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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



CHAPTER V.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



CHAPTER VI.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Indeed, madam?" said Varney.

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

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

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

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

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