Kenilworth
Walter Scott

KENILWORTH.

by Sir Walter Scott, Bart.




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INTRODUCTION

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


CUMNOR HALL.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ARBOTSFORD,
1st March 1831.


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KENILWORTH



CHAPTER I.

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

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

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

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

"What, ho!  John Tapster."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shall I say the worthy Master Tressilian of Cornwall?"

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

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



CHAPTER II.

  Talk you of young Master Lancelot?   MERCHANT OF VENICE.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



CHAPTER III.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



CHAPTER IV.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



CHAPTER V.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



CHAPTER VI.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Indeed, madam?"  said Varney.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



CHAPTER VII.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Earl's brow was overcast.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Varney, forbear!"  said the Earl.

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

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

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

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

So saying, he left the apartment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And what are your terms?"  demanded Varney.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



CHAPTER VIII.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I mean the same, mine host."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



CHAPTER IX.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



CHAPTER X.

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

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

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

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

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

  'We three
  Tom-fools be.'"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why, you said but now he was no devil," replied Tressilian.

"Man or devil," said Dickie, "I see that I must summon him for
you;" and therewithal he whistled sharp and shrill, with an
acuteness of sound that almost thrilled through Tressilian's
brain.  "That is what I call whistling," said he, after he had
repeated the signal thrice; "and now to cover, to cover, or
Whitefoot will not be shod this day."

Tressilian, musing what the upshot of this mummery was to be, yet
satisfied there was to be some serious result, by the confidence
with which the boy had put himself in his power, suffered himself
to be conducted to that side of the little thicket of gorse and
brushwood which was farthest from the circle of stones, and there
sat down; and as it occurred to him that, after all, this might
be a trick for stealing his horse, he kept his hand on the boy's
collar, determined to make him hostage for its safety.

"Now, hush and listen," said Dickie, in a low whisper; "you will
soon hear the tack of a hammer that was never forged of earthly
iron, for the stone it was made of was shot from the moon."  And
in effect Tressilian did immediately hear the light stroke of a
hammer, as when a farrier is at work.  The singularity of such a
sound, in so very lonely a place, made him involuntarily start;
but looking at the boy, and discovering, by the arch malicious
expression of his countenance, that the urchin saw and enjoyed
his slight tremor, he became convinced that the whole was a
concerted stratagem, and determined to know by whom, or for what
purpose, the trick was played off.

Accordingly, he remained perfectly quiet all the time that the
hammer continued to sound, being about the space usually employed
in fixing a horse-shoe.  But the instant the sound ceased,
Tressilian, instead of interposing the space of time which his
guide had required, started up with his sword in his hand, ran
round the thicket, and confronted a man in a farrier's leathern
apron, but otherwise fantastically attired in a bear-skin dressed
with the fur on, and a cap of the same, which almost hid the
sooty and begrimed features of the wearer.  "Come back, come
back!"  cried the boy to Tressilian, "or you will be torn to
pieces; no man lives that looks on him."  In fact, the invisible
smith (now fully visible) heaved up his hammer, and showed
symptoms of doing battle.

But when the boy observed that neither his own entreaties nor the
menaces of the farrier appeared to change Tressilian's purpose,
but that, on the contrary, he confronted the hammer with his
drawn sword, he exclaimed to the smith in turn, "Wayland, touch
him not, or you will come by the worse!--the gentleman is a true
gentleman, and a bold."

"So thou hast betrayed me, Flibbertigibbet?"  said the smith; "it
shall be the worse for thee!"

"Be who thou wilt," said Tressilian, "thou art in no danger from
me, so thou tell me the meaning of this practice, and why thou
drivest thy trade in this mysterious fashion."

The smith, however, turning to Tressilian, exclaimed, in a
threatening tone, "Who questions the Keeper of the Crystal Castle
of Light, the Lord of the Green Lion, the Rider of the Red
Dragon?  Hence!--avoid thee, ere I summon Talpack with his fiery
lance, to quell, crush, and consume!"  These words he uttered
with violent gesticulation, mouthing, and flourishing his hammer.

"Peace, thou vile cozener, with thy gipsy cant!"  replied
Tressilian scornfully, "and follow me to the next magistrate, or
I will cut thee over the pate."

"Peace, I pray thee, good Wayland!"  said the boy.  "Credit me,
the swaggering vein will not pass here; you must cut boon whids."
["Give good words."--SLANG DIALECT.]

"I think, worshipful sir," said the smith, sinking his hammer,
and assuming a more gentle and submissive tone of voice, "that
when so poor a man does his day's job, he might be permitted to
work it out after his own fashion.  Your horse is shod, and your
farrier paid--what need you cumber yourself further than to mount
and pursue your journey?"

"Nay, friend, you are mistaken," replied Tressilian; "every man
has a right to take the mask from the face of a cheat and a
juggler; and your mode of living raises suspicion that you are
both."

"If you are so determined; sir," said the smith, "I cannot help
myself save by force, which I were unwilling to use towards you,
Master Tressilian; not that I fear your weapon, but because I
know you to be a worthy, kind, and well-accomplished gentleman,
who would rather help than harm a poor man that is in a strait."

"Well said, Wayland," said the boy, who had anxiously awaited the
issue of their conference.  "But let us to thy den, man, for it
is ill for thy health to stand here talking in the open air."

"Thou art right, Hobgoblin," replied the smith; and going to the
little thicket of gorse on the side nearest to the circle, and
opposite to that at which his customer had so lately crouched, he
discovered a trap-door curiously covered with bushes, raised it,
and, descending into the earth, vanished from their eyes.
Notwithstanding Tressilian's curiosity, he had some hesitation at
following the fellow into what might be a den of robbers,
especially when he heard the smith's voice, issuing from the
bowels of the earth, call out, "Flibertigibbet, do you come last,
and be sure to fasten the trap!"

"Have you seen enough of Wayland Smith now?"  whispered the
urchin to Tressilian, with an arch sneer, as if marking his
companion's uncertainty.

"Not yet," said Tressilian firmly; and shaking off his momentary
irresolution, he descended into the narrow staircase, to which
the entrance led, and was followed by Dickie Sludge, who made
fast the trap-door behind him, and thus excluded every glimmer of
daylight.  The descent, however, was only a few steps, and led to
a level passage of a few yards' length, at the end of which
appeared the reflection of a lurid and red light.  Arrived at
this point, with his drawn sword in his hand, Tressilian found
that a turn to the left admitted him and Hobgoblin, who followed
closely, into a small, square vault, containing a smith's forge,
glowing with charcoal, the vapour of which filled the apartment
with an oppressive smell, which would have been altogether
suffocating, but that by some concealed vent the smithy
communicated with the upper air.  The light afforded by the red
fuel, and by a lamp suspended in an iron chain, served to show
that, besides an anvil, bellows, tongs, hammers, a quantity of
ready-made horse-shoes, and other articles proper to the
profession of a farrier, there were also stoves, alembics,
crucibles, retorts, and other instruments of alchemy.  The
grotesque figure of the smith, and the ugly but whimsical
features of the boy, seen by the gloomy and imperfect light of
the charcoal fire and the dying lamp, accorded very well with all
this mystical apparatus, and in that age of superstition would
have made some impression on the courage of most men.

But nature had endowed Tressilian with firm nerves, and his
education, originally good, had been too sedulously improved by
subsequent study to give way to any imaginary terrors; and after
giving a glance around him, he again demanded of the artist who
he was, and by what accident he came to know and address him by
his name.

"Your worship cannot but remember," said the smith, "that about
three years since, upon Saint Lucy's Eve, there came a travelling
juggler to a certain hall in Devonshire, and exhibited his skill
before a worshipful knight and a fair company.--I see from your
worship's countenance, dark as this place is, that my memory has
not done me wrong."

"Thou hast said enough," said Tressilian, turning away, as
wishing to hide from the speaker the painful train of
recollections which his discourse had unconsciously awakened.

"The juggler," said the smith, "played his part so bravely that
the clowns and clown-like squires in the company held his art to
be little less than magical; but there was one maiden of fifteen,
or thereby, with the fairest face I ever looked upon, whose rosy
cheek grew pale, and her bright eyes dim, at the sight of the
wonders exhibited."

"Peace, I command thee, peace!"  said Tressilian.

"I mean your worship no offence," said the fellow; "but I have
cause to remember how, to relieve the young maiden's fears, you
condescended to point out the mode in which these deceptions were
practised, and to baffle the poor juggler by laying bare the
mysteries of his art, as ably as if you had been a brother of his
order.--She was indeed so fair a maiden that, to win a smile of
her, a man might well--"

"Not a word more of her, I charge thee!"  said Tressilian.  "I do
well remember the night you speak of--one of the few happy
evenings my life has known."

"She is gone, then," said the smith, interpreting after his own
fashion the sigh with which Tressilian uttered these words--"she
is gone, young, beautiful, and beloved as she was!--I crave your
worship's pardon--I should have hammered on another theme.  I see
I have unwarily driven the nail to the quick."

This speech was made with a mixture of rude feeling which
inclined Tressilian favourably to the poor artisan, of whom
before he was inclined to judge very harshly.  But nothing can so
soon attract the unfortunate as real or seeming sympathy with
their sorrows.

"I think," proceeded Tressilian, after a minute's silence, "thou
wert in those days a jovial fellow, who could keep a company
merry by song, and tale, and rebeck, as well as by thy juggling
tricks--why do I find thee a laborious handicraftsman, plying thy
trade in so melancholy a dwelling and under such extraordinary
circumstances?"

"My story is not long," said the artist, "but your honour had
better sit while you listen to it."  So saying, he approached to
the fire a three-footed stool, and took another himself; while
Dickie Sludge, or Flibbertigibbet, as he called the boy, drew a
cricket to the smith's feet, and looked up in his face with
features which, as illuminated by the glow of the forge, seemed
convulsed with intense curiosity.  "Thou too," said the smith to
him, "shalt learn, as thou well deservest at my hand, the brief
history of my life; and, in troth, it were as well tell it thee
as leave thee to ferret it out, since Nature never packed a
shrewder wit into a more ungainly casket.--Well, sir, if my poor
story may pleasure you, it is at your command, But will you not
taste a stoup of liquor?  I promise you that even in this poor
cell I have some in store."

"Speak not of it," said Tressilian, "but go on with thy story,
for my leisure is brief."

"You shall have no cause to rue the delay," said the smith, "for
your horse shall be better fed in the meantime than he hath been
this morning, and made fitter for travel."

With that the artist left the vault, and returned after a few
minutes' interval.  Here, also, we pause, that the narrative may
commence in another chapter.



CHAPTER XI.

  I say, my lord, can such a subtilty
  (But all his craft ye must not wot of me,
  And somewhat help I yet to his working),
  That all the ground on which we ben riding,
  Till that we come to Canterbury town,
  He can all clean turnen so up so down,
  And pave it all of silver and of gold.
       THE CANON'S YEOMAN'S PROLOGUE, CANTERBURY TALES.

THE artist commenced his narrative in the following terms:--

"I was bred a blacksmith, and knew my art as well as e'er a
black-thumbed, leathern-aproned, swart-faced knave of that noble
mystery.  But I tired of ringing hammer-tunes on iron stithies,
and went out into the world, where I became acquainted with a
celebrated juggler, whose fingers had become rather too stiff for
legerdemain, and who wished to have the aid of an apprentice in
his noble mystery.  I served him for six years, until I was
master of my trade--I refer myself to your worship, whose
judgment cannot be disputed, whether I did not learn to ply the
craft indifferently well?"

"Excellently," said Tressilian; "but be brief."

"It was not long after I had performed at Sir Hugh Robsart's, in
your worship's presence," said the artist, "that I took myself to
the stage, and have swaggered with the bravest of them all, both
at the Black Bull, the Globe, the Fortune, and elsewhere; but I
know not how--apples were so plenty that year that the lads in
the twopenny gallery never took more than one bite out of them,
and threw the rest of the pippin at whatever actor chanced to be
on the stage.  So I tired of it--renounced my half share in the
company, gave my foil to my comrade, my buskins to the wardrobe,
and showed the theatre a clean pair of heels."

"Well, friend, and what," said Tressilian, "was your next shift?"

"I became," said the smith, "half partner, half domestic to a man
of much skill and little substance, who practised the trade of a
physicianer."

"In other words," said Tressilian, "you were Jack Pudding to a
quacksalver."

"Something beyond that, let me hope, my good Master Tressilian,"
replied the artist; "and yet to say truth, our practice was of an
adventurous description, and the pharmacy which I had acquired in
my first studies for the benefit of horses was frequently applied
to our human patients.  But the seeds of all maladies are the
same; and if turpentine, tar, pitch, and beef-suet, mingled with
turmerick, gum-mastick, and one bead of garlick, can cure the
horse that hath been grieved with a nail, I see not but what it
may benefit the man that hath been pricked with a sword.  But my
master's practice, as well as his skill, went far beyond mine,
and dealt in more dangerous concerns.  He was not only a bold,
adventurous practitioner in physic, but also, if your pleasure so
chanced to be, an adept who read the stars, and expounded the
fortunes of mankind, genethliacally, as he called it, or
otherwise.  He was a learned distiller of simples, and a profound
chemist--made several efforts to fix mercury, and judged himself
to have made a fair hit at the philosopher's stone.  I have yet a
programme of his on that subject, which, if your honour
understandeth, I believe you have the better, not only of all who
read, but also of him who wrote it."

He gave Tressilian a scroll of parchment, bearing at top and
bottom, and down the margin, the signs of the seven planets,
curiously intermingled with talismanical characters and scraps of
Greek and Hebrew.  In the midst were some Latin verses from a
cabalistical author, written out so fairly, that even the gloom
of the place did not prevent Tressilian from reading them.  The
tenor of the original ran as follows:-

  "Si fixum solvas, faciasque volare solutum,
  Et volucrem figas, facient te vivere tutum;
  Si pariat ventum, valet auri pondere centum;
  Ventus ubi vult spirat--Capiat qui capere potest."

"I protest to you," said Tressilian, "all I understand of this
jargon is that the last words seem to mean 'Catch who catch
can.'"

"That," said the smith, "is the very principle that my worthy
friend and master, Doctor Doboobie, always acted upon; until,
being besotted with his own imaginations, and conceited of his
high chemical skill, he began to spend, in cheating himself, the
money which he had acquired in cheating others, and either
discovered or built for himself, I could never know which, this
secret elaboratory, in which he used to seclude himself both from
patients and disciples, who doubtless thought his long and
mysterious absences from his ordinary residence in the town of
Farringdon were occasioned by his progress in the mystic
sciences, and his intercourse with the invisible world.  Me also
he tried to deceive; but though I contradicted him not, he saw
that I knew too much of his secrets to be any longer a safe
companion.  Meanwhile, his name waxed famous--or rather infamous,
and many of those who resorted to him did so under persuasion
that he was a sorcerer.  And yet his supposed advance in the
occult sciences drew to him the secret resort of men too powerful
to be named, for purposes too dangerous to be mentioned.  Men
cursed and threatened him, and bestowed on me, the innocent
assistant of his studies, the nickname of the Devil's foot-post,
which procured me a volley of stones as soon as ever I ventured
to show my face in the street of the village.  At length my
master suddenly disappeared, pretending to me that he was about
to visit his elaboratory in this place, and forbidding me to
disturb him till two days were past.  When this period had
elapsed, I became anxious, and resorted to this vault, where I
found the fires extinguished and the utensils in confusion, with
a note from the learned Doboobius, as he was wont to style
himself, acquainting me that we should never meet again,
bequeathing me his chemical apparatus, and the parchment which I
have just put into your hands, advising me strongly to prosecute
the secret which it contained, which would infallibly lead me to
the discovery of the grand magisterium."

"And didst thou follow this sage advice?"  said Tressilian.

"Worshipful sir, no," replied the smith; "for, being by nature
cautious, and suspicious from knowing with whom I had to do, I
made so many perquisitions before I ventured even to light a
fire, that I at length discovered a small barrel of gunpowder,
carefully hid beneath the furnace, with the purpose, no doubt,
that as soon as I should commence the grand work of the
transmutation of metals, the explosion should transmute the vault
and all in it into a heap of ruins, which might serve at once for
my slaughter-house and my grave.  This cured me of alchemy, and
fain would I have returned to the honest hammer and anvil; but
who would bring a horse to be shod by the Devil's post?
Meantime, I had won the regard of my honest Flibbertigibbet here,
he being then at Farringdon with his master, the sage Erasmus
Holiday, by teaching him a few secrets, such as please youth at
his age; and after much counsel together, we agreed that, since I
could get no practice in the ordinary way, I should try how I
could work out business among these ignorant boors, by practising
upon their silly fears; and, thanks to Flibbertigibbet, who hath
spread my renown, I have not wanted custom.  But it is won at too
great risk, and I fear I shall be at length taken up for a
wizard; so that I seek but an opportunity to leave this vault,
when I can have the protection of some worshipful person against
the fury of the populace, in case they chance to recognize me."

"And art thou," said Tressilian, "perfectly acquainted with the
roads in this country?"

"I could ride them every inch by midnight," answered Wayland
Smith, which was the name this adept had assumed.

"Thou hast no horse to ride upon," said Tressilian.

"Pardon me," replied Wayland; "I have as good a tit as ever
yeoman bestrode; and I forgot to say it was the best part of the
mediciner's legacy to me, excepting one or two of the choicest of
his medical secrets, which I picked up without his knowledge and
against his will."

"Get thyself washed and shaved, then," said Tressilian; "reform
thy dress as well as thou canst, and fling away these grotesque
trappings; and, so thou wilt be secret and faithful, thou shalt
follow me for a short time, till thy pranks here are forgotten.
Thou hast, I think, both address and courage, and I have matter
to do that may require both."

Wayland Smith eagerly embraced the proposal, and protested his
devotion to his new master.  In a very few minutes he had made so
great an alteration in his original appearance, by change of
dress, trimming his beard and hair, and so forth, that Tressilian
could not help remarking that he thought he would stand in little
need of a protector, since none of his old acquaintance were
likely to recognize him.

"My debtors would not pay me money," said Wayland, shaking his
head; "but my creditors of every kind would be less easily
blinded.  And, in truth, I hold myself not safe, unless under the
protection of a gentleman of birth and character, as is your
worship."

So saying, he led the way out of the cavern.  He then called
loudly for Hobgoblin, who, after lingering for an instant,
appeared with the horse furniture, when Wayland closed and
sedulously covered up the trap-door, observing it might again
serve him at his need, besides that the tools were worth
somewhat.  A whistle from the owner brought to his side a nag
that fed quietly on the common, and was accustomed to the signal.

While he accoutred him for the journey, Tressilian drew his own
girths tighter, and in a few minutes both were ready to mount.

At this moment Sludge approached to bid them farewell.

"You are going to leave me, then, my old playfellow," said the
boy; "and there is an end of all our game at bo-peep with the
cowardly lubbards whom I brought hither to have their broad-
footed nags shed by the devil and his imps?"

"It is even so," said Wayland Smith, "the best friends must part,
Flibbertigibbet; but thou, my boy, art the only thing in the Vale
of Whitehorse which I shall regret to leave behind me."

"Well, I bid thee not farewell," said Dickie Sludge, "for you
will be at these revels, I judge, and so shall I; for if Dominie
Holiday take me not thither, by the light of day, which we see
not in yonder dark hole, I will take myself there!"

"In good time," said Wayland; "but I pray you to do nought
rashly."

"Nay, now you would make a child, a common child of me, and tell
me of the risk of walking without leading-strings.  But before
you are a mile from these stones, you shall know by a sure token
that I have more of the hobgoblin about me than you credit; and I
will so manage that, if you take advantage, you may profit by my
prank."

"What dost thou mean, boy?"  said Tressilian; but Flibbertigibbet
only answered with a grin and a caper, and bidding both of them
farewell, and, at the same time, exhorting them to make the best
of their way from the place, he set them the example by running
homeward with the same uncommon velocity with which he had
baffled Tressilian's former attempts to get hold of him.

"It is in vain to chase him," said Wayland Smith; "for unless
your worship is expert in lark-hunting, we should never catch
hold of him--and besides, what would it avail?  Better make the
best of our way hence, as he advises."

They mounted their horses accordingly, and began to proceed at a
round pace, as soon as Tressilian had explained to his guide the
direction in which he desired to travel.

After they had trotted nearly a mile, Tressilian could not help
observing to his companion that his horse felt more lively under
him than even when he mounted in the morning.

"Are you avised of that?"  said Wayland Smith, smiling.  "That is
owing to a little secret of mine.  I mixed that with an handful
of oats which shall save your worship's heels the trouble of
spurring these six hours at least.  Nay, I have not studied
medicine and pharmacy for nought."

"I trust," said Tressilian, "your drugs will do my horse no
harm?"

"No more than the mare's milk; which foaled him," answered the
artist, and was proceeding to dilate on the excellence of his
recipe when he was interrupted by an explosion as loud and
tremendous as the mine which blows up the rampart of a
beleaguered city.  The horses started, and the riders were
equally surprised.  They turned to gaze in the direction from
which the thunder-clap was heard, and beheld, just over the spot
they had left so recently, a huge pillar of dark smoke rising
high into the clear, blue atmosphere.  "My habitation is gone to
wreck," said Wayland, immediately conjecturing the cause of the
explosion.  "I was a fool to mention the doctor's kind intentions
towards my mansion before that limb of mischief, Flibbertigibbet;
I might have guessed he would long to put so rare a frolic into
execution.  But let us hasten on, for the sound will collect the
country to the spot."

So saying, he spurred his horse, and Tressilian also quickening
his speed, they rode briskly forward.

"This, then, was the meaning of the little imp's token which he
promised us?"  said Tressilian.  "Had we lingered near the spot,
we had found it a love-token with a vengeance."

"He would have given us warning," said the smith.  "I saw him
look back more than once to see if we were off--'tis a very
devil for mischief, yet not an ill-natured devil either.  It were
long to tell your honour how I became first acquainted with him,
and how many tricks he played me.  Many a good turn he did me
too, especially in bringing me customers; for his great delight
was to see them sit shivering behind the bushes when they heard
the click of my hammer.  I think Dame Nature, when she lodged a
double quantity of brains in that misshapen head of his, gave him
the power of enjoying other people's distresses, as she gave them
the pleasure of laughing at his ugliness."

"It may be so," said Tressilian; "those who find themselves
severed from society by peculiarities of form, if they do not
hate the common bulk of mankind, are at least not altogether
indisposed to enjoy their mishaps and calamities."

"But Flibbertigibbet," answered Wayland, "hath that about him
which may redeem his turn for mischievous frolic; for he is as
faithful when attached as he is tricky and malignant to
strangers, and, as I said before, I have cause to say so."

Tressilian pursued the conversation no further, and they
continued their journey towards Devonshire without further
adventure, until they alighted at an inn in the town of
Marlborough, since celebrated for having given title to the
greatest general (excepting one) whom Britain ever produced.
Here the travellers received, in the same breath, an example of
the truth of two old proverbs--namely, that ILL NEWS FLY FAST,
and that LISTENERS SELDOM HEAR A GOOD TALE OF THEMSELVES.

The inn-yard was in a sort of combustion when they alighted;
insomuch, that they could scarce get man or boy to take care of
their horses, so full were the whole household of some news which
flew from tongue to tongue, the import of which they were for
some time unable to discover.  At length, indeed, they found it
respected matters which touched them nearly.

"What is the matter, say you, master?"  answered, at length, the
head hostler, in reply to Tressilian's repeated questions.--"Why,
truly, I scarce know myself.  But here was a rider but now, who
says that the devil hath flown away with him they called Wayland
Smith, that won'd about three miles from the Whitehorse of
Berkshire, this very blessed morning, in a flash of fire and a
pillar of smoke, and rooted up the place he dwelt in, near that
old cockpit of upright stones, as cleanly as if it had all been
delved up for a cropping."

"Why, then," said an old farmer, "the more is the pity; for that
Wayland Smith (whether he was the devil's crony or no I skill
not) had a good notion of horses' diseases, and it's to be
thought the bots will spread in the country far and near, an
Satan has not gien un time to leave his secret behind un."

"You may say that, Gaffer Grimesby," said the hostler in return;
"I have carried a horse to Wayland Smith myself, for he passed
all farriers in this country."

"Did you see him?"  said Dame Alison Crane, mistress of the inn
bearing that sign, and deigning to term HUSBAND the owner
thereof, a mean-looking hop-o'-my-thumb sort or person, whose
halting gait, and long neck, and meddling, henpecked
insignificance are supposed to have given origin to the
celebrated old English tune of "My name hath a lame tame Crane."

On this occasion he chirped out a repetition of his wife's
question, "Didst see the devil, Jack Hostler, I say?"

"And what if I did see un, Master Crane?"  replied Jack Hostler,
for, like all the rest of the household, he paid as little
respect to his master as his mistress herself did.

"Nay, nought, Jack Hostler," replied the pacific Master Crane;
"only if you saw the devil, methinks I would like to know what
un's like?"

"You will know that one day, Master Crane," said his helpmate,
"an ye mend not your manners, and mind your business, leaving off
such idle palabras.--But truly, Jack Hostler, I should be glad to
know myself what like the fellow was."

"Why, dame," said the hostler, more respectfully, "as for what he
was like I cannot tell, nor no man else, for why I never saw un."

