"Are you awakened, too, with this 'larum, my Lord of Leicester?" said
the old soldier. "'Tis well. By gog's nails, the nights are as noisy as
the day in this Castle of yours. Some two hours since I was waked by
the screams of that poor brain-sick Lady Varney, whom her husband
was forcing away. I promise you it required both your warrant and the
Queen's to keep me from entering into the game, and cutting that Varney
of yours over the head. And now there is a brawl down in the Pleasance,
or what call you the stone terrace-walk where all yonder gimcracks
stand?"

The first part of the old man's speech went through the Earl's heart
like a knife; to the last he answered that he himself had heard the
clash of swords, and had come down to take order with those who had been
so insolent so near the Queen's presence.

"Nay, then," said Hunsdon, "I will be glad of your lordship's company."

Leicester was thus compelled to turn back with the rough old Lord to the
Pleasance, where Hunsdon heard from the yeomen of the guard, who were
under his immediate command, the unsuccessful search they had made for
the authors of the disturbance; and bestowed for their pains some round
dozen of curses on them, as lazy knaves and blind whoresons. Leicester
also thought it necessary to seem angry that no discovery had been
effected; but at length suggested to Lord Hunsdon, that after all it
could only be some foolish young men who had been drinking healths
pottle-deep, and who should be sufficiently scared by the search which
had taken place after them. Hunsdon, who was himself attached to his
cup, allowed that a pint-flagon might cover many of the follies which it
had caused, "But," added he, "unless your lordship will be less liberal
in your housekeeping, and restrain the overflow of ale, and wine, and
wassail, I foresee it will end in my having some of these good fellows
into the guard-house, and treating them to a dose of the strappado. And
with this warning, good night to you."

Joyful at being rid of his company, Leicester took leave of him at the
entrance of his lodging, where they had first met, and entering the
private passage, took up the lamp which he had left there, and by its
expiring light found the way to his own apartment.



CHAPTER XXXIX.

     Room!  room!  for my horse will wince
     If he comes within so many yards of a prince;
     For to tell you true, and in rhyme,
     He was foal'd in Queen Elizabeth's time;
     When the great Earl of Lester
     In his castle did feast her.
     --BEN JONSON, MASQUE OF OWLS.

The amusement with which Elizabeth and her court were next day to be
regaled was an exhibition by the true-hearted men of Coventry, who were
to represent the strife between the English and the Danes, agreeably
to a custom long preserved in their ancient borough, and warranted for
truth by old histories and chronicles. In this pageant one party of the
townsfolk presented the Saxons and the other the Danes, and set forth,
both in rude rhymes and with hard blows, the contentions of these two
fierce nations, and the Amazonian courage of the English women, who,
according to the story, were the principal agents in the general
massacre of the Danes, which took place at Hocktide, in the year of God
1012. This sport, which had been long a favourite pastime with the
men of Coventry, had, it seems, been put down by the influence of
some zealous clergymen of the more precise cast, who chanced to have
considerable influence with the magistrates. But the generality of the
inhabitants had petitioned the Queen that they might have their play
again, and be honoured with permission to represent it before her
Highness. And when the matter was canvassed in the little council which
usually attended the Queen for dispatch of business, the proposal,
although opposed by some of the stricter sort, found favour in the eyes
of Elizabeth, who said that such toys occupied, without offence, the
minds of many who, lacking them, might find worse subjects of pastime;
and that their pastors, however commendable for learning and godliness,
were somewhat too sour in preaching against the pastimes of their flocks
and so the pageant was permitted to proceed.

Accordingly, after a morning repast, which Master Laneham calls an
ambrosial breakfast, the principal persons of the court in attendance
upon her Majesty pressed to the Gallery-tower, to witness the approach
of the two contending parties of English and Danes; and after a signal
had been given, the gate which opened in the circuit of the Chase was
thrown wide to admit them. On they came, foot and horse; for some of
the more ambitious burghers and yeomen had put themselves into fantastic
dresses, imitating knights, in order to resemble the chivalry of the two
different nations. However, to prevent fatal accidents, they were not
permitted to appear on real horses, but had only license to accoutre
themselves with those hobby-horses, as they are called, which anciently
formed the chief delight of a morrice-dance, and which still are
exhibited on the stage, in the grand battle fought at the conclusion
of Mr. Bayes's tragedy. The infantry followed in similar disguises.
The whole exhibition was to be considered as a sort of anti-masque, or
burlesque of the more stately pageants in which the nobility and gentry
bore part in the show, and, to the best of their knowledge, imitated
with accuracy the personages whom they represented. The Hocktide play
was of a different character, the actors being persons of inferior
degree, and their habits the better fitted for the occasion, the more
incongruous and ridiculous that they were in themselves. Accordingly
their array, which the progress of our tale allows us no time to
describe, was ludicrous enough; and their weapons, though sufficiently
formidable to deal sound blows, were long alder-poles instead of lances,
and sound cudgels for swords; and for fence, both cavalry and infantry
were well equipped with stout headpieces and targets, both made of thick
leather.

Captain Coxe, that celebrated humorist of Coventry, whose library of
ballads, almanacs, and penny histories, fairly wrapped up in parchment,
and tied round for security with a piece of whipcord, remains still
the envy of antiquaries, being himself the ingenious person under
whose direction the pageant had been set forth, rode valiantly on his
hobby-horse before the bands of English, high-trussed, saith Laneham,
and brandishing his long sword, as became an experienced man of war, who
had fought under the Queen's father, bluff King Henry, at the siege of
Boulogne. This chieftain was, as right and reason craved, the first to
enter the lists, and passing the Gallery at the head of his myrmidons,
kissed the hilt of his sword to the Queen, and executed at the same
time a gambade, the like whereof had never been practised by two-legged
hobby-horse. Then passing on with all his followers of cavaliers and
infantry, he drew them up with martial skill at the opposite extremity
of the bridge, or tilt-yard, until his antagonist should be fairly
prepared for the onset.

