Shortly afterwards Nicholas Blount entered, and hastily apprised by
Sussex, who met him at the door of the hall, of the Queen's gracious
purpose regarding him, he was desired to advance towards the throne. It
is a sight sometimes seen, and it is both ludicrous and pitiable; when
an honest man of plain common sense is surprised, by the coquetry of a
pretty woman, or any other cause, into those frivolous fopperies
which only sit well upon the youthful, the gay, and those to whom long
practice has rendered them a second nature. Poor Blount was in this
situation. His head was already giddy from a consciousness of unusual
finery, and the supposed necessity of suiting his manners to the gaiety
of his dress; and now this sudden view of promotion altogether completed
the conquest of the newly inhaled spirit of foppery over his natural
disposition, and converted a plain, honest, awkward man into a coxcomb
of a new and most ridiculous kind.

The knight-expectant advanced up the hall, the whole length of which he
had unfortunately to traverse, turning out his toes with so much zeal
that he presented his leg at every step with its broadside foremost,
so that it greatly resembled an old-fashioned table-knife with a curved
point, when seen sideways. The rest of his gait was in proportion
to this unhappy amble; and the implied mixture of bashful rear and
self-satisfaction was so unutterably ridiculous that Leicester's friends
did not suppress a titter, in which many of Sussex's partisans
were unable to resist joining, though ready to eat their nails with
mortification. Sussex himself lost all patience, and could not forbear
whispering into the ear of his friend, "Curse thee! canst thou not walk
like a man and a soldier?" an interjection which only made honest Blount
start and stop, until a glance at his yellow roses and crimson stockings
restored his self-confidence, when on he went at the same pace as
before.

The Queen conferred on poor Blount the honour of knighthood with a
marked sense of reluctance. That wise Princess was fully aware of the
propriety of using great circumspection and economy in bestowing those
titles of honour, which the Stewarts, who succeeded to her throne,
distributed with an imprudent liberality which greatly diminished their
value. Blount had no sooner arisen and retired than she turned to the
Duchess of Rutland. "Our woman wit," she said, "dear Rutland, is sharper
than that of those proud things in doublet and hose. Seest thou, out of
these three knights, thine is the only true metal to stamp chivalry's
imprint upon?"

"Sir Richard Varney, surely--the friend of my Lord of Leicester--surely
he has merit," replied the Duchess.

"Varney has a sly countenance and a smooth tongue," replied the Queen;
"I fear me he will prove a knave. But the promise was of ancient
standing. My Lord of Sussex must have lost his own wits, I think, to
recommend to us first a madman like Tressilian, and then a clownish fool
like this other fellow. I protest, Rutland, that while he sat on his
knees before me, mopping and mowing as if he had scalding porridge in
his mouth, I had much ado to forbear cutting him over the pate, instead
of striking his shoulder."

"Your Majesty gave him a smart ACCOLADE," said the Duchess; "we who
stood behind heard the blade clatter on his collar-bone, and the poor
man fidgeted too as if he felt it."

"I could not help it, wench," said the Queen, laughing. "But we will
have this same Sir Nicholas sent to Ireland or Scotland, or somewhere,
to rid our court of so antic a chevalier; he may be a good soldier in
the field, though a preposterous ass in a banqueting-hall."

The discourse became then more general, and soon after there was a
summons to the banquet.

In order to obey this signal, the company were under the necessity of
crossing the inner court of the Castle, that they might reach the new
buildings containing the large banqueting-room, in which preparations
for supper were made upon a scale of profuse magnificence, corresponding
to the occasion.

The livery cupboards were loaded with plate of the richest description,
and the most varied--some articles tasteful, some perhaps grotesque, in
the invention and decoration, but all gorgeously magnificent, both from
the richness of the work and value of the materials. Thus the chief
table was adorned by a salt, ship-fashion, made of mother-of-pearl,
garnished with silver and divers warlike ensigns and other ornaments,
anchors, sails, and sixteen pieces of ordnance. It bore a figure of
Fortune, placed on a globe, with a flag in her hand. Another salt was
fashioned of silver, in form of a swan in full sail. That chivalry might
not be omitted amid this splendour, a silver Saint George was presented,
mounted and equipped in the usual fashion in which he bestrides the
dragon. The figures were moulded to be in some sort useful. The horse's
tail was managed to hold a case of knives, while the breast of the
dragon presented a similar accommodation for oyster knives.

In the course of the passage from the hall of reception to the
banqueting-room, and especially in the courtyard, the new-made knights
were assailed by the heralds, pursuivants, minstrels, etc., with the
usual cry of LARGESSE, LARGESSE, CHEVALIERS TRES HARDIS! an ancient
invocation, intended to awaken the bounty of the acolytes of chivalry
towards those whose business it was to register their armorial bearings,
and celebrate the deeds by which they were illustrated. The call was,
of course, liberally and courteously answered by those to whom it was
addressed. Varney gave his largesse with an affectation of complaisance
and humility. Raleigh bestowed his with the graceful ease peculiar to
one who has attained his own place, and is familiar with its dignity.
Honest Blount gave what his tailor had left him of his half-year's rent,
dropping some pieces in his hurry, then stooping down to look for them,
and then distributing them amongst the various claimants, with the
anxious face and mien of the parish beadle dividing a dole among
paupers.

The donations were accepted with the usual clamour and VIVATS of
applause common on such occasions; but as the parties gratified were
chiefly dependants of Lord Leicester, it was Varney whose name
was repeated with the loudest acclamations. Lambourne, especially,
distinguished himself by his vociferations of "Long life to Sir Richard
Varney!--Health and honour to Sir Richard!--Never was a more worthy
knight dubbed!"--then, suddenly sinking his voice, he added--"since the
valiant Sir Pandarus of Troy,"--a winding-up of his clamorous applause
which set all men a-laughing who were within hearing of it.