"And how didst thou get thine errand done," said Gaffer Grimesby,
"if thou seedst him not?"

"Why, I had schoolmaster to write down ailment o' nag," said Jack
Hostler; "and I went wi' the ugliest slip of a boy for my guide
as ever man cut out o' lime-tree root to please a child withal."

"And what was it?--and did it cure your nag, Jack Hostler?"  was
uttered and echoed by all who stood around.

"Why, how can I tell you what it was?"  said the hostler; "simply
it smelled and tasted--for I did make bold to put a pea's
substance into my mouth--like hartshorn and savin mixed with
vinegar; but then no hartshorn and savin ever wrought so speedy a
cure.  And I am dreading that if Wayland Smith be gone, the bots
will have more power over horse and cattle."

The pride of art, which is certainly not inferior in its
influence to any other pride whatever, here so far operated on
Wayland Smith, that, notwithstanding the obvious danger of his
being recognized, he could not help winking to Tressilian, and
smiling mysteriously, as if triumphing in the undoubted evidence
of his veterinary skill.  In the meanwhile, the discourse
continued.

"E'en let it be so," said a grave man in black, the companion of
Gaffer Grimesby; "e'en let us perish under the evil God sends us,
rather than the devil be our doctor."

"Very true," said Dame Crane; "and I marvel at Jack Hostler that
he would peril his own soul to cure the bowels of a nag."

"Very true, mistress," said Jack Hostler, "but the nag was my
master's; and had it been yours, I think ye would ha' held me
cheap enow an I had feared the devil when the poor beast was in
such a taking.  For the rest, let the clergy look to it.  Every
man to his craft, says the proverb--the parson to the prayer-
book, and the groom to his curry-comb.

"I vow," said Dame Crane, "I think Jack Hostler speaks like a
good Christian and a faithful servant, who will spare neither
body nor soul in his master's service.  However, the devil has
lifted him in time, for a Constable of the Hundred came hither
this morning to get old Gaffer Pinniewinks, the trier of witches,
to go with him to the Vale of Whitehorse to comprehend Wayland
Smith, and put him to his probation.  I helped Pinniewinks to
sharpen his pincers and his poking-awl, and I saw the warrant
from Justice Blindas."

"Pooh--pooh--the devil would laugh both at Blindas and his
warrant, constable and witch-finder to boot," said old Dame
Crank, the Papist laundress; "Wayland Smith's flesh would mind
Pinniewinks' awl no more than a cambric ruff minds a hot
piccadilloe-needle.  But tell me, gentlefolks, if the devil ever
had such a hand among ye, as to snatch away your smiths and your
artists from under your nose, when the good Abbots of Abingdon
had their own?  By Our Lady, no!--they had their hallowed tapers;
and their holy water, and their relics, and what not, could send
the foulest fiends a-packing.  Go ask a heretic parson to do the
like.  But ours were a comfortable people."

"Very true, Dame Crank," said the hostler; "so said Simpkins of
Simonburn when the curate kissed his wife,--'They are a
comfortable people,' said he."

"Silence, thou foul-mouthed vermin," said Dame Crank; "is it fit
for a heretic horse-boy like thee to handle such a text as the
Catholic clergy?"

"In troth no, dame," replied the man of oats; "and as you
yourself are now no text for their handling, dame, whatever may
have been the case in your day, I think we had e'en better leave
un alone."

At this last exchange of sarcasm, Dame Crank set up her throat,
and began a horrible exclamation against Jack Hostler, under
cover of which Tressilian and his attendant escaped into the
house.

They had no sooner entered a private chamber, to which Goodman
Crane himself had condescended to usher them, and dispatched
their worthy and obsequious host on the errand of procuring wine
and refreshment, than Wayland Smith began to give vent to his
self-importance.

"You see, sir," said he, addressing Tressilian, "that I nothing
fabled in asserting that I possessed fully the mighty mystery of
a farrier, or mareschal, as the French more honourably term us.
These dog-hostlers, who, after all, are the better judges in such
a case, know what credit they should attach to my medicaments.  I
call you to witness, worshipful Master Tressilian, that nought,
save the voice of calumny and the hand of malicious violence,
hath driven me forth from a station in which I held a place alike
useful and honoured."

"I bear witness, my friend, but will reserve my listening,"
answered Tressilian, "for a safer time; unless, indeed, you deem
it essential to your reputation to be translated, like your late
dwelling, by the assistance of a flash of fire.  For you see your
best friends reckon you no better than a mere sorcerer."

"Now, Heaven forgive them," said the artist, "who confounded
learned skill with unlawful magic!  I trust a man may be as
skilful, or more so, than the best chirurgeon ever meddled with
horse-flesh, and yet may be upon the matter little more than
other ordinary men, or at the worst no conjurer."

"God forbid else!"  said Tressilian.  "But be silent just for the
present, since here comes mine host with an assistant, who seems
something of the least."

Everybody about the inn, Dame Crane herself included, had been
indeed so interested and agitated by the story they had heard of
Wayland Smith, and by the new, varying, and more marvellous
editions of the incident which arrived from various quarters,
that mine host, in his righteous determination to accommodate his
guests, had been able to obtain the assistance of none of his
household, saving that of a little boy, a junior tapster, of
about twelve years old, who was called Sampson.

"I wish," he said, apologizing to his guests, as he set down a
flagon of sack, and promised some food immediately--"I wish the
devil had flown away with my wife and my whole family instead of
this Wayland Smith, who, I daresay, after all said and done, was
much less worthy of the distinction which Satan has done him."

"I hold opinion with you, good fellow," replied Wayland Smith;
"and I will drink to you upon that argument."

"Not that I would justify any man who deals with the devil," said
mine host, after having pledged Wayland in a rousing draught of
sack, "but that--saw ye ever better sack, my masters?--but that,
I say, a man had better deal with a dozen cheats and scoundrel
fellows, such as this Wayland Smith, than with a devil incarnate,
that takes possession of house and home, bed and board."

The poor fellow's detail of grievances was here interrupted by
the shrill voice of his helpmate, screaming from the kitchen, to
which he instantly hobbled, craving pardon of his guests.  He was
no sooner gone than Wayland Smith expressed, by every
contemptuous epithet in the language, his utter scorn for a
nincompoop who stuck his head under his wife's apron-string; and
intimated that, saving for the sake of the horses, which required
both rest and food, he would advise his worshipful Master
Tressilian to push on a stage farther, rather than pay a
reckoning to such a mean-spirited, crow-trodden, henpecked
coxcomb, as Gaffer Crane.

The arrival of a large dish of good cow-heel and bacon something
soothed the asperity of the artist, which wholly vanished before
a choice capon, so delicately roasted that the lard frothed on
it, said Wayland, like May-dew on a lily; and both Gaffer Crane
and his good dame became, in his eyes, very painstaking,
accommodating, obliging persons.

According to the manners of the times, the master and his
attendant sat at the same table, and the latter observed, with
regret, how little attention Tressilian paid to his meal.  He
recollected, indeed, the pain he had given by mentioning the
maiden in whose company he had first seen him; but, fearful of
touching upon a topic too tender to be tampered with, he chose to
ascribe his abstinence to another cause.

"This fare is perhaps too coarse for your worship," said Wayland,
as the limbs of the capon disappeared before his own exertions;
"but had you dwelt as long as I have done in yonder dungeon,
which Flibbertigibbet has translated to the upper element, a
place where I dared hardly broil my food, lest the smoke should
be seen without, you would think a fair capon a more welcome
dainty."

"If you are pleased, friend," said Tressilian, "it is well.
Nevertheless, hasten thy meal if thou canst, For this place is
unfriendly to thy safety, and my concerns crave travelling."

Allowing, therefore, their horses no more rest than was
absolutely necessary for them, they pursued their journey by a
forced march as far as Bradford, where they reposed themselves
for the night.

The next morning found them early travellers.  And, not to
fatigue the reader with unnecessary particulars, they traversed
without adventure the counties of Wiltshire and Somerset, and
about noon of the third day after Tressilian's leaving Cumnor,
arrived at Sir Hugh Robsart's seat, called Lidcote Hall, on the
frontiers of Devonshire.



CHAPTER XII.

  Ah me!  the flower and blossom of your house,
  The wind hath blown away to other towers.
                        JOANNA BAILLIE'S  FAMILY LEGEND.

The ancient seat of Lidcote Hall was situated near the village of
the same name, and adjoined the wild and extensive forest of
Exmoor, plentifully stocked with game, in which some ancient
rights belonging to the Robsart family entitled Sir Hugh to
pursue his favourite amusement of the chase.  The old mansion was
a low, venerable building, occupying a considerable space of
ground, which was surrounded by a deep moat.  The approach and
drawbridge were defended by an octagonal tower, of ancient
brickwork, but so clothed with ivy and other creepers that it was
difficult to discover of what materials it was constructed.  The
angles of this tower were each decorated with a turret,
whimsically various in form and in size, and, therefore, very
unlike the monotonous stone pepperboxes which, in modern Gothic
architecture, are employed for the same purpose.  One of these
turrets was square, and occupied as a clock-house.  But the clock
was now standing still; a circumstance peculiarly striking to
Tressilian, because the good old knight, among other harmless
peculiarities, had a fidgety anxiety about the exact measurement
of time, very common to those who have a great deal of that
commodity to dispose of, and find it lie heavy upon their hands--
just as we see shopkeepers amuse themselves with taking an exact
account of their stock at the time there is least demand for it.

The entrance to the courtyard of the old mansion lay through an
archway, surmounted by the foresaid tower; but the drawbridge was
down, and one leaf of the iron-studded folding-doors stood
carelessly open.  Tressilian hastily rode over the drawbridge,
entered the court, and began to call loudly on the domestics by
their names.  For some time he was only answered by the echoes
and the howling of the hounds, whose kennel lay at no great
distance from the mansion, and was surrounded by the same moat.
At length Will Badger, the old and favourite attendant of the
knight, who acted alike as squire of his body and superintendent
of his sports, made his appearance.  The stout, weather-beaten
forester showed great signs of joy when he recognized Tressilian.

"Lord love you," he said, "Master Edmund, be it thou in flesh and
fell?  Then thou mayest do some good on Sir Hugh, for it passes
the wit of man--that is, of mine own, and the curate's, and
Master Mumblazen's--to do aught wi'un."

"Is Sir Hugh then worse since I went away, Will?"  demanded
Tressilian.

"For worse in body--no; he is much better," replied the domestic;
"but he is clean mazed as it were--eats and drinks as he was
wont--but sleeps not, or rather wakes not, for he is ever in a
sort of twilight, that is neither sleeping nor waking.  Dame
Swineford thought it was like the dead palsy.  But no, no, dame,
said I, it is the heart, it is the heart."

"Can ye not stir his mind to any pastimes?"  said Tressilian.

"He is clean and quite off his sports," said Will Badger; "hath
neither touched backgammon or shovel-board, nor looked on the big
book of harrowtry wi' Master Mumblazen.  I let the clock run
down, thinking the missing the bell might somewhat move him--for
you know, Master Edmund, he was particular in counting time--but
he never said a word on't, so I may e'en set the old chime a-
towling again.  I made bold to tread on Bungay's tail too, and
you know what a round rating that would ha' cost me once a-day;
but he minded the poor tyke's whine no more than a madge howlet
whooping down the chimney--so the case is beyond me."

"Thou shalt tell me the rest within doors, Will.  Meanwhile, let
this person be ta'en to the buttery, and used with respect.  He
is a man of art."

"White art or black art, I would," said Will Badger, "that he had
any art which could help us.--Here, Tom Butler, look to the man
of art;--and see that he steals none of thy spoons, lad," he
added in a whisper to the butler, who showed himself at a low
window, "I have known as honest a faced fellow have art enough to
do that."

He then ushered Tressilian into a low parlour, and went, at his
desire, to see in what state his master was, lest the sudden
return of his darling pupil and proposed son-in-law should affect
him too strongly.  He returned immediately, and said that Sir
Hugh was dozing in his elbow-chair, but that Master Mumblazen
would acquaint Master Tressilian the instant he awaked.

"But it is chance if he knows you," said the huntsman, "for he
has forgotten the name of every hound in the pack.  I thought,
about a week since, he had gotten a favourable turn.  'Saddle me
old Sorrel,' said he suddenly, after he had taken his usual
night-draught out of the great silver grace-cup, 'and take the
hounds to Mount Hazelhurst to-morrow.' Glad men were we all, and
out we had him in the morning, and he rode to cover as usual,
with never a word spoken but that the wind was south, and the
scent would lie.  But ere we had uncoupled'the hounds, he began
to stare round him, like a man that wakes suddenly out of a
dream--turns bridle, and walks back to Hall again, and leaves us
to hunt at leisure by ourselves, if we listed."

"You tell a heavy tale, Will," replied Tressilian; "but God must
help us--there is no aid in man."

"Then you bring us no news of young Mistress Amy?  But what need
I ask--your brow tells the story.  Ever I hoped that if any man
could or would track her, it must be you.  All's over and lost
now.  But if ever I have that Varney within reach of a flight-
shot, I will bestow a forked shaft on him; and that I swear by
salt and bread."

As he spoke, the door opened, and Master Mumblazen appeared--a
withered, thin, elderly gentleman, with a cheek like a winter
apple, and his grey hair partly concealed by a small, high hat,
shaped like a cone, or rather like such a strawberry-basket as
London fruiterers exhibit at their windows.  He was too
sententious a person to waste words on mere salutation; so,
having welcomed Tressilian with a nod and a shake of the hand, he
beckoned him to follow to Sir Hugh's great chamber, which the
good knight usually inhabited.  Will Badger followed, unasked,
anxious to see whether his master would be relieved from his
state of apathy by the arrival of Tressilian.

In a long, low parlour, amply furnished with implements of the
chase, and with silvan trophies, by a massive stone chimney, over
which hung a sword and suit of armour somewhat obscured by
neglect, sat Sir Hugh Robsart of Lidcote, a man of large size,
which had been only kept within moderate compass by the constant
use of violent exercise, It seemed to Tressilian that the
lethargy, under which his old friend appeared to labour, had,
even during his few weeks' absence, added bulk to his person--at
least it had obviously diminished the vivacity of his eye, which,
as they entered, first followed Master Mumblazen slowly to a
large oaken desk, on which a ponderous volume lay open, and then
rested, as if in uncertainty, on the stranger who had entered
along with him.  The curate, a grey-headed clergyman, who had
been a confessor in the days of Queen Mary, sat with a book in
his hand in another recess in the apartment.  He, too, signed a
mournful greeting to Tressilian, and laid his book aside, to
watch the effect his appearance should produce on the afflicted
old man.

As Tressilian, his own eyes filling fast with tears, approached
more and more nearly to the father of his betrothed bride, Sir
Hugh's intelligence seemed to revive.  He sighed heavily, as one
who awakens from a state of stupor; a slight convulsion passed
over his features; he opened his arms without speaking a word,
and, as Tressilian threw himself into them, he folded him to his
bosom.

"There is something left to live for yet," were the first words
he uttered; and while he spoke, he gave vent to his feelings in a
paroxysm of weeping, the tears chasing each other down his
sunburnt cheeks and long white beard.

"I ne'er thought to have thanked God to see my master weep," said
Will Badger; "but now I do, though I am like to weep for
company."

"I will ask thee no questions," said the old knight; "no
questions--none, Edmund.  Thou hast not found her--or so found
her, that she were better lost."

Tressilian was unable to reply otherwise than by putting his
hands before his face.

"It is enough--it is enough.  But do not thou weep for her,
Edmund.  I have cause to weep, for she was my daughter; thou hast
cause to rejoice, that she did not become thy wife.--Great God!
thou knowest best what is good for us.  It was my nightly prayer
that I should see Amy and Edmund wedded,--had it been granted, it
had now been gall added to bitterness."

"Be comforted, my friend," said the curate, addressing Sir Hugh,
"it cannot be that the daughter of all our hopes and affections
is the vile creature you would bespeak her."

"Oh, no," replied Sir Hugh impatiently, "I were wrong to name
broadly the base thing she is become--there is some new court
name for it, I warrant me.  It is honour enough for the daughter
of an old Devonshire clown to be the leman of a gay courtier--of
Varney too--of Varney, whose grandsire was relieved by my father,
when his fortune was broken, at the battle of--the battle of--
where Richard was slain--out on my memory!--and I warrant none
of you will help me--"

"The battle of Bosworth," said Master Mumblazen--"stricken
between Richard Crookback and Henry Tudor, grandsire of the Queen
that now is, PRIMO HENRICI SEPTIMI; and in the year one thousand
four hundred and eighty-five, POST CHRISTUM NATUM."

"Ay, even so," said the old knight; "every child knows it.  But
my poor head forgets all it should remember, and remembers only
what it would most willingly forget.  My brain has been at fault,
Tressilian, almost ever since thou hast been away, and even yet
it hunts counter."

"Your worship," said the good clergyman, "had better retire to
your apartment, and try to sleep for a little space.  The
physician left a composing draught; and our Great Physician has
commanded us to use earthly means, that we may be strengthened to
sustain the trials He sends us."

"True, true, old friend," said Sir Hugh; "and we will bear our
trials manfully--we have lost but a woman.--See, Tressilian,"--he
drew from his bosom a long ringlet of glossy hair,--"see this
lock!  I tell thee, Edmund, the very night she disappeared, when
she bid me good even, as she was wont, she hung about my neck,
and fondled me more than usual; and I, like an old fool, held her
by this lock, until she took her scissors, severed it, and left
it in my hand--as all I was ever to see more of her!"

Tressilian was unable to reply, well judging what a complication
of feelings must have crossed the bosom of the unhappy fugitive
at that cruel moment.  The clergyman was about to speak, but Sir
Hugh interrupted him.

"I know what you would say, Master Curate,--After all, it is but
a lock of woman's tresses; and by woman, shame, and sin, and
death came into an innocent world.--And learned Master Mumblazen,
too, can say scholarly things of their inferiority."

"C'EST L'HOMME," said Master Mumblazen, "QUI SE BAST, ET QUI
CONSEILLE."

"True," said Sir Hugh, "and we will bear us, therefore, like men
who have both mettle and wisdom in us.--Tressilian, thou art as
welcome as if thou hadst brought better news.  But we have spoken
too long dry-lipped.--Amy, fill a cup of wine to Edmund, and
another to me."  Then instantly recollecting that he called upon
her who could not hear, he shook his head, and said to the
clergyman, "This grief is to my bewildered mind what the church
of Lidcote is to our park: we may lose ourselves among the briers
and thickets for a little space, but from the end of each avenue
we see the old grey steeple and the grave of my forefathers.  I
would I were to travel that road tomorrow!"

Tressilian and the curate joined in urging the exhausted old man
to lay himself to rest, and at length prevailed.  Tressilian
remained by his pillow till he saw that slumber at length sunk
down on him, and then returned to consult with the curate what
steps should be adopted in these unhappy circumstances.

They could not exclude from these deliberations Master Michael
Mumblazen; and they admitted him the more readily, that besides
what hopes they entertained from his sagacity, they knew him to
be so great a friend to taciturnity, that there was no doubt of
his keeping counsel.  He was an old bachelor, of good family, but
small fortune, and distantly related to the House of Robsart; in
virtue of which connection, Lidcote Hall had been honoured with
his residence for the last twenty years.  His company was
agreeable to Sir Hugh, chiefly on account of his profound
learning, which, though it only related to heraldry and
genealogy, with such scraps of history as connected themselves
with these subjects, was precisely of a kind to captivate the
good old knight; besides the convenience which he found in having
a friend to appeal to when his own memory, as frequently
happened, proved infirm and played him false concerning names and
dates, which, and all similar deficiencies, Master Michael
Mumblazen supplied with due brevity and discretion.  And, indeed,
in matters concerning the modern world, he often gave, in his
enigmatical and heraldic phrase, advice which was well worth
attending to, or, in Will Badger's language, started the game
while others beat the bush.

"We have had an unhappy time of it with the good knight, Master
Edmund," said the curate.  "I have not suffered so much since I
was torn away from my beloved flock, and compelled to abandon
them to the Romish wolves."

"That was in TERTIO MARIAE," said Master Mumblazen.

"In the name of Heaven," continued the curate, "tell us, has your
time been better spent than ours, or have you any news of that
unhappy maiden, who, being for so many years the principal joy of
this broken-down house, is now proved our greatest unhappiness?
Have you not at least discovered her place of residence?"

"I have," replied Tressilian.  "Know you Cumnor Place, near
Oxford?"

"Surely," said the clergyman; "it was a house of removal for the
monks of Abingdon."

"Whose arms," said Master Michael, "I have seen over a stone
chimney in the hall,--a cross patonce betwixt four martlets."

"There," said Tressilian, "this unhappy maiden resides, in
company with the villain Varney.  But for a strange mishap, my
sword had revenged all our injuries, as well as hers, on his
worthless head."

"Thank God, that kept thine hand from blood-guiltiness, rash
young man!"  answered the curate.  "Vengeance is mine, saith the
Lord, and I will repay it.  It were better study to free her from
the villain's nets of infamy."

"They are called, in heraldry, LAQUEI AMORIS, or LACS D'AMOUR,"
said Mumblazen.

"It is in that I require your aid, my friends," said Tressilian.
"I am resolved to accuse this villain, at the very foot of the
throne, of falsehood, seduction, and breach of hospitable laws.
The Queen shall hear me, though the Earl of Leicester, the
villain's patron, stood at her right hand."

"Her Grace," said the curate, "hath set a comely example of
continence to her subjects, and will doubtless do justice on this
inhospitable robber.  But wert thou not better apply to the Earl
of Leicester, in the first place, for justice on his servant?  If
he grants it, thou dost save the risk of making thyself a
powerful adversary, which will certainly chance if, in the first
instance, you accuse his master of the horse and prime favourite
before the Queen."

"My mind revolts from your counsel," said Tressilian.  "I cannot
brook to plead my noble patron's cause the unhappy Amy's cause--
before any one save my lawful Sovereign.  Leicester, thou wilt
say, is noble.  Be it so; he is but a subject like ourselves, and
I will not carry my plaint to him, if I can do better.  Still, I
will think on what thou hast said; but I must have your
assistance to persuade the good Sir Hugh to make me his
commissioner and fiduciary in this matter, for it is in his name
I must speak, and not in my own.  Since she is so far changed as
to dote upon this empty profligate courtier, he shall at least do
her the justice which is yet in his power."

"Better she died CAELEBS and SINE PROLE," said Mumblazen, with
more animation than he usually expressed, "than part, PER PALE,
the noble coat of Robsart with that of such a miscreant!"

"If it be your object, as I cannot question," said the clergyman,
"to save, as much as is yet possible, the credit of this unhappy
young woman, I repeat, you should apply, in the first instance,
to the Earl of Leicester.  He is as absolute in his household as
the Queen in her kingdom, and if he expresses to Varney that such
is his pleasure, her honour will not stand so publicly
committed."

"You are right, you are right!"  said Tressilian eagerly, "and I
thank you for pointing out what I overlooked in my haste.  I
little thought ever to have besought grace of Leicester; but I
could kneel to the proud Dudley, if doing so could remove one
shade of shame from this unhappy damsel.  You will assist me then
to procure the necessary powers from Sir Hugh Robsart?"

The curate assured him of his assistance, and the herald nodded
assent.

"You must hold yourselves also in readiness to testify, in case
you are called upon, the openhearted hospitality which our good
patron exercised towards this deceitful traitor, and the
solicitude with which he laboured to seduce his unhappy
daughter."

"At first," said the clergyman, "she did not, as it seemed to me,
much affect his company; but latterly I saw them often together."

"SEIANT in the parlour," said Michael Mumblazen, "and PASSANT in
the garden."

"I once came on them by chance," said the priest, "in the South
wood, in a spring evening.  Varney was muffled in a russet cloak,
so that I saw not his face.  They separated hastily, as they
heard me rustle amongst the leaves; and I observed she turned her
head and looked long after him."

"With neck REGUARDANT," said the herald.  "And on the day of her
flight, and that was on Saint Austen's Eve, I saw Varney's groom,
attired in his liveries, hold his master's horse and Mistress
Amy's palfrey, bridled and saddled PROPER, behind the wall of the
churchyard,"

"And now is she found mewed up in his secret place of
retirement," said Tressilian.  "The villain is taken in the
manner, and I well wish he may deny his crime, that I may thrust
conviction down his false throat!  But I must prepare for my
journey.  Do you, gentlemen, dispose my patron to grant me such
powers as are needful to act in his name."

So saying, Tressilian left the room.

"He is too hot," said the curate; "and I pray to God that He may
grant him the patience to deal with Varney as is fitting."

"Patience and Varney," said Mumblazen, "is worse heraldry than
metal upon metal.  He is more false than a siren, more rapacious
than a griffin, more poisonous than a wyvern, and more cruel than
a lion rampant."

"Yet I doubt much," said the curate, "whether we can with
propriety ask from Sir Hugh Robsart, being in his present
condition, any deed deputing his paternal right in Mistress Amy
to whomsoever--"

"Your reverence need not doubt that," said Will Badger, who
entered as he spoke, "for I will lay my life he is another man
when he wakes than he has been these thirty days past."

"Ay, Will," said the curate, "hast thou then so much confidence
in Doctor Diddleum's draught?"

