in his last declaration had
been studious to spare the character of his patron, the Earl was the object
rather of compassion than resentment. The Queen at length recalled him to court;
he was once more distinguished as a statesman and favourite, and the rest of his
career is well known to history. But there was something retributive in his
death, if, according to an account very generally received, it took place from
his swallowing a draught of poison which was designed by him for another person.
24
    Sir Hugh Robsart died very soon after his daughter, having settled his
estate on Tressilian. But neither the prospect of rural independence, nor the
promises of favour which Elizabeth held out to induce him to follow the court,
could remove his profound melancholy. Wherever he went, he seemed to see before
him the disfigured corpse of the early and only object of his affection. At
length, having made provision for the maintenance of the old friends and old
servants who formed Sir Hugh's family at Lidcote Hall, he himself embarked with
his friend Raleigh for the Virginia expedition, and, young in years but old in
grief, died before his day in that foreign land.
    Of inferior persons it is only necessary to say, that Blount's wit grew
brighter as his yellow roses faded; that, doing his part as a brave commander in
the wars, he was much more in his element than during the short period of his
following the court; and that Flibbertigibbet's acute genius raised him to
favour and distinction, in the employment both of Burleigh and Walsingham.
 

                                     Notes

1 Ashmole's Antiquities of Berkshire, vol. i. p. 149. The tradition as to
Leicester's death was thus communicated by Ben Jonson to Drummond of
Hawthornden; - »The Earl of Leicester gave a bottle of liquor to his Lady, which
he willed her to use in any faintness; which she, after his returne from court,
not knowing it was poison, gave him, and so he died.«
 
2 If faith is to be put in epitaphs, Anthony Foster was something the very
reverse of the character represented in the novel. Ashmole gives this
description of his tomb. I copy from the Antiquities of Berkshire, vol. i. p.
143.
»In the north wall of the chancel at Cumnor Church is a monument of grey marble,
whereon, in brass plates, are engraved a man in armour, and his wife in the
habit of her times, both kneeling before a fald-stoole, together with the
figures of three sons kneeling behind their mother. Under the figure of the man
is this inscription:
 
Antonius Forster, generis generosa propago,
Cumneræ Dominus, Bercheriensis erat.
Armiger, Armigero prognatus patre Ricardo,
Qui quondam Iphlethæ Salopiensis erat.
Quatuor ex isto fluxerunt stemmate nati,
Ex isto Antonius stemmate quartus erat.
Mente sagax, animo precellens, corpore promptus
Eloquii dulcis, ore disertus erat.
In factis probitas; fuit in sermone venustas,
In vultu gravitas, relligione fides,
In patriam pietas, in egenos grata voluntas,
Accedunt reliquis annumeranda bonis.
Si quod cuncta rapit, rapuit non omnia Lethum,
Si quod Mors rapuit, vivida fama dedit.
 
                                   * * * * *
 
These verses following are writ at length, two by two, in praise of him:
 
Argute resonas Cithare pretendere chordas
Novit, et Aonia concrepuisse Lyra.
Gaudebat terre teneras defigere plantas;
Et mira pulchras construere arte domos,
Composita varias lingua formare loquelas
Doctus, et edocta scribere multa manu.
 
The arms over it thus:
        Quart.
        I. 3 Hunter's Horns stringed.
        II. 3 Pinions with their points upwards.
 
The crest is a Stag couchant, vulnerated through the neck by a broad arrow; on
his side is a Martlett for a difference.«
 
From this monumental inscription it appears that Anthony Foster, instead of
being a vulgar, low-bred puritanical churl, was in fact a gentleman of birth and
consideration, distinguished for his skill in the arts of music and
horticulture, as also in languages. In so far, therefore, the Anthony Foster of
the romance has nothing but the name in common with the real individual. But
notwithstanding the charity, benevolence, and religious faith imputed by the
monument of grey marble to its tenant, tradition, as well as secret history,
name him as the active agent in the death of the Countess; and it is added, that
from being a jovial and convivial gallant, as we may infer from some expressions
in the epitaph, he sunk, after the fatal deed, into a man of gloomy and retired
habits, whose looks and manners indicated that he suffered under the pressure of
some atrocious secret.
The name of Lambourne is still known in the vicinity, and it is said some of the
clan partake the habits, as well as name, of the Michael Lambourne of the
romance. A man of this name lately murdered his wife, outdoing Michael in this
respect, who only was concerned in the murder of the wife of another man.
I have only to add, that the jolly Black Bear has been restored to his
predominance over bowl and bottle, in the village of Cumnor.
 