It is unnecessary to say anything further of the festivities of the
evening, which were so brilliant in themselves, and received with such
obvious and willing satisfaction by the Queen, that Leicester retired
to his own apartment with all the giddy raptures of successful ambition.
Varney, who had changed his splendid attire, and now waited on his
patron in a very modest and plain undress, attended to do the honours of
the Earl's COUCHER.

"How! Sir Richard," said Leicester, smiling, "your new rank scarce suits
the humility of this attendance."

"I would disown that rank, my Lord," said Varney, "could I think it was
to remove me to a distance from your lordship's person."

"Thou art a grateful fellow," said Leicester; "but I must not allow you
to do what would abate you in the opinion of others."

While thus speaking, he still accepted without hesitation the offices
about his person, which the new-made knight seemed to render as eagerly
as if he had really felt, in discharging the task, that pleasure which
his words expressed.

"I am not afraid of men's misconstruction," he said, in answer to
Leicester's remark, "since there is not--(permit me to undo the
collar)--a man within the Castle who does not expect very soon to see
persons of a rank far superior to that which, by your goodness, I now
hold, rendering the duties of the bedchamber to you, and accounting it
an honour."

"It might, indeed, so have been"--said the Earl, with an involuntary
sigh; and then presently added, "My gown, Varney; I will look out on the
night. Is not the moon near to the full?"

"I think so, my lord, according to the calendar," answered Varney.

There was an abutting window, which opened on a small projecting balcony
of stone, battlemented as is usual in Gothic castles. The Earl undid the
lattice, and stepped out into the open air. The station he had chosen
commanded an extensive view of the lake and woodlands beyond, where the
bright moonlight rested on the clear blue waters and the distant masses
of oak and elm trees. The moon rode high in the heavens, attended by
thousands and thousands of inferior luminaries. All seemed already to
be hushed in the nether world, excepting occasionally the voice of the
watch (for the yeomen of the guard performed that duty wherever the
Queen was present in person) and the distant baying of the hounds,
disturbed by the preparations amongst the grooms and prickers for a
magnificent hunt, which was to be the amusement of the next day.

Leicester looked out on the blue arch of heaven, with gestures and a
countenance expressive of anxious exultation, while Varney, who remained
within the darkened apartment, could (himself unnoticed), with a
secret satisfaction, see his patron stretch his hands with earnest
gesticulation towards the heavenly bodies.

"Ye distant orbs of living fire," so ran the muttered invocation of the
ambitious Earl, "ye are silent while you wheel your mystic rounds; but
Wisdom has given to you a voice. Tell me, then, to what end is my high
course destined? Shall the greatness to which I have aspired be bright,
pre-eminent, and stable as your own; or am I but doomed to draw a brief
and glittering train along the nightly darkness, and then to sink down
to earth, like the base refuse of those artificial fires with which men
emulate your rays?"

He looked on the heavens in profound silence for a minute or two longer,
and then again stepped into the apartment, where Varney seemed to have
been engaged in putting the Earl's jewels into a casket.

"What said Alasco of my horoscope?" demanded Leicester. "You already
told me; but it has escaped me, for I think but lightly of that art."

"Many learned and great men have thought otherwise," said Varney; "and,
not to flatter your lordship, my own opinion leans that way."

"Ay, Saul among the prophets?" said Leicester. "I thought thou wert
sceptical in all such matters as thou couldst neither see, hear, smell,
taste, or touch, and that thy belief was limited by thy senses."

"Perhaps, my lord," said Varney, "I may be misled on the present
occasion by my wish to find the predictions of astrology true. Alasco
says that your favourite planet is culminating, and that the adverse
influence--he would not use a plainer term--though not overcome, was
evidently combust, I think he said, or retrograde."

"It is even so," said Leicester, looking at an abstract of astrological
calculations which he had in his hand; "the stronger influence will
prevail, and, as I think, the evil hour pass away. Lend me your hand,
Sir Richard, to doff my gown; and remain an instant, if it is not
too burdensome to your knighthood, while I compose myself to sleep.
I believe the bustle of this day has fevered my blood, for it streams
through my veins like a current of molten lead. Remain an instant, I
pray you--I would fain feel my eyes heavy ere I closed them."

Varney officiously assisted his lord to bed, and placed a massive silver
night-lamp, with a short sword, on a marble table which stood close by
the head of the couch. Either in order to avoid the light of the lamp,
or to hide his countenance from Varney, Leicester drew the curtain,
heavy with entwined silk and gold, so as completely to shade his face.
Varney took a seat near the bed, but with his back towards his master,
as if to intimate that he was not watching him, and quietly waited
till Leicester himself led the way to the topic by which his mind was
engrossed.

"And so, Varney," said the Earl, after waiting in vain till his
dependant should commence the conversation, "men talk of the Queen's
favour towards me?"

"Ay, my good lord," said Varney; "of what can they else, since it is so
strongly manifested?"

"She is indeed my good and gracious mistress," said Leicester, after
another pause; "but it is written, 'Put not thy trust in princes.'"

"A good sentence and a true," said Varney, "unless you can unite their
interest with yours so absolutely that they must needs sit on your wrist
like hooded hawks."

"I know what thou meanest," said Leicester impatiently, "though thou art
to-night so prudentially careful of what thou sayest to me. Thou wouldst
intimate I might marry the Queen if I would?"

"It is your speech, my lord, not mine," answered Varney; "but
whosesoever be the speech, it is the thought of ninety-nine out of an
hundred men throughout broad England."

"Ay, but," said Leicester, turning himself in his bed, "the hundredth
man knows better. Thou, for example, knowest the obstacle that cannot be
overleaped."

"It must, my lord, if the stars speak true," said Varney composedly.

"What, talkest thou of them," said Leicester, "that believest not in
them or in aught else?"