"Not a whit," said Will, "because master ne'er tasted a drop
on't, seeing it was emptied out by the housemaid.  But here's a
gentleman, who came attending on Master Tressilian, has given Sir
Hugh a draught that is worth twenty of yon un.  I have spoken
cunningly with him, and a better farrier or one who hath a more
just notion of horse and dog ailment I have never seen; and such
a one would never be unjust to a Christian man."

"A farrier!  you saucy groom--and by whose authority, pray?"
said the curate, rising in surprise and indignation; "or who will
be warrant for this new physician?"

"For authority, an it like your reverence, he had mine; and for
warrant, I trust I have not been five-and-twenty years in this
house without having right to warrant the giving of a draught to
beast or body--I who can gie a drench, and a ball, and bleed, or
blister, if need, to my very self."

The counsellors of the house of Robsart thought it meet to carry
this information instantly to Tressilian, who as speedily
summoned before him Wayland Smith, and demanded of him (in
private, however) by what authority he had ventured to administer
any medicine to Sir Hugh Robsart?

"Why," replied the artist, "your worship cannot but remember that
I told you I had made more progress into my master's--I mean the
learned Doctor Doboobie's--mystery than he was willing to own;
and indeed half of his quarrel and malice against me was that,
besides that I got something too deep into his secrets, several
discerning persons, and particularly a buxom young widow of
Abingdon, preferred my prescriptions to his."

"None of thy buffoonery, sir," said Tressilian sternly.  "If thou
hast trifled with us--much more, if thou hast done aught that may
prejudice Sir Hugh Robsart's health, thou shalt find thy grave at
the bottom of a tin-mine."

"I know too little of the great ARCANUM to convert the ore to
gold," said Wayland firmly.  "But truce to your apprehensions,
Master Tressilian.  I understood the good knight's case from what
Master William Badger told me; and I hope I am able enough to
administer a poor dose of mandragora, which, with the sleep that
must needs follow, is all that Sir Hugh Robsart requires to
settle his distraught brains."

"I trust thou dealest fairly with me, Wayland?"  said Tressilian.

"Most fairly and honestly, as the event shall show," replied the
artist.  "What would it avail me to harm the poor old man for
whom you are interested?--you, to whom I owe it that Gaffer
Pinniewinks is not even now rending my flesh and sinews with his
accursed pincers, and probing every mole in my body with his
sharpened awl (a murrain on the hands which forged it!) in order
to find out the witch's mark?--I trust to yoke myself as a humble
follower to your worship's train, and I only wish to have my
faith judged of by the result of the good knight's slumbers."

Wayland Smith was right in his prognostication.  The sedative
draught which his skill had prepared, and Will Badger's
confidence had administered, was attended with the most
beneficial effects.  The patient's sleep was long and healthful,
and the poor old knight awoke, humbled indeed in thought and weak
in frame, yet a much better judge of whatever was subjected to
his intellect than he had been for some time past.  He resisted
for a while the proposal made by his friends that Tressilian
should undertake a journey to court, to attempt the recovery of
his daughter, and the redress of her wrongs, in so far as they
might yet be repaired.  "Let her go," he said; "she is but a hawk
that goes down the wind; I would not bestow even a whistle to
reclaim her."  But though he for some time maintained this
argument, he was at length convinced it was his duty to take the
part to which natural affection inclined him, and consent that
such efforts as could yet be made should be used by Tressilian in
behalf of his daughter.  He subscribed, therefore, a warrant of
attorney, such as the curate's skill enabled him to draw up; for
in those simple days the clergy were often the advisers of their
flock in law as well as in gospel.

All matters were prepared for Tressilian's second departure,
within twenty-four hours after he had returned to Lidcote Hall;
but one material circumstance had been forgotten, which was first
called to the remembrance of Tressilian by Master Mumblazen.
"You are going to court, Master Tressilian," said he; "you will
please remember that your blazonry must be ARGENT and OR--no
other tinctures will pass current."  The remark was equally just
and embarrassing.  To prosecute a suit at court, ready money was
as indispensable even in the golden days of Elizabeth as at any
succeeding period; and it was a commodity little at the command
of the inhabitants of Lidcote Hall.  Tressilian was himself poor;
the revenues of good Sir Hugh Robsart were consumed, and even
anticipated, in his hospitable mode of living; and it was finally
necessary that the herald who started the doubt should himself
solve it.  Master Michael Mumblazen did so by producing a bag of
money, containing nearly three hundred pounds in gold and silver
of various coinage, the savings of twenty years, which he now,
without speaking a syllable upon the subject, dedicated to the
service of the patron whose shelter and protection had given him
the means of making this little hoard.  Tressilian accepted it
without affecting a moment's hesitation, and a mutual grasp of
the hand was all that passed betwixt them, to express the
pleasure which the one felt in dedicating his all to such a
purpose, and that which the other received from finding so
material an obstacle to the success of his journey so suddenly
removed, and in a manner so unexpected.

While Tressilian was making preparations for his departure early
the ensuing morning, Wayland Smith desired to speak with him,
and, expressing his hope that he had been pleased with the
operation of his medicine in behalf of Sir Hugh Robsart, added
his desire to accompany him to court.  This was indeed what
Tressilian himself had several times thought of; for the
shrewdness, alertness of understanding, and variety of resource
which this fellow had exhibited during the time they had
travelled together, had made him sensible that his assistance
might be of importance.  But then Wayland was in danger from the
grasp of law; and of this Tressilian reminded him, mentioning
something, at the same time, of the pincers of Pinniewinks and
the warrant of Master Justice Blindas.  Wayland Smith laughed
both to scorn.

"See you, sir!"  said he, "I have changed my garb from that of a
farrier to a serving-man; but were it still as it was, look at my
moustaches.  They now hang down; I will but turn them up, and dye
them with a tincture that I know of, and the devil would scarce
know me again."

He accompanied these words with the appropriate action, and in
less than a minute, by setting up, his moustaches and his hair,
he seemed a different person from him that had but now entered
the room.  Still, however, Tressilian hesitated to accept his
services, and the artist became proportionably urgent.

"I owe you life and limb," he said, "and I would fain pay a part
of the debt, especially as I know from Will Badger on what
dangerous service your worship is bound.  I do not, indeed,
pretend to be what is called a man of mettle, one of those
ruffling tear-cats who maintain their master's quarrel with sword
and buckler.  Nay, I am even one of those who hold the end of a
feast better than the beginning of a fray.  But I know that I can
serve your worship better, in such quest as yours, than any of
these sword-and-dagger men, and that my head will be worth an
hundred of their hands."

Tressilian still hesitated.  He knew not much of this strange
fellow, and was doubtful how far he could repose in him the
confidence necessary to render him a useful attendant upon the
present emergency.  Ere he had come to a determination, the
trampling of a horse was heard in the courtyard, and Master
Mumblazen and Will Badger both entered hastily into Tressilian's
chamber, speaking almost at the same moment.

"Here is a serving-man on the bonniest grey tit I ever see'd in
my life," said Will Badger, who got the start--"having on his
arm a silver cognizance, being a fire-drake holding in his mouth
a brickbat, under a coronet of an Earl's degree," said Master
Mumblazen, "and bearing a letter sealed of the same."

Tressilian took the letter, which was addressed "To the
worshipful Master Edmund Tressilian, our loving kinsman--These--
ride, ride, ride--for thy life, for thy life, for thy life.  "He
then opened it, and found the following contents:--

"MASTER TRESSILIAN, OUR GOOD FRIEND AND COUSIN,

"We are at present so ill at ease, and otherwise so unhappily
circumstanced, that we are desirous to have around us those of
our friends on whose loving-kindness we can most especially
repose confidence; amongst whom we hold our good Master
Tressilian one of the foremost and nearest, both in good will and
good ability.  We therefore pray you, with your most convenient
speed, to repair to our poor lodging, at Sayes Court, near
Deptford, where we will treat further with you of matters which
we deem it not fit to commit unto writing.  And so we bid you
heartily farewell, being your loving kinsman to command,
          "RATCLIFFE, EARL OF SUSSEX."

"Send up the messenger instantly, Will Badger," said Tressilian;
and as the man entered the room, he exclaimed, "Ah, Stevens, is
it you?  how does my good lord?"

"Ill, Master Tressilian," was the messenger's reply, "and having
therefore the more need of good friends around him."

"But what is my lord's malady?"  said Tressilian anxiously; I
heard nothing of his being ill."

"I know not, sir," replied the man; "he is very ill at ease.  The
leeches are at a stand, and many of his household suspect foul
practice-witchcraft, or worse."

"What are the symptoms?"  said Wayland Smith, stepping forward
hastily.

"Anan?"  said the messenger, not comprehending his meaning.

"What does he ail?"  said Wayland; "where lies his disease?"

The man looked at Tressilian, as if to know whether he should
answer these inquiries from a stranger, and receiving a sign in
the affirmative, he hastily enumerated gradual loss of strength,
nocturnal perspiration, and loss of appetite, faintness, etc.

"Joined," said Wayland, "to a gnawing pain in the stomach, and a
low fever?"

"Even so," said the messenger, somewhat surprised.

"I know how the disease is caused," said the artist, "and I know
the cause.  Your master has eaten of the manna of Saint Nicholas.
I know the cure too--my master shall not say I studied in his
laboratory for nothing."

"How mean you?"  said Tressilian, frowning; "we speak of one of
the first nobles of England.  Bethink you, this is no subject for
buffoonery."

"God forbid!"  said Wayland Smith.  "I say that I know this
disease, and can cure him.  Remember what I did for Sir Hugh
Robsart,"

"We will set forth instantly," said Tressilian.  "God calls us."

Accordingly, hastily mentioning this new motive for his instant
departure, though without alluding to either the suspicions of
Stevens, or the assurances of Wayland Smith, he took the kindest
leave of Sir Hugh and the family at Lidcote Hall, who accompanied
him with prayers and blessings, and, attended by Wayland and the
Earl of Sussex's domestic, travelled with the utmost speed
towards London.



CHAPTER XIII.

  Ay, I know you have arsenic,
  Vitriol, sal-tartre, argaile, alkaly,
  Cinoper:  I know all.--This fellow, Captain,
  Will come in time to be a great distiller,
  And give a say (I will not say directly,
  But very near) at the philosopher's stone.   THE ALCHEMIST.

Tressilian and his attendants pressed their route with all
dispatch.  He had asked the smith, indeed, when their departure
was resolved on, whether he would not rather choose to avoid
Berkshire, in which he had played a part so conspicuous?  But
Wayland returned a confident answer.  He had employed the short
interval they passed at Lidcote Hall in transforming himself in a
wonderful manner.  His wild and overgrown thicket of beard was
now restrained to two small moustaches on the upper lip, turned
up in a military fashion.  A tailor from the village of Lidcote
(well paid) had exerted his skill, under his customer's
directions, so as completely to alter Wayland's outward man, and
take off from his appearance almost twenty years of age.
Formerly, besmeared with soot and charcoal, overgrown with hair,
and bent double with the nature of his labour, disfigured too by
his odd and fantastic dress, he seemed a man of fifty years old.
But now, in a handsome suit of Tressilian's livery, with a sword
by his side and a buckler on his shoulder, he looked like a gay
ruffling serving-man, whose age might be betwixt thirty and
thirty-five, the very prime of human life.  His loutish, savage-
looking demeanour seemed equally changed, into a forward, sharp,
and impudent alertness of look and action.

When challenged by Tressilian, who desired to know the cause of a
metamorphosis so singular and so absolute, Wayland only answered
by singing a stave from a comedy, which was then new, and was
supposed, among the more favourable judges, to augur some genius
on the part of the author.  We are happy to preserve the couplet,
which ran exactly thus,--

  "Ban, ban, ca Caliban--
  Get a new master--Be a new man."

Although Tressilian did not recollect the verses, yet they
reminded him that Wayland had once been a stage player, a
circumstance which, of itself, accounted indifferently well for
the readiness with which he could assume so total a change of
personal appearance.  The artist himself was so confident of his
disguise being completely changed, or of his having completely
changed his disguise, which may be the more correct mode of
speaking, that he regretted they were not to pass near his old
place of retreat.

"I could venture," he said, "in my present dress, and with your
worship's backing, to face Master Justice Blindas, even on a day
of Quarter Sessions; and I would like to know what is become of
Hobgoblin, who is like to play the devil in the world, if he can
once slip the string, and leave his granny and his dominie.--Ay,
and the scathed vault!"  he said; "I would willingly have seen
what havoc the explosion of so much gunpowder has made among
Doctor Demetrius Doboobie's retorts and phials.  I warrant me, my
fame haunts the Vale of the Whitehorse long after my body is
rotten; and that many a lout ties up his horse, lays down his
silver groat, and pipes like a sailor whistling in a calm for
Wayland Smith to come and shoe his tit for him.  But the horse
will catch the founders ere the smith answers the call."

In this particular, indeed, Wayland proved a true prophet; and so
easily do fables rise, that an obscure tradition of his
extraordinary practice in farriery prevails in the Vale of
Whitehorse even unto this day; and neither the tradition of
Alfred's Victory, nor of the celebrated Pusey Horn, are better
preserved in Berkshire than the wild legend of Wayland Smith.
[See Note 2, Legend of Wayland Smith.]

The haste of the travellers admitted their making no stay upon
their journey, save what the refreshment of the horses required;
and as many of the places through which they passed were under
the influence of the Earl of Leicester, or persons immediately
dependent on him, they thought it prudent to disguise their names
and the purpose of their journey.  On such occasions the agency
of Wayland Smith (by which name we shall continue to distinguish
the artist, though his real name was Lancelot Wayland) was
extremely serviceable.  He seemed, indeed, to have a pleasure in
displaying the alertness with which he could baffle
investigation, and amuse himself by putting the curiosity of
tapsters and inn-keepers on a false scent.  During the course of
their brief journey, three different and inconsistent reports
were circulated by him on their account--namely, first, that
Tressilian was the Lord Deputy of Ireland, come over in disguise
to take the Queen's pleasure concerning the great rebel Rory Oge
MacCarthy MacMahon; secondly, that the said Tressilian was an
agent of Monsieur, coming to urge his suit to the hand of
Elizabeth; thirdly, that he was the Duke of Medina, come over,
incognito, to adjust the quarrel betwixt Philip and that
princess.

Tressilian was angry, and expostulated with the artist on the
various inconveniences, and, in particular, the unnecessary
degree of attention to which they were subjected by the figments
he thus circulated; but he was pacified (for who could be proof
against such an argument?) by Wayland's assuring him that a
general importance was attached to his own (Tressilian's)
striking presence, which rendered it necessary to give an
extraordinary reason for the rapidity and secrecy of his journey.

At length they approached the metropolis, where, owing to the
more general recourse of strangers, their appearance excited
neither observation nor inquiry, and finally they entered London
itself.

It was Tressilian's purpose to go down directly to Deptford,
where Lord Sussex resided, in order to be near the court, then
held at Greenwich, the favourite residence of Elizabeth, and
honoured as her birthplace.  Still a brief halt in London was
necessary; and it was somewhat prolonged by the earnest
entreaties of Wayland Smith, who desired permission to take a
walk through the city.

"Take thy sword and buckler, and follow me, then," said
Tressilian; "I am about to walk myself, and we will go in
company."

This he said, because he was not altogether so secure of the
fidelity of his new retainer as to lose sight of him at this
interesting moment, when rival factions at the court of Elizabeth
were running so high.  Wayland Smith willingly acquiesced in the
precaution, of which he probably conjectured the motive, but only
stipulated that his master should enter the shops of such
chemists or apothecaries as he should point out, in walking
through Fleet Street, and permit him to make some necessary
purchases.  Tressilian agreed, and obeying the signal of his
attendant, walked successively into more than four or five shops,
where he observed that Wayland purchased in each only one single
drug, in various quantities.  The medicines which he first asked
for were readily furnished, each in succession, but those which
he afterwards required were less easily supplied; and Tressilian
observed that Wayland more than once, to the surprise of the
shopkeeper, returned the gum or herb that was offered to him, and
compelled him to exchange it for the right sort, or else went on
to seek it elsewhere.  But one ingredient, in particular, seemed
almost impossible to be found.  Some chemists plainly admitted
they had never seen it; others denied that such a drug existed,
excepting in the imagination of crazy alchemists; and most of
them attempted to satisfy their customer, by producing some
substitute, which, when rejected by Wayland, as not being what he
had asked for, they maintained possessed, in a superior degree,
the self-same qualities.  In general they all displayed some
curiosity concerning the purpose for which he wanted it.  One
old, meagre chemist, to whom the artist put the usual question,
in terms which Tressilian neither understood nor could recollect,
answered frankly, there was none of that drug in London, unless
Yoglan the Jew chanced to have some of it upon hand.

"I thought as much," said Wayland.  And as soon as they left the
shop, he said to Tressilian, "I crave your pardon, sir, but no
artist can work without his tools.  I must needs go to this
Yoglan's; and I promise you, that if this detains you longer than
your leisure seems to permit, you shall, nevertheless, be well
repaid by the use I will make of this rare drug.  Permit me," he
added, "to walk before you, for we are now to quit the broad
street and we will make double speed if I lead the way."

Tressilian acquiesced, and, following the smith down a lane which
turned to the left hand towards the river, he found that his
guide walked on with great speed, and apparently perfect
knowledge of the town, through a labyrinth of by-streets, courts,
and blind alleys, until at length Wayland paused in the midst of
a very narrow lane, the termination of which showed a peep of the
Thames looking misty and muddy, which background was crossed
saltierwise, as Mr. Mumblazen might have said, by the masts of
two lighters that lay waiting for the tide.  The shop under which
he halted had not, as in modern days, a glazed window, but a
paltry canvas screen surrounded such a stall as a cobbler now
occupies, having the front open, much in the manner of a
fishmonger's booth of the present day.  A little old smock-faced
man, the very reverse of a Jew in complexion, for he was very
soft-haired as well as beardless, appeared, and with many
courtesies asked Wayland what he pleased to want.  He had no
sooner named the drug, than the Jew started and looked surprised.
"And vat might your vorship vant vith that drug, which is not
named, mein God, in forty years as I have been chemist here?"

"These questions it is no part of my commission to answer," said
Wayland; "I only wish to know if you have what I want, and having
it, are willing to sell it?"

"Ay, mein God, for having it, that I have, and for selling it, I
am a chemist, and sell every drug."  So saying, he exhibited a
powder, and then continued, "But it will cost much moneys.  Vat I
ave cost its weight in gold--ay, gold well-refined--I vilI say
six times.  It comes from Mount Sinai, where we had our blessed
Law given forth, and the plant blossoms but once in one hundred
year."

"I do not know how often it is gathered on Mount Sinai," said
Wayland, after looking at the drug offered him with great
disdain, "but I will wager my sword and buckler against your
gaberdine, that this trash you offer me, instead of what I asked
for, may be had for gathering any day of the week in the castle
ditch of Aleppo."

"You are a rude man," said the Jew; "and, besides, I ave no
better than that--or if I ave, I will not sell it without order
of a physician, or without you tell me vat you make of it."

The artist made brief answer in a language of which Tressilian
could not understand a word, and which seemed to strike the Jew
with the utmost astonishment.  He stared upon Wayland like one
who has suddenly recognized some mighty hero or dreaded
potentate, in the person of an unknown and unmarked stranger.
"Holy Elias!"  he exclaimed, when he had recovered the first
stunning effects of his surprise; and then passing from his
former suspicious and surly manner to the very extremity of
obsequiousness, he cringed low to the artist, and besought him to
enter his poor house, to bless his miserable threshold by
crossing it.

"Vill you not taste a cup vith the poor Jew, Zacharias Yoglan?
--Vill you Tokay ave?--vill you Lachrymae taste?--vill you--"

"You offend in your proffers," said Wayland; "minister to me in
what I require of you, and forbear further discourse."

The rebuked Israelite took his bunch of keys, and opening with
circumspection a cabinet which seemed more strongly secured than
the other cases of drugs and medicines amongst which it stood, he
drew out a little secret drawer, having a glass lid, and
containing a small portion of a black powder.  This he offered to
Wayland, his manner conveying the deepest devotion towards him,
though an avaricious and jealous expression, which seemed to
grudge every grain of what his customer was about to possess
himself, disputed ground in his countenance with the obsequious
deference which he desired it should exhibit.

"Have you scales?"  said Wayland.

The Jew pointed to those which lay ready for common use in the
shop, but he did so with a puzzled expression of doubt and fear,
which did not escape the artist.

"They must be other than these," said Wayland sternly.  "Know you
not that holy things lose their virtue if weighed in an unjust
balance?"

The Jew hung his head, took from a steel-plated casket a pair of
scales beautifully mounted, and said, as he adjusted them for the
artist's use, "With these I do mine own experiment--one hair of
the high-priest's beard would turn them."

"It suffices," said the artist, and weighed out two drachms for
himself of the black powder, which he very carefully folded up,
and put into his pouch with the other drugs.  He then demanded
the price of the Jew, who answered, shaking his head and bowing,
--

"No price--no, nothing at all from such as you.  But you will see
the poor Jew again?  you will look into his laboratory, where,
God help him, he hath dried himself to the substance of the
withered gourd of Jonah, the holy prophet.  You will ave pity on
him, and show him one little step on the great road?"

"Hush!"  said Wayland, laying his finger mysteriously on his
mouth; "it may be we shall meet again.  Thou hast already the
SCHAHMAJM, as thine own Rabbis call it--the general creation;
watch, therefore, and pray, for thou must attain the knowledge of
Alchahest Elixir Samech ere I may commune further with thee."
Then returning with a slight nod the reverential congees of the
Jew, he walked gravely up the lane, followed by his master, whose
first observation on the scene he had just witnessed was, that
Wayland ought to have paid the man for his drug, whatever it was.

"I pay him?"  said the artist.  "May the foul fiend pay me if I
do!  Had it not been that I thought it might displease your
worship, I would have had an ounce or two of gold out of him, in
exchange of the same just weight of brick dust."

"I advise you to practise no such knavery while waiting upon me,"
said Tressilian.

"Did I not say," answered the artist, "that for that reason alone
I forbore him for the present?--Knavery, call you it?  Why,
yonder wretched skeleton hath wealth sufficient to pave the whole
lane he lives in with dollars, and scarce miss them out of his
own iron chest; yet he goes mad after the philosopher's stone.
And besides, he would have cheated a poor serving-man, as he
thought me at first, with trash that was not worth a penny.
Match for match, quoth the devil to the collier; if his false
medicine was worth my good crowns, my true brick dust is as well
worth his good gold."

"It may be so, for aught I know," said Tressilian, "in dealing
amongst Jews and apothecaries; but understand that to have such
tricks of legerdemain practised by one attending on me diminishes
my honour, and that I will not permit them.  I trust thou hast
made up thy purchases?"

"I have, sir," replied Wayland; "and with these drugs will I,
this very day, compound the true orvietan, that noble medicine
which is so seldom found genuine and effective within these
realms of Europe, for want of that most rare and precious drug
which I got but now from Yoglan."  [Orvietan, or Venice treacle,
as it was sometimes called, was understood to be a sovereign
remedy against poison; and the reader must be contented, for the
time he peruses these pages, to hold the same opinion, which was
once universally received by the learned as well as the vulgar.]

"But why not have made all your purchases at one shop?"  said his
master; "we have lost nearly an hour in running from one pounder
of simples to another."

"Content you, sir," said Wayland.  "No man shall learn my secret;
and it would not be mine long, were I to buy all my materials
from one chemist."

They now returned to their inn (the famous Bell-Savage); and
while the Lord Sussex's servant prepared the horses for their
journey, Wayland, obtaining from the cook the service of a
mortar, shut himself up in a private chamber, where he mixed,
pounded, and amalgamated the drugs which he had bought, each in
its due proportion, with a readiness and address that plainly
showed him well practised in all the manual operations of
pharmacy.

By the time Wayland's electuary was prepared the horses were
ready, and a short hour's riding brought them to the present
habitation of Lord Sussex, an ancient house, called Sayes Court,
near Deptford, which had long pertained to a family of that name,
but had for upwards of a century been possessed by the ancient
and honourable family of Evelyn.  The present representative of
that ancient house took a deep interest in the Earl of Sussex,
and had willingly accommodated both him and his numerous retinue
in his hospitable mansion.  Sayes Court was afterwards the
residence of the celebrated Mr. Evelyn, whose "Silva" is still
the manual of British planters; and whose life, manners, and
principles, as illustrated in his Memoirs, ought equally to be
the manual of English gentlemen.



CHAPTER XIV.

  This is rare news thou tell'st me, my good fellow;
  There are two bulls fierce battling on the green
  For one fair heifer--if the one goes down,
  The dale will be more peaceful, and the herd,
  Which have small interest in their brulziement,
  May pasture there in peace.--OLD PLAY.

Sayes Court was watched like a beleaguered fort; and so high rose
the suspicions of the time, that Tressilian and his attendants
were stopped and questioned repeatedly by sentinels, both on foot
and horseback, as they approached the abode of the sick Earl.  In
truth, the high rank which Sussex held in Queen Elizabeth's
favour, and his known and avowed rivalry of the Earl of
Leicester, caused the utmost importance to be attached to his
welfare; for, at the period we treat of, all men doubted whether
he or the Earl of Leicester might ultimately have the higher rank
in her regard.