This was no long interval; for the Danish cavalry and infantry, no way
inferior to the English in number, valour, and equipment, instantly
arrived, with the northern bagpipe blowing before them in token of their
country, and headed by a cunning master of defence, only inferior to the
renowned Captain Coxe, if to him, in the discipline of war. The Danes,
as invaders, took their station under the Gallery-tower, and opposite
to that of Mortimer; and when their arrangements were completely made, a
signal was given for the encounter.

Their first charge upon each other was rather moderate, for either party
had some dread of being forced into the lake. But as reinforcements came
up on either side, the encounter grew from a skirmish into a blazing
battle. They rushed upon one another, as Master Laneham testifies, like
rams inflamed by jealousy, with such furious encounter that both parties
were often overthrown, and the clubs and targets made a most horrible
clatter. In many instances that happened which had been dreaded by the
more experienced warriors who began the day of strife. The rails which
defended the ledges of the bridge had been, perhaps on purpose, left but
slightly fastened, and gave way under the pressure of those who thronged
to the combat, so that the hot courage of many of the combatants
received a sufficient cooling. These incidents might have occasioned
more serious damage than became such an affray, for many of the
champions who met with this mischance could not swim, and those who
could were encumbered with their suits of leathern and of paper armour;
but the case had been provided for, and there were several boats in
readiness to pick up the unfortunate warriors and convey them to the dry
land, where, dripping and dejected, they comforted themselves with the
hot ale and strong waters which were liberally allowed to them, without
showing any desire to re-enter so desperate a conflict.

Captain Coxe alone, that paragon of Black-Letter antiquaries, after
twice experiencing, horse and man, the perilous leap from the bridge
into the lake, equal to any extremity to which the favourite heroes of
chivalry, whose exploits he studied in an abridged form, whether Amadis,
Belianis, Bevis, or his own Guy of Warwick, had ever been subjected
to--Captain Coxe, we repeat, did alone, after two such mischances, rush
again into the heat of conflict, his bases and the footcloth of his
hobby-horse dropping water, and twice reanimated by voice and example
the drooping spirits of the English; so that at last their victory over
the Danish invaders became, as was just and reasonable, complete and
decisive. Worthy he was to be rendered immortal by the pen of Ben
Jonson, who, fifty years afterwards, deemed that a masque, exhibited at
Kenilworth, could be ushered in by none with so much propriety as by the
ghost of Captain Coxe, mounted upon his redoubted hobby-horse.

These rough, rural gambols may not altogether agree with the reader's
preconceived idea of an entertainment presented before Elizabeth, in
whose reign letters revived with such brilliancy, and whose court,
governed by a female whose sense of propriety was equal to her strength
of mind, was no less distinguished for delicacy and refinement than her
councils for wisdom and fortitude. But whether from the political wish
to seem interested in popular sports, or whether from a spark of old
Henry's rough, masculine spirit, which Elizabeth sometimes displayed,
it is certain the Queen laughed heartily at the imitation, or rather
burlesque, of chivalry which was presented in the Coventry play. She
called near her person the Earl of Sussex and Lord Hunsdon, partly
perhaps to make amends to the former for the long and private audiences
with which she had indulged the Earl of Leicester, by engaging him in
conversation upon a pastime which better suited his taste than those
pageants that were furnished forth from the stores of antiquity. The
disposition which the Queen showed to laugh and jest with her military
leaders gave the Earl of Leicester the opportunity he had been watching
for withdrawing from the royal presence, which to the court around, so
well had he chosen his time, had the graceful appearance of leaving his
rival free access to the Queen's person, instead of availing himself of
his right as her landlord to stand perpetually betwixt others and the
light of her countenance.

Leicester's thoughts, however, had a far different object from
mere courtesy; for no sooner did he see the Queen fairly engaged in
conversation with Sussex and Hunsdon, behind whose back stood Sir
Nicholas Blount, grinning from ear to ear at each word which was spoken,
than, making a sign to Tressilian, who, according to appointment,
watched his motions at a little distance, he extricated himself from the
press, and walking towards the Chase, made his way through the crowds of
ordinary spectators, who, with open mouth, stood gazing on the battle
of the English and the Danes. When he had accomplished this, which was
a work of some difficulty, he shot another glance behind him to see that
Tressilian had been equally successful; and as soon as he saw him also
free from the crowd, he led the way to a small thicket, behind which
stood a lackey, with two horses ready saddled. He flung himself on the
one, and made signs to Tressilian to mount the other, who obeyed without
speaking a single word.

Leicester then spurred his horse, and galloped without stopping until
he reached a sequestered spot, environed by lofty oaks, about a mile's
distance from the Castle, and in an opposite direction from the scene to
which curiosity was drawing every spectator. He there dismounted, bound
his horse to a tree, and only pronouncing the words, "Here there is no
risk of interruption," laid his cloak across his saddle, and drew his
sword.

Tressilian imitated his example punctually, yet could not forbear
saying, as he drew his weapon, "My lord, as I have been known to many as
one who does not fear death when placed in balance with honour, methinks
I may, without derogation, ask wherefore, in the name of all that is
honourable, your lordship has dared to offer me such a mark of disgrace
as places us on these terms with respect to each other?"

"If you like not such marks of my scorn," replied the Earl, "betake
yourself instantly to your weapon, lest I repeat the usage you complain
of."

"It shall not need, my lord," said Tressilian. "God judge betwixt us!
and your blood, if you fall, be on your own head."

He had scarce completed the sentence when they instantly closed in
combat.