"You mistake, my lord, under your gracious pardon," said Varney; "I
believe in many things that predict the future. I believe, if showers
fall in April, that we shall have flowers in May; that if the sun
shines, grain will ripen; and I believe in much natural philosophy to
the same effect, which, if the stars swear to me, I will say the stars
speak the truth. And in like manner, I will not disbelieve that which
I see wished for and expected on earth, solely because the astrologers
have read it in the heavens."

"Thou art right," said Leicester, again tossing himself on his couch
"Earth does wish for it. I have had advices from the reformed churches
of Germany--from the Low Countries--from Switzerland--urging this as a
point on which Europe's safety depends. France will not oppose it. The
ruling party in Scotland look to it as their best security. Spain fears
it, but cannot prevent it. And yet thou knowest it is impossible."

"I know not that, my lord," said Varney; "the Countess is indisposed."

"Villain!" said Leicester, starting up on his couch, and seizing
the sword which lay on the table beside him, "go thy thoughts that
way?--thou wouldst not do murder?"

"For whom, or what, do you hold me, my lord?" said Varney, assuming the
superiority of an innocent man subjected to unjust suspicion. "I said
nothing to deserve such a horrid imputation as your violence infers. I
said but that the Countess was ill. And Countess though she be--lovely
and beloved as she is--surely your lordship must hold her to be mortal?
She may die, and your lordship's hand become once more your own."

"Away! away!" said Leicester; "let me have no more of this."

"Good night, my lord," said Varney, seeming to understand this as a
command to depart; but Leicester's voice interrupted his purpose.

"Thou 'scapest me not thus, Sir Fool," said he; "I think thy knighthood
has addled thy brains. Confess thou hast talked of impossibilities as of
things which may come to pass."

"My lord, long live your fair Countess," said Varney; "but neither your
love nor my good wishes can make her immortal. But God grant she live
long to be happy herself, and to render you so! I see not but you may be
King of England notwithstanding."

"Nay, now, Varney, thou art stark mad," said Leicester.

"I would I were myself within the same nearness to a good estate of
freehold," said Varney. "Have we not known in other countries how
a left-handed marriage might subsist betwixt persons of differing
degree?--ay, and be no hindrance to prevent the husband from conjoining
himself afterwards with a more suitable partner?"

"I have heard of such things in Germany," said Leicester.

"Ay, and the most learned doctors in foreign universities justify the
practice from the Old Testament," said Varney. "And after all, where is
the harm? The beautiful partner whom you have chosen for true love has
your secret hours of relaxation and affection. Her fame is safe her
conscience may slumber securely. You have wealth to provide royally for
your issue, should Heaven bless you with offspring. Meanwhile you may
give to Elizabeth ten times the leisure, and ten thousand times the
affection, that ever Don Philip of Spain spared to her sister Mary; yet
you know how she doted on him though so cold and neglectful. It requires
but a close mouth and an open brow, and you keep your Eleanor and your
fair Rosamond far enough separate. Leave me to build you a bower to
which no jealous Queen shall find a clew."

Leicester was silent for a moment, then sighed, and said, "It is
impossible. Good night, Sir Richard Varney--yet stay. Can you guess what
meant Tressilian by showing himself in such careless guise before the
Queen to-day?--to strike her tender heart, I should guess, with all
the sympathies due to a lover abandoned by his mistress and abandoning
himself."

Varney, smothering a sneering laugh, answered, "He believed Master
Tressilian had no such matter in his head."

"How!" said Leicester; "what meanest thou? There is ever knavery in that
laugh of thine, Varney."

"I only meant, my lord," said Varney, "that Tressilian has taken the
sure way to avoid heart-breaking. He hath had a companion--a female
companion--a mistress--a sort of player's wife or sister, as I
believe--with him in Mervyn's Bower, where I quartered him for certain
reasons of my own."

"A mistress!--meanest thou a paramour?"

"Ay, my lord; what female else waits for hours in a gentleman's
chamber?"

"By my faith, time and space fitting, this were a good tale to tell,"
said Leicester. "I ever distrusted those bookish, hypocritical,
seeming-virtuous scholars. Well--Master Tressilian makes somewhat
familiar with my house; if I look it over, he is indebted to it for
certain recollections. I would not harm him more than I can help. Keep
eye on him, however, Varney."

"I lodged him for that reason," said Varney, "in Mervyn's Tower, where
he is under the eye of my very vigilant, if he were not also my very
drunken, servant, Michael Lambourne, whom I have told your Grace of."

"Grace!" said Leicester; "what meanest thou by that epithet?"

"It came unawares, my lord; and yet it sounds so very natural that I
cannot recall it."

"It is thine own preferment that hath turned thy brain," said Leicester,
laughing; "new honours are as heady as new wine."

"May your lordship soon have cause to say so from experience," said
Varney; and wishing his patron good night, he withdrew. [See Note 8.
Furniture of Kenilworth.]



CHAPTER XXXIII.

     Here stands the victim--there the proud betrayer,
     E'en as the hind pull'd down by strangling dogs
     Lies at the hunter's feet--who courteous proffers
     To some high dame, the Dian of the chase,
     To whom he looks for guerdon, his sharp blade,
     To gash the sobbing throat.       --THE WOODSMAN.

We are now to return to Mervyn's Bower, the apartment, or rather the
prison, of the unfortunate Countess of Leicester, who for some time kept
within bounds her uncertainty and her impatience. She was aware that, in
the tumult of the day, there might be some delay ere her letter could be
safely conveyed to the hands of Leicester, and that some time more might
elapse ere he could extricate himself from the necessary attendance on
Elizabeth, to come and visit her in her secret bower. "I will not expect
him," she said, "till night; he cannot be absent from his royal guest,
even to see me. He will, I know, come earlier if it be possible, but I
will not expect him before night." And yet all the while she did expect
him; and while she tried to argue herself into a contrary belief, each
hasty noise of the hundred which she heard sounded like the hurried step
of Leicester on the staircase, hasting to fold her in his arms.

