Amid this stately and busy scene Wayland halted his horse, and looked
upon the lady, as if waiting her commands what was next to be done,
since they had safely reached the place of destination. As she remained
silent, Wayland, after waiting a minute or two, ventured to ask her, in
direct terms, what were her next commands. She raised her hand to her
forehead, as if in the act of collecting her thoughts and resolution,
while she answered him in a low and suppressed voice, like the murmurs
of one who speaks in a dream--"Commands? I may indeed claim right to
command, but who is there will obey me!"

Then suddenly raising her head, like one who has formed a decisive
resolution, she addressed a gaily-dressed domestic, who was crossing the
court with importance and bustle in his countenance, "Stop, sir," she
said; "I desire to speak with, the Earl of Leicester."

"With whom, an it please you?" said the man, surprised at the demand;
and then looking upon the mean equipage of her who used towards him such
a tone of authority, he added, with insolence, "Why, what Bess of Bedlam
is this would ask to see my lord on such a day as the present?"

"Friend," said the Countess, "be not insolent--my business with the Earl
is most urgent."

"You must get some one else to do it, were it thrice as urgent," said
the fellow. "I should summon my lord from the Queen's royal presence
to do YOUR business, should I?--I were like to be thanked with a
horse-whip. I marvel our old porter took not measure of such ware with
his club, instead of giving them passage; but his brain is addled with
getting his speech by heart."

Two or three persons stopped, attracted by the fleering way in which the
serving-man expressed himself; and Wayland, alarmed both for himself and
the lady, hastily addressed himself to one who appeared the most civil,
and thrusting a piece of money into his hand, held a moment's counsel
with him on the subject of finding a place of temporary retreat for the
lady. The person to whom he spoke, being one in some authority, rebuked
the others for their incivility, and commanding one fellow to take care
of the strangers' horses, he desired them to follow him. The Countess
retained presence of mind sufficient to see that it was absolutely
necessary she should comply with his request; and leaving the rude
lackeys and grooms to crack their brutal jests about light heads,
light heels, and so forth, Wayland and she followed in silence the
deputy-usher, who undertook to be their conductor.

They entered the inner court of the Castle by the great gateway, which
extended betwixt the principal Keep, or Donjon, called Caesar's Tower,
and a stately building which passed by the name of King Henry's Lodging,
and were thus placed in the centre of the noble pile, which presented
on its different fronts magnificent specimens of every species of
castellated architecture, from the Conquest to the reign of Elizabeth,
with the appropriate style and ornaments of each.

Across this inner court also they were conducted by their guide to a
small but strong tower, occupying the north-east angle of the building,
adjacent to the great hall, and filling up a space betwixt the immense
range of kitchens and the end of the great hall itself. The lower
part of this tower was occupied by some of the household officers of
Leicester, owing to its convenient vicinity to the places where their
duty lay; but in the upper story, which was reached by a narrow, winding
stair, was a small octangular chamber, which, in the great demand for
lodgings, had been on the present occasion fitted up for the reception
of guests, though generally said to have been used as a place of
confinement for some unhappy person who had been there murdered.
Tradition called this prisoner Mervyn, and transferred his name to the
tower. That it had been used as a prison was not improbable; for the
floor of each story was arched, the walls of tremendous thickness, while
the space of the chamber did not exceed fifteen feet in diameter. The
window, however, was pleasant, though narrow, and commanded a delightful
view of what was called the Pleasance; a space of ground enclosed
and decorated with arches, trophies, statues, fountains, and other
architectural monuments, which formed one access from the Castle
itself into the garden. There was a bed in the apartment, and other
preparations for the reception of a guest, to which the Countess paid
but slight attention, her notice being instantly arrested by the sight
of writing materials placed on the table (not very commonly to be found
in the bedrooms of those days), which instantly suggested the idea of
writing to Leicester, and remaining private until she had received his
answer.

The deputy-usher having introduced them into this commodious apartment,
courteously asked Wayland, whose generosity he had experienced, whether
he could do anything further for his service. Upon receiving a gentle
hint that some refreshment would not be unacceptable, he presently
conveyed the smith to the buttery-hatch, where dressed provisions of all
sorts were distributed, with hospitable profusion, to all who asked for
them. Wayland was readily supplied with some light provisions, such as
he thought would best suit the faded appetite of the lady, and did not
omit the opportunity of himself making a hasty but hearty meal on more
substantial fare. He then returned to the apartment in the turret, where
he found the Countess, who had finished her letter to Leicester, and in
lieu of a seal and silken thread, had secured it with a braid of her own
beautiful tresses, fastened by what is called a true-love knot.

"Good friend," said she to Wayland, "whom God hath sent to aid me at my
utmost need, I do beseech thee, as the last trouble you shall take
for an unfortunate lady, to deliver this letter to the noble Earl of
Leicester. Be it received as it may," she said, with features agitated
betwixt hope and fear, "thou, good fellow, shalt have no more cumber
with me. But I hope the best; and if ever lady made a poor man rich,
thou hast surely deserved it at my hand, should my happy days ever come
round again. Give it, I pray you, into Lord Leicester's own hand, and
mark how he looks on receiving it."

Wayland, on his part, readily undertook the commission, but anxiously
prayed the lady, in his turn, to partake of some refreshment; in which
he at length prevailed, more through importunity and her desire to see
him begone on his errand than from any inclination the Countess felt to
comply with his request. He then left her, advising her to lock her door
on the inside, and not to stir from her little apartment; and went to
seek an opportunity of discharging her errand, as well as of carrying
into effect a purpose of his own, which circumstances had induced him to
form.

In fact, from the conduct of the lady during the journey--her long fits
of profound silence, the irresolution and uncertainty which seemed to
pervade all her movements, and the obvious incapacity of thinking and
acting for herself under which she seemed to labour--Wayland had formed
the not improbable opinion that the difficulties of her situation had in
some degree affected her understanding.