But Leicester, who was a perfect master of defence among all other
exterior accomplishments of the time, had seen on the preceding night
enough of Tressilian's strength and skill to make him fight with more
caution than heretofore, and prefer a secure revenge to a hasty one.
For some minutes they fought with equal skill and fortune, till, in
a desperate lunge which Leicester successfully put aside, Tressilian
exposed himself at disadvantage; and in a subsequent attempt to close,
the Earl forced his sword from his hand, and stretched him on the
ground. With a grim smile he held the point of his rapier within two
inches of the throat of his fallen adversary, and placing his foot at
the same time upon his breast, bid him confess his villainous wrongs
towards him, and prepare for death.

"I have no villainy nor wrong towards thee to confess," answered
Tressilian, "and am better prepared for death than thou. Use thine
advantage as thou wilt, and may God forgive you! I have given you no
cause for this."

"No cause!" exclaimed the Earl, "no cause!--but why parley with such a
slave? Die a liar, as thou hast lived!"

He had withdrawn his arm for the purpose of striking the fatal blow,
when it was suddenly seized from behind.

The Earl turned in wrath to shake off the unexpected obstacle, but was
surprised to find that a strange-looking boy had hold of his sword-arm,
and clung to it with such tenacity of grasp that he could not shake him
of without a considerable struggle, in the course of which Tressilian
had opportunity to rise and possess himself once more of his weapon.
Leicester again turned towards him with looks of unabated ferocity, and
the combat would have recommenced with still more desperation on both
sides, had not the boy clung to Lord Leicester's knees, and in a shrill
tone implored him to listen one moment ere he prosecuted this quarrel.

"Stand up, and let me go," said Leicester, "or, by Heaven, I will pierce
thee with my rapier! What hast thou to do to bar my way to revenge?"

"Much--much!" exclaimed the undaunted boy, "since my folly has been
the cause of these bloody quarrels between you, and perchance of worse
evils. Oh, if you would ever again enjoy the peace of an innocent mind,
if you hope again to sleep in peace and unhaunted by remorse, take so
much leisure as to peruse this letter, and then do as you list."

While he spoke in this eager and earnest manner, to which his singular
features and voice gave a goblin-like effect, he held up to Leicester
a packet, secured with a long tress of woman's hair of a beautiful
light-brown colour. Enraged as he was, nay, almost blinded with fury to
see his destined revenge so strangely frustrated, the Earl of Leicester
could not resist this extraordinary supplicant. He snatched the letter
from his hand--changed colour as he looked on the superscription--undid
with faltering hand the knot which secured it--glanced over the
contents, and staggering back, would have fallen, had he not rested
against the trunk of a tree, where he stood for an instant, his eyes
bent on the letter, and his sword-point turned to the ground, without
seeming to be conscious of the presence of an antagonist towards whom
he had shown little mercy, and who might in turn have taken him at
advantage. But for such revenge Tressilian was too noble-minded. He
also stood still in surprise, waiting the issue of this strange fit of
passion, but holding his weapon ready to defend himself in case of need
against some new and sudden attack on the part of Leicester, whom he
again suspected to be under the influence of actual frenzy. The boy,
indeed, he easily recognized as his old acquaintance Dickon, whose face,
once seen, was scarcely to be forgotten; but how he came hither at so
critical a moment, why his interference was so energetic, and, above
all, how it came to produce so powerful an effect upon Leicester, were
questions which he could not solve.

But the letter was of itself powerful enough to work effects yet more
wonderful. It was that which the unfortunate Amy had written to her
husband, in which she alleged the reasons and manner of her flight from
Cumnor Place, informed him of her having made her way to Kenilworth
to enjoy his protection, and mentioned the circumstances which had
compelled her to take refuge in Tressilian's apartment, earnestly
requesting he would, without delay, assign her a more suitable asylum.
The letter concluded with the most earnest expressions of devoted
attachment and submission to his will in all things, and particularly
respecting her situation and place of residence, conjuring him only that
she might not be placed under the guardianship or restraint of Varney.
The letter dropped from Leicester's hand when he had perused it. "Take
my sword," he said, "Tressilian, and pierce my heart, as I would but now
have pierced yours!"

"My lord," said Tressilian, "you have done me great wrong, but something
within my breast ever whispered that it was by egregious error."

"Error, indeed!" said Leicester, and handed him the letter; "I have been
made to believe a man of honour a villain, and the best and purest of
creatures a false profligate.--Wretched boy, why comes this letter now,
and where has the bearer lingered?"

"I dare not tell you, my lord," said the boy, withdrawing, as if to keep
beyond his reach; "but here comes one who was the messenger."

Wayland at the same moment came up; and interrogated by Leicester,
hastily detailed all the circumstances of his escape with Amy, the fatal
practices which had driven her to flight, and her anxious desire to
throw herself under the instant protection of her husband--pointing
out the evidence of the domestics of Kenilworth, "who could not," he
observed, "but remember her eager inquiries after the Earl of Leicester
on her first arrival."

"The villains!" exclaimed Leicester; "but oh, that worst of villains,
Varney!--and she is even now in his power!"

"But not, I trust in God," said Tressilian, "with any commands of fatal
import?"

"No, no, no!" exclaimed the Earl hastily. "I said something in madness;
but it was recalled, fully recalled, by a hasty messenger, and she is
now--she must now be safe."

"Yes," said Tressilian, "she MUST be safe, and I MUST be assured of her
safety. My own quarrel with you is ended, my lord; but there is another
to begin with the seducer of Amy Robsart, who has screened his guilt
under the cloak of the infamous Varney."

"The SEDUCER of Amy!" replied Leicester, with a voice like thunder; "say
her husband!--her misguided, blinded, most unworthy husband! She is
as surely Countess of Leicester as I am belted Earl. Nor can you, sir,
point out that manner of justice which I will not render her at my own
free will. I need scarce say I fear not your compulsion."