The fatigue of body which Amy had lately undergone, with the agitation
of mind natural to so cruel a state of uncertainty, began by degrees
strongly to affect her nerves, and she almost feared her total inability
to maintain the necessary self-command through the scenes which might
lie before her. But although spoiled by an over-indulgent system of
education, Amy had naturally a mind of great power, united with a
frame which her share in her father's woodland exercises had rendered
uncommonly healthy. She summoned to her aid such mental and bodily
resources; and not unconscious how much the issue of her fate might
depend on her own self-possession, she prayed internally for strength of
body and for mental fortitude, and resolved at the same time to yield to
no nervous impulse which might weaken either.

Yet when the great bell of the Castle, which was placed in Caesar's
Tower, at no great distance from that called Mervyn's, began to send
its pealing clamour abroad, in signal of the arrival of the royal
procession, the din was so painfully acute to ears rendered nervously
sensitive by anxiety, that she could hardly forbear shrieking with
anguish, in answer to every stunning clash of the relentless peal.

Shortly afterwards, when the small apartment was at once enlightened by
the shower of artificial fires with which the air was suddenly filled,
and which crossed each other like fiery spirits, each bent on his own
separate mission, or like salamanders executing a frolic dance in the
region of the Sylphs, the Countess felt at first as if each rocket shot
close by her eyes, and discharged its sparks and flashes so nigh that
she could feel a sense of the heat. But she struggled against these
fantastic terrors, and compelled herself to arise, stand by the window,
look out, and gaze upon a sight which at another time would have
appeared to her at once captivating and fearful. The magnificent towers
of the Castle were enveloped in garlands of artificial fire, or shrouded
with tiaras of pale smoke. The surface of the lake glowed like molten
iron, while many fireworks (then thought extremely wonderful, though now
common), whose flame continued to exist in the opposing element, dived
and rose, hissed and roared, and spouted fire, like so many dragons of
enchantment sporting upon a burning lake.

Even Amy was for a moment interested by what was to her so new a scene.
"I had thought it magical art," she said, "but poor Tressilian taught me
to judge of such things as they are. Great God! and may not these idle
splendours resemble my own hoped-for happiness--a single spark, which is
instantly swallowed up by surrounding darkness--a precarious glow,
which rises but for a brief space into the air, that its fall may be the
lower? O Leicester! after all--all that thou hast said--hast sworn--that
Amy was thy love, thy life, can it be that thou art the magician
at whose nod these enchantments arise, and that she sees them as an
outcast, if not a captive?"

The sustained, prolonged, and repeated bursts of music, from so many
different quarters, and at so many varying points of distance, which
sounded as if not the Castle of Kenilworth only, but the whole country
around, had been at once the scene of solemnizing some high national
festival, carried the same oppressive thought still closer to her heart,
while some notes would melt in distant and falling tones, as if in
compassion for her sorrows, and some burst close and near upon her, as
if mocking her misery, with all the insolence of unlimited mirth. "These
sounds," she said, "are mine--mine, because they are HIS; but I cannot
say, Be still, these loud strains suit me not; and the voice of the
meanest peasant that mingles in the dance would have more power to
modulate the music than the command of her who is mistress of all."

By degrees the sounds of revelry died away, and the Countess withdrew
from the window at which she had sat listening to them. It was night,
but the moon afforded considerable light in the room, so that Amy was
able to make the arrangement which she judged necessary. There was hope
that Leicester might come to her apartment as soon as the revel in the
Castle had subsided; but there was also risk she might be disturbed by
some unauthorized intruder. She had lost confidence in the key since
Tressilian had entered so easily, though the door was locked on the
inside; yet all the additional security she could think of was to place
the table across the door, that she might be warned by the noise should
any one attempt to enter. Having taken these necessary precautions, the
unfortunate lady withdrew to her couch, stretched herself down on it,
mused in anxious expectation, and counted more than one hour after
midnight, till exhausted nature proved too strong for love, for grief,
for fear, nay, even for uncertainty, and she slept.

Yes, she slept. The Indian sleeps at the stake in the intervals between
his tortures; and mental torments, in like manner, exhaust by long
continuance the sensibility of the sufferer, so that an interval of
lethargic repose must necessarily ensue, ere the pangs which they
inflict can again be renewed.

The Countess slept, then, for several hours, and dreamed that she was
in the ancient house at Cumnor Place, listening for the low whistle with
which Leicester often used to announce his presence in the courtyard
when arriving suddenly on one of his stolen visits. But on this
occasion, instead of a whistle, she heard the peculiar blast of a
bugle-horn, such as her father used to wind on the fall of the stag, and
which huntsmen then called a MORT. She ran, as she thought, to a
window that looked into the courtyard, which she saw filled with men
in mourning garments. The old Curate seemed about to read the funeral
service. Mumblazen, tricked out in an antique dress, like an ancient
herald, held aloft a scutcheon, with its usual decorations of skulls,
cross-bones, and hour-glasses, surrounding a coat-of-arms, of which she
could only distinguish that it was surmounted with an Earl's coronet.
The old man looked at her with a ghastly smile, and said, "Amy, are they
not rightly quartered?" Just as he spoke, the horns again poured on her
ear the melancholy yet wild strain of the MORT, or death-note, and she
awoke.

The Countess awoke to hear a real bugle-note, or rather the combined
breath of many bugles, sounding not the MORT. but the jolly REVEILLE, to
remind the inmates of the Castle of Kenilworth that the pleasures of the
day were to commence with a magnificent stag-hunting in the neighbouring
Chase. Amy started up from her couch, listened to the sound, saw the
first beams of the summer morning already twinkle through the lattice
of her window, and recollected, with feelings of giddy agony, where she
was, and how circumstanced.