When she had escaped from the seclusion of Cumnor Place, and the dangers
to which she was there exposed, it would have seemed her most rational
course to retire to her father's, or elsewhere at a distance from the
power of those by whom these dangers had been created. When, instead of
doing so, she demanded to be conveyed to Kenilworth, Wayland had been
only able to account for her conduct by supposing that she meant to
put herself under the tutelage of Tressilian, and to appeal to the
protection of the Queen. But now, instead of following this natural
course, she entrusted him with a letter to Leicester, the patron of
Varney, and within whose jurisdiction at least, if not under his express
authority, all the evils she had already suffered were inflicted upon
her. This seemed an unsafe and even a desperate measure, and Wayland
felt anxiety for his own safety, as well as that of the lady, should he
execute her commission before he had secured the advice and countenance
of a protector.

He therefore resolved, before delivering the letter to Leicester, that
he would seek out Tressilian, and communicate to him the arrival of
the lady at Kenilworth, and thus at once rid himself of all further
responsibility, and devolve the task of guiding and protecting this
unfortunate lady upon the patron who had at first employed him in her
service.

"He will be a better judge than I am," said Wayland, "whether she is
to be gratified in this humour of appeal to my Lord of Leicester, which
seems like an act of insanity; and, therefore, I will turn the matter
over on his hands, deliver him the letter, receive what they list to
give me by way of guerdon, and then show the Castle of Kenilworth a pair
of light heels; for, after the work I have been engaged in, it will be,
I fear, neither a safe nor wholesome place of residence, and I would
rather shoe colts an the coldest common in England than share in their
gayest revels."



CHAPTER XXVII.

     In my time I have seen a boy do wonders.
     Robin, the red tinker, had a boy
     Would ha run through a cat-hole. --THE COXCOMB.

Amid the universal bustle which filled the Castle and its environs, it
was no easy matter to find out any individual; and Wayland was still
less likely to light upon Tressilian, whom he sought so anxiously,
because, sensible of the danger of attracting attention in the
circumstances in which he was placed, he dared not make general
inquiries among the retainers or domestics of Leicester. He learned,
however, by indirect questions, that in all probability Tressilian must
have been one of a large party of gentlemen in attendance on the Earl
of Sussex, who had accompanied their patron that morning to Kenilworth,
when Leicester had received them with marks of the most formal respect
and distinction. He further learned that both Earls, with their
followers, and many other nobles, knights, and gentlemen, had taken
horse, and gone towards Warwick several hours since, for the purpose of
escorting the Queen to Kenilworth.

Her Majesty's arrival, like other great events, was delayed from hour
to hour; and it was now announced by a breathless post that her Majesty,
being detained by her gracious desire to receive the homage of her
lieges who had thronged to wait upon her at Warwick, it would be the
hour of twilight ere she entered the Castle. The intelligence released
for a time those who were upon duty, in the immediate expectation of the
Queen's appearance, and ready to play their part in the solemnities with
which it was to be accompanied; and Wayland, seeing several horsemen
enter the Castle, was not without hopes that Tressilian might be of the
number. That he might not lose an opportunity of meeting his patron
in the event of this being the case, Wayland placed himself in the
base-court of the Castle, near Mortimer's Tower, and watched every one
who went or came by the bridge, the extremity of which was protected by
that building. Thus stationed, nobody could enter or leave the Castle
without his observation, and most anxiously did he study the garb and
countenance of every horseman, as, passing from under the opposite
Gallery-tower, they paced slowly, or curveted, along the tilt-yard, and
approached the entrance of the base-court.

But while Wayland gazed thus eagerly to discover him whom he saw not, he
was pulled by the sleeve by one by whom he himself would not willingly
have been seen.

This was Dickie Sludge, or Flibbertigibbet, who, like the imp whose name
he bore, and whom he had been accoutred in order to resemble, seemed
to be ever at the ear of those who thought least of him. Whatever were
Wayland's internal feelings, he judged it necessary to express pleasure
at their unexpected meeting.

"Ha! is it thou, my minikin--my miller's thumb--my prince of
cacodemons--my little mouse?"

"Ay," said Dickie, "the mouse which gnawed asunder the toils, just when
the lion who was caught in them began to look wonderfully like an ass."

"Thy, thou little hop-the-gutter, thou art as sharp as vinegar this
afternoon! But tell me, how didst thou come off with yonder jolterheaded
giant whom I left thee with? I was afraid he would have stripped thy
clothes, and so swallowed thee, as men peel and eat a roasted chestnut."

"Had he done so," replied the boy, "he would have had more brains in
his guts than ever he had in his noddle. But the giant is a courteous
monster, and more grateful than many other folk whom I have helped at a
pinch, Master Wayland Smith."

"Beshrew me, Flibbertigibbet," replied Wayland, "but thou art sharper
than a Sheffield whittle! I would I knew by what charm you muzzled
yonder old bear."

"Ay, that is in your own manner," answered Dickie; "you think fine
speeches will pass muster instead of good-will. However, as to this
honest porter, you must know that when we presented ourselves at the
gate yonder, his brain was over-burdened with a speech that had been
penned for him, and which proved rather an overmatch for his gigantic
faculties. Now this same pithy oration had been indited, like sundry
others, by my learned magister, Erasmus Holiday, so I had heard it often
enough to remember every line. As soon as I heard him blundering and
floundering like a fish upon dry land, through the first verse, and
perceived him at a stand, I knew where the shoe pinched, and helped him
to the next word, when he caught me up in an ecstasy, even as you saw
but now. I promised, as the price of your admission, to hide me under
his bearish gaberdine, and prompt him in the hour of need. I have just
now been getting some food in the Castle, and am about to return to
him."