The generous nature of Tressilian was instantly turned from
consideration of anything personal to himself, and centred at once
upon Amy's welfare. He had by no means undoubting confidence in the
fluctuating resolutions of Leicester, whose mind seemed to him agitated
beyond the government of calm reason; neither did he, notwithstanding
the assurances he had received, think Amy safe in the hands of his
dependants. "My lord," he said calmly, "I mean you no offence, and am
far from seeking a quarrel. But my duty to Sir Hugh Robsart compels me
to carry this matter instantly to the Queen, that the Countess's rank
may be acknowledged in her person."

"You shall not need, sir," replied the Earl haughtily; "do not dare
to interfere. No voice but Dudley's shall proclaim Dudley's infamy. To
Elizabeth herself will I tell it; and then for Cumnor Place with the
speed of life and death!"

So saying, he unbound his horse from the tree, threw himself into the
saddle, and rode at full gallop towards the Castle.

"Take me before you, Master Tressilian," said the boy, seeing Tressilian
mount in the same haste; "my tale is not all told out, and I need your
protection."

Tressilian complied, and followed the Earl, though at a less furious
rate. By the way the boy confessed, with much contrition, that in
resentment at Wayland's evading all his inquiries concerning the lady,
after Dickon conceived he had in various ways merited his confidence,
he had purloined from him in revenge the letter with which Amy had
entrusted him for the Earl of Leicester. His purpose was to have
restored it to him that evening, as he reckoned himself sure of meeting
with him, in consequence of Wayland's having to perform the part of
Arion in the pageant. He was indeed something alarmed when he saw to
whom the letter was addressed; but he argued that, as Leicester did
not return to Kenilworth until that evening, it would be again in the
possession of the proper messenger as soon as, in the nature of things,
it could possibly be delivered. But Wayland came not to the pageant,
having been in the interim expelled by Lambourne from the Castle; and
the boy, not being able to find him, or to get speech of Tressilian, and
finding himself in possession of a letter addressed to no less a person
than the Earl of Leicester, became much afraid of the consequences
of his frolic. The caution, and indeed the alarm, which Wayland had
expressed respecting Varney and Lambourne, led him to judge that the
letter must be designed for the Earl's own hand, and that he might
prejudice the lady by giving it to any of the domestics. He made an
attempt or two to obtain an audience of Leicester; but the singularity
of his features and the meanness of his appearance occasioned his being
always repulsed by the insolent menials whom he applied to for that
purpose. Once, indeed, he had nearly succeeded, when, in prowling
about, he found in the grotto the casket, which he knew to belong to the
unlucky Countess, having seen it on her journey; for nothing escaped his
prying eye. Having striven in vain to restore it either to Tressilian
or the Countess, he put it into the hands, as we have seen, of Leicester
himself, but unfortunately he did not recognize him in his disguise.

At length the boy thought he was on the point of succeeding when the
Earl came down to the lower part of the hall; but just as he was about
to accost him, he was prevented by Tressilian. As sharp in ear as in
wit, the boy heard the appointment settled betwixt them, to take place
in the Pleasance, and resolved to add a third to the party, in hope
that, either in coming or returning, he might find an opportunity of
delivering the letter to Leicester; for strange stories began to flit
among the domestics, which alarmed him for the lady's safety. Accident,
however, detained Dickon a little behind the Earl, and as he reached
the arcade he saw them engaged in combat; in consequence of which he
hastened to alarm the guard, having little doubt that what bloodshed
took place betwixt them might arise out of his own frolic. Continuing to
lurk in the portico, he heard the second appointment which Leicester at
parting assigned to Tressilian; and was keeping them in view during
the encounter of the Coventry men, when, to his surprise, he recognized
Wayland in the crowd, much disguised, indeed, but not sufficiently so to
escape the prying glance of his old comrade. They drew aside out of the
crowd to explain their situation to each other. The boy confessed to
Wayland what we have above told; and the artist, in return, informed him
that his deep anxiety for the fate of the unfortunate lady had brought
him back to the neighbourhood of the Castle, upon his learning
that morning, at a village about ten miles distant, that Varney
and Lambourne, whose violence he dreaded, had both left Kenilworth
over-night.

While they spoke, they saw Leicester and Tressilian separate themselves
from the crowd, dogged them until they mounted their horses, when the
boy, whose speed of foot has been before mentioned, though he could not
possibly keep up with them, yet arrived, as we have seen, soon enough
to save Tressilian's life. The boy had just finished his tale when they
arrived at the Gallery-tower.



CHAPTER XL.

     High o'er the eastern steep the sun is beaming,
     And darkness flies with her deceitful shadows;--
     So truth prevails o'er falsehood.   --OLD PLAY.

As Tressilian rode along the bridge, lately the scene of so much riotous
sport, he could not but observe that men's countenances had singularly
changed during the space of his brief absence. The mock fight was over,
but the men, still habited in their masking suits, stood together in
groups, like the inhabitants of a city who have been just startled by
some strange and alarming news.

When he reached the base-court, appearances were the same--domestics,
retainers, and under-officers stood together and whispered, bending
their eyes towards the windows of the Great Hall, with looks which
seemed at once alarmed and mysterious.

Sir Nicholas Blount was the first person of his own particular
acquaintance Tressilian saw, who left him no time to make inquiries, but
greeted him with, "God help thy heart, Tressilian! thou art fitter for a
clown than a courtier thou canst not attend, as becomes one who follows
her Majesty. Here you are called for, wished for, waited for--no man but
you will serve the turn; and hither you come with a misbegotten brat on
thy horse's neck, as if thou wert dry nurse to some sucking devil, and
wert just returned from airing."