"He thinks not of me," she said; "he will not come nigh me! A Queen is
his guest, and what cares he in what corner of his huge Castle a wretch
like me pines in doubt, which is fast fading into despair?" At once a
sound at the door, as of some one attempting to open it softly, filled
her with an ineffable mixture of joy and fear; and hastening to remove
the obstacle she had placed against the door, and to unlock it, she had
the precaution to ask! "Is it thou, my love?"

"Yes, my Countess," murmured a whisper in reply.

She threw open the door, and exclaiming, "Leicester!" flung her arms
around the neck of the man who stood without, muffled in his cloak.

"No--not quite Leicester," answered Michael Lambourne, for he it was,
returning the caress with vehemence--"not quite Leicester, my lovely and
most loving duchess, but as good a man."

With an exertion of force, of which she would at another time have
thought herself incapable, the Countess freed herself from the profane
and profaning grasp of the drunken debauchee, and retreated into the
midst of her apartment where despair gave her courage to make a stand.

As Lambourne, on entering, dropped the lap of his cloak from his face,
she knew Varney's profligate servant, the very last person, excepting
his detested master, by whom she would have wished to be discovered. But
she was still closely muffled in her travelling dress, and as Lambourne
had scarce ever been admitted to her presence at Cumnor Place, her
person, she hoped, might not be so well known to him as his was to her,
owing to Janet's pointing him frequently out as he crossed the court,
and telling stories of his wickedness. She might have had still greater
confidence in her disguise had her experience enabled her to discover
that he was much intoxicated; but this could scarce have consoled her
for the risk which she might incur from such a character in such a time,
place, and circumstances.

Lambourne flung the door behind him as he entered, and folding his
arms, as if in mockery of the attitude of distraction into which Amy
had thrown herself, he proceeded thus: "Hark ye, most fair Calipolis--or
most lovely Countess of clouts, and divine Duchess of dark corners--if
thou takest all that trouble of skewering thyself together, like a
trussed fowl, that there may be more pleasure in the carving, even save
thyself the labour. I love thy first frank manner the best---like thy
present as little"--(he made a step towards her, and staggered)--"as
little as--such a damned uneven floor as this, where a gentleman may
break his neck if he does not walk as upright as a posture-master on the
tight-rope."

"Stand back!" said the Countess; "do not approach nearer to me on thy
peril!"

"My peril!--and stand back! Why, how now, madam? Must you have a better
mate than honest Mike Lambourne? I have been in America, girl, where the
gold grows, and have brought off such a load on't--"

"Good friend," said the Countess, in great terror at the ruffian's
determined and audacious manner, "I prithee begone, and leave me."

"And so I will, pretty one, when we are tired of each other's
company--not a jot sooner." He seized her by the arm, while, incapable
of further defence, she uttered shriek upon shriek. "Nay, scream away if
you like it," said he, still holding her fast; "I have heard the sea
at the loudest, and I mind a squalling woman no more than a miauling
kitten. Damn me! I have heard fifty or a hundred screaming at once, when
there was a town stormed."

The cries of the Countess, however, brought unexpected aid in the person
of Lawrence Staples, who had heard her exclamations from his apartment
below, and entered in good time to save her from being discovered,
if not from more atrocious violence. Lawrence was drunk also from the
debauch of the preceding night, but fortunately his intoxication had
taken a different turn from that of Lambourne.

"What the devil's noise is this in the ward?" he said. "What! man and
woman together in the same cell?--that is against rule. I will have
decency under my rule, by Saint Peter of the Fetters!"

"Get thee downstairs, thou drunken beast," said Lambourne; "seest thou
not the lady and I would be private?"

"Good sir, worthy sir!" said the Countess, addressing the jailer, "do
but save me from him, for the sake of mercy!"

"She speaks fairly," said the jailer, "and I will take her part. I love
my prisoners; and I have had as good prisoners under my key as they have
had in Newgate or the Compter. And so, being one of my lambkins, as I
say, no one shall disturb her in her pen-fold. So let go the woman: or
I'll knock your brains out with my keys."

"I'll make a blood-pudding of thy midriff first," answered Lambourne,
laying his left hand on his dagger, but still detaining the Countess by
the arm with his right. "So have at thee, thou old ostrich, whose only
living is upon a bunch of iron keys."

Lawrence raised the arm of Michael, and prevented him from drawing his
dagger; and as Lambourne struggled and strove to shake him off; the
Countess made a sudden exertion on her side, and slipping her hand
out of the glove on which the ruffian still kept hold, she gained her
liberty, and escaping from the apartment, ran downstairs; while at the
same moment she heard the two combatants fall on the floor with a noise
which increased her terror. The outer wicket offered no impediment to
her flight, having been opened for Lambourne's admittance; so that she
succeeded in escaping down the stair, and fled into the Pleasance, which
seemed to her hasty glance the direction in which she was most likely to
avoid pursuit.

Meanwhile, Lawrence and Lambourne rolled on the floor of the apartment,
closely grappled together. Neither had, happily, opportunity to draw
their daggers; but Lawrence found space enough to clash his heavy keys
across Michael's face, and Michael in return grasped the turnkey so
felly by the throat that the blood gushed from nose and mouth, so that
they were both gory and filthy spectacles when one of the other officers
of the household, attracted by the noise of the fray, entered the room,
and with some difficulty effected the separation of the combatants.

"A murrain on you both," said the charitable mediator, "and especially
on you, Master Lambourne! What the fiend lie you here for, fighting on
the floor like two butchers' curs in the kennel of the shambles?"

Lambourne arose, and somewhat sobered by the interposition of a third
party, looked with something less than his usual brazen impudence of
visage. "We fought for a wench, an thou must know," was his reply.