Elizabeth, like many of her sex, was fond of governing by
factions, so as to balance two opposing interests, and reserve in
her own hand the power of making either predominate, as the
interest of the state, or perhaps as her own female caprice (for
to that foible even she was not superior), might finally
determine.  To finesse--to hold the cards--to oppose one interest
to another--to bridle him who thought himself highest in her
esteem, by the fears he must entertain of another equally
trusted, if not equally beloved, were arts which she used
throughout her reign, and which enabled her, though frequently
giving way to the weakness of favouritism, to prevent most of its
evil effects on her kingdom and government.

The two nobles who at present stood as rivals in her favour
possessed very different pretensions to share it; yet it might be
in general said that the Earl of Sussex had been most serviceable
to the Queen, while Leicester was most dear to the woman.  Sussex
was, according to the phrase of the times, a martialist--had done
good service in Ireland and in Scotland, and especially in the
great northern rebellion, in 1569, which was quelled, in a great
measure, by his military talents.  He was, therefore, naturally
surrounded and looked up to by those who wished to make arms
their road to distinction.  The Earl of Sussex, moreover, was of
more ancient and honourable descent than his rival, uniting in
his person the representation of the Fitz-Walters, as well as of
the Ratcliffes; while the scutcheon of Leicester was stained by
the degradation of his grandfather, the oppressive minister of
Henry VII., and scarce improved by that of his father, the
unhappy Dudley, Duke of Northumberland, executed on Tower Hill,
August 22, 1553.  But in person, features, and address, weapons
so formidable in the court of a female sovereign, Leicester had
advantages more than sufficient to counterbalance the military
services, high blood, and frank bearing of the Earl of Sussex;
and he bore, in the eye of the court and kingdom, the higher
share in Elizabeth's favour, though (for such was her uniform
policy) by no means so decidedly expressed as to warrant him
against the final preponderance of his rival's pretensions.  The
illness of Sussex therefore happened so opportunely for
Leicester, as to give rise to strange surmises among the public;
while the followers of the one Earl were filled with the deepest
apprehensions, and those of the other with the highest hopes of
its probable issue.  Meanwhile--for in that old time men never
forgot the probability that the matter might be determined by
length of sword--the retainers of each noble flocked around their
patron, appeared well armed in the vicinity of the court itself,
and disturbed the ear of the sovereign by their frequent and
alarming debates, held even within the precincts of her palace.
This preliminary statement is necessary, to render what follows
intelligible to the reader.  [See Note 3. Leicester and Sussex.]

On Tressilian's arrival at Sayes Court, he found the place filled
with the retainers of the Earl of Sussex, and of the gentlemen
who came to attend their patron in his illness.  Arms were in
every hand, and a deep gloom on every countenance, as if they had
apprehended an immediate and violent assault from the opposite
faction.  In the hall, however, to which Tressilian was ushered
by one of the Earl's attendants, while another went to inform
Sussex of his arrival, he found only two gentlemen in waiting.
There was a remarkable contrast in their dress, appearance, and
manners.  The attire of the elder gentleman, a person as it
seemed of quality and in the prime of life, was very plain and
soldierlike, his stature low, his limbs stout, his bearing
ungraceful, and his features of that kind which express sound
common sense, without a grain of vivacity or imagination.  The
younger, who seemed about twenty, or upwards, was clad in the
gayest habit used by persons of quality at the period, wearing a
crimson velvet cloak richly ornamented with lace and embroidery,
with a bonnet of the same, encircled with a gold chain turned
three times round it, and secured by a medal.  His hair was
adjusted very nearly like that of some fine gentlemen of our own
time--that is, it was combed upwards, and made to stand as it
were on end; and in his ears he wore a pair of silver earrings,
having each a pearl of considerable size.  The countenance of
this youth, besides being regularly handsome and accompanied by a
fine person, was animated and striking in a degree that seemed to
speak at once the firmness of a decided and the fire of an
enterprising character, the power of reflection, and the
promptitude of determination.

Both these gentlemen reclined nearly in the same posture on
benches near each other; but each seeming engaged in his own
meditations, looked straight upon the wall which was opposite to
them, without speaking to his companion.  The looks of the elder
were of that sort which convinced the beholder that, in looking
on the wall, he saw no more than the side of an old hall hung
around with cloaks, antlers, bucklers, old pieces of armour,
partisans, and the similar articles which were usually the
furniture of such a place.  The look of the younger gallant had
in it something imaginative; he was sunk in reverie, and it
seemed as if the empty space of air betwixt him and the wall were
the stage of a theatre on which his fancy was mustering his own
DRAMATIS PERSONAE, and treating him with sights far different
from those which his awakened and earthly vision could have
offered.

At the entrance of Tressilian both started from their musing, and
made him welcome--the younger, in particular, with great
appearance of animation and cordiality.

"Thou art welcome, Tressilian," said the youth.  "Thy philosophy
stole thee from us when this household had objects of ambition to
offer; it is an honest philosophy, since it returns thee to us
when there are only dangers to be shared."

"Is my lord, then, so greatly indisposed?"  said Tressilian.

"We fear the very worst," answered the elder gentleman, "and by
the worst practice."

"Fie," replied Tressilian, "my Lord of Leicester is honourable."

"What doth he with such attendants, then, as he hath about him?"
said the younger gallant.  "The man who raises the devil may be
honest, but he is answerable for the mischief which the fiend
does, for all that."

"And is this all of you, my mates," inquired Tressilian, "that
are about my lord in his utmost straits?"

"No, no," replied the elder gentleman, "there are Tracy, Markham,
and several more; but we keep watch here by two at once, and some
are weary and are sleeping in the gallery above."

"And some," said the young man," are gone down to the Dock yonder
at Deptford, to look out such a hull; as they may purchase by
clubbing their broken fortunes; and as soon as all is over, we
will lay our noble lord in a noble green grave, have a blow at
those who have hurried him thither, if opportunity suits, and
then sail for the Indies with heavy hearts and light purses."

"It may be," said Tressilian, "that I will embrace the same
purpose, so soon as I have settled some business at court."

"Thou business at court!"  they both exclaimed at once, "and thou
make the Indian voyage!"

"Why, Tressilian," said the younger man, "art thou not wedded,
and beyond these flaws of fortune, that drive folks out to sea
when their bark bears fairest for the haven?-- What has become of
the lovely Indamira that was to match my Amoret for truth and
beauty?"

"Speak not of her!"  said Tressilian, averting his face.

"Ay, stands it so with you?"  said the youth, taking his hand
very affectionately; "then, fear not I will again touch the green
wound.  But it is strange as well as sad news.  Are none of our
fair and merry fellowship to escape shipwreck of fortune and
happiness in this sudden tempest?  I had hoped thou wert in
harbour, at least, my dear Edmund.  But truly says another dear
friend of thy name,

  'What man that sees the ever whirling wheel
  Of Chance, the which all mortal things doth sway,
  But that thereby doth find and plainly feel,
  How Mutability in them doth play
  Her cruel sports to many men's decay.'"

The elder gentleman had risen from his bench, and was pacing the
hall with some impatience, while the youth, with much earnestness
and feeling, recited these lines.  When he had done, the other
wrapped himself in his cloak, and again stretched himself down,
saying, "I marvel, Tressilian, you will feed the lad in this
silly humour.  If there were ought to draw a judgment upon a
virtuous and honourable household like my lord's, renounce me if
I think not it were this piping, whining, childish trick of
poetry, that came among us with Master Walter Wittypate here and
his comrades, twisting into all manner of uncouth and
incomprehensible forms of speech, the honest plain English phrase
which God gave us to express our meaning withal."

"Blount believes," said his comrade, laughing, "the devil woo'd
Eve in rhyme, and that the mystic meaning of the Tree of
Knowledge refers solely to the art of clashing rhymes and meting
out hexameters."  [See Note 4. Sir Walter Raleigh.]

At this moment the Earl's chamberlain entered, and informed
Tressilian that his lord required to speak with him.

He found Lord Sussex dressed, but unbraced, and lying on his
couch, and was shocked at the alteration disease had made in his
person.  The Earl received him with the most friendly cordiality,
and inquired into the state of his courtship.  Tressilian evaded
his inquiries for a moment, and turning his discourse on the
Earl's own health, he discovered, to his surprise, that the
symptoms of his disorder corresponded minutely with those which
Wayland had predicated concerning it.  He hesitated not,
therefore, to communicate to Sussex the whole history of his
attendant, and the pretensions he set up to cure the disorder
under which he laboured.  The Earl listened with incredulous
attention until the name of Demetrius was mentioned, and then
suddenly called to his secretary to bring him a certain casket
which contained papers of importance.  "Take out from thence," he
said, "the declaration of the rascal cook whom we had under
examination, and look heedfully if the name of Demetrius be not
there mentioned."

The secretary turned to the passage at once, and read, "And said
declarant, being examined, saith, That he remembers having made
the sauce to the said sturgeon-fish, after eating of which the
said noble Lord was taken ill; "and he put the usual ingredients
and condiments therein, namely--"

"Pass over his trash," said the Earl, "and see whether he had not
been supplied with his materials by a herbalist called
Demetrius."

"It is even so," answered the secretary.  "And he adds, he has
not since seen the said Demetrius."

"This accords with thy fellow's story, Tressilian," said the
Earl; "call him hither."

On being summoned to the Earl's presence, Wayland Smith told his
former tale with firmness and consistency.

"It may be," said the Earl, "thou art sent by those who have
begun this work, to end it for them; but bethink, if I miscarry
under thy medicine, it may go hard with thee."

"That were severe measure," said Wayland, "since the issue of
medicine, and the end of life, are in God's disposal.  But I will
stand the risk.  I have not lived so long under ground to be
afraid of a grave."

"Nay, if thou be'st so confident," said the Earl of Sussex, "I
will take the risk too, for the learned can do nothing for me.
Tell me how this medicine is to be taken."

"That will I do presently," said Wayland; "but allow me to
condition that, since I incur all the risk of this treatment, no
other physician shall be permitted to interfere with it."

"That is but fair," replied the Earl; "and now prepare your
drug."

While Wayland obeyed the Earl's commands, his servants, by the
artist's direction, undressed their master, and placed him in
bed.

"I warn you," he said, "that the first operation of this medicine
will be to produce a heavy sleep, during which time the chamber
must be kept undisturbed, as the consequences may otherwise he
fatal.  I myself will watch by the Earl with any of the gentlemen
of his chamber."

"Let all leave the room, save Stanley and this good fellow," said
the Earl.

"And saving me also," said Tressilian.  "I too am deeply
interested in the effects of this potion."

"Be it so, good friend," said the Earl.  "And now for our
experiment; but first call my secretary and chamberlain."

"Bear witness," he continued, when these officers arrived--"bear
witness for me, gentlemen, that our honourable friend Tressilian
is in no way responsible for the effects which this medicine may
produce upon me, the taking it being my own free action and
choice, in regard I believe it to be a remedy which God has
furnished me by unexpected means to recover me of my present
malady.  Commend me to my noble and princely Mistress; and say
that I live and die her true servant, and wish to all about her
throne the same singleness of heart and will to serve her, with
more ability to do so than hath been assigned to poor Thomas
Ratcliffe."

He then folded his hands, and seemed for a second or two absorbed
in mental devotion, then took the potion in his hand, and,
pausing, regarded Wayland with a look that seemed designed to
penetrate his very soul, but which caused no anxiety or
hesitation in the countenance or manner of the artist.

"Here is nothing to be feared," said Sussex to Tressilian, and
swallowed the medicine without further hesitation

"I am now to pray your lordship," said Wayland, "to dispose
yourself to rest as commodiously as you can; and of you,
gentlemen, to remain as still and mute as if you waited at your
mother's deathbed."

The chamberlain and secretary then withdrew, giving orders that
all doors should be bolted, and all noise in the house strictly
prohibited.  Several gentlemen were voluntary watchers in the
hall, but none remained in the chamber of the sick Earl, save his
groom of the chamber, the artist, and Tressilian.--Wayland
Smith's predictions were speedily accomplished, and a sleep fell
upon the Earl, so deep and sound that they who watched his
bedside began to fear that, in his weakened state, he might pass
away without awakening from his lethargy.  Wayland Smith himself
appeared anxious, and felt the temples of the Earl slightly, from
time to time, attending particularly to the state of his
respiration, which was full and deep, but at the same time easy
and uninterrupted.



CHAPTER XV,

  You loggerheaded and unpolish'd grooms,
  What, no attendance, no regard, no duty?
  Where is the foolish knave I sent before?  TAMING OF THE SHREW.

There is no period at which men look worse in the eyes of each
other, or feel more uncomfortable, than when the first dawn of
daylight finds them watchers.  Even a beauty of the first order,
after the vigils of a ball are interrupted by the dawn, would do
wisely to withdraw herself from the gaze of her fondest and most
partial admirers.  Such was the pale, inauspicious, and
ungrateful light which began to beam upon those who kept watch
all night in the hall at Sayes Court, and which mingled its cold,
pale, blue diffusion with the red, yellow, and smoky beams of
expiring lamps and torches.  The young gallant, whom we noticed
in our last chapter, had left the room for a few minutes, to
learn the cause of a knocking at the outward gate, and on his
return was so struck with the forlorn and ghastly aspects of his
companions of the watch that he exclaimed, "Pity of my heart, my
masters, how like owls you look!  Methinks, when the sun rises, I
shall see you flutter off with your eyes dazzled, to stick
yourselves into the next ivy-tod or ruined steeple."

"Hold thy peace, thou gibing fool," said Blount; "hold thy peace.

Is this a time for jeering, when the manhood of England is
perchance dying within a wall's breadth of thee?"

"There thou liest," replied the gallant.

"How, lie!"  exclaimed Blount, starting up, "lie!  and to me?"

"Why, so thou didst, thou peevish fool," answered the youth;
"thou didst lie on that bench even now, didst thou not?  But art
thou not a hasty coxcomb to pick up a wry word so wrathfully?
Nevertheless, loving and, honouring my lord as truly as thou, or
any one, I do say that, should Heaven take him from us, all
England's manhood dies not with him."

"Ay," replied Blount, "a good portion will survive with thee,
doubtless."

"And a good portion with thyself, Blount, and with stout Markham
here, and Tracy, and all of us.  But I am he will best employ the
talent Heaven has given to us all."

"As how, I prithee?"  said Blount; "tell us your mystery of
multiplying."

"Why, sirs," answered the youth, "ye are like goodly land, which
bears no crop because it is not quickened by manure; but I have
that rising spirit in me which will make my poor faculties labour
to keep pace with it.  My ambition will keep my brain at work, I
warrant thee."

"I pray to God it does not drive thee mad," said Blount; "for my
part, if we lose our noble lord, I bid adieu to the court and to
the camp both.  I have five hundred foul acres in Norfolk, and
thither will I, and change the court pantoufle for the country
hobnail."

"O base transmutation!"  exclaimed his antagonist; "thou hast
already got the true rustic slouch--thy shoulders stoop, as if
thine hands were at the stilts of the plough; and thou hast a
kind of earthy smell about thee, instead of being perfumed with
essence, as a gallant and courtier should.  On my soul, thou hast
stolen out to roll thyself on a hay mow!  Thy only excuse will be
to swear by thy hilts that the farmer had a fair daughter."

"I pray thee, Walter," said another of the company, "cease thy
raillery, which suits neither time nor place, and tell us who was
at the gate just now."

"Doctor Masters, physician to her Grace in ordinary, sent by her
especial orders to inquire after the Earl's health," answered
Walter.

"Ha!  what?"  exclaimed Tracy; "that was no slight mark of
favour. If the Earl can but come through, he will match with
Leicester yet.  Is Masters with my lord at present?"

"Nay," replied Walter, "he is half way back to Greenwich by this
time, and in high dudgeon."

"Thou didst not refuse him admittance?"  exclaimed Tracy.

"Thou wert not, surely, so mad?"  ejaculated Blount.

"I refused him admittance as flatly, Blount, as you would refuse
a penny to a blind beggar--as obstinately, Tracy, as thou didst
ever deny access to a dun."

"Why, in the fiend's name, didst thou trust him to go to the
gate?"  said Blount to Tracy.

"It suited his years better than mine," answered Tracy; "but he
has undone us all now thoroughly.  My lord may live or die, he
will never have a look of favour from her Majesty again."

"Nor the means of making fortunes for his followers," said the
young gallant, smiling contemptuously;--"there lies the sore
point that will brook no handling.  My good sirs, I sounded my
lamentations over my lord somewhat less loudly than some of you;
but when the point comes of doing him service, I will yield to
none of you.  Had this learned leech entered, think'st thou not
there had been such a coil betwixt him and Tressilian's
mediciner, that not the sleeper only, but the very dead might
have awakened?  I know what larurm belongs to the discord of
doctors."

"And who is to take the blame of opposing the Queen's orders?"
said Tracy; "for, undeniably, Doctor Masters came with her
Grace's positive commands to cure the Earl."

"I, who have done the wrong, will bear the blame," said Walter.

"Thus, then, off fly the dreams of court favour thou hast
nourished," said Blount, "and despite all thy boasted art and
ambition, Devonshire will see thee shine a true younger brother,
fit to sit low at the board, carve turn about with the chaplain,
look that the hounds be fed, and see the squire's girths drawn
when he goes a-hunting."

"Not so," said the young man, colouring, "not while Ireland and
the Netherlands have wars, and not while the sea hath pathless
waves.  The rich West hath lands undreamed of, and Britain
contains bold hearts to venture on the quest of them.  Adieu for
a space, my masters.  I go to walk in the court and look to the
sentinels."

"The lad hath quicksilver in his veins, that is certain," said
Blount, looking at Markham.

"He hath that both in brain and blood," said Markham, "which may
either make or mar him.  But in closing the door against Masters,
he hath done a daring and loving piece of service; for
Tressilian's fellow hath ever averred that to wake the Earl were
death, and Masters would wake the Seven Sleepers themselves, if
he thought they slept not by the regular ordinance of medicine."

Morning was well advanced when Tressilian, fatigued and over-
watched, came down to the hall with the joyful intelligence that
the Earl had awakened of himself, that he found his internal
complaints much mitigated, and spoke with a cheerfulness, and
looked round with a vivacity, which of themselves showed a
material and favourable change had taken place.  Tressilian at
the same time commanded the attendance of one or two of his
followers, to report what had passed during the night, and to
relieve the watchers in the Earl's chamber.

When the message of the Queen was communicated to the Earl of
Sussex, he at first smiled at the repulse which the physician had
received from his zealous young follower; but instantly
recollecting himself, he commanded Blount, his master of the
horse, instantly to take boat, and go down the river to the
Palace of Greenwich, taking young Walter and Tracy with him, and
make a suitable compliment, expressing his grateful thanks to his
Sovereign, and mentioning the cause why he had not been enabled
to profit by the assistance of the wise and learned Doctor
Masters.

"A plague on it!"  said Blount, as he descended the stairs; "had
he sent me with a cartel to Leicester I think I should have done
his errand indifferently well.  But to go to our gracious
Sovereign, before whom all words must be lacquered over either
with gilding or with sugar, is such a confectionary matter as
clean baffles my poor old English brain.--Come with me, Tracy,
and come you too, Master Walter Wittypate, that art the cause of
our having all this ado.  Let us see if thy neat brain, that
frames so many flashy fireworks, can help out a plain fellow at
need with some of thy shrewd devices."

"Never fear, never fear," exclaimed the youth, "it is I will help
you through; let me but fetch my cloak."

"Why, thou hast it on thy shoulders," said Blount,--"the lad is
mazed,"

"No, No, this is Tracy's old mantle," answered Walter.  "I go not
with thee to court unless as a gentleman should."

"Why," Said Blount, "thy braveries are like to dazzle the eyes of
none but some poor groom or porter."

"I know that," said the youth; "but I am resolved I will have my
own cloak, ay, and brush my doublet to boot, ere I stir forth
with you."

"Well, well," said Blount, "here is a coil about a doublet and a
cloak.  Get thyself ready, a God's name!"

They were soon launched on the princely bosom of the broad
Thames, upon which the sun now shone forth in all its splendour.

"There are two things scarce matched in the universe," said
Walter to Blount--"the sun in heaven, and the Thames on the
earth."

"The one will light us to Greenwich well enough," said Blount,
"and the other would take us there a little faster if it were
ebb-tide."

"And this is all thou thinkest--all thou carest--all thou deemest
the use of the King of Elements and the King of Rivers--to guide
three such poor caitiffs as thyself, and me, and Tracy, upon an
idle journey of courtly ceremony!"

"It is no errand of my seeking, faith," replied Blount, "and I
could excuse both the sun and the Thames the trouble of carrying
me where I have no great mind to go, and where I expect but dog's
wages for my trouble--and by my honour," he added, looking out
from the head of the boat, "it seems to me as if our message were
a sort of labour in vain, for, see, the Queen's barge lies at the
stairs as if her Majesty were about to take water."

It was even so.  The royal barge, manned with the Queen's
watermen richly attired in the regal liveries, and having the
Banner of England displayed, did indeed lie at the great stairs
which ascended from the river, and along with it two or three
other boats for transporting such part of her retinue as were not
in immediate attendance on the royal person.  The yeomen of the
guard, the tallest and most handsome men whom England could
produce, guarded with their halberds the passage from the palace-
gate to the river side, and all seemed in readiness for the
Queen's coming forth, although the day was yet so early.

"By my faith, this bodes us no good," said Blount; "it must be
some perilous cause puts her Grace in motion thus untimeously, By
my counsel, we were best put back again, and tell the Earl what
we have seen."

"Tell the Earl what we have seen!"  said Walter; "why what have
we seen but a boat, and men with scarlet jerkins, and halberds in
their hands?  Let us do his errand, and tell him what the Queen
says in reply."

So saying, he caused the boat to be pulled towards a landing-
place at some distance from the principal one, which it would
not, at that moment, have been thought respectful to approach,
and jumped on shore, followed, though with reluctance, by his
cautious and timid companions.  As they approached the gate of
the palace, one of the sergeant porters told them they could not
at present enter, as her Majesty was in the act of coming forth.
The gentlemen used the name of the Earl of Sussex; but it proved
no charm to subdue the officer, who alleged, in reply, that it
was as much as his post was worth to disobey in the least tittle
the commands which he had received.

"Nay, I told you as much before," said Blount; "do, I pray you,
my dear Walter, let us take boat and return."

"Not till I see the Queen come forth," returned the youth
composedly.

"Thou art mad, stark mad, by the Mass!"  answered Blount.

"And thou," said Walter, "art turned coward of the sudden.  I
have seen thee face half a score of shag-headed Irish kerns to
thy own share of them; and now thou wouldst blink and go back to
shun the frown of a fair lady!"

At this moment the gates opened, and ushers began to issue forth
in array, preceded and flanked by the band of Gentlemen
Pensioners.  After this, amid a crowd of lords and ladies, yet so
disposed around her that she could see and be seen on all sides,
came Elizabeth herself, then in the prime of womanhood, and in
the full glow of what in a Sovereign was called beauty, and who
would in the lowest rank of life have been truly judged a noble
figure, joined to a striking and commanding physiognomy.  She
leant on the arm of Lord Hunsdon, whose relation to her by her
mother's side often procured him such distinguished marks of
Elizabeth's intimacy.

The young cavalier we have so often mentioned had probably never
yet approached so near the person of his Sovereign, and he
pressed forward as far as the line of warders permitted, in order
to avail himself of the present opportunity.  His companion, on
the contrary, cursing his imprudence, kept pulling him backwards,
till Walter shook him off impatiently, and letting his rich cloak
drop carelessly from one shoulder; a natural action, which
served, however, to display to the best advantage his well-
proportioned person.  Unbonneting at the same time, he fixed his
eager gaze on the Queen's approach, with a mixture of respectful
curiosity and modest yet ardent admiration, which suited so well
with his fine features that the warders, struck with his rich
attire and noble countenance, suffered him to approach the ground
over which the Queen was to pass, somewhat closer than was
permitted to ordinary spectators.  Thus the adventurous youth
stood full in Elizabeth's eye--an eye never indifferent to the
admiration which she deservedly excited among her subjects, or to
the fair proportions of external form which chanced to
distinguish any of her courtiers.

Accordingly, she fixed her keen glance on the youth, as she
approached the place where he stood, with a look in which
surprise at his boldness seemed to be unmingled with resentment,
while a trifling accident happened which attracted her attention
towards him yet more strongly.  The night had been rainy, and
just where the young gentleman stood a small quantity of mud
interrupted the Queen's passage.  As she hesitated to pass on,
the gallant, throwing his cloak from his shoulders, laid it on
the miry spot, so as to ensure her stepping over it dry-shod.
Elizabeth looked at the young man, who accompanied this act of
devoted courtesy with a profound reverence, and a blush that
overspread his whole countenance.  The Queen was confused, and
blushed in her turn, nodded her head, hastily passed on, and
embarked in her barge without saying a word.

"Come along, Sir Coxcomb," said Blount; "your gay cloak will need
the brush to-day, I wot.  Nay, if you had meant to make a
footcloth of your mantle, better have kept Tracy's old drab-de-
bure, which despises all colours."

"This cloak," said the youth, taking it up and folding it, "shall
never be brushed while in my possession."

"And that will not be long, if you learn not a little more
economy; we shall have you in CUERPO soon, as the Spaniard says."

Their discourse was here interrupted by one of the band of
Pensioners.