3 Two headlands on the Cornish coast. The expressions are proverbial.
 
4 This verse is the commencement of the ballad already quoted, as what suggested
the novel.
 
5 The Leicester cognisance was the ancient device adopted by his father, when
Earl of Warwick, the bear and ragged staff.
 
6 Sir Francis Drake, Morgan, and many a bold Buccanier of those days, were, in
fact, little better than pirates.
 
7 This verse, or something similar, occurs in a long ballad, or poem, on Flodden
Field, reprinted by the late Henry Weber.
 
8 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.«
 
9 »Give good words.« - Slang dialect.
10 The great defeat, given by Alfred to the Danish invaders, is said, by Mr.
Gough, to have taken place near Ashdown, in Berkshire. »The burial place of
Baereg, the Danish chief, who was slain in this fight, is distinguished by a
parcel of stones, less than a mile from the hill, set on edge, enclosing a piece
of ground somewhat raised. On the east side of the southern extremity stand
three squarish flat stones, of about four or five feet over either way,
supporting a fourth, and now called by the vulgar WAYLAND SMITH, from an idle
tradition about an invisible smith replacing lost horse-shoes there.« - GOUGH'S
Edition of Camden's Britannia, vol. i. p. 221.
The popular belief still retains memory of this wild legend, which, connected as
it is with the site of a Danish sepulchre, may have arisen from some legend
concerning the northern Duergar, who resided in the rocks, and were cunning
workers in steel and iron. It was believed that Wayland Smith's fee was
sixpence, and that, unlike other workmen, he was offended if more was offered.
Of late his offices have been again called to memory; but fiction has in this,
as in other cases, taken the liberty to pillage the stores of oral tradition.
This monument must be very ancient, for it has been kindly pointed out to me
that it is referred to in an ancient Saxon charter, as a landmark. The monument
has been of late cleared out, and made considerably more conspicuous.
 
11 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.
 
12 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 death-bed, predicted to his followers,
that, after his death, the gipsy (so he called Leicester, from his dark
complexion) would prove too many for them.
 
13 Among the attendants and adherents of Sussex, we have ventured to introduce
the celebrated Raleigh, in the dawn of his court favour.
In Aubrey's Correspondence there are some curious particulars of Sir Walter
Raleigh. »He was a tall, handsome, bold man; but his næve 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 pearls were near as big as the painted ones. He had a most remarkable
aspect, an exceeding high forehead, long-faced, and sour-eyelidded.« A rebus is
added to this purpose:
 
The enemy to the stomach and the word of disgrace,
Is the name of the gentleman with the bold face.
 
Sir Walter Raleigh's beard turned up naturally, which gave him an advantage over
the gallants of the time, whose moustaches received a touch of the barber's art
to give them the air then most admired. - See Aubrey's Correspondence, vol. ii.
part ii. p. 500.
 
14 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
Walter, 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.
 
15 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,
writen 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.
 
16 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.
 