"A wench! Where is she?" said the officer.

"Why, vanished, I think," said Lambourne, looking around him, "unless
Lawrence hath swallowed her, That filthy paunch of his devours as
many distressed damsels and oppressed orphans as e'er a giant in King
Arthur's history. They are his prime food; he worries them body, soul,
and substance."

"Ay, ay! It's no matter," said Lawrence, gathering up his huge, ungainly
form from the floor; "but I have had your betters, Master Michael
Lambourne, under the little turn of my forefinger and thumb, and I shall
have thee, before all's done, under my hatches. The impudence of thy
brow will not always save thy shin-bones from iron, and thy foul,
thirsty gullet from a hempen cord." The words were no sooner out of his
mouth, when Lambourne again made at him.

"Nay, go not to it again," said the sewer, "or I will call for him shall
tame you both, and that is Master Varney--Sir Richard, I mean. He is
stirring, I promise you; I saw him cross the court just now."

"Didst thou, by G--!" said Lambourne, seizing on the basin and ewer
which stood in the apartment. "Nay, then, element, do thy work. I
thought I had enough of thee last night, when I floated about for Orion,
like a cork on a fermenting cask of ale."

So saying, he fell to work to cleanse from his face and hands the signs
of the fray, and get his apparel into some order.

"What hast thou done to him?" said the sewer, speaking aside to the
jailer; "his face is fearfully swelled."

"It is but the imprint of the key of my cabinet--too good a mark for
his gallows-face. No man shall abuse or insult my prisoners; they are my
jewels, and I lock them in safe casket accordingly.--And so, mistress,
leave off your wailing.--Why! why, surely, there was a woman here!"

"I think you are all mad this morning," said the sewer. "I saw no woman
here, nor no man neither in a proper sense, but only two beasts rolling
on the floor."

"Nay, then I am undone," said the jailer; "the prison's broken, that is
all. Kenilworth prison is broken," he continued, in a tone of maudlin
lamentation, "which was the strongest jail betwixt this and the Welsh
Marches--ay, and a house that has had knights, and earls, and kings
sleeping in it, as secure as if they had been in the Tower of London.
It is broken, the prisoners fled, and the jailer in much danger of being
hanged!"

So saying, he retreated down to his own den to conclude his
lamentations, or to sleep himself sober. Lambourne and the sewer
followed him close; and it was well for them, since the jailer, out of
mere habit, was about to lock the wicket after him, and had they not
been within the reach of interfering, they would have had the pleasure
of being shut up in the turret-chamber, from which the Countess had been
just delivered.

That unhappy lady, as soon as she found herself at liberty, fled, as
we have already mentioned, into the Pleasance. She had seen this
richly-ornamented space of ground from the window of Mervyn's Tower; and
it occurred to her, at the moment of her escape, that among its numerous
arbours, bowers, fountains, statues, and grottoes, she might find some
recess in which she could lie concealed until she had an opportunity of
addressing herself to a protector, to whom she might communicate as much
as she dared of her forlorn situation, and through whose means she might
supplicate an interview with her husband.

"If I could see my guide," she thought, "I would learn if he had
delivered my letter. Even did I but see Tressilian, it were better to
risk Dudley's anger, by confiding my whole situation to one who is the
very soul of honour, than to run the hazard of further insult among the
insolent menials of this ill-ruled place. I will not again venture into
an enclosed apartment. I will wait, I will watch; amidst so many human
beings there must be some kind heart which can judge and compassionate
what mine endures."

In truth, more than one party entered and traversed the Pleasance. But
they were in joyous groups of four or five persons together, laughing
and jesting in their own fullness of mirth and lightness of heart.

The retreat which she had chosen gave her the easy alternative of
avoiding observation. It was but stepping back to the farthest recess of
a grotto, ornamented with rustic work and moss-seats, and terminated by
a fountain, and she might easily remain concealed, or at her pleasure
discover herself to any solitary wanderer whose curiosity might lead
him to that romantic retirement. Anticipating such an opportunity, she
looked into the clear basin which the silent fountain held up to her
like a mirror, and felt shocked at her own appearance, and doubtful at;
the same time, muffled and disfigured as her disguise made her seem to
herself, whether any female (and it was from the compassion of her own
sex that she chiefly expected sympathy) would engage in conference with
so suspicious an object. Reasoning thus like a woman, to whom external
appearance is scarcely in any circumstances a matter of unimportance,
and like a beauty, who had some confidence in the power of her own
charms, she laid aside her travelling cloak and capotaine hat, and
placed them beside her, so that she could assume them in an instant, ere
one could penetrate from the entrance of the grotto to its extremity, in
case the intrusion of Varney or of Lambourne should render such disguise
necessary. The dress which she wore under these vestments was somewhat
of a theatrical cast, so as to suit the assumed personage of one of the
females who was to act in the pageant, Wayland had found the means
of arranging it thus upon the second day of their journey, having
experienced the service arising from the assumption of such a character
on the preceding day. The fountain, acting both as a mirror and ewer,
afforded Amy the means of a brief toilette, of which she availed herself
as hastily as possible; then took in her hand her small casket of
jewels, in case she might find them useful intercessors, and retiring to
the darkest and most sequestered nook, sat down on a seat of moss,
and awaited till fate should give her some chance of rescue, or of
propitiating an intercessor.



CHAPTER XXXIV.

     Have you not seen the partridge quake,
     Viewing the hawk approaching nigh?
     She cuddles close beneath the brake,
     Afraid to sit, afraid to fly,   --PRIOR.

It chanced, upon that memorable morning, that one of the earliest of
the huntress train, who appeared from her chamber in full array for the
chase, was the Princess for whom all these pleasures were instituted,
England's Maiden Queen. I know not if it were by chance, or out of the
befitting courtesy due to a mistress by whom he was so much honoured,
that she had scarcely made one step beyond the threshold of her
chamber ere Leicester was by her side, and proposed to her, until the
preparations for the chase had been completed, to view the Pleasance,
and the gardens which it connected with the Castle yard.