"I was sent," said he, after looking at them attentively, "to a
gentleman who hath no cloak, or a muddy one.--You, sir, I think,"
addressing the younger cavalier, "are the man; you will please to
follow me."

"He is in attendance on me," said Blount--"on me, the noble Earl
of Sussex's master of horse."

"I have nothing to say to that," answered the messenger; "my
orders are directly from her Majesty, and concern this gentleman
only."

So saying, he walked away, followed by Walter, leaving the others
behind, Blount's eyes almost starting from his head with the
excess of his astonishment.  At length he gave vent to it in an
exclamation, "Who the good jere would have thought this!"  And
shaking his head with a mysterious air, he walked to his own
boat, embarked, and returned to Deptford.

The young cavalier was in the meanwhile guided to the water-side
by the Pensioner, who showed him considerable respect; a
circumstance which, to persons in his situation, may be
considered as an augury of no small consequence.  He ushered him
into one of the wherries which lay ready to attend the Queen's
barge, which was already proceeding; up the river, with the
advantage of that flood-tide of which, in the course of their
descent, Blount had complained to his associates.

The two rowers used their oars with such expedition at the signal
of the Gentleman Pensioner, that they very soon brought their
little skiff under the stern of the Queen's boat, where she sat
beneath an awning, attended by two or three ladies, and the
nobles of her household.  She looked more than once at the wherry
in which the young adventurer was seated, spoke to those around
her, and seemed to laugh.  At length one of the attendants, by
the Queen's order apparently, made a sign for the wherry to come
alongside, and the young man was desired to step from his own
skiff into the Queen's barge, which he performed with graceful
agility at the fore part of the boat, and was brought aft to the
Queen's presence, the wherry at the same time dropping into the
rear.  The youth underwent the gaze of Majesty, not the less
gracefully that his self-possession was mingled with
embarrassment.  The muddled cloak still hung upon his arm, and
formed the natural topic with which the Queen introduced the
conversation.

"You have this day spoiled a gay mantle in our behalf, young man.
We thank you for your service, though the manner of offering it
was unusual, and something bold."

"In a sovereign's need," answered the youth, "it is each liege-
man's duty to be bold."

"God's pity!  that was well said, my lord," said the Queen,
turning to a grave person who sat by her, and answered with a
grave inclination of the head, and something of a mumbled
assent.--"Well, young man, your gallantry shall not go
unrewarded.  Go to the wardrobe keeper, and he shall have orders
to supply the suit which you have cast away in our service.  Thou
shalt have a suit, and that of the newest cut, I promise thee, on
the word of a princess."

"May it please your Grace," said Walter, hesitating, "it is not
for so humble a servant of your Majesty to measure out your
bounties; but if it became me to choose--"

"Thou wouldst have gold, I warrant me," said the Queen,
interrupting him.  "Fie, young man!  I take shame to say that in
our capital such and so various are the means of thriftless
folly, that to give gold to youth is giving fuel to fire, and
furnishing them with the means of self-destruction.  If I live
and reign, these means of unchristian excess shall be abridged.
Yet thou mayest be poor," she added, "or thy parents may be.  It
shall be gold, if thou wilt, but thou shalt answer to me for the
use on't."

Walter waited patiently until the Queen had done, and then
modestly assured her that gold was still less in his wish than
the raiment her Majesty had before offered.

"How, boy!"  said the Queen, "neither gold nor garment?  What is
it thou wouldst have of me, then?"

"Only permission, madam--if it is not asking too high an honour
--permission to wear the cloak which did you this trifling
service."

"Permission to wear thine own cloak, thou silly boy!"  said the
Queen.

"It is no longer mine," said Walter; "when your Majesty's foot
touched it, it became a fit mantle for a prince, but far too rich
a one for its former owner."

The Queen again blushed, and endeavoured to cover, by laughing, a
slight degree of not unpleasing surprise and confusion.

"Heard you ever the like, my lords?  The youth's head is turned
with reading romances.  I must know something of him, that I may
send him safe to his friends.--What art thou?"

"A gentleman of the household of the Earl of Sussex, so please
your Grace, sent hither with his master of horse upon message to
your Majesty."

In a moment the gracious expression which Elizabeth's face had
hitherto maintained, gave way to an expression of haughtiness and
severity.

"My Lord of Sussex," she said, "has taught us how to regard his
messages by the value he places upon ours.  We sent but this
morning the physician in ordinary of our chamber, and that at no
usual time, understanding his lordship's illness to be more
dangerous than we had before apprehended.  There is at no court
in Europe a man more skilled in this holy and most useful science
than Doctor Masters, and he came from Us to our subject.
Nevertheless, he found the gate of Sayes Court defended by men
with culverins, as if it had been on the borders of Scotland, not
in the vicinity of our court; and when he demanded admittance in
our name, it was stubbornly refused.  For this slight of a
kindness, which had but too much of condescension in it, we will
receive, at present at least, no excuse; and some such we suppose
to have been the purport of my Lord of Sussex's message."

This was uttered in a tone and with a gesture which made Lord
Sussex's friends who were within hearing tremble.  He to whom the
speech was addressed, however, trembled not; but with great
deference and humility, as soon as the Queen's passion gave him
an opportunity, he replied, "So please your most gracious
Majesty, I was charged with no apology from the Earl of Sussex."

"With what were you then charged, sir?"  said the Queen, with the
impetuosity which, amid nobler qualities, strongly marked her
character.  "Was it with a justification?--or, God's death!  with
a defiance?"

"Madam," said the young man, "my Lord of Sussex knew the offence
approached towards treason, and could think of nothing save of
securing the offender, and placing him in your Majesty's hands,
and at your mercy.  The noble Earl was fast asleep when your most
gracious message reached him, a potion having been administered
to that purpose by his physician; and his Lordship knew not of
the ungracious repulse your Majesty's royal and most comfortable
message had received, until after he awoke this morning."

"And which of his domestics, then, in the name of Heaven,
presumed to reject my message, without even admitting my own
physician to the presence of him whom I sent him to attend?"
said the Queen, much surprised.

"The offender, madam, is before you," replied Walter, bowing very
low; "the full and sole blame is mine; and my lord has most
justly sent me to abye the consequences of a fault, of which he
is as innocent as a sleeping man's dreams can be of a waking
man's actions."

"What!  was it thou?--thou thyself, that repelled my messenger
and my physician from Sayes Court?"  said the Queen.  "What could
occasion such boldness in one who seems devoted--that is, whose
exterior bearing shows devotion--to his Sovereign?"

"Madam," said the youth--who, notwithstanding an assumed
appearance of severity, thought that he saw something in the
Queen's face that resembled not implacability--"we say in our
country, that the physician is for the time the liege sovereign
of his patient.  Now, my noble master was then under dominion of
a leech, by whose advice he hath greatly profited, who had issued
his commands that his patient should not that night be disturbed,
on the very peril of his life."

"Thy master hath trusted some false varlet of an empiric," said
the Queen.

"I know not, madam, but by the fact that he is now--this very
morning--awakened much refreshed and strengthened from the only
sleep he hath had for many hours."

The nobles looked at each other, but more with the purpose to see
what each thought of this news, than to exchange any remarks on
what had happened.  The Queen answered hastily, and without
affecting to disguise her satisfaction, "By my word, I am glad he
is better.  But thou wert over-bold to deny the access of my
Doctor Masters.  Knowest thou not the Holy Writ saith, 'In the
multitude of counsel there is safety'?"

"Ay, madam," said Walter; "but I have heard learned men say that
the safety spoken of is for the physicians, not for the patient."

"By my faith, child, thou hast pushed me home," said the Queen,
laughing; "for my Hebrew learning does not come quite at a call.
--How say you, my Lord of Lincoln?  Hath the lad given a just
interpretation of the text?"

"The word SAFETY, most gracious madam," said the Bishop of
Lincoln, "for so hath been translated, it may be somewhat
hastily, the Hebrew word, being--"

"My lord," said the Queen, interrupting him, "we said we had
forgotten our Hebrew.--But for thee, young man, what is thy name
and birth?"

"Raleigh is my name, most gracious Queen, the youngest son of a
large but honourable family of Devonshire."

"Raleigh?"  said Elizabeth, after a moment's recollection.  "Have
we not heard of your service in Ireland?"

"I have been so fortunate as to do some service there, madam,"
replied Raleigh; "scarce, however, of consequence sufficient to
reach your Grace's ears."

"They hear farther than you think of," said the Queen graciously,
"and have heard of a youth who defended a ford in Shannon against
a whole band of wild Irish rebels, until the stream ran purple
with their blood and his own."

"Some blood I may have lost," said the youth, looking down, "but
it was where my best is due, and that is in your Majesty's
service."

The Queen paused, and then said hastily, "You are very young to
have fought so well, and to speak so well.  But you must not
escape your penance for turning back Masters.  The poor man hath
caught cold on the river for our order reached him when he was
just returned from certain visits in London, and he held it
matter of loyalty and conscience instantly to set forth again.
So hark ye, Master Raleigh, see thou fail not to wear thy muddy
cloak, in token of penitence, till our pleasure be further known.
And here," she added, giving him a jewel of gold, in the form of
a chess-man, "I give thee this to wear at the collar."

Raleigh, to whom nature had taught intuitively, as it were, those
courtly arts which many scarce acquire from long experience,
knelt, and, as he took from her hand the jewel, kissed the
fingers which gave it.  He knew, perhaps, better than almost any
of the courtiers who surrounded her, how to mingle the devotion
claimed by the Queen with the gallantry due to her personal
beauty; and in this, his first attempt to unite them, he
succeeded so well as at once to gratify Elizabeth's personal
vanity and her love of power.  [See Note 5. Court favour of Sir
Walter Raleigh.]

His master, the Earl of Sussex, had the full advantage of the
satisfaction which Raleigh had afforded Elizabeth, on their first
interview.

"My lords and ladies," said the Queen, looking around to the
retinue by whom she was attended, "methinks, since we are upon
the river, it were well to renounce our present purpose of going
to the city, and surprise this poor Earl of Sussex with a visit.
He is ill, and suffering doubtless under the fear of our
displeasure, from which he hath been honestly cleared by the
frank avowal of this malapert boy.  What think ye?  were it not
an act of charity to give him such consolation as the thanks of a
Queen, much bound to him for his loyal service, may perchance
best minister?"

It may be readily supposed that none to whom this speech was
addressed ventured to oppose its purport.

"Your Grace," said the Bishop of Lincoln, "is the breath of our
nostrils."  The men of war averred that the face of the Sovereign
was a whetstone to the soldier's sword; while the men of state
were not less of opinion that the light of the Queen's
countenance was a lamp to the paths of her councillors; and the
ladies agreed, with one voice, that no noble in England so well
deserved the regard of England's Royal Mistress as the Earl of
Sussex--the Earl of Leicester's right being reserved entire, so
some of the more politic worded their assent, an exception to
which Elizabeth paid no apparent attention.  The barge had,
therefore, orders to deposit its royal freight at Deptford, at
the nearest and most convenient point of communication with Sayes
Court, in order that the Queen might satisfy her royal and
maternal solicitude, by making personal inquiries after the
health of the Earl of Sussex.

Raleigh, whose acute spirit foresaw and anticipated important
consequences from the most trifling events, hastened to ask the
Queen's permission to go in the skiff; and announce the royal
visit to his master; ingeniously suggesting that the joyful
surprise might prove prejudicial to his health, since the richest
and most generous cordials may sometimes be fatal to those who
have been long in a languishing state.

But whether the Queen deemed it too presumptuous in so young a
courtier to interpose his opinion unasked, or whether she was
moved by a recurrence of the feeling of jealousy which had been
instilled into her by reports that the Earl kept armed men about
his person, she desired Raleigh, sharply, to reserve his counsel
till it was required of him, and repeated her former orders to be
landed at Deptford, adding, "We will ourselves see what sort of
household my Lord of Sussex keeps about him."

"Now the Lord have pity on us!"  said the young courtier to
himself.  "Good hearts, the Earl hath many a one round him; but
good heads are scarce with us--and he himself is too ill to give
direction.  And Blount will be at his morning meal of Yarmouth
herrings and ale, and Tracy will have his beastly black puddings
and Rhenish; those thorough-paced Welshmen, Thomas ap Rice and
Evan Evans, will be at work on their leek porridge and toasted
cheese;--and she detests, they say, all coarse meats, evil
smells, and strong wines.  Could they but think of burning some
rosemary in the great hall!  but VOGUE LA GALERE, all must now be
trusted to chance.  Luck hath done indifferent well for me this
morning; for I trust I have spoiled a cloak, and made a court
fortune.  May she do as much for my gallant patron!"

The royal barge soon stopped at Deptford, and, amid the loud
shouts of the populace, which her presence never failed to
excite, the Queen, with a canopy borne over her head, walked,
accompanied by her retinue, towards Sayes Court, where the
distant acclamations of the people gave the first notice of her
arrival.  Sussex, who was in the act of advising with Tressilian
how he should make up the supposed breach in the Queen's favour,
was infinitely surprised at learning her immediate approach.  Not
that the Queen's custom of visiting her more distinguished
nobility, whether in health or sickness, could be unknown to him;
but the suddenness of the communication left no time for those
preparations with which he well knew Elizabeth loved to be
greeted, and the rudeness and confusion of his military
household, much increased by his late illness, rendered him
altogether unprepared for her reception.

Cursing internally the chance which thus brought her gracious
visitation on him unaware, he hastened down with Tressilian, to
whose eventful and interesting story he had just given an
attentive ear.

"My worthy friend," he said, "such support as I can give your
accusation of Varney, you have a right to expect, alike from
justice and gratitude.  Chance will presently show whether I can
do aught with our Sovereign, or whether, in very deed, my
meddling in your affair may not rather prejudice than serve you."

Thus spoke Sussex while hastily casting around him a loose robe
of sables, and adjusting his person in the best manner he could
to meet the eye of his Sovereign.  But no hurried attention
bestowed on his apparel could remove the ghastly effects of long
illness on a countenance which nature had marked with features
rather strong than pleasing.  Besides, he was low of stature,
and, though broad-shouldered, athletic, and fit for martial
achievements, his presence in a peaceful hall was not such as
ladies love to look upon; a personal disadvantage, which was
supposed to give Sussex, though esteemed and honoured by his
Sovereign, considerable disadvantage when compared with
Leicester, who was alike remarkable for elegance of manners and
for beauty of person.

The Earl's utmost dispatch only enabled him to meet the Queen as
she entered the great hall, and he at once perceived there was a
cloud on her brow.  Her jealous eye had noticed the martial array
of armed gentlemen and retainers with which the mansion-house was
filled, and her first words expressed her disapprobation.  "Is
this a royal garrison, my Lord of Sussex, that it holds so many
pikes and calivers?  or have we by accident overshot Sayes Court,
and landed at Our Tower of London?"

Lord Sussex hastened to offer some apology.

"It needs not," she said.  "My lord, we intend speedily to take
up a certain quarrel between your lordship and another great lord
of our household, and at the same time to reprehend this
uncivilized and dangerous practice of surrounding yourselves with
armed, and even with ruffianly followers, as if, in the
neighbourhood of our capital, nay in the very verge of our royal
residence, you were preparing to wage civil war with each other.
--We are glad to see you so well recovered, my lord, though
without the assistance of the learned physician whom we sent to
you.  Urge no excuse; we know how that matter fell out, and we
have corrected for it the wild slip, young Raleigh.  By the way,
my lord, we will speedily relieve your household of him, and take
him into our own.  Something there is about him which merits to
be better nurtured than he is like to be amongst your very
military followers."

To this proposal Sussex, though scarce understanding how the
Queen came to make it could only bow and express his
acquiescence.  He then entreated her to remain till refreshment
could be offered, but in this he could not prevail.  And after a
few compliments of a much colder and more commonplace character
than might have been expected from a step so decidedly favourable
as a personal visit, the Queen took her leave of Sayes Court,
having brought confusion thither along with her, and leaving
doubt and apprehension behind.



CHAPTER XVI.

  Then call them to our presence.  Face to face,
  And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear
  The accuser and accused freely speak;--
  High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire,
  In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.         RICHARD II.

"I am ordered to attend court to-morrow," said Leicester,
speaking to Varney, "to meet, as they surmise, my Lord of Sussex.
The Queen intends to take up matters betwixt us.  This comes of
her visit to Sayes Court, of which you must needs speak so
lightly."

"I maintain it was nothing," said Varney; "nay, I know from a
sure intelligencer, who was within earshot of much that was said,
that Sussex has lost rather than gained by that visit.  The Queen
said, when she stepped into the boat, that Sayes Court looked
like a guard-house, and smelt like an hospital.  'Like a cook's
shop in Ram's Alley, rather,' said the Countess of Rutland, who
is ever your lordship's good friend.  And then my Lord of Lincoln
must needs put in his holy oar, and say that my Lord of Sussex
must be excused for his rude and old-world housekeeping, since he
had as yet no wife."

"And what said the Queen?"  asked Leicester hastily.

"She took him up roundly," said Varney, "and asked what my Lord
Sussex had to do with a wife, or my Lord Bishop to speak on such
a subject.  'If marriage is permitted,' she said, 'I nowhere read
that it is enjoined.'"

"She likes not marriages, or speech of marriage, among
churchmen," said Leicester.

"Nor among courtiers neither," said Varney; but, observing that
Leicester changed countenance, he instantly added, "that all the
ladies who were present had joined in ridiculing Lord Sussex's
housekeeping, and in contrasting it with the reception her Grace
would have assuredly received at my Lord of Leicester's."

"You have gathered much tidings," said Leicester, "but you have
forgotten or omitted the most important of all.  She hath added
another to those dangling satellites whom it is her pleasure to
keep revolving around her."

"Your lordship meaneth that Raleigh, the Devonshire youth," said
Varney--"the Knight of the Cloak, as they call him at court?"

"He may be Knight of the Garter one day, for aught I know," said
Leicester, "for he advances rapidly--she hath capped verses with
him, and such fooleries.  I would gladly abandon, of my own free
will, the part--I have in her fickle favour; but I will not be
elbowed out of it by the clown Sussex, or this new upstart.  I
hear Tressilian is with Sussex also, and high in his favour.  I
would spare him for considerations, but he will thrust himself on
his fate.  Sussex, too, is almost as well as ever in his health."

"My lord," replied Varney, "there will be rubs in the smoothest
road, specially when it leads uphill.  Sussex's illness was to us
a godsend, from which I hoped much.  He has recovered, indeed,
but he is not now more formidable than ere he fell ill, when he
received more than one foil in wrestling with your lordship.  Let
not your heart fail you, my lord, and all shall be well."

"My heart never failed me, sir," replied Leicester.

"No, my lord," said Varney; "but it has betrayed you right often.
He that would climb a tree, my lord, must grasp by the branches,
not by the blossom."

"Well, well, well!"  said Leicester impatiently; "I understand
thy meaning--my heart shall neither fail me nor seduce me.  Have
my retinue in order--see that their array be so splendid as to
put down, not only the rude companions of Ratcliffe, but the
retainers of every other nobleman and courtier.  Let them be well
armed withal, but without any outward display of their weapons,
wearing them as if more for fashion's sake than for use.  Do thou
thyself keep close to me, I may have business for you."

The preparations of Sussex and his party were not less anxious
than those of Leicester.

"Thy Supplication, impeaching Varney of seduction," said the Earl
to Tressilian, "is by this time in the Queen's hand--I have sent
it through a sure channel.  Methinks your suit should succeed,
being, as it is, founded in justice and honour, and Elizabeth
being the very muster of both.  But--I wot not how--the gipsy"
(so Sussex was wont to call his rival on account of his dark
complexion) "hath much to say with her in these holyday times of
peace.  Were war at the gates, I should be one of her white boys;
but soldiers, like their bucklers and Bilboa blades, get out of
fashion in peace time, and satin sleeves and walking rapiers bear
the bell.  Well, we must be gay, since such is the fashion.--
Blount, hast thou seen our household put into their new
braveries?  "But thou knowest as little of these toys as I do;
thou wouldst be ready enow at disposing a stand of pikes."

"My good lord," answered Blount, "Raleigh hath been here, and
taken that charge upon him--your train will glitter like a May
morning.  Marry, the cost is another question.  One might keep an
hospital of old soldiers at the charge of ten modern lackeys."

"He must not count cost to-day, Nicholas," said the Earl in
reply.  "I am beholden to Raleigh for his care.  I trust, though,
he has remembered that I am an old soldier, and would have no
more of these follies than needs must."

"Nay, I understand nought about it," said Blount; "but here are
your honourable lordship's brave kinsmen and friends coming in by
scores to wait upon you to court, where, methinks, we shall bear
as brave a front as Leicester, let him ruffle it as he will."

"Give them the strictest charges," said Sussex, "that they suffer
no provocation short of actual violence to provoke them into
quarrel.  They have hot bloods, and I would not give Leicester
the advantage over me by any imprudence of theirs."

The Earl of Sussex ran so hastily through these directions, that
it was with difficulty Tressilian at length found opportunity to
express his surprise that he should have proceeded so far in the
affair of Sir Hugh Robsart as to lay his petition at once before
the Queen.  "It was the opinion of the young lady's friends," he
said, "that Leicester's sense of justice should be first appealed
to, as the offence had been committed by his officer, and so he
had expressly told to Sussex."

"This could have been done without applying to me," said Sussex,
somewhat haughtily.  "I at least, ought not to have been a
counsellor when the object was a humiliating reference to
Leicester; and I am suprised that you, Tressilian, a man of
honour, and my friend, would assume such a mean course.  If you
said so, I certainly understood you not in a matter which sounded
so unlike yourself."

"My lord," said Tressilian, "the course I would prefer, for my
own sake, is that you have adopted; but the friends of this most
unhappy lady--"

"Oh, the friends--the friends," said Sussex, interrupting him;
"they must let us manage this cause in the way which seems best.
This is the time and the hour to accumulate every charge against
Leicester and his household, and yours the Queen will hold a
heavy one.  But at all events she hath the complaint before her."

Tressilian could not help suspecting that, in his eagerness to
strengthen himself against his rival, Sussex had purposely
adopted the course most likely to throw odium on Leicester,
without considering minutely whether it were the mode of
proceeding most likely to be attended with success.  But the step
was irrevocable, and Sussex escaped from further discussing it by
dismissing his company, with the command, "Let all be in order at
eleven o'clock; I must be at court and in the presence by high
noon precisely."

While the rival statesmen were thus anxiously preparing for their
approaching meeting in the Queen's presence, even Elizabeth
herself was not without apprehension of what might chance from
the collision of two such fiery spirits, each backed by a strong
and numerous body of followers, and dividing betwixt them, either
openly or in secret, the hopes and wishes of most of her court.
The band of Gentlemen Pensioners were all under arms, and a
reinforcement of the yeomen of the guard was brought down the
Thames from London.  A royal proclamation was sent forth,
strictly prohibiting nobles of whatever degree to approach the
Palace with retainers or followers armed with shot or with long
weapons; and it was even whispered that the High Sheriff of Kent
had secret instructions to have a part of the array of the county
ready on the shortest notice.

The eventful hour, thus anxiously prepared for on all sides, at
length approached, and, each followed by his long and glittering
train of friends and followers, the rival Earls entered the
Palace Yard of Greenwich at noon precisely.

As if by previous arrangement, or perhaps by intimation that such
was the Queen's pleasure, Sussex and his retinue came to the
Palace from Deptford by water while Leicester arrived by land;
and thus they entered the courtyard from opposite sides.  This
trifling circumstance gave Leicester a ascendency in the opinion
of the vulgar, the appearance of his cavalcade of mounted
followers showing more numerous and more imposing than those of
Sussex's party, who were necessarily upon foot.  No show or sign
of greeting passed between the Earls, though each looked full at
the other, both expecting perhaps an exchange of courtesies,
which neither was willing to commence.  Almost in the minute of
their arrival the castle-bell tolled, the gates of the Palace
were opened, and the Earls entered, each numerously attended by
such gentlemen of their train whose rank gave them that
privilege.  The yeomen and inferior attendants remained in the
courtyard, where the opposite parties eyed each other with looks
of eager hatred and scorn, as if waiting with impatience for some
cause of tumult, or some apology for mutual aggression.  But they
were restrained by the strict commands of their leaders, and
overawed, perhaps, by the presence of an armed guard of unusual
strength.

In the meanwhile, the more distinguished persons of each train
followed their patrons into the lofty halls and ante-chambers of
the royal Palace, flowing on in the same current, like two
streams which are compelled into the same channel, yet shun to
mix their waters.  The parties arranged themselves, as it were
instinctively, on the different sides of the lofty apartments,
and seemed eager to escape from the transient union which the
narrowness of the crowded entrance had for an instant compelled
them to submit to.  The folding doors at the upper end of the
long gallery were immediately afterwards opened, and it was
announced in a whisper that the Queen was in her presence-
chamber, to which these gave access.  Both Earls moved slowly and
stately towards the entrance--Sussex followed by Tressilian,
Blount, and Raleigh, and Leicester by Varney.  The pride of
Leicester was obliged to give way to court-forms, and with a
grave and formal inclination of the head, he paused until his
rival, a peer of older creation than his own, passed before him.
Sussex returned the reverence with the same formal civility, and
entered the presence-room.  Tressilian and Blount offered to
follow him, but were not permitted, the Usher of the Black Rod
alleging in excuse that he had precise orders to look to all
admissions that day.  To Raleigh, who stood back on the repulse
of his companions, he said, "You, sir, may enter," and he entered
accordingly.

