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Kenilworth

by Walter Scott

January, 1999 [Etext #1606]

***The Project Gutenberg Etext of Kenilworth, by Walter Scott***

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KENILWORTH.

by Sir Walter Scott, Bart.

Note: Footnotes and references to the notes at the end of the

printed book have been inserted in the etext in square

brackets ("[]") close to the place where they were

indicated by a suffix in the original text. The notes

at the end are now numbered instead of using pages to

identify them as was done in the printed text.

Text in italics has been written in capital letters.

INTRODUCTION

A certain degree of success, real or supposed, in the delineation

of Queen Mary, naturally induced the author to attempt something

similar respecting "her sister and her foe," the celebrated

Elizabeth. He will not, however, pretend to have approached the

task with the same feelings; for the candid Robertson himself

confesses having felt the prejudices with which a Scottishman is

tempted to regard the subject; and what so liberal a historian

avows, a poor romance-writer dares not disown. But he hopes the

influence of a prejudice, almost as natural to him as his native

air, will not be found to have greatly affected the sketch he has

attempted of England's Elizabeth. I have endeavoured to describe

her as at once a high-minded sovereign, and a female of

passionate feelings, hesitating betwixt the sense of her rank and

the duty she owed her subjects on the one hand, and on the other

her attachment to a nobleman, who, in external qualifications at

least, amply merited her favour. The interest of the story is

thrown upon that period when the sudden death of the first

Countess of Leicester seemed to open to the ambition of her

husband the opportunity of sharing the crown of his sovereign.

It is possible that slander, which very seldom favours the

memories of persons in exalted stations, may have blackened the

character of Leicester with darker shades than really belonged to

it. But the almost general voice of the times attached the most

foul suspicions to the death of the unfortunate Countess, more

especially as it took place so very opportunely for the

indulgence of her lover's ambition. If we can trust Ashmole's

Antiquities of Berkshire, there was but too much ground for the

traditions which charge Leicester with the murder of his wife.

In the following extract of the passage, the reader will find the

authority I had for the story of the romance:--

"At the west end of the church are the ruins of a manor,

anciently belonging (as a cell, or place of removal, as some

report) to the monks of Abington. At the Dissolution, the said

manor, or lordship, was conveyed to one -- Owen (I believe), the

possessor of Godstow then.

"In the hall, over the chimney, I find Abington arms cut in

stone--namely, a patonee between four martletts; and also another

escutcheon--namely, a lion rampant, and several mitres cut in

stone about the house. There is also in the said house a chamber

called Dudley's chamber, where the Earl of Leicester's wife was

murdered, of which this is the story following:--

"Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, a very goodly personage, and

singularly well featured, being a great favourite to Queen

Elizabeth, it was thought, and commonly reported, that had he

been a bachelor or widower, the Queen would have made him her

husband; to this end, to free himself of all obstacles, he

commands, or perhaps, with fair flattering entreaties, desires

his wife to repose herself here at his servant Anthony Forster's

house, who then lived in the aforesaid manor-house; and also

prescribes to Sir Richard Varney (a prompter to this design), at

his coming hither, that he should first attempt to poison her,

and if that did not take effect, then by any other way whatsoever

to dispatch her. This, it seems, was proved by the report of Dr.