"That's right--that's right, my dear Dickie," replied Wayland;
"haste thee, for Heaven's sake! else the poor giant will be utterly
disconsolate for want of his dwarfish auxiliary. Away with thee,
Dickie!"

"Ay, ay!" answered the boy--"away with Dickie, when we have got what
good of him we can. You will not let me know the story of this lady,
then, who is as much sister of thine as I am?"

"Why, what good would it do thee, thou silly elf?" said Wayland.

"Oh, stand ye on these terms?" said the boy. "Well, I care not greatly
about the matter--only, I never smell out a secret but I try to be
either at the right or the wrong end of it, and so good evening to ye."

"Nay, but, Dickie," said Wayland, who knew the boy's restless and
intriguing disposition too well not to fear his enmity--"stay, my dear
Dickie--part not with old friends so shortly! Thou shalt know all I know
of the lady one day."

"Ay!" said Dickie; "and that day may prove a nigh one. Fare thee well,
Wayland--I will to my large-limbed friend, who, if he have not so sharp
a wit as some folk, is at least more grateful for the service which
other folk render him. And so again, good evening to ye."

So saying, he cast a somerset through the gateway, and lighting on
the bridge, ran with the extraordinary agility which was one of his
distinguishing attributes towards the Gallery-tower, and was out of
sight in an instant.

"I would to God I were safe out of this Castle again!" prayed Wayland
internally; "for now that this mischievous imp has put his finger in the
pie, it cannot but prove a mess fit for the devil's eating. I would to
Heaven Master Tressilian would appear!"

Tressilian, whom he was thus anxiously expecting in one direction, had
returned to Kenilworth by another access. It was indeed true, as Wayland
had conjectured, that in the earlier part of the day he had accompanied
the Earls on their cavalcade towards Warwick, not without hope that he
might in that town hear some tidings of his emissary. Being disappointed
in this expectation, and observing Varney amongst Leicester's
attendants, seeming as if he had some purpose of advancing to and
addressing him, he conceived, in the present circumstances, it was
wisest to avoid the interview. He, therefore, left the presence-chamber
when the High-Sheriff of the county was in the very midst of his dutiful
address to her Majesty; and mounting his horse, rode back to Kenilworth
by a remote and circuitous road, and entered the Castle by a small
sallyport in the western wall, at which he was readily admitted as
one of the followers of the Earl of Sussex, towards whom Leicester had
commanded the utmost courtesy to be exercised. It was thus that he
met not Wayland, who was impatiently watching his arrival, and whom he
himself would have been at least equally desirous to see.

Having delivered his horse to the charge of his attendant, he walked
for a space in the Pleasance and in the garden, rather to indulge in
comparative solitude his own reflections, than to admire those singular
beauties of nature and art which the magnificence of Leicester had there
assembled. The greater part of the persons of condition had left the
Castle for the present, to form part of the Earl's cavalcade; others,
who remained behind, were on the battlements, outer walls, and towers,
eager to view the splendid spectacle of the royal entry. The garden,
therefore, while every other part of the Castle resounded with the human
voice, was silent but for the whispering of the leaves, the emulous
warbling of the tenants of a large aviary with their happier companions
who remained denizens of the free air, and the plashing of the
fountains, which, forced into the air from sculptures of fatastic and
grotesque forms, fell down with ceaseless sound into the great basins of
Italian marble.

The melancholy thoughts of Tressilian cast a gloomy shade on all the
objects with which he was surrounded. He compared the magnificent scenes
which he here traversed with the deep woodland and wild moorland which
surrounded Lidcote Hall, and the image of Amy Robsart glided like a
phantom through every landscape which his imagination summoned up.
Nothing is perhaps more dangerous to the future happiness of men of deep
thought and retired habits than the entertaining an early, long, and
unfortunate attachment. It frequently sinks so deep into the mind that
it becomes their dream by night and their vision by day--mixes itself
with every source of interest and enjoyment; and when blighted and
withered by final disappointment, it seems as if the springs of the
heart were dried up along with it. This aching of the heart, this
languishing after a shadow which has lost all the gaiety of its
colouring, this dwelling on the remembrance of a dream from which
we have been long roughly awakened, is the weakness of a gentle and
generous heart, and it was that of Tressilian.

He himself at length became sensible of the necessity of forcing other
objects upon his mind; and for this purpose he left the Pleasance,
in order to mingle with the noisy crowd upon the walls, and view the
preparation for the pageants. But as he left the garden, and heard the
busy hum, mixed with music and laughter, which floated around him, he
felt an uncontrollable reluctance to mix with society whose feelings
were in a tone so different from his own, and resolved, instead of doing
so, to retire to the chamber assigned him, and employ himself in study
until the tolling of the great Castle bell should announce the arrival
of Elizabeth.

Tressilian crossed accordingly by the passage betwixt the immense range
of kitchens and the great hall, and ascended to the third story of
Mervyn's Tower, and applying himself to the door of the small apartment
which had been allotted to him, was surprised to find it was locked. He
then recollected that the deputy-chamberlain had given him a master-key,
advising him, in the present confused state of the Castle, to keep his
door as much shut as possible. He applied this key to the lock, the bolt
revolved, he entered, and in the same instant saw a female form seated
in the apartment, and recognized that form to be, Amy Robsart. His first
idea was that a heated imagination had raised the image on which it
doted into visible existence; his second, that he beheld an apparition;
the third and abiding conviction, that it was Amy herself, paler,
indeed, and thinner, than in the days of heedless happiness, when
she possessed the form and hue of a wood-nymph, with the beauty of a
sylph--but still Amy, unequalled in loveliness by aught which had ever
visited his eyes.

The astonishment of the Countess was scarce less than that of
Tressilian, although it was of shorter duration, because she had heard
from Wayland that he was in the Castle. She had started up at his first
entrance, and now stood facing him, the paleness of her cheeks having
given way to a deep blush.

"Tressilian," she said, at length, "why come you here?"