"Why, what is the matter?" said Tressilian, letting go the boy, who
sprung to ground like a feather, and himself dismounting at the same
time.

"Why, no one knows the matter," replied Blount; "I cannot smell it out
myself, though I have a nose like other courtiers. Only, my Lord of
Leicester has galloped along the bridge as if he would have rode over
all in his passage, demanded an audience of the Queen, and is closeted
even now with her, and Burleigh and Walsingham--and you are called for;
but whether the matter be treason or worse, no one knows."

"He speaks true, by Heaven!" said Raleigh, who that instant appeared;
"you must immediately to the Queen's presence."

"Be not rash, Raleigh," said Blount, "remember his boots.--For Heaven's
sake, go to my chamber, dear Tressilian, and don my new bloom-coloured
silken hose; I have worn them but twice."

"Pshaw!" answered Tressilian; "do thou take care of this boy, Blount; be
kind to him, and look he escapes you not--much depends on him."

So saying, he followed Raleigh hastily, leaving honest Blount with the
bridle of his horse in one hand, and the boy in the other. Blount gave a
long look after him.

"Nobody," he said, "calls me to these mysteries--and he leaves me here
to play horse-keeper and child-keeper at once. I could excuse the one,
for I love a good horse naturally; but to be plagued with a bratchet
whelp.--Whence come ye, my fair-favoured little gossip?"

"From the Fens," answered the boy.

"And what didst thou learn there, forward imp?"

"To catch gulls, with their webbed feet and yellow stockings," said the
boy.

"Umph!" said Blount, looking down on his own immense roses. "Nay, then,
the devil take him asks thee more questions."

Meantime Tressilian traversed the full length of the Great Hall,
in which the astonished courtiers formed various groups, and were
whispering mysteriously together, while all kept their eyes fixed on
the door which led from the upper end of the hall into the Queen's
withdrawing apartment. Raleigh pointed to the door. Tressilian knocked,
and was instantly admitted. Many a neck was stretched to gain a view
into the interior of the apartment; but the tapestry which covered
the door on the inside was dropped too suddenly to admit the slightest
gratification of curiosity.

Upon entrance, Tressilian found himself, not without a strong
palpitation of heart, in the presence of Elizabeth, who was walking to
and fro in a violent agitation, which she seemed to scorn to conceal,
while two or three of her most sage and confidential counsellors
exchanged anxious looks with each other, but delayed speaking till her
wrath abated. Before the empty chair of state in which she had been
seated, and which was half pushed aside by the violence with which she
had started from it, knelt Leicester, his arms crossed, and his
brows bent on the ground, still and motionless as the effigies upon a
sepulchre. Beside him stood the Lord Shrewsbury, then Earl Marshal of
England, holding his baton of office. The Earl's sword was unbuckled,
and lay before him on the floor.

"Ho, sir!" said the Queen, coming close up to Tressilian, and stamping
on the floor with the action and manner of Henry himself; "you knew of
this fair work--you are an accomplice in this deception which has been
practised on us--you have been a main cause of our doing injustice?"
Tressilian dropped on his knee before the Queen, his good sense showing
him the risk of attempting any defence at that moment of irritation.
"Art dumb, sirrah?" she continued; "thou knowest of this affair dost
thou not?"

"Not, gracious madam, that this poor lady was Countess of Leicester."

"Nor shall any one know her for such," said Elizabeth. "Death of my
life! Countess of Leicester!--I say Dame Amy Dudley; and well if she
have not cause to write herself widow of the traitor Robert Dudley."

"Madam," said Leicester, "do with me what it may be your will to do, but
work no injury on this gentleman; he hath in no way deserved it."

"And will he be the better for thy intercession," said the Queen,
leaving Tressilian, who slowly arose, and rushing to Leicester, who
continued kneeling--"the better for thy intercession, thou doubly
false--thou doubly forsworn;--of thy intercession, whose villainy hath
made me ridiculous to my subjects and odious to myself? I could tear out
mine eyes for their blindness!"

Burleigh here ventured to interpose.

"Madam," he said, "remember that you are a Queen--Queen of
England--mother of your people. Give not way to this wild storm of
passion."

Elizabeth turned round to him, while a tear actually twinkled in her
proud and angry eye. "Burleigh," she said, "thou art a statesman--thou
dost not, thou canst not, comprehend half the scorn, half the misery,
that man has poured on me!"

With the utmost caution--with the deepest reverence--Burleigh took her
hand at the moment he saw her heart was at the fullest, and led her
aside to an oriel window, apart from the others.

"Madam," he said, "I am a statesman, but I am also a man--a man already
grown old in your councils--who have not and cannot have a wish on earth
but your glory and happiness; I pray you to be composed."

"Ah! Burleigh," said Elizabeth, "thou little knowest--" here her tears
fell over her cheeks in despite of her.

"I do--I do know, my honoured sovereign. Oh, beware that you lead not
others to guess that which they know not!"

"Ha!" said Elizabeth, pausing as if a new train of thought had
suddenly shot across her brain. "Burleigh, thou art right--thou
art right--anything but disgrace--anything but a confession of
weakness--anything rather than seem the cheated, slighted--'sdeath! to
think on it is distraction!"

"Be but yourself, my Queen," said Burleigh; "and soar far above a
weakness which no Englishman will ever believe his Elizabeth could have
entertained, unless the violence of her disappointment carries a sad
conviction to his bosom."

"What weakness, my lord?" said Elizabeth haughtily; "would you too
insinuate that the favour in which I held yonder proud traitor derived
its source from aught--" But here she could no longer sustain the proud
tone which she had assumed, and again softened as she said, "But why
should I strive to deceive even thee, my good and wise servant?"