17 The Earl of Leicester's Italian physician, Julio, was affirmed by his
contemporaries to be a skilful compounder of poisons, which he applied with such
frequency, that the Jesuit Parsons extols ironically the marvellous good luck of
this great favourite, in the opportune deaths of those who stood in the way of
his wishes. There is a curious passage on the subject: -
»Long after this, he fell in love with the Lady Sheffield, whom I signified
before, and then also had he the same fortune to have her husband dye quickly,
with an extreame rheume in his head (as it was given out), but as others say, of
an artificiall catarre that stopped his breath.
The like good chance had he in the death of my Lord of Essex (as I have said
before), and that at a time most fortunate for his purpose; for when he was
coming home from Ireland, with intent to revenge himselfe upon my Lord of
Leicester for begetting his wife with childe in his absence (the childe was a
daughter, and brought up by the Lady Shandoes, W. Knooles, his wife), my Lord of
Leicester hearing thereof, wanted not a friend or two to accompany the deputy,
as among other a couple of the Earles own servants, Crompton (if I misse not his
name), yeoman of his bottles, and Lloid his secretary, entertained afterwards by
my Lord of Leicester, and so he dyed in the way, of an extreame flux, caused by
an Italian receipe, as all his friends are well assured, the maker whereof was a
chyrurgeon (as it is beleeved) that then was newly come to my Lord from Italy -
a cunning man and sure in operation, with whom, if the good Lady had been sooner
acquainted, and used his help, she should not have needed to sitten so pensive
at home, and fearfull of her husband's former returne out of the same country
... Neither must you marvaile though all these died in divers manners of outward
diseases, for this is the excellency of the Italian art, for which this
chyrurgeon and Dr. Julio were entertained so carefully, who can make a man dye
in what manner or show of sickness you will - by whose instructions, no doubt;
but his lordship is now cunning, especially adding also to these the counsell of
his Doctor Bayly, a man also not a little studied (as he seemeth) in his art;
for I heard him once myselfe, in a publique act in Oxford, and that in presence
of my Lord of Leicester (if I be not deceived), maintain that poyson might be so
tempered and given as it should not appear presently, and yet should kill the
party afterwards, at what time should be appointed; which argument belike pleased
well his lordship, and therefore was chosen to be discussed in his audience, if
I be not deceived of his being that day present. So, though one dye of a flux,
and another of a catarre, yet this importeth little to the matter, but showeth
rather the great cunning and skill of the artificer.« - PARSONS' Leicester's
Commonwealth, p. 23.
It is unnecessary to state the numerous reasons why the Earl is stated in the
tale to be rather the dupe of villains than the unprincipled author of their
atrocities. In the latter capacity, which a part at least of his contemporaries
imputed to him, he would have made a character too disgustingly wicked, to be
useful for the purposes of fiction.
I have only to add, that the union of the poisoner, the quack-salver, the
alchymist, and the astrologer, in the same person, was familiar to the
pretenders to the mystic sciences.
18 Nugæ Antiquæ, vol. i. pp. 356-362.
 
19 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. Chiswick, 1821
 
20 See Laneham's Account of the Queen's Entertainment at Kenilworth Castle, in
1575, a very diverting tract written by as great a coxcomb as ever blotted
paper. (See Note F.) 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 Henry Merridew 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.
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.
 
21 To justify what may be considered as a high-coloured picture, the author
quotes the original of the courtly and shrewd Sir James Melville, being then
Queen Mary's envoy at the court of London.
»I was required,« says Sir James, »to stay till I had seen him made Earle of
Leicester, and Baron of Denbigh, with great solemnity; herself (Elizabeth)
helping to put on his ceremonial, he sitting on his knees before her, keeping a
great gravity and a discreet behaviour; but she could not refrain from putting
her hand to his neck to kittle (i.e. tickle) him, smilingly, the French
Ambassador and I standing beside her.« - MELVILLE'S Memoirs, Bannatyne Edition,
p. 120.
 
22 The incident alluded to occurs in the poem of Orlando Innamorato of Boiardo,
libro ii. canto 4, stanza 25.
 
»Non era per ventura,« etc.
 
It may be rendered thus: -
 
As then, perchance, unguarded was the tower,
So enter'd free Anglanté's dauntless knight.
No monster and no giant guard the bower
In whose recess reclined the fairy light,
Robed in a loose cymar of lily white,
And on her lap a sword of breadth and might,
In whose broad blade, as in a mirror bright,
Like maid that trims her for a festal night,
The fairy deck'd her hair, and placed her coronet aright.
 