"Nay, why come you here, Amy," returned Tressilian, "unless it be at
length to claim that aid, which, as far as one man's heart and arm can
extend, shall instantly be rendered to you?"

She was silent a moment, and then answered in a sorrowful rather than an
angry tone, "I require no aid, Tressilian, and would rather be injured
than benefited by any which your kindness can offer me. Believe me, I am
near one whom law and love oblige to protect me."

"The villain, then, hath done you the poor justice which remained in his
power," said Tressilian, "and I behold before me the wife of Varney!"

"The wife of Varney!" she replied, with all the emphasis of scorn. "With
what base name, sir, does your boldness stigmatize the--the--the--" She
hesitated, dropped her tone of scorn, looked down, and was confused and
silent; for she recollected what fatal consequences might attend her
completing the sentence with "the Countess of Leicester," which were
the words that had naturally suggested themselves. It would have been
a betrayal of the secret, on which her husband had assured her that his
fortunes depended, to Tressilian, to Sussex, to the Queen, and to the
whole assembled court. "Never," she thought, "will I break my promised
silence. I will submit to every suspicion rather than that."

The tears rose to her eyes, as she stood silent before Tressilian;
while, looking on her with mingled grief and pity, he said, "Alas! Amy,
your eyes contradict your tongue. That speaks of a protector, willing
and able to watch over you; but these tell me you are ruined, and
deserted by the wretch to whom you have attached yourself."

She looked on him with eyes in which anger sparkled through her tears,
but only repeated the word "wretch!" with a scornful emphasis.

"Yes, WRETCH!" said Tressilian; "for were he aught better, why are you
here, and alone, in my apartment? why was not fitting provision made for
your honourable reception?"

"In your apartment?" repeated Amy--"in YOUR apartment? It shall
instantly be relieved of my presence." She hastened towards the door;
but the sad recollection of her deserted state at once pressed on her
mind, and pausing on the threshold, she added, in a tone unutterably
pathetic, "Alas! I had forgot--I know not where to go--"

"I see--I see it all," said Tressilian, springing to her side, and
leading her back to the seat, on which she sunk down. "You DO need
aid--you do need protection, though you will not own it; and you shall
not need it long. Leaning on my arm, as the representative of your
excellent and broken-hearted father, on the very threshold of the Castle
gate, you shall meet Elizabeth; and the first deed she shall do in
the halls of Kenilworth shall be an act of justice to her sex and her
subjects. Strong in my good cause, and in the Queen's justice, the
power of her minion shall not shake my resolution. I will instantly seek
Sussex."

"Not for all that is under heaven!" said the Countess, much alarmed,
and feeling the absolute necessity of obtaining time, at least, for
consideration. "Tressilian, you were wont to be generous. Grant me one
request, and believe, if it be your wish to save me from misery and from
madness, you will do more by making me the promise I ask of you, than
Elizabeth can do for me with all her power."

"Ask me anything for which you can allege reason," said Tressilian; "but
demand not of me--"

"Oh, limit not your boon, dear Edmund!" exclaimed the Countess--"you
once loved that I should call you so--limit not your boon to reason; for
my case is all madness, and frenzy must guide the counsels which alone
can aid me."

"If you speak thus wildly," said Tressilian, astonishment again
overpowering both his grief and his resolution, "I must believe you
indeed incapable of thinking or acting for yourself."

"Oh, no!" she exclaimed, sinking on one knee before him, "I am not
mad--I am but a creature unutterably miserable, and, from circumstances
the most singular, dragged on to a precipice by the arm of him who
thinks he is keeping me from it--even by yours, Tressilian--by
yours, whom I have honoured, respected--all but loved--and yet loved,
too--loved, too, Tressilian--though not as you wished to be."

There was an energy, a self-possession, an abandonment in her voice
and manner, a total resignation of herself to his generosity, which,
together with the kindness of her expressions to himself, moved him
deeply. He raised her, and, in broken accents, entreated her to be
comforted.

"I cannot," she said, "I will not be comforted, till you grant me
my request! I will speak as plainly as I dare. I am now awaiting the
commands of one who has a right to issue them. The interference of a
third person--of you in especial, Tressilian--will be ruin--utter ruin
to me. Wait but four-and-twenty hours, and it may be that the poor
Amy may have the means to show that she values, and can reward, your
disinterested friendship--that she is happy herself, and has the means
to make you so. It is surely worth your patience, for so short a space?"

Tressilian paused, and weighing in his mind the various probabilities
which might render a violent interference on his part more prejudicial
than advantageous, both to the happiness and reputation of Amy;
considering also that she was within the walls of Kenilworth, and could
suffer no injury in a castle honoured with the Queen's residence, and
filled with her guards and attendants--he conceived, upon the whole,
that he might render her more evil than good service by intruding upon
her his appeal to Elizabeth in her behalf. He expressed his resolution
cautiously, however, doubting naturally whether Amy's hopes of
extricating herself from her difficulties rested on anything stronger
than a blinded attachment to Varney, whom he supposed to be her seducer.

"Amy," he said, while he fixed his sad and expressive eyes on hers,
which, in her ecstasy of doubt, terror, and perplexity, she cast up
towards him, "I have ever remarked that when others called thee girlish
and wilful, there lay under that external semblance of youthful and
self-willed folly deep feeling and strong sense. In this I will confide,
trusting your own fate in your own hands for the space of twenty-four
hours, without my interference by word or act."

"Do you promise me this, Tressilian?" said the Countess. "Is it possible
you can yet repose so much confidence in me? Do you promise, as you are
a gentleman and a man of honour, to intrude in my matters neither by
speech nor action, whatever you may see or hear that seems to you to
demand your interference? Will you so far trust me?"

"I will upon my honour," said Tressilian; "but when that space is
expired--"

"Then that space is expired," she said, interrupting him, "you are free
to act as your judgment shall determine."