To this new scene of pleasures they walked, the Earl's arm affording his
Sovereign the occasional support which she required, where flights
of steps, then a favourite ornament in a garden, conducted them from
terrace to terrace, and from parterre to parterre. The ladies in
attendance, gifted with prudence, or endowed perhaps with the amiable
desire of acting as they would be done by, did not conceive their duty
to the Queen's person required them, though they lost not sight of her,
to approach so near as to share, or perhaps disturb, the conversation
betwixt the Queen and the Earl, who was not only her host, but also her
most trusted, esteemed, and favoured servant. They contented themselves
with admiring the grace of this illustrious couple, whose robes of state
were now exchanged for hunting suits, almost equally magnificent.

Elizabeth's silvan dress, which was of a pale blue silk, with silver
lace and AIGUILLETTES, approached in form to that of the ancient
Amazons, and was therefore well suited at once to her height and to
the dignity of her mien, which her conscious rank and long habits of
authority had rendered in some degree too masculine to be seen to the
best advantage in ordinary female weeds. Leicester's hunting suit of
Lincoln green, richly embroidered with gold, and crossed by the gay
baldric which sustained a bugle-horn, and a wood-knife instead of a
sword, became its master, as did his other vestments of court or of war.
For such were the perfections of his form and mien, that Leicester was
always supposed to be seen to the greatest advantage in the character
and dress which for the time he represented or wore.

The conversation of Elizabeth and the favourite Earl has not reached
us in detail. But those who watched at some distance (and the eyes of
courtiers and court ladies are right sharp) were of opinion that on no
occasion did the dignity of Elizabeth, in gesture and motion, seem
so decidedly to soften away into a mien expressive of indecision and
tenderness. Her step was not only slow, but even unequal, a thing most
unwonted in her carriage; her looks seemed bent on the ground; and there
was a timid disposition to withdraw from her companion, which external
gesture in females often indicates exactly the opposite tendency in
the secret mind. The Duchess of Rutland, who ventured nearest, was even
heard to aver that she discerned a tear in Elizabeth's eye and a blush
on her cheek; and still further, "She bent her looks on the ground to
avoid mine," said the Duchess, "she who, in her ordinary mood, could
look down a lion." To what conclusion these symptoms led is sufficiently
evident; nor were they probably entirely groundless. The progress of
a private conversation betwixt two persons of different sexes is often
decisive of their fate, and gives it a turn very different perhaps
from what they themselves anticipated. Gallantry becomes mingled with
conversation, and affection and passion come gradually to mix with
gallantry. Nobles, as well as shepherd swains, will, in such a trying
moment, say more than they intended; and Queens, like village maidens,
will listen longer than they should.

Horses in the meanwhile neighed and champed the bits with impatience in
the base-court; hounds yelled in their couples; and yeomen, rangers, and
prickers lamented the exhaling of the dew, which would prevent the scent
from lying. But Leicester had another chase in view--or, to speak more
justly towards him, had become engaged in it without premeditation, as
the high-spirited hunter which follows the cry of the hounds that have
crossed his path by accident. The Queen, an accomplished and handsome
woman, the pride of England, the hope of France and Holland, and the
dread of Spain, had probably listened with more than usual favour to
that mixture of romantic gallantry with which she always loved to be
addressed; and the Earl had, in vanity, in ambition, or in both, thrown
in more and more of that delicious ingredient, until his importunity
became the language of love itself.

"No, Dudley," said Elizabeth, yet it was with broken accents--"no, I
must be the mother of my people. Other ties, that make the lowly maiden
happy, are denied to her Sovereign. No, Leicester, urge it no more.
Were I as others, free to seek my own happiness, then, indeed--but it
cannot--cannot be. Delay the chase--delay it for half an hour--and leave
me, my lord."

"How! leave you, madam?" said Leicester,--"has my madness offended you?"

"No, Leicester, not so!" answered the Queen hastily; "but it is madness,
and must not be repeated. Go--but go not far from hence; and meantime
let no one intrude on my privacy."

While she spoke thus, Dudley bowed deeply, and retired with a slow
and melancholy air. The Queen stood gazing after him, and murmured to
herself, "Were it possible--were it BUT possible!--but no--no; Elizabeth
must be the wife and mother of England alone."

As she spoke thus, and in order to avoid some one whose step she heard
approaching, the Queen turned into the grotto in which her hapless, and
yet but too successful, rival lay concealed.

The mind of England's Elizabeth, if somewhat shaken by the agitating
interview to which she had just put a period, was of that firm and
decided character which soon recovers its natural tone. It was like one
of those ancient Druidical monuments called Rocking-stones. The finger
of Cupid, boy as he is painted, could put her feelings in motion; but
the power of Hercules could not have destroyed their equilibrium. As she
advanced with a slow pace towards the inmost extremity of the grotto,
her countenance, ere she had proceeded half the length, had recovered
its dignity of look, and her mien its air of command.