Elizabeth's attachment to the Italian school of poetry was singularly manifested
on a well-known occasion. Her godson, Sir John Harrington, having offended her
delicacy by translating some of the licentious passages of the Orlando Furioso,
she imposed on him, as a penance, the task of rendering the whole poem into
English.
 
23 In revising this work, I have had the means of making some accurate additions
to my attempt to describe the princely pleasures of Kenilworth, by the kindness
of my friend William Hamper, Esq., who had the goodness to communicate to me an
inventory of the furniture of Kenilworth in the days of the magnificent Earl of
Leicester. I have adorned the text with some of the splendid articles mentioned
in the inventory, but antiquaries, especially, will be desirous to see a more
full specimen than the story leaves room for.
 
                Extracts from Kenilworth Inventory, A. D. 1584.
 
A Salte, ship-fashion, of the mother of perle, garnished with silver and divers
workes, warlike ensignes, and ornaments, with xyj peeces of ordinance, whereof
ij on wheles, two anckers on the foreparte, and on the stearne the image of Dame
Fortune standing on a globe with a flag in her hand. Pois xxxij oz.
A gilte salte like a swann, mother of perle. Pois xxx oz. iij quarters.
A George on horseback, of wood, painted and gilt, with a case for knives in the
tayle of the horse, and a case for oyster knives in the brest of the Dragon.
A green barge-cloth, embroider'd with white lions and beares.
A perfuming pann, of silver. Pois xix oz.
In the halle. Tabells, long and short, vj. Formes, long and short, xiiij.
 
                                   Hangings.
 
              (These are minutely specified, and consisted of the
          following subjects, in tapestry, and gilt and red leather.)
 
Flowers, beasts, and pillars arched. Forest worke. Historie. Storie of Susanna,
the Prodigall Childe, Saule, Tobie, Hercules, Lady Fame, Hawking and Hunting,
Jezabell, Judith and Holofernes, David, Abraham, Sampson, Hippolitus, Alexander
the Great, Naaman the Assyrian, Jacob, etc.
 
                         Bedsteds with their Furniture.
 
(These are magnificent and numerous. I shall copy, verbatim, the description of
                  what appears to have been one of the best.)
 
A bedsted of wallnut-tree, toppe fashion, the pillers redd and varnished, the
ceelor, tester, and single vallance of crimson satin, 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 satin 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 satin, and one yarde iij quarters deepe. The
celor, vallance, and curteins lyned with crymson taffata sarsenet.
A crymson satin counterpointe, quilted and embr. with a golde twiste, and lyned
with redd sarsenet, being in length iij yards good, and in breadth iij scant.
A chaise of crymson satin, suteable.
A fayre quilte of crymson satin, vj breadths, iij yardes 3 quarters naile
deepe, all lozenged over with silver twiste, in the midst a cinquefoile within a
garland of tragged staves, fringed rounde aboute with a small fringe of crymson
silke, lyned throughe with white fustian.
Fyve plumes of coolered feathers, garnished with bone lace and spangells of
goulde and silver, standing in cups knitt all over with goulde, silver, and
crymson silk.
A carpett for a cupboarde of crymson satin, embrothered with a border of goulde
twiste, about iij parts of it fringed with silk and goulde, lyned with bridges
satin, in length ij yards, and ij bredths of satin.
(There were eleven down beds and ninety feather beds, besides thirty-seven
mattresses.)
 
                         Chayres, Stooles, and Cushens.
 
 (These were equally splendid with the beds, etc. I shall here copy that which
                           stands at the head of the
                                     list.)
 
A chaier of crimson velvet, the seate and backe partlie embrothered, with R. L.
in cloth of goulde, the beare and ragged staffe in clothe of silver, garnished
with lace and fringe of goulde, silver, and crimson silck. The frame covered
with velvet, bounde about the edge with goulde lace, and studded with gilte
nailes.
A square stoole and a foote stoole, of crimson velvet, fringed and garnished
suteable.
A long cushen of crimson velvet, embr. with the ragged staffe in a wreathe of
goulde, with my Lo. posie »Droyte et Loyall« written in the same, and the
letters R. L. in clothe of goulde, being garnished with lace, fringe, buttons
and tassels, of gold, silver, and crimson silck, lyned with crimson taff., being
in length 1 yard quarter.
A square cushen, of the like velvet, embr. suteable to the long cushen.
 