"Is there nought besides which I can do for you, Amy?" said Tressilian.

"Nothing," said she, "save to leave me,--that is, if--I blush to
acknowledge my helplessness by asking it--if you can spare me the use of
this apartment for the next twenty-four hours."

"This is most wonderful!" said Tressilian; "what hope or interest can
you have in a Castle where you cannot command even an apartment?"

"Argue not, but leave me," she said; and added, as he slowly and
unwillingly retired, "Generous Edmund! the time may come when Amy may
show she deserved thy noble attachment."



CHAPTER XXVIII.

     What, man, ne'er lack a draught, when the full can
     Stands at thine elbow, and craves emptying!--
     Nay, fear not me, for I have no delight
     To watch men's vices, since I have myself
     Of virtue nought to boast of--I'm a striker,
     Would have the world strike with me, pell-mell, all.
     --PANDEMONIUM.

Tressilian, in strange agitation of mind, had hardly stepped down the
first two or three steps of the winding staircase, when, greatly to his
surprise and displeasure, he met Michael Lambourne, wearing an impudent
familiarity of visage, for which Tressilian felt much disposed to throw
him down-stairs; until he remembered the prejudice which Amy, the only
object of his solicitude, was likely to receive from his engaging in any
act of violence at that time and in that place.

He therefore contented himself with looking sternly upon Lambourne, as
upon one whom he deemed unworthy of notice, and attempted to pass him in
his way downstairs, without any symptom of recognition. But Lambourne,
who, amidst the profusion of that day's hospitality, had not failed
to take a deep though not an overpowering cup of sack, was not in the
humour of humbling himself before any man's looks. He stopped Tressilian
upon the staircase without the least bashfulness or embarrassment, and
addressed him as if he had been on kind and intimate terms:--"What, no
grudge between us, I hope, upon old scores, Master Tressilian?--nay,
I am one who remembers former kindness rather than latter feud. I'll
convince you that I meant honestly and kindly, ay, and comfortably by
you."

"I desire none of your intimacy," said Tressilian--"keep company with
your mates."

"Now, see how hasty he is!" said Lambourne; "and how these gentles, that
are made questionless out of the porcelain clay of the earth, look down
upon poor Michael Lambourne! You would take Master Tressilian now for
the most maid-like, modest, simpering squire of dames that ever made
love when candles were long i' the stuff--snuff; call you it? Why, you
would play the saint on us, Master Tressilian, and forget that even now
thou hast a commodity in thy very bedchamber, to the shame of my lord's
castle, ha! ha! ha! Have I touched you, Master Tressilian?"

"I know not what you mean," said Tressilian, inferring, however, too
surely, that this licentious ruffian must have been sensible of Amy's
presence in his apartment; "'i but if," he continued, "thou art varlet of
the chambers, and lackest a fee, there is one to leave mine unmolested."

Lambourne looked at the piece of gold, and put it in his pocket saying,
"Now, I know not but you might have done more with me by a kind word
than by this chiming rogue. But after all he pays well that pays with
gold; and Mike Lambourne was never a makebate, or a spoil-sport, or the
like. E'en live, and let others live, that is my motto-only, I would not
let some folks cock their beaver at me neither, as if they were made
of silver ore, and I of Dutch pewter. So if I keep your secret, Master
Tressilian, you may look sweet on me at least; and were I to want a
little backing or countenance, being caught, as you see the best of us
may be, in a sort of peccadillo--why, you owe it me--and so e'en make
your chamber serve you and that same bird in bower beside--it's all one
to Mike Lambourne."

"Make way, sir," said Tressilian, unable to bridle his indignation, "you
have had your fee."

"Um!" said Lambourne, giving place, however, while he sulkily muttered
between his teeth, repeating Tressilian's words, "Make way--and you
have had your fee; but it matters not, I will spoil no sport, as I said
before. I am no dog in the manger--mind that."

He spoke louder and louder, as Tressilian, by whom he felt himself
overawed, got farther and farther out of hearing.

"I am no dog in the manger; but I will not carry coals neither--mind
that, Master Tressilian; and I will have a peep at this wench whom
you have quartered so commodiously in your old haunted room--afraid of
ghosts, belike, and not too willing to sleep alone. If I had done this
now in a strange lord's castle, the word had been, The porter's lodge
for the knave! and, have him flogged--trundle him downstairs like a
turnip! Ay, but your virtuous gentlemen take strange privileges over
us, who are downright servants of our senses. Well--I have my Master
Tressilian's head under my belt by this lucky discovery, that is one
thing certain; and I will try to get a sight of this Lindabrides of his,
that is another."



CHAPTER XXIX.

     Now fare thee well, my master--if true service
     Be guerdon'd with hard looks, e'en cut the tow-line,
     And let our barks across the pathless flood
     Hold different courses--THE SHIPWRECK.

Tressilian walked into the outer yard of the Castle scarce knowing what
to think of his late strange and most unexpected interview with Amy
Robsart, and dubious if he had done well, being entrusted with the
delegated authority of her father, to pass his word so solemnly to leave
her to her own guidance for so many hours. Yet how could he have denied
her request--dependent as she had too probably rendered herself upon
Varney? Such was his natural reasoning. The happiness of her future
life might depend upon his not driving her to extremities; and since no
authority of Tressilian's could extricate her from the power of Varney,
supposing he was to acknowledge Amy to be his wife, what title had he
to destroy the hope of domestic peace, which might yet remain to her,
by setting enmity betwixt them? Tressilian resolved, therefore,
scrupulously to observe his word pledged to Amy, both because it had
been given, and because, as he still thought, while he considered and
reconsidered that extraordinary interview, it could not with justice or
propriety have been refused.