"Follow me close, Varney," said the Earl of Leicester, who had
stood aloof for a moment to mark the reception of Sussex; and
advancing to the entrance, he was about to pass on, when Varney,
who was close behind him, dressed out in the utmost bravery of
the day, was stopped by the usher, as Tressilian and Blount had
been before him, "How is this, Master Bowyer?"  said the Earl of
Leicester.  "Know you who I am, and that this is my friend and
follower?"

"Your lordship will pardon me," replied Bowyer stoutly; "my
orders are precise, and limit me to a strict discharge of my
duty."

"Thou art a partial knave," said Leicester, the blood mounting to
his face, "to do me this dishonour, when you but now admitted a
follower of my Lord of Sussex."

"My lord," said Bowyer, "Master Raleigh is newly admitted a sworn
servant of her Grace, and to him my orders did not apply."

"Thou art a knave--an ungrateful knave," said Leicester; "but he
that hath done can undo--thou shalt not prank thee in thy
authority long!"

This threat he uttered aloud, with less than his usual policy and
discretion; and having done so, he entered the presence-chamber,
and made his reverence to the Queen, who, attired with even more
than her usual splendour, and surrounded by those nobles and
statesmen whose courage and wisdom have rendered her reign
immortal, stood ready to receive the hommage of her subjects.
She graciously returned the obeisance of the favourite Earl, and
looked alternately at him and at Sussex, as if about to speak,
when Bowyer, a man whose spirit could not brook the insult he had
so openly received from Leicester, in the discharge of his
office, advanced with his black rad in his hand, and knelt down
before her.

"Why, how now, Bowyer?"  said Elizabeth, "thy courtesy seems
strangely timed!"

"My Liege Sovereign," he said, while every courtier around
trembled at his audacity, "I come but to ask whether, in the
discharge of mine office, I am to obey your Highness's commands,
or those of the Earl of Leicester, who has publicly menaced me
with his displeasure, and treated me with disparaging terms,
because I denied entry to one of his followers, in obedience to
your Grace's precise orders?"

The spirit of Henry VIII.  was instantly aroused in the bosom of
his daughter, and she turned on Leicester with a severity which
appalled him, as well as all his followers.

"God's death!  my lord."  such was her emphatic phrase, "what
means this?  We have thought well of you, and brought you near to
our person; but it was not that you might hide the sun from our
other faithful subjects.  Who gave you license to contradict our
orders, or control our officers?  I will have in this court, ay,
and in this realm, but one mistress, and no master.  Look to it
that Master Bowyer sustains no harm for his duty to me faithfully
discharged; for, as I am Christian woman and crowned Queen, I
will hold you dearly answerable.--Go, Bowyer, you have done the
part of an honest man and a true subject.  We will brook no mayor
of the palace here.

Bowyer kissed the hand which she extended towards him, and
withdrew to his post!  astonished at the success of his own
audacity.  A smile of triumph pervaded the faction of Sussex;
that of Leicester seemed proportionally dismayed, and the
favourite himself, assuming an aspect of the deepest humility,
did not even attempt a word in his own esculpation.

He acted wisely; for it was the policy of Elizabeth to humble,
not to disgrace him, and it was prudent to suffer her, without
opposition or reply, to glory in the exertion of her authority.
The dignity of the Queen was gratified, and the woman began soon
to feel for the mortification which she had imposed on her
favourite.  Her keen eye also observed the secret looks of
congratulation exchanged amongst those who favoured Sussex, and
it was no part of her policy to give either party a decisive
triumph.

"What I say to my Lord of Leicester," she said, after a moment's
pause, "I say also to you, my Lord of Sussex.  You also must
needs ruffle in the court of England, at the head of a faction of
your own?"

"My followers, gracious Princess," said Sussex, "have indeed
ruffled in your cause in Ireland, in Scotland, and against yonder
rebellious Earls in the north.  I am ignorant that--"

"Do you bandy looks and words with me, my lord?"  said the Queen,
interrupting him; "methinks you might learn of my Lord of
Leicester the modesty to be silent, at least, under our censure.
I say, my lord, that my grandfather and my father, in their
wisdom, debarred the nobles of this civilized land from
travelling with such disorderly retinues; and think you, that
because I wear a coif, their sceptre has in my hand been changed
into a distaff?  I tell you, no king in Christendom will less
brook his court to be cumbered, his people oppressed, and his
kingdom's peace disturbed, by the arrogance of overgrown power,
than she who now speaks with you.--My Lord of Leicester, and you,
my Lord of Sussex, I command you both to be friends with each
other; or by the crown I wear, you shall find an enemy who will
be too strong for both of you!"

"Madam," said the Earl of Leicester, "you who are yourself the
fountain of honour know best what is due to mine.  I place it at
your disposal, and only say that the terms on which I have stood
with my Lord of Sussex have not been of my seeking; nor had he
cause to think me his enemy, until he had done me gross wrong."

"For me, madam," said the Earl of Sussex, "I cannot appeal from
your sovereign pleasure; but I were well content my Lord of
Leicester should say in what I have, as he terms it, wronged him,
since my tongue never spoke the word that I would not willingly
justify either on foot or horseback.

"And for me," said Leicester, "always under my gracious
Sovereign's pleasure, my hand shall be as ready to make good my
words as that of any man who ever wrote himself Ratcliffe."

"My lords," said the Queen, "these are no terms for this
presence; and if you cannot keep your temper, we will find means
to keep both that and you close enough.  Let me see you join
hands, my lords, and forget your idle animosities."

The two rivals looked at each other with reluctant eyes, each
unwilling to make the first advance to execute the Queen's will.

"Sussex," said Elizabeth,"I entreat--Leicester, I command you."

Yet, so were her words accented, that the entreaty sounded like
command, and the command like entreaty.  They remained still and
stubborn, until she raised her voice to a height which argued at
once impatience and absolute command.

"Sir Henry Lee," she said, to an officer in attendance, "have a
guard in present readiness, and man a barge instantly.--My Lords
of Sussex and Leicester, I bid you once more to join hands; and,
God's death!  he that refuses shall taste of our Tower fare ere
he sees our face again.  I will lower your proud hearts ere we
part, and that I promise, on the word of a Queen!"

"The prison?"  said Leicester, "might be borne, but to lose your
Grace's presence were to lose light and life at once.--Here,
Sussex, is my hand."

"And here," said Sussex, "is mine in truth and honesty; but--"

"Nay, under favour, you shall add no more," said the Queen.
"Why, this is as it should be," she added, looking on them more
favourably; "and when you the shepherds of the people, unite to
protect them, it shall be well with the flock we rule over.  For,
my lords, I tell you plainly, your follies and your brawls lead
to strange disorders among your servants.--My Lord of Leicester,
you have a gentleman in your household called Varney?"

"Yes, gracious madam," replied Leicester; "I presented him to
kiss your royal hand when you were last at Nonsuch."

"His outside was well enough," said the Queen, "but scarce so
fair, I should have thought, as to have caused a maiden of
honourable birth and hopes to barter her fame for his good looks,
and become his paramour.  Yet so it is; this fellow of yours hath
seduced the daughter of a good old Devonshire knight, Sir Hugh
Robsart of Lidcote Hall, and she hath fled with him from her
father's house like a castaway.--My Lord of Leicester, are you
ill, that you look so deadly pale?"

"No, gracious madam," said Leicester; and it required every
effort he could make to bring forth these few words.

"You are surely ill, my lord?"  said Elizabeth, going towards him
with hasty speech and hurried step, which indicated the deepest
concern.  "Call Masters--call our surgeon in ordinary.--Where be
these loitering fools?--we lose the pride of our court through
their negligence.--Or is it possible, Leicester," she continued,
looking on him with a very gentle aspect, "can fear of my
displeasure have wrought so deeply on thee?  Doubt not for a
moment, noble Dudley, that we could blame THEE for the folly of
thy retainer--thee, whose thoughts we know to be far otherwise
employed.  He that would climb the eagle's nest, my lord, cares
not who are catching linnets at the foot of the precipice."

"Mark you that?"  said Sussex aside to Raleigh.  "The devil aids
him surely; for all that would sink another ten fathom deep seems
but to make him float the more easily.  Had a follower of mine
acted thus--"

"Peace, my good lord," said Raleigh, "for God's sake, peace!
Wait the change of the tide; it is even now on the turn."

The acute observation of Raleigh, perhaps, did not deceive him;
for Leicester's confusion was so great, and, indeed, for the
moment, so irresistibly overwhelming, that Elizabeth, after
looking at him with a wondering eye, and receiving no
intelligible answer to the unusual expressions of grace and
affection which had escaped from her, shot her quick glance
around the circle of courtiers, and reading, perhaps, in their
faces something that accorded with her own awakened suspicions,
she said suddenly, "Or is there more in this than we see--or than
you, my lord, wish that we should see?  Where is this Varney?
Who saw him?"

"An it please your Grace," said Bowyer, "it is the same against
whom I this instant closed the door of the presence-room."

"An it please me?"  repeated Elizabeth sharply, not at that
moment in the humour of being pleased with anything.--"It does
NOT please me that he should pass saucily into my presence, or
that you should exclude from it one who came to justify himself
from an accusation."

"May it please you," answered the perplexed usher, "if I knew, in
such case, how to bear myself, I would take heed--"

"You should have reported the fellow's desire to us, Master
Usher, and taken our directions.  You think yourself a great man,
because but now we chid a nobleman on your account; yet, after
all, we hold you but as the lead-weight that keeps the door fast.
Call this Varney hither instantly.  There is one Tressilian also
mentioned in this petition.  Let them both come before us."

She was obeyed, and Tressilian and Varney appeared accordingly.
Varney's first glance was at Leicester, his second at the Queen.
In the looks of the latter there appeared an approaching storm,
and in the downcast countenance of his patron he could read no
directions in what way he was to trim his vessel for the
encounter.  He then saw Tressilian, and at once perceived the
peril of the situation in which he was placed.  But Varney was as
bold-faced and ready-witted as he was cunning and unscrupulous--a
skilful pilot in extremity, and fully conscious of the advantages
which he would obtain could he extricate Leicester from his
present peril, and of the ruin that yawned for himself should he
fail in doing so.

"Is it true, sirrah," said the Queen, with one of those searching
looks which few had the audacity to resist, "that you have
seduced to infamy a young lady of birth and breeding, the
daughter of Sir Hugh Robsart of Lidcote Hall?"

Varney kneeled down, and replied, with a look of the most
profound contrition, "There had been some love passages betwixt
him and Mistress Amy Robsart."

Leicester's flesh quivered with indignation as he heard his
dependant make this avowal, and for one moment he manned himself
to step forward, and, bidding farewell to the court and the royal
favour, confess the whole mystery of the secret marriage.  But he
looked at Sussex, and the idea of the triumphant smile which
would clothe his cheek upon hearing the avowal sealed his lips.
"Not now, at least," he thought, "or in this presence, will I
afford him so rich a triumph."  And pressing his lips close
together, he stood firm and collected, attentive to each word
which Varney uttered, and determined to hide to the last the
secret on which his court-favour seemed to depend.  Meanwhile,
the Queen proceeded in her examination of Varney.

"Love passages!"  said she, echoing his last words; "what
passages, thou knave?  and why not ask the wench's hand from her
father, if thou hadst any honesty in thy love for her?"

"An it please your Grace," said Varney, still on his knees, "I
dared not do so, for her father had promised her hand to a
gentleman of birth and honour--I will do him justice, though I
know he bears me ill-will--one Master Edmund Tressilian, whom I
now see in the presence."

"Soh!"  replied the Queen.  "And what was your right to make the
simple fool break her worthy father's contract, through your love
PASSAGES, as your conceit and assurance terms them?"

"Madam," replied Varney, "it is in vain to plead the cause of
human frailty before a judge to whom it is unknown, or that of
love to one who never yields to the passion"--he paused an
instant, and then added, in a very low and timid tone--"which she
inflicts upon all others."

Elizabeth tried to frown, but smiled in her own despite, as she
answered, "Thou art a marvellously impudent knave.  Art thou
married to the girl?"

Leicester's feelings became so complicated and so painfully
intense, that it seemed to him as if his life was to depend on
the answer made by Varney, who, after a moment's real hesitation,
answered, "Yes."

"Thou false villain!"  said Leicester, bursting forth into rage,
yet unable to add another word to the sentence which he had begun
with such emphatic passion.

"Nay, my lord," said the Queen, "we will, by your leave, stand
between this fellow and your anger.  We have not yet done with
him.--Knew your master, my Lord of Leicester, of this fair work
of yours?  Speak truth, I command thee, and I will be thy warrant
from danger on every quarter."

"Gracious madam," said Varney, "to speak Heaven's truth, my lord
was the cause of the whole matter."

"Thou villain, wouldst thou betray me?"  said Leicester.

"Speak on," said the Queen hastily, her cheek colouring, and her
eyes sparkling, as she addressed Varney--"speak on.  Here no
commands are heard but mine."

"They are omnipotent, gracious madam," replied Varney; "and to
you there can be no secrets.--Yet I would not," he added, looking
around him, "speak of my master's concerns to other ears."

"Fall back, my lords," said the Queen to those who surrounded
her, "and do you speak on.  What hath the Earl to do with this
guilty intrigue of thine?  See, fellow, that thou beliest him
not!"

"Far be it from me to traduce my noble patron," replied Varney;
"yet I am compelled to own that some deep, overwhelming, yet
secret feeling hath of late dwelt in my lord's mind, hath
abstracted him from the cares of the household which he was wont
to govern with such religious strictness, and hath left us
opportunities to do follies, of which the shame, as in this case,
partly falls upon our patron.  Without this, I had not had means
or leisure to commit the folly which has drawn on me his
displeasure--the heaviest to endure by me which I could by any
means incur, saving always the yet more dreaded resentment of
your Grace."

"And in this sense, and no other, hath he been accessory to thy
fault?"  said Elizabeth.

"Surely, madam, in no other," replied Varney; "but since somewhat
hath chanced to him, he can scarce be called his own man.  Look
at him, madam, how pale and trembling he stands!  how unlike his
usual majesty of manner!--yet what has he to fear from aught I
can say to your Highness?  Ah!  madam, since he received that
fatal packet!"

"What packet, and from whence?"  said the Queen eagerly.

"From whence, madam, I cannot guess; but I am so near to his
person that I know he has ever since worn, suspended around his
neck and next to his heart, that lock of hair which sustains a
small golden jewel shaped like a heart.  He speaks to it when
alone--he parts not from it when he sleeps--no heathen ever
worshipped an idol with such devotion."

"Thou art a prying knave to watch thy master so closely," said
Elizabeth, blushing, but not with anger; "and a tattling knave to
tell over again his fooleries.--What colour might the braid of
hair be that thou pratest of?"

Varney replied, "A poet, madam, might call it a thread from the
golden web wrought by Minerva; but to my thinking it was paler
than even the purest gold--more like the last parting sunbeam of
the softest day of spring."

"Why, you are a poet yourself, Master Varney," said the Queen,
smiling.  "But I have not genius quick enough to follow your rare
metaphors.  Look round these ladies--is there"--(she hesitated,
and endeavoured to assume an air of great indifference)--"is
there here, in this presence, any lady, the colour of whose hair
reminds thee of that braid?  Methinks, without prying into my
Lord of Leicester's amorous secrets, I would fain know what kind
of locks are like the thread of Minerva's web, or the--what was
it?--the last rays of the May-day sun."

Varney looked round the presence-chamber, his eye travelling from
one lady to another, until at length it rested upon the Queen
herself, but with an aspect of the deepest veneration.  "I see no
tresses," he said, "in this presence, worthy of such similies,
unless where I dare not look on them."

"How, sir knave?"  said the Queen; "dare you intimate--"

"Nay, madam," replied Varney, shading his eyes with his hand, "it
was the beams of the May-day sun that dazzled my weak eyes."

"Go to--go to," said the Queen; "thou art a foolish fellow"--and
turning quickly from him she walked up to Leicester.

Intense curiosity, mingled with all the various hopes, fears, and
passions which influence court faction, had occupied the
presence-chamber during the Queen's conference with Varney, as if
with the strength of an Eastern talisman.  Men suspended every,
even the slightest external motion, and would have ceased to
breathe, had Nature permitted such an intermission of her
functions.  The atmosphere was contagious, and Leicester, who saw
all around wishing or fearing his advancement or his fall forgot
all that love had previously dictated, and saw nothing for the
instant but the favour or disgrace which depended on the nod of
Elizabeth and the fidelity of Varney.  He summoned himself
hastily, and prepared to play his part in the scene which was
like to ensue, when, as he judged from the glances which the
Queen threw towards him, Varney's communications, be they what
they might, were operating in his favour.  Elizabeth did not long
leave him in doubt; for the more than favour with which she
accosted him decided his triumph in the eyes of his rival, and of
the assembled court of England.  "Thou hast a prating servant of
this same Varney, my lord," she said; "it is lucky you trust him
with nothing that can hurt you in our opinion, for believe me, he
would keep no counsel."

"From your Highness," said Leicester, dropping gracefully on one
knee, "it were treason he should.  I would that my heart itself
lay before you, barer than the tongue of any servant could strip
it."

"What, my lord," said Elizabeth, looking kindly upon him, "is
there no one little corner over which you would wish to spread a
veil?  Ah!  I see you are confused at the question, and your
Queen knows she should not look too deeply into her servants'
motives for their faithful duty, lest she see what might, or at
least ought to, displease her."

Relieved by these last words, Leicester broke out into a torrent
of expressions of deep and passionate attachment, which perhaps,
at that moment, were not altogether fictitious.  The mingled
emotions which had at first overcome him had now given way to the
energetic vigour with which he had determined to support his
place in the Queen's favour; and never did he seem to Elizabeth
more eloquent, more handsome, more interesting, than while,
kneeling at her feet, he conjured her to strip him of all his
dower, but to leave him the name of her servant.--"Take from the
poor Dudley," he exclaimed, "all that your bounty has made him,
and bid him be the poor gentleman he was when your Grace first
shone on him; leave him no more than his cloak and his sword, but
let him still boast he has--what in word or deed he never
forfeited--the regard of his adored Queen and mistress!"

"No, Dudley!"  said Elizabeth, raising him with one hand, while
she extended the other that he might kiss it.  "Elizabeth hath
not forgotten that, whilst you were a poor gentleman, despoiled
of your hereditary rank, she was as poor a princess, and that in
her cause you then ventured all that oppression had left you--
your life and honour.  Rise, my lord, and let my hand go--rise,
and be what you have ever been, the grace of our court and the
support of our throne!  Your mistress may be forced to chide your
misdemeanours, but never without owning your merits.--And so help
me God," she added, turning to the audience, who, with various
feelings, witnessed this interesting scene--"so help me God,
gentlemen, as I think never sovereign had a truer servant than I
have in this noble Earl!"

A murmur of assent rose from the Leicestrian faction, which the
friends of Sussex dared not oppose.  They remained with their
eyes fixed on the ground, dismayed as well as mortified by the
public and absolute triumph of their opponents.  Leicester's
first use of the familiarity to which the Queen had so publicly
restored him was to ask her commands concerning Varney's offence.
"although," he said, "the fellow deserves nothing from me but
displeasure, yet, might I presume to intercede--"

"In truth, we had forgotten his matter," said the Queen; "and it
was ill done of us, who owe justice to our meanest as well as to
our highest subject.  We are pleased, my lord, that you were the
first to recall the matter to our memory.--Where is Tressilian,
the accuser?--let him come before us."

Tressilian appeared, and made a low and beseeming reference.  His
person, as we have elsewhere observed, had an air of grace and
even of nobleness, which did not escape Queen Elizabeth's
critical observation.  She looked at him with, attention as he
stood before her unabashed, but with an air of the deepest
dejection.

"I cannot but grieve for this gentleman," she said to Leicester.
"I have inquired concerning him, and his presence confirms what I
heard, that he is a scholar and a soldier, well accomplished both
in arts and arms.  We women, my lord, are fanciful in our choice
--I had said now, to judge by the eye, there was no comparison to
be held betwixt your follower and this gentleman.  But Varney is
a well-spoken fellow, and, to say truth, that goes far with us of
the weaker sex.--look you, Master Tressilian, a bolt lost is not
a bow broken.  Your true affection, as I will hold it to be, hath
been, it seems, but ill requited; but you have scholarship, and
you know there have been false Cressidas to be found, from the
Trojan war downwards.  Forget, good sir, this Lady Light o' Love
--teach your affection to see with a wiser eye.  This we say to
you, more from the writings of learned men than our own
knowledge, being, as we are, far removed by station and will from
the enlargement of experience in such idle toys of humorous
passion.  For this dame's father, we can make his grief the less
by advancing his son-in-law to such station as may enable him to
give an honourable support to his bride.  Thou shalt not be
forgotten thyself, Tressilian--follow our court, and thou shalt
see that a true Troilus hath some claim on our grace.  Think of
what that arch-knave Shakespeare says--a plague on him, his toys
come into my head when I should think of other matters.  Stay,
how goes it?

 'Cressid was yours, tied with the bonds of heaven ;
  These bonds of heaven are slipt, dissolved, and loosed,
  And with another knot five fingers tied,
  The fragments of her faith are bound to Diomed.'

You smile, my Lord of Southampton--perchance I make your player's
verse halt through my bad memory.  But let it suffice let there
be no more of this mad matter."

And as Tressilian kept the posture of one who would willingly be
heard, though, at the same time, expressive of the deepest
reverence, the Queen added with some impatience, "What would the
man have?  The wench cannot wed both of you?  She has made her
election--not a wise one perchance--but she is Varney's wedded
wife."

"My suit should sleep there, most gracious Sovereign," said
Tressilian, "and with my suit my revenge.  But I hold this
Varney's word no good warrant for the truth."

"Had that doubt been elsewhere urged," answered Varney, "my
sword--"

"THY sword!"  interrupted Tressilian scornfully; "with her
Grace's leave, my sword shall show--"

"Peace, you knaves, both!"  said the Queen; "know you where you
are?--This comes of your feuds, my lords," she added, looking
towards Leicester and Sussex; "your followers catch your own
humour, and must bandy and brawl in my court and in my very
presence, like so many Matamoros.--Look you, sirs, he that speaks
of drawing swords in any other quarrel than mine or England's, by
mine honour, I'll bracelet him with iron both on wrist and
ankle!"  She then paused a minute, and resumed in a milder tone,
"I must do justice betwixt the bold and mutinous knaves
notwithstanding.--My Lord of Leicester, will you warrant with
your honour--that is, to the best of your belief--that your
servant speaks truth in saying he hath married this Amy Robsart?"

This was a home-thrust, and had nearly staggered Leicester.  But
he had now gone too far to recede, and answered, after a moment's
hesitation, "To the best of my belief--indeed on my certain
knowledge--she is a wedded wife."

"Gracious madam," said Tressilian, "may I yet request to know,
when and under what circumstances this alleged marriage--"

"Out, sirrah," answered the Queen; "ALLEGED marriage!  Have you
not the word of this illustrious Earl to warrant the truth of
what his servant says?  But thou art a loser--thinkest thyself
such at least--and thou shalt have indulgence; we will look into
the matter ourself more at leisure.--My Lord of Leicester, I
trust you remember we mean to taste the good cheer of your Castle
of Kenilworth on this week ensuing.  We will pray you to bid our
good and valued friend, the Earl of Sussex, to hold company with
us there."

"If the noble Earl of Sussex," said Leicester, bowing to his
rival with the easiest and with the most graceful courtesy, "will
so far honour my poor house, I will hold it an additional proof
of the amicable regard it is your Grace's desire we should
entertain towards each other."

Sussex was more embarrassed.  "I should," said he, "madam, be but
a clog on your gayer hours, since my late severe illness."

"And have you been indeed so very ill?"  said Elizabeth, looking
on him with more attention than before; "you are, in faith,
strangely altered, and deeply am I grieved to see it.  But be of
good cheer--we will ourselves look after the health of so valued
a servant, and to whom we owe so much.  Masters shall order your
diet; and that we ourselves may see that he is obeyed, you must
attend us in this progress to Kenilworth."

This was said so peremptorily, and at the same time with so much
kindness, that Sussex, however unwilling to become the guest of
his rival, had no resource but to bow low to the Queen in
obedience to her commands, and to express to Leicester, with
blunt courtesy, though mingled with embarrassment, his acceptance
of his invitation.  As the Earls exchanged compliments on the
occasion, the Queen said to her High Treasurer, "Methinks, my
lord, the countenances of these our two noble peers resemble
those of the two famed classic streams, the one so dark and sad,
the other so fair and noble.  My old Master Ascham would have
chid me for forgetting the author.  It is Caesar, as I think.
See what majestic calmness sits on the brow of the noble
Leicester, while Sussex seems to greet him as if he did our will
indeed, but not willingly."

"The doubt of your Majesty's favour," answered the Lord
Treasurer, "may perchance occasion the difference, which does
not--as what does?--escape your Grace's eye."