Burleigh stooped to kiss her hand with affection, and--rare in the
annals of courts--a tear of true sympathy dropped from the eye of the
minister on the hand of his Sovereign.

It is probable that the consciousness of possessing this sympathy aided
Elizabeth in supporting her mortification, and suppressing her extreme
resentment; but she was still more moved by fear that her passion should
betray to the public the affront and the disappointment, which, alike
as a woman and a Queen, she was so anxious to conceal. She turned from
Burleigh, and sternly paced the hall till her features had recovered
their usual dignity, and her mien its wonted stateliness of regular
motion.

"Our Sovereign is her noble self once more," whispered Burleigh to
Walsingham; "mark what she does, and take heed you thwart her not."

She then approached Leicester, and said with calmness, "My Lord
Shrewsbury, we discharge you of your prisoner.--My Lord of Leicester,
rise and take up your sword; a quarter of an hour's restraint under
the custody of our Marshal, my lord, is, we think, no high penance for
months of falsehood practised upon us. We will now hear the progress
of this affair." She then seated herself in her chair, and said, "You,
Tressilian, step forward, and say what you know."

Tressilian told his story generously, suppressing as much as he could
what affected Leicester, and saying nothing of their having twice
actually fought together. It is very probable that, in doing so, he did
the Earl good service; for had the Queen at that instant found anything
on account of which she could vent her wrath upon him, without laying
open sentiments of which she was ashamed, it might have fared hard with
him. She paused when Tressilian had finished his tale.

"We will take that Wayland," she said, "into our own service, and place
the boy in our Secretary office for instruction, that he may in future
use discretion towards letters. For you, Tressilian, you did wrong in
not communicating the whole truth to us, and your promise not to do so
was both imprudent and undutiful. Yet, having given your word to this
unhappy lady, it was the part of a man and a gentleman to keep it; and
on the whole, we esteem you for the character you have sustained in this
matter.--My Lord of Leicester, it is now your turn to tell us the truth,
an exercise to which you seem of late to have been too much a stranger."

Accordingly, she extorted, by successive questions, the whole history
of his first acquaintance with Amy Robsart--their marriage--his
jealousy--the causes on which it was founded, and many particulars
besides. Leicester's confession, for such it might be called, was
wrenched from him piecemeal, yet was upon the whole accurate, excepting
that he totally omitted to mention that he had, by implication or
otherwise, assented to Varney's designs upon the life of his Countess.
Yet the consciousness of this was what at that moment lay nearest to
his heart; and although he trusted in great measure to the very positive
counter-orders which he had sent by Lambourne, it was his purpose to set
out for Cumnor Place in person as soon as he should be dismissed from
the presence of the Queen, who, he concluded, would presently leave
Kenilworth.

But the Earl reckoned without his host. It is true his presence and his
communications were gall and wormwood to his once partial mistress.
But barred from every other and more direct mode of revenge, the Queen
perceived that she gave her false suitor torture by these inquiries,
and dwelt on them for that reason, no more regarding the pain which she
herself experienced, than the savage cares for the searing of his own
hands by grasping the hot pincers with which he tears the flesh of his
captive enemy.

At length, however, the haughty lord, like a deer that turns to bay,
gave intimation that his patience was failing. "Madam," he said, "I have
been much to blame--more than even your just resentment has expressed.
Yet, madam, let me say that my guilt, if it be unpardonable, was not
unprovoked, and that if beauty and condescending dignity could seduce
the frail heart of a human being, I might plead both as the causes of my
concealing this secret from your Majesty."

The Queen was so much struck with this reply, which Leicester took
care should be heard by no one but herself, that she was for the moment
silenced, and the Earl had the temerity to pursue his advantage. "Your
Grace, who has pardoned so much, will excuse my throwing myself on your
royal mercy for those expressions which were yester-morning accounted
but a light offence."

The Queen fixed her eyes on him while she replied, "Now, by Heaven, my
lord, thy effrontery passes the bounds of belief, as well as patience!
But it shall avail thee nothing.--What ho! my lords, come all and hear
the news-my Lord of Leicester's stolen marriage has cost me a husband,
and England a king. His lordship is patriarchal in his tastes--one wife
at a time was insufficient, and he designed US the honour of his left
hand. Now, is not this too insolent--that I could not grace him with
a few marks of court-favour, but he must presume to think my hand and
crown at his disposal? You, however, think better of me; and I can pity
this ambitious man, as I could a child, whose bubble of soap has burst
between his hands. We go to the presence-chamber.--My Lord of Leicester,
we command your close attendance on us."

All was eager expectation in the hall, and what was the universal
astonishment when the Queen said to those next her, "The revels of
Kenilworth are not yet exhausted, my lords and ladies--we are to
solemnize the noble owner's marriage."

There was an universal expression of surprise.

"It is true, on our royal word," said the Queen; "he hath kept this
a secret even from us, that he might surprise us with it at this very
place and time. I see you are dying of curiosity to know the happy
bride. It is Amy Robsart, the same who, to make up the May-game
yesterday, figured in the pageant as the wife of his servant Varney."

"For God's sake, madam," said the Earl, approaching her with a mixture
of humility, vexation, and shame in his countenance, and speaking so low
as to be heard by no one else, "take my head, as you threatened in your
anger, and spare me these taunts! Urge not a falling man--tread not on a
crushed worm."

"A worm, my lord?" said the Queen, in the same tone; "nay, a snake is
the nobler reptile, and the more exact similitude--the frozen snake you
wot of, which was warmed in a certain bosom--"

"For your own sake--for mine, madam," said the Earl--"while there is yet
some reason left in me--"

"Speak aloud, my lord," said Elizabeth, "and at farther distance, so
please you--your breath thaws our ruff. What have you to ask of us?"

"Permission," said the unfortunate Earl humbly, "to travel to Cumnor
Place."