In one respect, he had gained much towards securing effectual protection
for this unhappy and still beloved object of his early affection. Amy
was no longer mewed up in a distant and solitary retreat under the
charge of persons of doubtful reputation. She was in the Castle of
Kenilworth, within the verge of the Royal Court for the time, free from
all risk of violence, and liable to be produced before Elizabeth on
the first summons. These were circumstances which could not but assist
greatly the efforts which he might have occasion to use in her behalf.

While he was thus balancing the advantages and perils which attended her
unexpected presence in Kenilworth, Tressilian was hastily and anxiously
accosted by Wayland, who, after ejaculating, "Thank God, your worship is
found at last!" proceeded with breathless caution to pour into his ear
the intelligence that the lady had escaped from Cumnor Place.

"And is at present in this Castle," said Tressilian. "I know it, and
I have seen her. Was it by her own choice she found refuge in my
apartment?"

"No," answered Wayland; "but I could think of no other way of safely
bestowing her, and was but too happy to find a deputy-usher who knew
where you were quartered--in jolly society truly, the hall on the one
hand, and the kitchen on the other!"

"Peace, this is no time for jesting," answered Tressilian sternly.

"I wot that but too well," said the artist, "for I have felt these three
days as if I had a halter round my neck. This lady knows not her own
mind--she will have none of your aid--commands you not to be named to
her--and is about to put herself into the hands of my Lord Leicester.
I had never got her safe into your chamber, had she known the owner of
it."

"Is it possible," said Tressilian. "But she may have hopes the Earl will
exert his influence in her favour over his villainous dependant."

"I know nothing of that," said Wayland; "but I believe, if she is to
reconcile herself with either Leicester or Varney, the side of the
Castle of Kenilworth which will be safest for us will be the outside,
from which we can fastest fly away. It is not my purpose to abide an
instant after delivery of the letter to Leicester, which waits but your
commands to find its way to him. See, here it is--but no--a plague on
it--I must have left it in my dog-hole, in the hay-loft yonder, where I
am to sleep."

"Death and fury!" said Tressilian, transported beyond his usual
patience; "thou hast not lost that on which may depend a stake more
important than a thousand such lives as thine?"

"Lost it!" answered Wayland readily; "that were a jest indeed! No, sir,
I have it carefully put up with my night-sack, and some matters I have
occasion to use; I will fetch it in an instant."

"Do so," said Tressilian; "be faithful, and thou shalt be well rewarded.
But if I have reason to suspect thee, a dead dog were in better case
than thou!"

Wayland bowed, and took his leave with seeming confidence and alacrity,
but, in fact, filled with the utmost dread and confusion. The letter was
lost, that was certain, notwithstanding the apology which he had made to
appease the impatient displeasure of Tressilian. It was lost--it might
fall into wrong hands--it would then certainly occasion a discovery
of the whole intrigue in which he had been engaged; nor, indeed, did
Wayland see much prospect of its remaining concealed, in any event. He
felt much hurt, besides, at Tressilian's burst of impatience.

"Nay, if I am to be paid in this coin for services where my neck is
concerned, it is time I should look to myself. Here have I offended, for
aught I know, to the death, the lord of this stately castle, whose word
were as powerful to take away my life as the breath which speaks it
to blow out a farthing candle. And all this for a mad lady, and a
melancholy gallant, who, on the loss of a four-nooked bit of paper, has
his hand on his poignado, and swears death and fury!--Then there is the
Doctor and Varney.--I will save myself from the whole mess of them. Life
is dearer than gold. I will fly this instant, though I leave my reward
behind me."

These reflections naturally enough occurred to a mind like Wayland's,
who found himself engaged far deeper than he had expected in a train
of mysterious and unintelligible intrigues, in which the actors seemed
hardly to know their own course. And yet, to do him justice, his
personal fears were, in some degree, counterbalanced by his compassion
for the deserted state of the lady.

"I care not a groat for Master Tressilian," he said; "I have done more
than bargain by him, and I have brought his errant-damosel within his
reach, so that he may look after her himself. But I fear the poor thing
is in much danger amongst these stormy spirits. I will to her chamber,
and tell her the fate which has befallen her letter, that she may write
another if she list. She cannot lack a messenger, I trow, where there
are so many lackeys that can carry a letter to their lord. And I will
tell her also that I leave the Castle, trusting her to God, her own
guidance, and Master Tressilian's care and looking after. Perhaps she
may remember the ring she offered me--it was well earned, I trow; but
she is a lovely creature, and--marry hang the ring! I will not bear
a base spirit for the matter. If I fare ill in this world for my
good-nature, I shall have better chance in the next. So now for the
lady, and then for the road."

With the stealthy step and jealous eye of the cat that steals on her
prey, Wayland resumed the way to the Countess's chamber, sliding along
by the side of the courts and passages, alike observant of all around
him, and studious himself to escape observation. In this manner he
crossed the outward and inward Castle yard, and the great arched
passage, which, running betwixt the range of kitchen offices and the
hall, led to the bottom of the little winding-stair that gave access to
the chambers of Mervyn's Tower.

The artist congratulated himself on having escaped the various perils of
his journey, and was in the act of ascending by two steps at once, when
he observed that the shadow of a man, thrown from a door which stood
ajar, darkened the opposite wall of the staircase. Wayland drew back
cautiously, went down to the inner courtyard, spent about a quarter of
an hour, which seemed at least quadruple its usual duration, in walking
from place to place, and then returned to the tower, in hopes to find
that the lurker had disappeared. He ascended as high as the suspicious
spot--there was no shadow on the wall; he ascended a few yards
farther--the door was still ajar, and he was doubtful whether to advance
or retreat, when it was suddenly thrown wide open, and Michael Lambourne
bolted out upon the astonished Wayland. "Who the devil art thou? and
what seekest thou in this part of the Castle? march into that chamber,
and be hanged to thee!"

"I am no dog, to go at every man's whistle," said the artist, affecting
a confidence which was belied by a timid shake in his voice.