"Such doubt were injurious to us, my lord," replied the Queen.
"We hold both to be near and dear to us, and will with
impartiality employ both in honourable service for the weal of
our kingdom.  But we will break their further conference at
present.--My Lords of Sussex and Leicester, we have a word more
with you.  'Tressilian and Varney are near your persons--you will
see that they attend you at Kenilworth.  And as we shall then
have both Paris and Menelaus within our call, so we will have the
same fair Helen also, whose fickleness has caused this broil.--
Varney, thy wife must be at Kenilworth, and forthcoming at my
order.--My Lord of Leicester, we expect you will look to this."

The Earl and his follower bowed low and raised their heads,
without daring to look at the Queen, or at each other, for both
felt at the instant as if the nets and toils which their own
falsehood had woven were in the act of closing around them.  The
Queen, however, observed not their confusion, but proceeded to
say, "My Lords of Sussex and Leicester, we require your presence
at the privy-council to be presently held, where matters of
importance are to be debated.  We will then take the water for
our divertisement, and you, my lords, will attend us.--And that
reminds us of a circumstance.--Do you, Sir Squire of the Soiled
Cassock" (distinguishing Raleigh by a smile), "fail not to
observe that you are to attend us on our progress.  You shall be
supplied with suitable means to reform your wardrobe."

And so terminated this celebrated audience, in which, as
throughout her life, Elizabeth united the occasional caprice of
her sex with that sense and sound policy in which neither man nor
woman ever excelled her.



CHAPTER XVII.

  Well, then--our course is chosen--spread the sail--
  Heave oft the lead, and mark the soundings well--
  Look to the helm, good master--many a shoal
  Marks this stern coast, and rocks, where sits the Siren,
  Who, like ambition, lures men to their ruin.     THE SHIPWRECK.

During the brief interval that took place betwixt the dismissal
of the audience and the sitting of the privy-council, Leicester
had time to reflect that he had that morning sealed his own fate.
"It was impossible for him now," he thought, "after having, in
the face of all that was honourable in England, pledged his truth
(though in an ambiguous phrase) for the statement of Varney, to
contradict or disavow it, without exposing himself, not merely to
the loss of court-favour, but to the highest displeasure of the
Queen, his deceived mistress, and to the scorn and contempt at
once of his rival and of all his compeers."  This certainty
rushed at once on his mind, together with all the difficulties
which he would necessarily be exposed to in preserving a secret
which seemed now equally essential to his safety, to his power,
and to his honour.  He was situated like one who walks upon ice
ready to give way around him, and whose only safety consists in
moving onwards, by firm and unvacillating steps.  The Queen's
favour, to preserve which he had made such sacrifices, must now
be secured by all means and at all hazards; it was the only plank
which he could cling to in the tempest.  He must settle himself,
therefore, to the task of not only preserving, but augmenting the
Queen's partiality--he must be the favourite of Elizabeth, or a
man utterly shipwrecked in fortune and in honour.  All other
considerations must be laid aside for the moment, and he repelled
the intrusive thoughts which forced on his mind the image of,
Amy, by saying to himself there would be time to think hereafter
how he was to escape from the labyrinth ultimately, since the
pilot who sees a Scylla under his bows must not for the time
think of the more distant dangers of Charybdis.

In this mood the Earl of Leicester that day assumed his chair at
the council table of Elizabeth; and when the hours of business
were over, in this same mood did he occupy an honoured place near
her during her pleasure excursion on the Thames.  And never did
he display to more advantage his powers as a politician of the
first rank, or his parts as an accomplished courtier.

It chanced that in that day's council matters were agitated
touching the affairs of the unfortunate Mary, the seventh year of
whose captivity in England was now in doleful currency.  There
had been opinions in favour of this unhappy princess laid before
Elizabeth's council, and supported with much strength of argument
by Sussex and others, who dwelt more upon the law of nations and
the breach of hospitality than, however softened or qualified,
was agreeable to the Queen's ear.  Leicester adopted the contrary
opinion with great animation and eloquence, and described the
necessity of continuing the severe restraint of the Queen of
Scots, as a measure essential to the safety of the kingdom, and
particularly of Elizabeth's sacred person, the lightest hair of
whose head, he maintained, ought, in their lordships' estimation,
to be matter of more deep and anxious concern than the life and
fortunes of a rival, who, after setting up a vain and unjust
pretence to the throne of England, was now, even while in the
bosom of her country, the constant hope and theme of
encouragement to all enemies to Elizabeth, whether at home or
abroad.  He ended by craving pardon of their lordships, if in the
zeal of speech he had given any offence, but the Queen's safety
was a theme which hurried him beyond his usual moderation of
debate.

Elizabeth chid him, but not severely, for the weight which he
attached unduly to her personal interests; yet she owned that,
since it had been the pleasure of Heaven to combine those
interests with the weal of her subjects, she did only her duty
when she adopted such measures of self-preservation as
circumstances forced upon her; and if the council in their wisdom
should be of opinion that it was needful to continue some
restraint on the person of her unhappy sister of Scotland, she
trusted they would not blame her if she requested of the Countess
of Shrewsbury to use her with as much kindness as might be
consistent with her safe keeping.  And with this intimation of
her pleasure the council was dismissed.

Never was more anxious and ready way made for "my Lord of
Leicester," than as he passed through the crowded anterooms to go
towards the river-side, in order to attend her Majesty to her
barge--never was the voice of the ushers louder, to "make room,
make room for the noble Earl"--never were these signals more
promptly and reverently obeyed--never were more anxious eyes
turned on him to obtain a glance of favour, or even of mere
recognition, while the heart of many a humble follower throbbed
betwixt the desire to offer his congratulations, and the fear of
intruding himself on the notice of one so infinitely above him.
The whole court considered the issue of this day's audience,
expected with so much doubt and anxiety, as a decisive triumph on
the part of Leicester, and felt assured that the orb of his rival
satellite, if not altogether obscured by his lustre, must revolve
hereafter in a dimmer and more distant sphere.  So thought the
court and courtiers, from high to low; and they acted
accordingly.

On the other hand, never did Leicester return the general
greeting with such ready and condescending courtesy, or endeavour
more successfully to gather (in the words of one who at that
moment stood at no great distance from him) "golden opinions from
all sorts of men."

For all the favourite Earl had a bow a smile at least, and often
a kind word.  Most of these were addressed to courtiers, whose
names have long gone down the tide of oblivion; but some, to such
as sound strangely in our ears, when connected with the ordinary
matters of human life, above which the gratitude of posterity has
long elevated them.  A few of Leicester's interlocutory sentences
ran as follows:--

"Poynings, good morrow; and how does your wife and fair daughter?
Why come they not to court?--Adams, your suit is naught; the
Queen will grant no more monopolies.  But I may serve you in
another matter.--My good Alderman Aylford, the suit of the City,
affecting Queenhithe, shall be forwarded as far as my poor
interest can serve.--Master Edmund Spenser, touching your Irish
petition, I would willingly aid you, from my love to the Muses;
but thou hast nettled the Lord Treasurer."

"My lord, " said the poet, "were I permitted to explain--"

"Come to my lodging, Edmund," answered the Earl "not to-morrow,
or next day, but soon.--Ha, Will Shakespeare--wild Will!--thou
hast given my nephew Philip Sidney, love-powder; he cannot sleep
without thy Venus and Adonis under his pillow!  We will have thee
hanged for the veriest wizard in Europe.  Hark thee, mad wag, I
have not forgotten thy matter of the patent, and of the bears."

The PLAYER bowed, and the Earl nodded and passed on--so that age
would have told the tale; in ours, perhaps, we might say the
immortal had done homage to the mortal.  The next whom the
favourite accosted was one of his own zealous dependants.

"How now, Sir Francis Denning," he whispered, in answer to his
exulting salutation, "that smile hath made thy face shorter by
one-third than when I first saw it this morning.--What, Master
Bowyer, stand you back, and think you I bear malice?  You did but
your duty this morning; and if I remember aught of the passage
betwixt us, it shall be in thy favour."

Then the Earl was approached, with several fantastic congees, by
a person quaintly dressed in a doublet of black velvet, curiously
slashed and pinked with crimson satin.  A long cock's feather in
the velvet bonnet, which he held in his hand, and an enormous
ruff; stiffened to the extremity of the absurd taste of the
times, joined with a sharp, lively, conceited expression of
countenance, seemed to body forth a vain, harebrained coxcomb,
and small wit; while the rod he held, and an assumption of formal
authority, appeared to express some sense of official
consequence, which qualified the natural pertness of his manner.
A perpetual blush, which occupied rather the sharp nose than the
thin cheek of this personage, seemed to speak more of "good
life," as it was called, than of modesty; and the manner in which
he approached to the Earl confirmed that suspicion.

"Good even to you, Master Robert Laneham," said Leicester, and
seemed desirous to pass forward, without further speech.

"I have a suit to your noble lordship," said the figure, boldly
following him.

"And what is it, good master keeper of the council-chamber door?"

"CLERK of the council-chamber door," said Master Robert Laneham,
with emphasis, by way of reply, and of correction.

"Well, qualify thine office as thou wilt, man," replied the Earl;
"what wouldst thou have with me?"

"Simply," answered Laneham, "that your lordship would be, as
heretofore, my good lord, and procure me license to attend the
Summer Progress unto your lordship's most beautiful and all-to-
be-unmatched Castle of Kenilworth."

"To what purpose, good Master Laneham?"  replied the Earl;
"bethink you, my guests must needs be many."

"Not so many," replied the petitioner, "but that your nobleness
will willingly spare your old servitor his crib and his mess.
Bethink you, my lord, how necessary is this rod of mine to fright
away all those listeners, who else would play at bo-peep with the
honourable council, and be searching for keyholes and crannies in
the door of the chamber, so as to render my staff as needful as a
fly-flap in a butcher's shop."

"Methinks you have found out a fly-blown comparison for the
honourable council, Master Laneham," said the Earl; "but seek not
about to justify it.  Come to Kenilworth, if you list; there will
be store of fools there besides, and so you will be fitted."

"Nay, an there be fools, my lord," replied Laneham, with much
glee, "I warrant I will make sport among them, for no greyhound
loves to cote a hare as I to turn and course a fool.  But I have
another singular favour to beseech of your honour."

"Speak it, and let me go," said the Earl; "I think the Queen
comes forth instantly."

"My very good lord, I would fain bring a bed-fellow with me."

"How, you irreverent rascal!"  said Leicester.

"Nay, my lord, my meaning is within the canons," answered his
unblushing, or rather his ever-blushing petitioner.  "I have a
wife as curious as her grandmother who ate the apple.  Now, take
her with me I may not, her Highness's orders being so strict
against the officers bringing with them their wives in a
progress, and so lumbering the court with womankind.  But what I
would crave of your lordship is to find room for her in some
mummery, or pretty pageant, in disguise, as it were; so that, not
being known for my wife, there may be no offence."

"The foul fiend seize ye both!"  said Leicester, stung into
uncontrollable passion by the recollections which this speech
excited--"why stop you me with such follies?"

The terrified clerk of the chamber-door, astonished at the burst
of resentment he had so unconsciously produced, dropped his staff
of office from his hand, and gazed on the incensed Earl with a
foolish face of wonder and terror, which instantly recalled
Leicester to himself.

"I meant but to try if thou hadst the audacity which befits thine
office," said he hastily.  "Come to Kenilworth, and bring the
devil with thee, if thou wilt."

"My wife, sir, hath played the devil ere now, in a Mystery, in
Queen Mary's time; but me shall want a trifle for properties."

"Here is a crown for thee," said the Earl,--"make me rid of thee
--the great bell rings."

Master Robert Laneham stared a moment at the agitation which he
had excited, and then said to himself, as he stooped to pick up
his staff of office, "The noble Earl runs wild humours to-day.
But they who give crowns expect us witty fellows to wink at their
unsettled starts; and, by my faith, if they paid not for mercy,
we would finger them tightly!"  [See Note 6.  Robert Laneham.]

Leicester moved hastily on, neglecting the courtesies he had
hitherto dispensed so liberally, and hurrying through the courtly
crowd, until he paused in a small withdrawing-room, into which he
plunged to draw a moment's breath unobserved, and in seclusion.

"What am I now," he said to himself, "that am thus jaded by the
words of a mean, weather-beaten, goose-brained gull!  Conscience,
thou art a bloodhound, whose growl wakes us readily at the paltry
stir of a rat or mouse as at the step of a lion.  Can I not quit
myself, by one bold stroke, of a state so irksome, so unhonoured?
What if I kneel to Elizabeth, and, owning the whole, throw myself
on her mercy?"

As he pursued this train of thought, the door of the apartment
opened, and Varney rushed in.

"Thank God, my lord, that I have found you!"  was his
exclamation.

"Thank the devil, whose agent thou art," was the Earl's reply.

"Thank whom you will, my lord," replied Varney; "but hasten to
the water-side.  The Queen is on board, and asks for you."

"Go, say I am taken suddenly ill," replied Leicester; "for, by
Heaven, my brain can sustain this no longer!"

"I may well say so," said Varney, with bitterness of expression,
"for your place, ay, and mine, who, as your master of the horse,
was to have attended your lordship, is already filled up in the
Queen's barge.  The new minion, Walter Raleigh, and our old
acquaintance Tressilian were called for to fill our places just
as I hastened away to seek you."

"Thou art a devil, Varney," said Leicester hastily; "but thou
hast the mastery for the present--I follow thee."

Varney replied not, but led the way out of the palace, and
towards the river, while his master followed him, as if
mechanically; until, looking back, he said in a tone which
savoured of familiarity at least, if not of authority, "How is
this, my lord?  Your cloak hangs on one side--your hose are
unbraced--permit me--"

"Thou art a fool, Varney, as well as a knave," said Leicester,
shaking him off, and rejecting his officious assistance.  "We are
best thus, sir; when we require you to order our person, it is
well, but now we want you not."

So saying, the Earl resumed at once his air of command, and with
it his self-possession--shook his dress into yet wilder disorder
--passed before Varney with the air of a superior and master, and
in his turn led the way to the river-side.

The Queen's barge was on the very point of putting off, the seat
allotted to Leicester in the stern, and that to his master of the
horse on the bow of the boat, being already filled up.  But on
Leicester's approach there was a pause, as if the bargemen
anticipated some alteration in their company.  The angry spot
was, however, on the Queen's cheek, as, in that cold tone with
which superiors endeavour to veil their internal agitation, while
speaking to those before whom it would be derogation to express
it, she pronounced the chilling words, "We have waited, my Lord
of Leicester."

"Madam, and most gracious Princess," said Leicester, "you, who
can pardon so many weaknesses which your own heart never knows,
can best bestow your commiseration on the agitations of the
bosom, which, for a moment, affect both head and limbs.  I came
to your presence a doubting and an accused subject; your goodness
penetrated the clouds of defamation, and restored me to my
honour, and, what is yet dearer, to your favour--is it wonderful,
though for me it is most unhappy, that my master of the horse
should have found me in a state which scarce permitted me to make
the exertion necessary to follow him to this place, when one
glance of your Highness, although, alas!  an angry one, has had
power to do that for me in which Esculapius might have failed?"

"How is this?"  said Elizabeth hastily, looking at Varney; "hath
your lord been ill?"

"Something of a fainting fit," answered the ready-witted Varney,
"as your Grace may observe from his present condition.  My lord's
haste would not permit me leisure even to bring his dress into
order."

"It matters not," said Elizabeth, as she gazed on the noble face
and form of Leicester, to which even the strange mixture of
passions by which he had been so lately agitated gave additional
interest; "make room for my noble lord.  Your place, Master
Varney, has been filled up; you must find a seat in another
barge."

Varney bowed, and withdrew.

"And you, too, our young Squire of the Cloak," added she, looking
at Raleigh, "must, for the time, go to the barge of our ladies of
honour.  As for Tressilian, he hath already suffered too much by
the caprice of women that I should aggrieve him by my change of
plan, so far as he is concerned."

Leicester seated himself in his place in the barge, and close to
the Sovereign.  Raleigh rose to retire, and Tressilian would have
been so ill-timed in his courtesy as to offer to relinquish his
own place to his friend, had not the acute glance of Raleigh
himself, who seemed no in his native element, made him sensible
that so ready a disclamation of the royal favour might be
misinterpreted.  He sat silent, therefore, whilst Raleigh, with a
profound bow, and a look of the deepest humiliation, was about to
quit his place.

A noble courtier, the gallant Lord Willoughby, read, as he
thought, something in the Queen's face which seemed to pity
Raleigh's real or assumed semblance of mortification.

"It is not for us old courtiers," he said, "to hide the sunshine
from the young ones.  I will, with her Majesty's leave,
relinquish for an hour that which her subjects hold dearest, the
delight of her Highness's presence, and mortify myself by walking
in starlight, while I forsake for a brief season the glory of
Diana's own beams.  I will take place in the boat which the
ladies occupy, and permit this young cavalier his hour of
promised felicity."

The Queen replied, with an expression betwixt mirth and earnest,
"If you are so willing to leave us, my lord, we cannot help the
mortification.  But, under favour, we do not trust you--old and
experienced as you may deem yourself--with the care of our young
ladies of honour.  Your venerable age, my lord," she continued,
smiling, "may be better assorted with that of my Lord Treasurer,
who follows in the third boat, and by whose experience even my
Lord Willoughby's may be improved."

Lord Willoughby hid his disappointment under a smile--laughed,
was confused, bowed, and left the Queen's barge to go on board my
Lord Burleigh's.  Leicester, who endeavoured to divert his
thoughts from all internal reflection, by fixing them on what was
passing around, watched this circumstance among others.  But when
the boat put off from the shore--when the music sounded from a
barge which accompanied them--when the shouts of the populace
were heard from the shore, and all reminded him of the situation
in which he was placed, he abstracted his thoughts and feelings
by a strong effort from everything but the necessity of
maintaining himself in the favour of his patroness, and exerted
his talents of pleasing captivation with such success, that the
Queen, alternately delighted with his conversation, and alarmed
for his health, at length imposed a temporary silence on him,
with playful yet anxious care, lest his flow of spirits should
exhaust him.

"My lords," she said, "having passed for a time our edict of
silence upon our good Leicester, we will call you to counsel on a
gamesome matter, more fitted to be now treated of, amidst mirth
and music, than in the gravity of our ordinary deliberations.
Which of you, my lords," said she, smiling, "know aught of a
petition from Orson Pinnit, the keeper, as he qualifies himself,
of our royal bears?  Who stands godfather to his request?"

"Marry, with Your Grace's good permission, that do I," said the
Earl of Sussex.  "Orson Pinnit was a stout soldier before he was
so mangled by the skenes of the Irish clan MacDonough; and I
trust your Grace will be, as you always have been, good mistress
to your good and trusty servants."

"Surely," said the Queen, "it is our purpose to be so, and in
especial to our poor soldiers and sailors, who hazard their lives
for little pay.  We would give," she said, with her eyes
sparkling, "yonder royal palace of ours to be an hospital for
their use, rather than they should call their mistress
ungrateful.  But this is not the question," she said, her voice,
which had been awakened by her patriotic feelings, once more
subsiding into the tone of gay and easy conversation; "for this
Orson Pinnit's request goes something further.  He complains
that, amidst the extreme delight with which men haunt the play-
houses, and in especial their eager desire for seeing the
exhibitions of one Will Shakespeare (whom I think, my lords, we
have all heard something of), the manly amusement of bear-baiting
is falling into comparative neglect, since men will rather throng
to see these roguish players kill each other in jest, than to see
our royal dogs and bears worry each other in bloody earnest.--
What say you to this, my Lord of Sussex?"

"Why, truly, gracious madam," said Sussex, "you must expect
little from an old soldier like me in favour of battles in sport,
when they are compared with battles in earnest; and yet, by my
faith, I wish Will Shakespeare no harm.  He is a stout man at
quarter-staff, and single falchion, though, as I am told, a
halting fellow; and he stood, they say, a tough fight with the
rangers of old Sir Thomas Lucy of Charlecot, when he broke his
deer-park and kissed his keeper's daughter."

"I cry you mercy, my Lord of Sussex," said Queen Elizabeth,
interrupting him; "that matter was heard in council, and we will
not have this fellow's offence exaggerated--there was no kissing
in the matter, and the defendant hath put the denial on record.
But what say you to his present practice, my lord, on the stage?
for there lies the point, and not in any ways touching his former
errors, in breaking parks, or the other follies you speak of."

"Why, truly, madam," replied Sussex, "as I said before, I wish
the gamesome mad fellow no injury.  Some of his whoreson poetry
(I crave your Grace's pardon for such a phrase) has rung in mine
ears as if the lines sounded to boot and saddle.  But then it is
all froth and folly--no substance or seriousness in it, as your
Grace has already well touched.  What are half a dozen knaves,
with rusty foils and tattered targets, making but a mere mockery
of a stout fight, to compare to the royal game of bear-baiting,
which hath been graced by your Highness's countenance, and that
of your royal predecessors, in this your princely kingdom, famous
for matchless mastiffs and bold bearwards over all Christendom?
Greatly is it to be doubted that the race of both will decay, if
men should throng to hear the lungs of an idle player belch forth
nonsensical bombast, instead of bestowing their pence in
encouraging the bravest image of war that can be shown in peace,
and that is the sports of the Bear-garden.  There you may see the
bear lying at guard, with his red, pinky eyes watching the onset
of the mastiff, like a wily captain who maintains his defence
that an assailant may be tempted to venture within his danger.
And then comes Sir Mastiff, like a worthy champion, in full
career at the throat of his adversary; and then shall Sir Bruin
teach him the reward for those who, in their over-courage,
neglect the policies of war, and, catching him in his arms,
strain him to his breast like a lusty wrestler, until rib after
rib crack like the shot of a pistolet.  And then another mastiff;
as bold, but with better aim and sounder judgment, catches Sir
Bruin by the nether lip, and hangs fast, while he tosses about
his blood and slaver, and tries in vain to shake Sir Talbot from
his hold.  And then--"

"Nay, by my honour, my lord," said the Queen, laughing, "you have
described the whole so admirably that, had we never seen a bear-
baiting, as we have beheld many, and hope, with Heaven's
allowance, to see many more, your words were sufficient to put
the whole Bear-garden before our eyes.--But come, who speaks next
in this case?--My Lord of Leicester, what say you?"

"Am I then to consider myself as unmuzzled, please your Grace?"
replied Leicester.

"Surely, my lord--that is, if you feel hearty enough to take part
in our game," answered Elizabeth; "and yet, when I think of your
cognizance of the bear and ragged staff, methinks we had better
hear some less partial orator."

"Nay, on my word, gracious Princess," said the Earl, "though my
brother Ambrose of Warwick and I do carry the ancient cognizance
your Highness deigns to remember, I nevertheless desire nothing
but fair play on all sides; or, as they say, 'fight dog, fight
bear.'  And in behalf of the players, I must needs say that they
are witty knaves, whose rants and jests keep the minds of the
commons from busying themselves with state affairs, and listening
to traitorous speeches, idle rumours, and disloyal insinuations.
When men are agape to see how Marlow, Shakespeare, and other play
artificers work out their fanciful plots, as they call them, the
mind of the spectators is withdrawn from the conduct of their
rulers."

"We would not have the mind of our subjects withdrawn from the
consideration of our own conduct, my lord," answered Elizabeth;
"because the more closely it is examined, the true motives by
which we are guided will appear the more manifest."

"I have heard, however, madam," said the Dean of St. Asaph's, an
eminent Puritan, "that these players are wont, in their plays,
not only to introduce profane and lewd expressions, tending to
foster sin and harlotry; but even to bellow out such reflections
on government, its origin and its object, as tend to render the
subject discontented, and shake the solid foundations of civil
society.  And it seems to be, under your Grace's favour, far less
than safe to permit these naughty foul-mouthed knaves to ridicule
the godly for their decent gravity, and, in blaspheming heaven
and slandering its earthly rulers, to set at defiance the laws
both of God and man."

"If we could think this were true, my lord," said Elizabeth, "we
should give sharp correction for such offences.  But it is ill
arguing against the use of anything from its abuse.  And touching
this Shakespeare, we think there is that in his plays that is
worth twenty Bear-gardens; and that this new undertaking of his
Chronicles, as he calls them, may entertain, with honest mirth,
mingled with useful instruction, not only our subjects, but even
the generation which may succeed to us."

"Your Majesty's reign will need no such feeble aid to make it
remembered to the latest posterity," said Leicester.  "And yet,
in his way, Shakespeare hath so touched some incidents of your
Majesty's happy government as may countervail what has been
spoken by his reverence the Dean of St. Asaph's.  There are some
lines, for example--I would my nephew, Philip Sidney, were here;
they are scarce ever out of his mouth--they are spoken in a mad
tale of fairies, love-charms, and I wot not what besides; but
beautiful they are, however short they may and must fall of the
subject to which they bear a bold relation--and Philip murmurs
them, I think, even in his dreams."

"You tantalize us, my lord," said the Queen--"Master Philip
Sidney is, we know, a minion of the Muses, and we are pleased it
should be so.  Valour never shines to more advantage than when
united with the true taste and love of letters.  But surely there
are some others among our young courtiers who can recollect what
your lordship has forgotten amid weightier affairs.--Master
Tressilian, you are described to me as a worshipper of Minerva--
remember you aught of these lines?"

Tressilian's heart was too heavy, his prospects in life too
fatally blighted, to profit by the opportunity which the Queen
thus offered to him of attracting her attention; but he
determined to transfer the advantage to his more ambitious young
friend, and excusing himself on the score of want of
recollection, he added that he believed the beautiful verses of
which my Lord of Leicester had spoken were in the remembrance of
Master Walter Raleigh.