                                    Carpets.
 
  (There were 10 velvet carpets for tables and windows, 49 Turkey carpets for
         floors, and 32 cloth carpets. One of each I will now specify.)
 
A carpett of crimson velvet, richly embr. with my Lo. posie, beares and ragged
staves, etc., of clothe of goulde and silver, garnished upon the seames and
aboute with golde lace, fringed accordinglie, lyned with crimson taffata
sarsenett, being 3 breadths of velvet, one yard 3 quarters long.
A great Turquoy carpett, the grounde blew, with a list of yelloe at each end,
being in length x yards, in bredthe iiij yards and quarter.
A long carpett of blew clothe, lyned with bridges satin, fringed with blew
silck and goulde, in length vj yards lack a quarter, the whole bredth of the
clothe.
 
                                   Pictures.
 
                    (Chiefly described as having curtains.)
 
The Queene's Majestie (2 great tables). 3 of my Lord. St. Jerome. Lo. of
Arundell. Lord Mathevers. Lord of Pembroke. Counte Egmondt. The Queene of
Scotts. King Philip. The Baker's Daughters. The Duke of Feria. Alexander Magnus.
Two Yonge Ladies. Pompæa 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
Horne. Count Holstrate. Monsr. Brederode. Duke Alva. Cardinal Grandville. Duches
of Parma. Henriè E. of Pembrooke and his young Countess. Conntis of Essex.
Occacion and Repentance. Lord Mowntacute. S. Jas. Crofts. Sir Wr. Mildmay. Sr.
Wm. Pickering. Edwin Abp. of York.
A tabell of an historie of men, women, and children, molden in wax.
A little foulding table of ebanie, garnished with white bone, wherein are
written verses with Ires. of goulde.
A table of my Lord's armes.
Fyve of the plannetts, painted in frames.
Twentie-three cardes, or maps of countries.
 
                                  Instruments.
 
                         (I shall give two specimens.)
 
An instrument of organs, regalls, and virginalls, covered with crimson velvet,
and garnished with goulde lace.
A fair pair of double virginalls.
 
                                   Cabonetts.
 
A cabonett of crimson satin, 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 satin of bridges.
(Another of purple velvet. A desk of red leather.)
A CHESS BOARDE of ebanie, with checkars of christall and other stones, layed
with silver, garnished with beares and ragged staves, and cinquefoiles of
silver. The xxxij men likewyse of christall and other stones sett, the one sort
in silver white, the other gilte, in a case gilded and lyned with green cotton.
(Another of bone and ebanie. A pair of tabells of bone.)
A GREAT BRASON CANDLESTICK to hang in the roofe of the howse, verie fayer and
curiously wrought, with xxiiij branches, xij greate and xij of lesser size, 6
rowlers and ij wings for the spread eagle, xxiiij socketts for candells, xij
greater and xij of a lesser sorte, xxiiij sawcers, or candle-cupps, of like
proporcion to put under the socketts, iij images of men and iij of weomen, of
brass, verie finely and artificiallie done.
These specimens of Leicester's magnificence may serve to assure the reader that
it scarce lay in the power of a modern author to exaggerate the lavish style of
expense displayed in the princely pleasures of Kenilworth.
 
24 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, p. 4 of Introduction to
the present work. It may be here added, that the following satirical epitaph on
Leicester occurs in Drummond's Collection, but is evidently not of his
composition: -
 
                        Epitaph on the Erle of Leister.
 
Here lies a valiant warriour,
Who never drew a sword;
Here lies a noble courtier,
Who never kept his word;
 
Here lies the Erle of Leister,
Who govern'd the Estates,
Whom the earth could never living love,
And the just Heaven now hates.