"Sayest thou me so?--Come hither, Lawrence Staples."

A huge, ill-made and ill-looked fellow, upwards of six feet high,
appeared at the door, and Lambourne proceeded: "If thou be'st so fond of
this tower, my friend, thou shalt see its foundations, good twelve feet
below the bed of the lake, and tenanted by certain jolly toads, snakes,
and so forth, which thou wilt find mighty good company. Therefore, once
more I ask you in fair play, who thou art, and what thou seekest here?"

"If the dungeon-grate once clashes behind me," thought Wayland, "I am a
gone man." He therefore answered submissively, "He was the poor juggler
whom his honour had met yesterday in Weatherly Bottom."

"And what juggling trick art thou playing in this tower? Thy gang," said
Lambourne, "lie over against Clinton's buildings."

"I came here to see my sister," said the juggler, "who is in Master
Tressilian's chamber, just above."

"Aha!" said Lambourne, smiling, "here be truths! Upon my honour, for a
stranger, this same Master Tressilian makes himself at home among us,
and furnishes out his cell handsomely, with all sorts of commodities.
This will be a precious tale of the sainted Master Tressilian, and will
be welcome to some folks, as a purse of broad pieces to me.--Hark ye,
fellow," he continued, addressing Wayland, "thou shalt not give Puss
a hint to steal away we must catch her in her form. So, back with that
pitiful sheep-biting visage of thine, or I will fling thee from the
window of the tower, and try if your juggling skill can save your
bones."

"Your worship will not be so hardhearted, I trust," said Wayland; "poor
folk must live. I trust your honour will allow me to speak with my
sister?"

"Sister on Adam's side, I warrant," said Lambourne; "or, if otherwise,
the more knave thou. But sister or no sister, thou diest on point of
fox, if thou comest a-prying to this tower once more. And now I think of
it--uds daggers and death!--I will see thee out of the Castle, for this
is a more main concern than thy jugglery."

"But, please your worship," said Wayland, "I am to enact Arion in the
pageant upon the lake this very evening."

"I will act it myself by Saint Christopher!" said Lambourne. "Orion,
callest thou him?--I will act Orion, his belt and his seven stars
to boot. Come along, for a rascal knave as thou art--follow me! Or
stay--Lawrence, do thou bring him along."

Lawrence seized by the collar of the cloak the unresisting juggler;
while Lambourne, with hasty steps, led the way to that same sallyport,
or secret postern, by which Tressilian had returned to the Castle, and
which opened in the western wall at no great distance from Mervyn's
Tower.

While traversing with a rapid foot the space betwixt the tower and the
sallyport, Wayland in vain racked his brain for some device which might
avail the poor lady, for whom, notwithstanding his own imminent danger,
he felt deep interest. But when he was thrust out of the Castle, and
informed by Lambourne, with a tremendous oath, that instant death would
be the consequence of his again approaching it, he cast up his hands
and eyes to heaven, as if to call God to witness he had stood to the
uttermost in defence of the oppressed; then turned his back on the proud
towers of Kenilworth, and went his way to seek a humbler and safer place
of refuge.

Lawrence and Lambourne gazed a little while after Wayland, and then
turned to go back to their tower, when the former thus addressed his
companion: "Never credit me, Master Lambourne, if I can guess why thou
hast driven this poor caitiff from the Castle, just when he was to bear
a part in the show that was beginning, and all this about a wench."

"Ah, Lawrence," replied Lambourne, "thou art thinking of Black Joan
Jugges of Slingdon, and hast sympathy with human frailty. But, corragio,
most noble Duke of the Dungeon and Lord of Limbo, for thou art as dark
in this matter as thine own dominions of Little-ease. My most reverend
Signior of the Low Countries of Kenilworth, know that our most notable
master, Richard Varney, would give as much to have a hole in this same
Tressilian's coat, as would make us some fifty midnight carousals, with
the full leave of bidding the steward go snick up, if he came to startle
us too soon from our goblets."

"Nay, an that be the case, thou hast right," said Lawrence Staples,
the upper-warder, or, in common phrase, the first jailer, of Kenilworth
Castle, and of the Liberty and Honour belonging thereto. "But how
will you manage when you are absent at the Queen's entrance, Master
Lambourne; for methinks thou must attend thy master there?"

"Why thou, mine honest prince of prisons, must keep ward in my absence.
Let Tressilian enter if he will, but see thou let no one come out. If
the damsel herself would make a break, as 'tis not unlike she may, scare
her back with rough words; she is but a paltry player's wench after
all."

"Nay for that matter," said Lawrence, "I might shut the iron wicket upon
her that stands without the double door, and so force per force she will
be bound to her answer without more trouble."

"Then Tressilian will not get access to her," said Lambourne, reflecting
a moment. "But 'tis no matter; she will be detected in his chamber, and
that is all one. But confess, thou old bat's-eyed dungeon-keeper, that
you fear to keep awake by yourself in that Mervyn's Tower of thine?"

"Why, as to fear, Master Lambourne," said the fellow, "I mind it not the
turning of a key; but strange things have been heard and seen in that
tower. You must have heard, for as short time as you have been in
Kenilworth, that it is haunted by the spirit of Arthur ap Mervyn, a
wild chief taken by fierce Lord Mortimer when he was one of the Lords
Marchers of Wales, and murdered, as they say, in that same tower which
bears his name."

"Oh, I have heard the tale five hundred times," said Lambourne, "and how
the ghost is always most vociferous when they boil leeks and stirabout,
or fry toasted cheese, in the culinary regions. Santo Diavolo, man, hold
thy tongue, I know all about it!"