At the command of the Queen, that cavalier repeated, with accent
and manner which even added to their exquisite delicacy of tact
and beauty of description, the celebrated vision of Oberon:--

  "That very time I saw (but thou couldst not),
  Flying between the cold moon and the earth,
  Cupid, allarm'd:  a certain aim he took
  At a fair vestal, throned by the west;
  And loos'd his love-shaft smartly from his bow,
  As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts:
  But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft
  Quench'd in the chaste beams of the watery moon;
  And the imperial vot'ress passed on,
  In maiden meditation, fancy free."

The voice of Raleigh, as he repeated the last lines, became a
little tremulous, as if diffident how the Sovereign to whom the
homage was addressed might receive it, exquisite as it was.  If
this diffidence was affected, it was good policy; but if real,
there was little occasion for it.  The verses were not probably
new to the Queen, for when was ever such elegant flattery long in
reaching the royal ear to which it was addressed?  But they were
not the less welcome when repeated by such a speaker as Raleigh.
Alike delighted with the matter, the manner, and the graceful
form and animated countenance of the gallant young reciter,
Elizabeth kept time to every cadence with look and with finger.
When the speaker had ceased, she murmured over the last lines as
if scarce conscious that she was overheard, and as she uttered
the words,

"In maiden meditation, fancy free," she dropped into the Thames
the supplication of Orson Pinnit, keeper of the royal bears, to
find more favourable acceptance at Sheerness, or wherever the
tide might waft it.

Leicester was spurred to emulation by the success of the young
courtier's exhibition, as the veteran racer is roused when a
high-mettled colt passes him on the way.  He turned the discourse
on shows, banquets, pageants, and on the character of those by
whom these gay scenes were then frequented.  He mixed acute
observation with light satire, in that just proportion which was
free alike from malignant slander and insipid praise.  He
mimicked with ready accent the manners of the affected or the
clownish, and made his own graceful tone and manner seem doubly
such when he resumed it.  Foreign countries--their customs, their
manners, the rules of their courts---the fashions, and even the
dress of their ladies-were equally his theme; and seldom did he
conclude without conveying some compliment, always couched in
delicacy, and expressed with propriety, to the Virgin Queen, her
court, and her government.  Thus passed the conversation during
this pleasure voyage, seconded by the rest of the attendants upon
the royal person, in gay discourse, varied by remarks upon
ancient classics and modern authors, and enriched by maxims of
deep policy and sound morality, by the statesmen and sages who
sat around and mixed wisdom with the lighter talk of a female
court.

When they returned to the Palace, Elizabeth accepted, or rather
selected, the arm of Leicester to support her from the stairs
where they landed to the great gate.  It even seemed to him
(though that might arise from the flattery of his own
imagination) that during this short passage she leaned on him
somewhat more than the slippiness of the way necessarily
demanded.  Certainly her actions and words combined to express a
degree of favour which, even in his proudest day he had not till
then attained.  His rival, indeed, was repeatedly graced by the
Queen's notice; but it was in manner that seemed to flow less
from spontaneous inclination than as extorted by a sense of his
merit.  And in the opinion of many experienced courtiers, all the
favour she showed him was overbalanced by her whispering in the
ear of the Lady Derby that "now she saw sickness was a better
alchemist than she before wotted of, seeing it had changed my
Lord of Sussex's copper nose into a golden one."

The jest transpired, and the Earl of Leicester enjoyed his
triumph, as one to whom court-favour had been both the primary
and the ultimate motive of life, while he forgot, in the
intoxication of the moment, the perplexities and dangers of his
own situation.  Indeed, strange as it may appear, he thought less
at that moment of the perils arising from his secret union, than
of the marks of grace which Elizabeth from time to time showed to
young Raleigh.  They were indeed transient, but they were
conferred on one accomplished in mind and body, with grace,
gallantry, literature, and valour.  An accident occurred in the
course of the evening which riveted Leicester's attention to this
object.

The nobles and courtiers who had attended the Queen on her
pleasure expedition were invited, with royal hospitality, to a
splendid banquet in the hall of the Palace.  The table was not,
indeed, graced by the presence of the Sovereign; for, agreeable
to her idea of what was at once modest and dignified, the Maiden
Queen on such occasions was wont to take in private, or with one
or two favourite ladies, her light and temperate meal.  After a
moderate interval, the court again met in the splendid gardens of
the Palace; and it was while thus engaged that the Queen suddenly
asked a lady, who was near to her both in place and favour, what
had become of the young Squire Lack-Cloak.

The Lady Paget answered, "She had seen Master Raleigh but two or
three minutes since standing at the window of a small pavilion or
pleasure-house, which looked out on the Thames, and writing on
the glass with a diamond ring."

"That ring," said the Queen, "was a small token I gave him to
make amends for his spoiled mantle.  Come, Paget, let us see what
use he has made of it, for I can see through him already.  He is
a marvellously sharp-witted spirit."  They went to the spot,
within sight of which, but at some distance, the young cavalier
still lingered, as the fowler watches the net which he has set.
The Queen approached the window, on which Raleigh had used her
gift, to inscribe the following line:--

  "Fain would I climb, but that I fear to fall."

The Queen smiled, read it twice over, once with deliberation to
Lady Paget, and once again to herself.  "It is a pretty
beginning," she said, after the consideration of a moment or two;
"but methinks the muse hath deserted the young wit at the very
outset of his task.  It were good-natured--were it not, Lady
Paget?--to complete it for him.  Try your rhyming faculties."

Lady Paget, prosaic from her cradle upwards as ever any lady of
the bedchamber before or after her, disclaimed all possibility of
assisting the young poet.

"Nay, then, we must sacrifice to the Muses ourselves," said
Elizabeth.

"The incense of no one can be more acceptable," said Lady Paget;
"and your Highness will impose such obligation on the ladies of
Parnassus--"

"Hush, Paget," said the Queen, "you speak sacrilege against the
immortal Nine--yet, virgins themselves, they should be exorable
to a Virgin Queen--and therefore--let me see how runs his verse--

  'Fain would I climb, but that I fear to fall.'

Might not the answer (for fault of a better) run thus?--

  'If thy mind fail thee, do not climb at all.'"

The dame of honour uttered an exclamation of joy and surprise at
so happy a termination; and certainly a worse has been applauded,
even when coming from a less distinguished author.

The Queen, thus encouraged, took off a diamond ring, and saying,
"We will give this gallant some cause of marvel when he finds his
couplet perfected without his own interference," she wrote her
own line beneath that of Raleigh.

The Queen left the pavilion; but retiring slowly, and often
looking back, she could see the young cavalier steal, with the
flight of a lapwing, towards the place where he had seen her make
a pause.  "She stayed but to observe," as she said, "that her
train had taken;" and then, laughing at the circumstance with the
Lady Paget, she took the way slowly towards the Palace.
Elizabeth, as they returned, cautioned her companion not to
mention to any one the aid which she had given to the young poet,
and Lady Paget promised scrupulous secrecy.  It is to be supposed
that she made a mental reservation in favour of Leicester, to
whom her ladyship transmitted without delay an anecdote so little
calculated to give him pleasure.

Raleigh, in the meanwhile, stole back to the window, and read,
with a feeling of intoxication, the encouragement thus given him
by the Queen in person to follow out his ambitious career, and
returned to Sussex and his retinue, then on the point of
embarking to go up the river, his heart beating high with
gratified pride, and with hope of future distinction.

The reverence due to the person of the Earl prevented any notice
being taken of the reception he had met with at court, until they
had landed, and the household were assembled in the great hall at
Sayes Court; while that lord, exhausted by his late illness and
the fatigues of the day, had retired to his chamber, demanding
the attendance of Wayland, his successful physician.  Wayland,
however, was nowhere to be found; and while some of the party
were, with military impatience, seeking him and cursing his
absence, the rest flocked around Raleigh to congratulate him on
his prospects of court-favour.

He had the good taste and judgment to conceal the decisive
circumstance of the couplet to which Elizabeth had deigned to
find a rhyme; but other indications had transpired, which plainly
intimated that he had made some progress in the Queen's favour.
All hastened to wish him joy on the mended appearance of his
fortune--some from real regard, some, perhaps, from hopes that
his preferment might hasten their own, and most from a mixture of
these motives, and a sense that the countenance shown to any one
of Sussex's household was, in fact, a triumph to the whole.
Raleigh returned the kindest thanks to them all, disowning, with
becoming modesty, that one day's fair reception made a favourite,
any more than one swallow a summer.  But he observed that Blount
did not join in the general congratulation, and, somewhat hurt at
his apparent unkindness, he plainly asked him the reason.

Blount replied with equal sincerity--"My good Walter, I wish thee
as well as do any of these chattering gulls, who are whistling
and whooping gratulations in thine ear because it seems fair
weather with thee.  But I fear for thee, "Walter" (and he wiped
his honest eye), "I fear for thee with all my heart.  These
court-tricks, and gambols, and flashes of fine women's favour are
the tricks and trinkets that bring fair fortunes to farthings,
and fine faces and witty coxcombs to the acquaintance of dull
block and sharp axes."

So saying, Blount arose and left the hall, while Raleigh looked
after him with an expression that blanked for a moment his bold
and animated countenance.

Stanley just then entered the hall, and said to Tressilian, "My
lord is calling for your fellow Wayland, and your fellow Wayland
is just come hither in a sculler, and is calling for you, nor
will he go to my lord till he sees you.  The fellow looks as he
were mazed, methinks; I would you would see him immediately."

Tressilian instantly left the hall, and causing Wayland Smith to
be shown into a withdrawing apartment, and lights placed, he
conducted the artist thither, and was surprised when he observed
the emotion of his countenance.

"What is the matter with you, Smith?"  said Tressilian; "have you
seen the devil?"

"Worse, sir, worse," replied Wayland; "I have seen a basilisk.
Thank God, I saw him first; for being so seen, and seeing not me,
he will do the less harm."

"In God's name, speak sense," said Tressilian, "and say what you
mean."

"I have seen my old master," said the artist.  "Last night a
friend whom I had acquired took me to see the Palace clock,
judging me to be curious in such works of art.  At the window of
a turret next to the clock-house I saw my old master."

"Thou must needs have been mistaken," said Tressilian.

"I was not mistaken," said Wayland; "he that once hath his
features by heart would know him amongst a million.  He was
anticly habited; but he cannot disguise himself from me, God be
praised!  as I can from him.  I will not, however, tempt
Providence by remaining within his ken.  Tarleton the player
himself could not so disguise himself but that, sooner or later,
Doboobie would find him out.  I must away to-morrow; for, as we
stand together, it were death to me to remain within reach of
him."

"But the Earl of Sussex?"  said Tressilian.

"He is in little danger from what he has hitherto taken, provided
he swallow the matter of a bean's size of the orvietan every
morning fasting; but let him beware of a relapse."

"And how is that to be guarded against?"  said Tressilian.

"Only by such caution as you would use against the devil,"
answered Wayland.  "Let my lord's clerk of the kitchen kill his
lord's meat himself, and dress it himself, using no spice but
what he procures from the surest hands.  Let the sewer serve it
up himself, and let the master of my lord's household see that
both clerk and sewer taste the dishes which the one dresses and
the other serves.  Let my lord use no perfumes which come not
from well accredited persons; no unguents--no pomades.  Let him,
on no account, drink with strangers, or eat fruit with them,
either in the way of nooning or otherwise.  Especially, let him
observe such caution if he goes to Kenilworth--the excuse of his
illness, and his being under diet, will, and must, cover the
strangeness of such practice."

"And thou," said Tressilian, "what dost thou think to make of
thyself?"

"France, Spain, either India, East or West, shall be my refuge,"
said Wayland, "ere I venture my life by residing within ken of
Doboobie, Demetrius, or whatever else he calls himself for the
time."

"Well," said Tressilian, "this happens not inopportunely.  I had
business for you in Berkshire, but in the opposite extremity to
the place where thou art known; and ere thou hadst found out this
new reason for living private, I had settled to send thee thither
upon a secret embassage."

The artist expressed himself willing to receive his commands, and
Tressilian, knowing he was well acquainted with the outline of
his business at court, frankly explained to him the whole,
mentioned the agreement which subsisted betwixt Giles Gosling and
him, and told what had that day been averred in the presence-
chamber by Varney, and supported by Leicester.

"Thou seest," he added, "that, in the circumstances in which I am
placed, it behoves me to keep a narrow watch on the motions of
these unprincipled men, Varney and his complices, Foster and
Lambourne, as well as on those of my Lord Leicester himself, who,
I suspect, is partly a deceiver, and not altogether the deceived
in that matter.  Here is my ring, as a pledge to Giles Gosling.
Here is besides gold, which shall be trebled if thou serve me
faithfully.  Away down to Cumnor, and see what happens there."

"I go with double good-will," said the artist, "first, because I
serve your honour, who has been so kind to me; and then, that I
may escape my old master, who, if not an absolute incarnation of
the devil, has, at least, as much of the demon about him, in
will, word, and action; as ever polluted humanity.  And yet let
him take care of me.  I fly him now, as heretofore; but if, like
the Scottish wild cattle, I am vexed by frequent pursuit, I may
turn on him in hate and desperation.  [A remnant of the wild
cattle of Scotland are preserved at Chillingham Castle, near
Wooler, in Northumberland, the seat of Lord Tankerville.  They
fly before strangers; but if disturbed and followed, they turn
with fury on those who persist in annoying them.]  Will your
honour command my nag to be saddled?  I will but give the
medicine to my lord, divided in its proper proportions, with a
few instructions.  His safety will then depend on the care of his
friends and domestics; for the past he is guarded, but let him
beware of the future."

Wayland Smith accordingly made his farewell visit to the Earl of
Sussex, dictated instructions as to his regimen, and precautions
concerning his diet, and left Sayes Court without waiting for
morning.



CHAPTER XVIII.

        The moment comes--
  It is already come--when thou must write
  The absolute total of thy life's vast sum.
  The constellations stand victorious o'er thee,
  The planets shoot good fortune in fair junctions,
  And tell thee, "Now's the time."
                          SCHILLER'S WALLENSTEIN, BY COLERIDGE.

When Leicester returned to his lodging, alter a day so important
and so harassing, in which, after riding out more than one gale,
and touching on more than one shoal, his bark had finally gained
the harbour with banner displayed, he seemed to experience as
much fatigue as a mariner after a perilous storm.  He spoke not a
word while his chamberlain exchanged his rich court-mantle for a
furred night-robe, and when this officer signified that Master
Varney desired to speak with his lordship, he replied only by a
sullen nod.  Varney, however, entered, accepting this signal as a
permission, and the chamberlain withdrew.

The Earl remained silent and almost motionless in his chair, his
head reclined on his hand, and his elbow resting upon the table
which stood beside him, without seeming to be conscious of the
entrance or of the presence of his confidant.  Varney waited for
some minutes until he should speak, desirous to know what was the
finally predominant mood of a mind through which so many powerful
emotions had that day taken their course.  But he waited in vain,
for Leicester continued still silent, and the confidant saw
himself under the necessity of being the first to speak.  "May I
congratulate your lordship," he said, "on the deserved
superiority you have this day attained over your most formidable
rival?"

Leicester raised his head, and answered sadly, but without anger,
"Thou, Varney, whose ready invention has involved me in a web of
most mean and perilous falsehood, knowest best what small reason
there is for gratulation on the subject."

"Do you blame me, my lord," said Varney, "for not betraying, on
the first push, the secret on which your fortunes depended, and
which you have so oft and so earnestly recommended to my safe
keeping?  Your lordship was present in person, and might have
contradicted me and ruined yourself by an avowal of the truth;
but surely it was no part of a faithful servant to have done so
without your commands."

"I cannot deny it, Varney," said the Earl, rising and walking
across the room; "my own ambition has been traitor to my love."

"Say rather, my lord, that your love has been traitor to your
greatness, and barred you from such a prospect of honour and
power as the world cannot offer to any other.  To make my
honoured lady a countess, you have missed the chance of being
yourself--"

He paused, and seemed unwilling to complete the sentence.

"Of being myself what?"  demanded Leicester; "speak out thy
meaning, Varney."

"Of being yourself a KING, my lord," replied Varney; "and King of
England to boot!  It is no treason to our Queen to say so.  It
would have chanced by her obtaining that which all true subjects
wish her--a lusty, noble, and gallant husband."

"Thou ravest, Varney," answered Leicester.  "Besides, our times
have seen enough to make men loathe the Crown Matrimonial which
men take from their wives' lap.  There was Darnley of Scotland."

"He!"  said Varney; "a, gull, a fool, a thrice-sodden ass, who
suffered himself to be fired off into the air like a rocket on a
rejoicing day.  Had Mary had the hap to have wedded the noble
Earl ONCE destined to share her throne, she had experienced a
husband of different metal; and her husband had found in her a
wife as complying and loving as the mate of the meanest squire
who follows the hounds a-horseback, and holds her husband's
bridle as he mounts."

"It might have been as thou sayest, Varney," said Leicester, a
brief smile of self-satisfaction passing over his anxious
countenance.  "Henry Darnley knew little of women--with Mary, a
man who knew her sex might have had some chance of holding his
own.  But not with Elizabeth, Varney for I thank God, when he
gave her the heart of a woman, gave her the head of a man to
control its follies.  No, I know her.  She will accept love-
tokens, ay, and requite them with the like--put sugared sonnets
in her bosom, ay, and answer them too--push gallantry to the very
verge where it becomes exchange of affection; but she writes NIL
ULTRA to all which is to follow, and would not barter one iota of
her own supreme power for all the alphabet of both Cupid and
Hymen."

"The better for you, my lord," said Varney--"that is, in the case
supposed, if such be her disposition; since you think you cannot
aspire to become her husband.  Her favourite you are, and may
remain, if the lady at Cumnor place continues in her present
obscurity."

"Poor Amy!"  said Leicester, with a deep sigh; "she desires so
earnestly to be acknowledged in presence of God and man!"

"Ay, but, my lord," said Varney, "is her desire reasonable?  That
is the question.  Her religious scruples are solved; she is an
honoured and beloved wife, enjoying the society of her husband at
such times as his weightier duties permit him to afford her his
company.  What would she more?  I am right sure that a lady so
gentle and so loving would consent to live her life through in a
certain obscurity--which is, after all, not dimmer than when she
was at Lidcote Hall--rather than diminish the least jot of her
lord's honours and greatness by a premature attempt to share
them."

"There is something in what thou sayest," said Leicester, "and
her appearance here were fatal.  Yet she must be seen at
Kenilworth; Elizabeth will not forget that she has so appointed."

"Let me sleep on that hard point," said Varney; "I cannot else
perfect the device I have on the stithy, which I trust will
satisfy the Queen and please my honoured lady, yet leave this
fatal secret where it is now buried.  Has your lordship further
commands for the night?"

"I would be alone," said Leicester.  "Leave me, and place my
steel casket on the table.  Be within summons."

Varney retired, and the Earl, opening the window of his
apartment, looked out long and anxiously upon the brilliant host
of stars which glimmered in the splendour of a summer firmament.
The words burst from him as at unawares, "I had never more need
that the heavenly bodies should befriend me, for my earthly path
is darkened and confused."

It is well known that the age reposed a deep confidence in the
vain predictions of judicial astrology, and Leicester, though
exempt from the general control of superstition, was not in this
respect superior to his time, but, on the contrary, was
remarkable for the encouragement which he gave to the professors
of this pretended science.  Indeed, the wish to pry into
futurity, so general among the human race, is peculiarly to be
found amongst those who trade in state mysteries and the
dangerous intrigues and cabals of courts.  With heedful
precaution to see that it had not been opened, or its locks
tampered with, Leicester applied a key to the steel casket, and
drew from it, first, a parcel of gold pieces, which he put into a
silk purse; then a parchment inscribed with planetary signs, and
the lines and calculations used in framing horoscopes, on which
he gazed intently for a few moments; and, lastly, took forth a
large key, which, lifting aside the tapestry, he applied to a
little, concealed door in the corner of the apartment, and
opening it, disclosed a stair constructed in the thickness of the
wall.

"Alasco," said the Earl, with a voice raised, yet no higher
raised than to be heard by the inhabitant of the small turret to
which the stair conducted--"Alasco, I say, descend."

"I come, my lord," answered a voice from above.  The foot of an
aged man was heard slowly descending the narrow stair, and Alasco
entered the Earl's apartment.  The astrologer was a little man,
and seemed much advanced in age, for his heard was long and
white, and reached over his black doublet down to his silken
girdle.  His hair was of the same venerable hue.  But his
eyebrows were as dark as the keen and piercing black eyes which
they shaded, and this peculiarity gave a wild and singular cast
to the physiognomy of the old man.  His cheek was still fresh and
ruddy, and the eyes we have mentioned resembled those of a rat in
acuteness and even fierceness of expression.  His manner was not
without a sort of dignity; and the interpreter of the stars,
though respectful, seemed altogether at his ease, and even
assumed a tone of instruction and command in conversing with the
prime favourite of Elizabeth.

"Your prognostications have failed, Alasco," said the Earl, when
they had exchanged salutations--"he is recovering."

"My son," replied the astrologer, "let me remind you I warranted
not his death; nor is there any prognostication that can be
derived from the heavenly bodies, their aspects and their
conjunctions, which is not liable to be controlled by the will of
Heaven.  ASTRA REGUNT HOMINES, SED REGIT ASTRA DEUS."

"Of what avail, then, is your mystery?"  inquired the Earl.

"Of much, my son," replied the old man, "since it can show the
natural and probable course of events, although that course moves
in subordination to an Higher Power.  Thus, in reviewing the
horoscope which your Lordship subjected to my skill, you will
observe that Saturn, being in the sixth House in opposition to
Mars, retrograde in the House of Life, cannot but denote long and
dangerous sickness, the issue whereof is in the will of Heaven,
though death may probably be inferred.  Yet if I knew the name of
the party I would erect another scheme."

"His name is a secret," said the Earl; "yet, I must own, thy
prognostication hath not been unfaithful.  He has been sick, and
dangerously so, not, however, to death.  But hast thou again cast
my horoscope as Varney directed thee, and art thou prepared to
say what the stars tell of my present fortune?"

"My art stands at your command," said the old man; "and here, my
son, is the map of thy fortunes, brilliant in aspect as ever
beamed from those blessed signs whereby our life is influenced,
yet not unchequered with fears, difficulties, and dangers."

"My lot were more than mortal were it otherwise," said the Earl.
"Proceed, father, and believe you speak with one ready to undergo
his destiny in action and in passion as may beseem a noble of
England."

"Thy courage to do and to suffer must be wound up yet a strain
higher," said the old man.  "The stars intimate yet a prouder
title, yet an higher rank.  It is for thee to guess their
meaning, not for me to name it."

"Name it, I conjure you--name it, I command you!"  said the Earl,
his eyes brightening as he spoke.

"I may not, and I will not," replied the old man.  "The ire of
princes Is as the wrath of the lion.  But mark, and judge for
thyself.  Here Venus, ascendant in the House of Life, and
conjoined with Sol, showers down that flood of silver light,
blent with gold, which promises power, wealth, dignity, all that
the proud heart of man desires, and in such abundance that never
the future Augustus of that old and mighty Rome heard from his
HARUSPICES such a tale of glory, as from this rich text my lore
might read to my favourite son."

"Thou dost but jest with me, father," said the Earl, astonished
at the strain of enthusiasm in which the astrologer delivered his
prediction.

"Is it for him to jest who hath his eye on heaven, who hath his
foot in the grave?"  returned the old man solemnly.

The Earl made two or three strides through the apartment, with
his hand outstretched, as one who follows the beckoning signal of
some phantom, waving him on to deeds of high import.  As he
turned, however, he caught the eye of the astrologer fixed on
him, while an observing glance of the most shrewd penetration
shot from under the penthouse of his shaggy, dark eyebrows.
Leicester's haughty and suspicious soul at once caught fire.  He
darted towards the old man from the farther end of the lofty
apartment, only standing still when his extended hand was within
a foot of the astrologer's body.

"Wretch!"  he said, "if you dare to palter with me, I will have
your skin stripped from your living flesh!  Confess thou hast
been hired to deceive and to betray me--that thou art a cheat,
and I thy silly prey and booty!"

The old man exhibited some symptoms of emotion, but not more than
the furious deportment of his patron might have extorted from
innocence itself.

"What means this violence, my lord?"  he answered, "or in what
can I have deserved it at your hand?"

"Give me proof," said the Earl vehemently, "that you have not
tampered with mine enemies."

"My lord," replied the old man, with dignity, "you can have no
better proof than that which you yourself elected.  In that
turret I have spent the last twenty-four hours under the key
which has been in your own custody.  The hours of darkness I have
spent in gazing on the heavenly bodies with these dim eyes, and
during those of light I have toiled this aged brain to complete
the calculation arising from their combinations.  Earthly food I
have not tasted--earthly voice I have not heard.  You are
yourself aware I had no means of doing so; and yet I tell you--I
who have been thus shut up in solitude and study--that within
these twenty-four hours your star has become predominant in the
horizon, and either the bright book of heaven speaks false, or
there must have been a proportionate revolution in your fortunes
upon earth.  If nothing has happened within that space to secure
your power, or advance your favour, then am I indeed a cheat, and
the divine