It was then the Queen became aware that a female figure was placed
beside, or rather partly behind, an alabaster column, at the foot of
which arose the pellucid fountain which occupied the inmost recess of
the twilight grotto. The classical mind of Elizabeth suggested the story
of Numa and Egeria, and she doubted not that some Italian sculptor had
here represented the Naiad whose inspirations gave laws to Rome. As she
advanced, she became doubtful whether she beheld a statue, or a form
of flesh and blood. The unfortunate Amy, indeed, remained motionless,
betwixt the desire which she had to make her condition known to one of
her own sex, and her awe for the stately form which approached her,
and which, though her eyes had never before beheld, her fears instantly
suspected to be the personage she really was. Amy had arisen from her
seat with the purpose of addressing the lady who entered the grotto
alone, and, as she at first thought, so opportunely. But when she
recollected the alarm which Leicester had expressed at the Queen's
knowing aught of their union, and became more and more satisfied that
the person whom she now beheld was Elizabeth herself, she stood with
one foot advanced and one withdrawn, her arms, head, and hands perfectly
motionless, and her cheek as pallid as the alabaster pedestal against
which she leaned. Her dress was of pale sea-green silk, little
distinguished in that imperfect light, and somewhat resembled the
drapery of a Grecian Nymph, such an antique disguise having been thought
the most secure, where so many maskers and revellers were assembled; so
that the Queen's doubt of her being a living form was well justified by
all contingent circumstances, as well as by the bloodless cheek and the
fixed eye.

Elizabeth remained in doubt, even after she had approached within a few
paces, whether she did not gaze on a statue so cunningly fashioned that
by the doubtful light it could not be distinguished from reality. She
stopped, therefore, and fixed upon this interesting object her princely
look with so much keenness that the astonishment which had kept Amy
immovable gave way to awe, and she gradually cast down her eyes, and
drooped her head under the commanding gaze of the Sovereign. Still,
however, she remained in all respects, saving this slow and profound
inclination of the head, motionless and silent.

From her dress, and the casket which she instinctively held in her hand,
Elizabeth naturally conjectured that the beautiful but mute figure which
she beheld was a performer in one of the various theatrical pageants
which had been placed in different situations to surprise her with their
homage; and that the poor player, overcome with awe at her presence, had
either forgot the part assigned her, or lacked courage to go through
it. It was natural and courteous to give her some encouragement; and
Elizabeth accordingly said, in a tone of condescending kindness, "How
now, fair Nymph of this lovely grotto, art thou spell-bound and struck
with dumbness by the charms of the wicked enchanter whom men term Fear?
We are his sworn enemy, maiden, and can reverse his charm. Speak, we
command thee."

Instead of answering her by speech, the unfortunate Countess dropped
on her knee before the Queen, let her casket fall from her hand, and
clasping her palms together, looked up in the Queen's face with such a
mixed agony of fear and supplication, that Elizabeth was considerably
affected.

"What may this mean?" she said; "this is a stronger passion than befits
the occasion. Stand up, damsel--what wouldst thou have with us?"

"Your protection, madam," faltered forth the unhappy petitioner.

"Each daughter of England has it while she is worthy of it," replied the
Queen; "but your distress seems to have a deeper root than a forgotten
task. Why, and in what, do you crave our protection?"

Amy hastily endeavoured to recall what she were best to say, which might
secure herself from the imminent dangers that surrounded her, without
endangering her husband; and plunging from one thought to another,
amidst the chaos which filled her mind, she could at length, in answer
to the Queen's repeated inquiries in what she sought protection, only
falter out, "Alas! I know not."

"This is folly, maiden," said Elizabeth impatiently; for there was
something in the extreme confusion of the suppliant which irritated her
curiosity, as well as interested her feelings. "The sick man must tell
his malady to the physician; nor are WE accustomed to ask questions so
oft without receiving an answer."

"I request--I implore," stammered forth the unfortunate Countess--"I
beseech your gracious protection--against--against one Varney." She
choked well-nigh as she uttered the fatal word, which was instantly
caught up by the Queen.

"What, Varney--Sir Richard Varney--the servant of Lord Leicester! what,
damsel, are you to him, or he to you?"

"I--I--was his prisoner--and he practised on my life--and I broke forth
to--to--"

"To throw thyself on my protection, doubtless," said Elizabeth. "Thou
shalt have it--that is, if thou art worthy; for we will sift this matter
to the uttermost. Thou art," she said, bending on the Countess an eye
which seemed designed to pierce her very inmost soul--"thou art Amy,
daughter of Sir Hugh Robsart of Lidcote Hall?"

"Forgive me--forgive me, most gracious Princess!" said Amy, dropping
once more on her knee, from which she had arisen.

"For what should I forgive thee, silly wench?" said Elizabeth; "for
being the daughter of thine own father? Thou art brain-sick, surely.
Well I see I must wring the story from thee by inches. Thou didst
deceive thine old and honoured father--thy look confesses it--cheated
Master Tressilian--thy blush avouches it--and married this same Varney."

Amy sprung on her feet, and interrupted the Queen eagerly with, "No,
madam, no! as there is a God above us, I am not the sordid wretch you
would make me! I am not the wife of that contemptible slave--of that
most deliberate villain! I am not the wife of Varney! I would rather be
the bride of Destruction!"

The Queen, overwhelmed in her turn by Amy's vehemence, stood silent for
an instant, and then replied, "Why, God ha' mercy, woman! I see thou
canst talk fast enough when the theme likes thee. Nay, tell me, woman,"
she continued, for to the impulse of curiosity was now added that of an
undefined jealousy that some deception had been practised on her--"tell
me, woman--for, by God's day, I WILL know--whose wife, or whose
paramour, art thou! Speak out, and be speedy. Thou wert better daily
with a lioness than with Elizabeth."

Urged to this extremity, dragged as it were by irresistible force to the
verge of the precipice which she saw, but could not avoid--permitted
not a moment's respite by the eager words and menacing gestures of the
offended Queen, Amy at length uttered in despair, "The Earl of Leicester
knows it all."

"The Earl of Leicester!" said Elizabeth, in utter astonishment. "The
Earl of Leicester!" she repeated with kindling anger. "Woman, thou art
set on to this--thou dost belie him--he takes no keep of such things
as thou art. Thou art suborned to slander the noblest lord and the
truest-hearted gentleman in England! But were he the right hand of our
trust, or something yet dearer to us, thou shalt have thy hearing, and
that in his presence. Come with me--come with me instantly!"