"Ay, but thou dost not, though," said the turnkey, "for as wise as thou
wouldst make thyself. Ah, it is an awful thing to murder a prisoner in
his ward!--you that may have given a man a stab in a dark street know
nothing of it. To give a mutinous fellow a knock on the head with the
keys, and bid him be quiet, that's what I call keeping order in the
ward; but to draw weapon and slay him, as was done to this Welsh lord,
THAT raises you a ghost that will render your prison-house untenantable
by any decent captive for some hundred years. And I have that regard
for my prisoners, poor things, that I have put good squires and men of
worship, that have taken a ride on the highway, or slandered my Lord of
Leicester, or the like, fifty feet under ground, rather than I would
put them into that upper chamber yonder that they call Mervyn's Bower.
Indeed, by good Saint Peter of the Fetters, I marvel my noble lord, or
Master Varney, could think of lodging guests there; and if this Master
Tressilian could get any one to keep him company, and in especial a
pretty wench, why, truly, I think he was in the right on't."

"I tell thee," said Lambourne, leading the way into the turnkey's
apartment, "thou art an ass. Go bolt the wicket on the stair, and
trouble not thy noddle about ghosts. Give me the wine stoup, man; I am
somewhat heated with chafing with yonder rascal."

While Lambourne drew a long draught from a pitcher of claret, which he
made use of without any cup, the warder went on, vindicating his own
belief in the supernatural.

"Thou hast been few hours in this Castle, and hast been for the whole
space so drunk, Lambourne, that thou art deaf, dumb, and blind. But we
should hear less of your bragging were you to pass a night with us at
full moon; for then the ghost is busiest, and more especially when a
rattling wind sets in from the north-west, with some sprinkling of rain,
and now and then a growl of thunder. Body o' me, what crackings and
clashings, what groanings and what howlings, will there be at such times
in Mervyn's Bower, right as it were over our heads, till the matter of
two quarts of distilled waters has not been enough to keep my lads and
me in some heart!"

"Pshaw, man!" replied Lambourne, on whom his last draught, joined to
repeated visitations of the pitcher upon former occasions, began to make
some innovation, "thou speakest thou knowest not what about spirits. No
one knows justly what to say about them; and, in short, least said may
in that matter be soonest amended. Some men believe in one thing, some
in another--it is all matter of fancy. I have known them of all sorts,
my dear Lawrence Lock-the-door, and sensible men too. There's a great
lord--we'll pass his name, Lawrence--he believes in the stars and the
moon, the planets and their courses, and so forth, and that they twinkle
exclusively for his benefit, when in sober, or rather in drunken truth,
Lawrence, they are only shining to keep honest fellows like me out
of the kennel. Well, sir, let his humour pass; he is great enough to
indulge it. Then, look ye, there is another--a very learned man, I
promise you, and can vent Greek and Hebrew as fast as I can Thieves'
Latin he has an humour of sympathies and antipathies--of changing lead
into gold, and the like; why, via, let that pass too, and let him pay
those in transmigrated coin who are fools enough to let it be current
with them. Then here comest thou thyself, another great man, though
neither learned nor noble, yet full six feet high, and thou, like a
purblind mole, must needs believe in ghosts and goblins, and such like.
Now, there is, besides, a great man--that is, a great little man, or a
little great man, my dear Lawrence--and his name begins with V, and what
believes he? Why, nothing, honest Lawrence--nothing in earth, heaven, or
hell; and for my part, if I believe there is a devil, it is only because
I think there must be some one to catch our aforesaid friend by the back
'when soul and body sever,' as the ballad says; for your antecedent will
have a consequent--RARO ANTECEDENTEM, as Doctor Bircham was wont to say.
But this is Greek to you now, honest Lawrence, and in sooth learning is
dry work. Hand me the pitcher once more."

"In faith, if you drink more, Michael," said the warder, "you will be
in sorry case either to play Arion or to wait on your master on such a
solemn night; and I expect each moment to hear the great bell toll for
the muster at Mortimer's Tower, to receive the Queen."

While Staples remonstrated, Lambourne drank; and then setting down the
pitcher, which was nearly emptied, with a deep sigh, he said, in an
undertone, which soon rose to a high one as his speech proceeded, "Never
mind, Lawrence; if I be drunk, I know that shall make Varney uphold
me sober. But, as I said, never mind; I can carry my drink discreetly.
Moreover, I am to go on the water as Orion, and shall take cold unless
I take something comfortable beforehand. Not play Orion? Let us see the
best roarer that ever strained his lungs for twelve pence out-mouth
me! What if they see me a little disguised? Wherefore should any man be
sober to-night? answer me that. It is matter of loyalty to be merry;
and I tell thee there are those in the Castle who, if they are not merry
when drunk, have little chance to be merry when sober--I name no names,
Lawrence. But your pottle of sack is a fine shoeing-horn to pull on a
loyal humour, and a merry one. Huzza for Queen Elizabeth!--for the
noble Leicester!--for the worshipful Master Varney!--and for Michael
Lambourne, that can turn them all round his finger!"

So saying, he walked downstairs, and across the inner court.

The warder looked after him, shook his head, and while he drew close and
locked a wicket, which, crossing the staircase, rendered it impossible
for any one to ascend higher than the story immediately beneath Mervyn's
Bower, as Tressilian's chamber was named, he thus soliloquized with
himself--"It's a good thing to be a favourite. I well-nigh lost mine
office, because one frosty morning Master Varney thought I smelled of
aqua vitae; and this fellow can appear before him drunk as a wineskin,
and yet meet no rebuke. But then he is a pestilent clever fellow withal,
and no one can understand above one half of what he says."



CHAPTER XXX.

     Now bid the steeple rock--she comes, she comes!--
     Speak for us, bells--speak for us, shrill-tongued tuckets.
     Stand to thy linstock, gunner; let thy cannon
     Play such a peal, as if a paynim foe
     Came stretch'd in turban'd ranks to storm the ramparts.
     We will have pageants too--but that craves wit,
     And I'm a rough-hewn soldier.--THE VIRGIN QUEEN--A TRAGI-COMEDY.