"To fetch home your bride belike?--Why, ay--that is but right, for, as
we have heard, she is indifferently cared for there. But, my lord, you
go not in person; we have counted upon passing certain days in this
Castle of Kenilworth, and it were slight courtesy to leave us without a
landlord during our residence here. Under your favour, we cannot think
to incur such disgrace in the eyes of our subjects. Tressilian shall
go to Cumnor Place instead of you, and with him some gentleman who hath
been sworn of our chamber, lest my Lord of Leicester should be again
jealous of his old rival.--Whom wouldst thou have to be in commission
with thee, Tressilian?"

Tressilian, with humble deference, suggested the name of Raleigh.

"Why, ay," said the Queen; "so God ha' me, thou hast made a good choice.
He is a young knight besides, and to deliver a lady from prison is
an appropriate first adventure.--Cumnor Place is little better than a
prison, you are to know, my lords and ladies. Besides, there are certain
faitours there whom we would willingly have in safe keeping. You will
furnish them, Master Secretary, with the warrant necessary to secure the
bodies of Richard Varney and the foreign Alasco, dead or alive. Take
a sufficient force with you, gentlemen--bring the lady here in all
honour--lose no time, and God be with you!"

They bowed, and left the presence,

Who shall describe how the rest of that day was spent at Kenilworth?
The Queen, who seemed to have remained there for the sole purpose of
mortifying and taunting the Earl of Leicester, showed herself as skilful
in that female art of vengeance, as she was in the science of wisely
governing her people. The train of state soon caught the signal, and as
he walked among his own splendid preparations, the Lord of Kenilworth,
in his own Castle, already experienced the lot of a disgraced courtier,
in the slight regard and cold manners of alienated friends, and the
ill-concealed triumph of avowed and open enemies. Sussex, from his
natural military frankness of disposition, Burleigh and Walsingham, from
their penetrating and prospective sagacity, and some of the ladies, from
the compassion of their sex, were the only persons in the crowded court
who retained towards him the countenance they had borne in the morning.

So much had Leicester been accustomed to consider court favour as the
principal object of his life, that all other sensations were, for the
time, lost in the agony which his haughty spirit felt at the succession
of petty insults and studied neglects to which he had been subjected;
but when he retired to his own chamber for the night, that long,
fair tress of hair which had once secured Amy's letter fell under his
observation, and, with the influence of a counter-charm, awakened his
heart to nobler and more natural feelings. He kissed it a thousand
times; and while he recollected that he had it always in his power to
shun the mortifications which he had that day undergone, by retiring
into a dignified and even prince-like seclusion with the beautiful and
beloved partner of his future life, he felt that he could rise above the
revenge which Elizabeth had condescended to take.

Accordingly, on the following day the whole conduct of the Earl
displayed so much dignified equanimity--he seemed so solicitous about
the accommodations and amusements of his guests, yet so indifferent to
their personal demeanour towards him--so respectfully distant to the
Queen, yet so patient of her harassing displeasure--that Elizabeth
changed her manner to him, and, though cold and distant, ceased to offer
him any direct affront. She intimated also with some sharpness to others
around her, who thought they were consulting her pleasure in showing a
neglectful conduct to the Earl, that while they remained at Kenilworth
they ought to show the civility due from guests to the Lord of the
Castle. In short, matters were so far changed in twenty-four hours that
some of the more experienced and sagacious courtiers foresaw a strong
possibility of Leicester's restoration to favour, and regulated their
demeanour towards him, as those who might one day claim merit for not
having deserted him in adversity. It is time, however, to leave these
intrigues, and follow Tressilian and Raleigh on their journey.

The troop consisted of six persons; for, besides Wayland, they had
in company a royal pursuivant and two stout serving-men. All were
well-armed, and travelled as fast as it was possible with justice to
their horses, which had a long journey before them. They endeavoured
to procure some tidings as they rode along of Varney and his party, but
could hear none, as they had travelled in the dark. At a small village
about twelve miles from Kenilworth, where they gave some refreshment to
their horses, a poor clergyman, the curate of the place, came out of a
small cottage, and entreated any of the company who might know aught of
surgery to look in for an instant on a dying man.

The empiric Wayland undertook to do his best, and as the curate
conducted him to the spot, he learned that the man had been found on
the highroad, about a mile from the village, by labourers, as they were
going to their work on the preceding morning, and the curate had given
him shelter in his house. He had received a gun-shot wound, which seemed
to be obviously mortal; but whether in a brawl or from robbers they
could not learn, as he was in a fever, and spoke nothing connectedly.
Wayland entered the dark and lowly apartment, and no sooner had the
curate drawn aside the curtain than he knew, in the distorted features
of the patient, the countenance of Michael Lambourne. Under pretence
of seeking something which he wanted, Wayland hastily apprised
his fellow-travellers of this extraordinary circumstance; and both
Tressilian and Raleigh, full of boding apprehensions, hastened to the
curate's house to see the dying man.

The wretch was by this time in the agonies of death, from which a much
better surgeon than Wayland could not have rescued him, for the bullet
had passed clear through his body. He was sensible, however, at least in
part, for he knew Tressilian, and made signs that he wished him to stoop
over his bed. Tressilian did so, and after some inarticulate murmurs, in
which the names of Varney and Lady Leicester were alone distinguishable,
Lambourne bade him "make haste, or he would come too late." It was in
vain Tressilian urged the patient for further information; he seemed
to become in some degree delirious, and when he again made a signal to
attract Tressilian's attention, it was only for the purpose of desiring
him to inform his uncle, Giles Gosling of the Black Bear, that "he had
died without his shoes after all." A convulsion verified his words a few
minutes after, and the travellers derived nothing from having met with
him, saving the obscure fears concerning the fate of the Countess, which
his dying words were calculated to convey, and which induced them to
urge their journey with the utmost speed, pressing horses in the Queen's
name when those which they rode became unfit for service.



CHAPTER XLI.

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

We are now to return to that part of our story where we intimated that
Varney, possessed of the authority of the Earl of Leicester, and of
the Queen's permission to the same effect, hastened to secure himself
against discovery of his perfidy by removing the Countess from
Kenilworth Castle. He had proposed to set forth early in the morning;
but reflecting that the Earl might relent in the interim, and seek
another interview with the Countess, he resolved to prevent, by
immediate departure, all chance of what would probably have ended in his
detection and ruin. For this purpose he called for Lambourne, and was
exceedingly incensed to find that his trusty attendant was abroad on
some ramble in the neighbouring village, or elsewhere. As his return
was expected, Sir Richard commanded that he should prepare himself
for attending him on an immediate journey, and follow him in case he
returned after his departure.

In the meanwhile, Varney used the ministry of a servant called Robin
Tider, one to whom the mysteries of Cumnor Place were already in some
degree known, as he had been there more than once in attendance on the
Earl. To this man, whose character resembled that of Lambourne, though
he was neither quite so prompt nor altogether so profligate, Varney gave
command to have three horses saddled, and to prepare a horse-litter, and
have them in readiness at the postern gate. The natural enough excuse of
his lady's insanity, which was now universally believed, accounted for
the secrecy with which she was to be removed from the Castle, and he
reckoned on the same apology in case the unfortunate Amy's resistance or
screams should render such necessary. The agency of Anthony Foster was
indispensable, and that Varney now went to secure.

This person, naturally of a sour, unsocial disposition, and somewhat
tired, besides, with his journey from Cumnor to Warwickshire, in order
to bring the news of the Countess's escape, had early extricated himself
from the crowd of wassailers, and betaken himself to his chamber, where
he lay asleep, when Varney, completely equipped for travelling, and with
a dark lantern in his hand, entered his apartment. He paused an instant
to listen to what his associate was murmuring in his sleep, and could
plainly distinguish the words, "AVE MARIA--ORA PRO NOBIS. No, it runs
not so--deliver us from evil--ay, so it goes."

"Praying in his sleep," said Varney, "and confounding his old and
new devotions. He must have more need of prayer ere I am done with
him.--What ho! holy man, most blessed penitent!--awake--awake! The devil
has not discharged you from service yet."

As Varney at the same time shook the sleeper by the arm, it changed the
current of his ideas, and he roared out, "Thieves!--thieves! I will die
in defence of my gold--my hard-won gold--that has cost me so dear. Where
is Janet?--Is Janet safe?"

"Safe enough, thou bellowing fool!" said Varney; "art thou not ashamed
of thy clamour?"

Foster by this time was broad awake, and sitting up in his bed, asked
Varney the meaning of so untimely a visit. "It augurs nothing good," he
added.

"A false prophecy, most sainted Anthony," returned Varney; "it augurs
that the hour is come for converting thy leasehold into copyhold. What
sayest thou to that?"

"Hadst thou told me this in broad day," said Foster, "I had rejoiced;
but at this dead hour, and by this dim light, and looking on thy pale
face, which is a ghastly contradiction to thy light words, I cannot
but rather think of the work that is to be done, than the guerdon to be
gained by it."

"Why, thou fool, it is but to escort thy charge back to Cumnor Place."

"Is that indeed all?" said Foster; "thou lookest deadly pale, and thou
art not moved by trifles--is that indeed all?"

"Ay, that--and maybe a trifle more," said Varney.

"Ah, that trifle more!" said Foster; "still thou lookest paler and
paler."

"Heed not my countenance," said Varney; "you see it by this wretched
light. Up and be doing, man. Think of Cumnor Place--thine own proper
copyhold. Why, thou mayest found a weekly lectureship, besides endowing
Janet like a baron's daughter. Seventy pounds and odd."

"Seventy-nine pounds, five shillings and fivepence half-penny, besides
the value of the wood," said Foster; "and I am to have it all as
copyhold?"

"All, man--squirrels and all. No gipsy shall cut the value of a
broom--no boy so much as take a bird's nest--without paying thee a
quittance.--Ay, that is right--don thy matters as fast as possible;
horses and everything are ready, all save that accursed villain
Lambourne, who is out on some infernal gambol."

"Ay, Sir Richard," said Foster, "you would take no advice. I ever told
you that drunken profligate would fail you at need. Now I could have
helped you to a sober young man."

"What, some slow-spoken, long-breathed brother of the congregation? Why,
we shall have use for such also, man. Heaven be praised, we shall lack
labourers of every kind.--Ay, that is right--forget not your pistols.
Come now, and let us away."

"Whither?" said Anthony.

"To my lady's chamber; and, mind, she MUST along with us. Thou art not a
fellow to be startled by a shriek?"

"Not if Scripture reason can be rendered for it; and it is written,
'Wives obey your husbands.' But will my lord's commands bear us out if
we use violence?"

"Tush, man! here is his signet," answered Varney; and having thus
silenced the objections of his associate, they went together to Lord
Hunsdon's apartments, and acquainting the sentinel with their purpose,
as a matter sanctioned by the Queen and the Earl of Leicester, they
entered the chamber of the unfortunate Countess.

The horror of Amy may be conceived when, starting from a broken slumber,
she saw at her bedside Varney, the man on earth she most feared and
hated. It was even a consolation to see that he was not alone, though
she had so much reason to dread his sullen companion.

"Madam," said Varney, "there is no time for ceremony. My Lord of
Leicester, having fully considered the exigencies of the time, sends you
his orders immediately to accompany us on our return to Cumnor Place.
See, here is his signet, in token of his instant and pressing commands."