Walter Bayly, sometime fellow of New College, then living in

Oxford, and professor of physic in that university; whom, because

he would not consent to take away her life by poison, the Earl

endeavoured to displace him the court. This man, it seems,

reported for most certain that there was a practice in Cumnor

among the conspirators, to have poisoned this poor innocent lady,

a little before she was killed, which was attempted after this

manner:--They seeing the good lady sad and heavy (as one that

well knew, by her other handling, that her death was not far

off), began to persuade her that her present disease was

abundance of melancholy and other humours, etc., and therefore

would needs counsel her to take some potion, which she absolutely

refusing to do, as still suspecting the worst; whereupon they

sent a messenger on a day (unawares to her) for Dr. Bayly, and

entreated him to persuade her to take some little potion by his

direction, and they would fetch the same at Oxford; meaning to

have added something of their own for her comfort, as the doctor

upon just cause and consideration did suspect, seeing their great

importunity, and the small need the lady had of physic, and

therefore he peremptorily denied their request; misdoubting (as

he afterwards reported) lest, if they had poisoned her under the

name of his potion, he might after have been hanged for a colour

of their sin, and the doctor remained still well assured that

this way taking no effect, she would not long escape their

violence, which afterwards happened thus. For Sir Richard Varney

abovesaid (the chief projector in this design), who, by the

Earl's order, remained that day of her death alone with her, with

one man only and Forster, who had that day forcibly sent away all

her servants from her to Abington market, about three miles

distant from this place; they (I say, whether first stifling her,

or else strangling her) afterwards flung her down a pair of

stairs and broke her neck, using much violence upon her; but,

however, though it was vulgarly reported that she by chance fell

downstairs (but still without hurting her hood that was upon her

head), yet the inhabitants will tell you there that she was

conveyed from her usual chamber where she lay, to another where

the bed's head of the chamber stood close to a privy postern

door, where they in the night came and stifled her in her bed,

bruised her head very much broke her neck, and at length flung

her down stairs, thereby believing the world would have thought

it a mischance, and so have blinded their villainy. But behold

the mercy and justice of God in revenging and discovering this

lady's murder; for one of the persons that was a coadjutor in

this murder was afterwards taken for a felony in the marches of

Wales, and offering to publish the manner of the aforesaid

murder, was privately made away in the prison by the Earl's

appointment; and Sir Richard Varney the other, dying about the

same time in London, cried miserably, and blasphemed God, and

said to a person of note (who hath related the same to others

since), not long before his death, that all the devils in hell

did tear him in pieces. Forster, likewise, after this fact,

being a man formerly addicted to hospitality, company, mirth, and

music, was afterwards observed to forsake all this, and with much

melancholy and pensiveness (some say with madness) pined and

drooped away. The wife also of Bald Butter, kinsman to the Earl,

gave out the whole fact a little before her death. Neither are

these following passages to be forgotten, that as soon as ever

she was murdered, they made great haste to bury her before the

coroner had given in his inquest (which the Earl himself

condemned as not done advisedly), which her father, or Sir John

Robertsett (as I suppose), hearing of, came with all speed

hither, caused her corpse to be taken up, the coroner to sit upon

her, and further inquiry to be made concerning this business to

the full; but it was generally thought that the Earl stopped his

mouth, and made up the business betwixt them; and the good Earl,

to make plain to the world the great love he bare to her while

alive, and what a grief the loss of so virtuous a lady was to his

tender heart, caused (though the thing, by these and other means,

was beaten into the heads of the principal men of the University

of Oxford) her body to be reburied in St, Mary's Church in

Oxford, with great pomp and solemnity. It is remarkable, when

Dr. Babington, the Earl's chaplain, did preach the funeral

sermon, he tript once or twice in his speech, by recommending to

their memories that virtuous lady so pitifully murdered, instead

of saying pitifully slain. This Earl, after all his murders and

poisonings, was himself poisoned by that which was prepared for

others (some say by his wife at Cornbury Lodge before mentioned),

though Baker in his Chronicle would have it at Killingworth; anno

1588." [Ashmole's Antiquities of Berkshire, vol.i., p.149. The

tradition as to Leicester's death was thus communicated by Ben

Jonson to Drummond of Hawthornden:--"The Earl of Leicester gave

a bottle of liquor to his Lady, which he willed her to use in any

faintness, which she, after his returne from court, not knowing

it was poison, gave him, and so he died."--BEN JONSON'S

INFORMATION TO DRUMMOND OF HAWTHORNDEN, MS., SIR ROBERT SIBBALD'S

COPY.]

The same accusation has been adopted and circulated by the author

of Leicester's Commonwealth, a satire written directly against

the Earl of Leicester, which loaded him with the most horrid

crimes, and, among the rest, with the murder of his first wife.

It was alluded to in the Yorkshire Tragedy, a play erroneously

ascribed to Shakespeare, where a baker, who determines to destroy

all his family, throws his wife downstairs, with this allusion to

the supposed murder of Leicester's lady,--

"The only way to charm a woman's tongue

Is, break her neck--a politician did it."

The reader will find I have borrowed several incidents as well as

names from Ashmole, and the more early authorities; but my first

acquaintance with the history was through the more pleasing

medium of verse. There is a period in youth when the mere power

of numbers has a more strong effect on ear and imagination than

in more advanced life. At this season of immature taste, the

author was greatly delighted with the poems of Mickle and

Langhorne, poets who, though by no means deficient in the higher

branches of their art, were eminent for their powers of verbal

melody above most who have practised this department of poetry.

One of those pieces of Mickle, which the author was particularly

pleased with, is a ballad, or rather a species of elegy, on the

subject of Cumnor Hall, which, with others by the same author,

was to be found in Evans's Ancient Ballads (vol. iv., page 130),

to which work Mickle made liberal contributions. The first

stanza especially had a peculiar species of enchantment for the

youthful ear of the author, the force of which is not even now

entirely spent; some others are sufficiently prosaic.

CUMNOR HALL.

The dews of summer night did fall;

The moon, sweet regent of the sky,

Silver'd the walls of Cumnor Hall,

And many an oak that grew thereby,

Now nought was heard beneath the skies,

The sounds of busy life were still,

Save an unhappy lady's sighs,

That issued from that lonely pile.

"Leicester," she cried, "is this thy love

That thou so oft hast sworn to me,

To leave me in this lonely grove,

Immured in shameful privity?

"No more thou com'st with lover's speed,

Thy once beloved bride to see;

But be she alive, or be she dead,

I fear, stern Earl, 's the same to thee.

"Not so the usage I received

When happy in my father's hall;

No faithless husband then me grieved,

No chilling fears did me appal.

"I rose up with the cheerful morn,

No lark more blithe, no flower more gay;

And like the bird that haunts the thorn,

So merrily sung the livelong day.

"If that my beauty is but small,

Among court ladies all despised,

Why didst thou rend it from that hall,

Where, scornful Earl, it well was prized?

"And when you first to me made suit,

How fair I was you oft would say!

And proud of conquest, pluck'd the fruit,

Then left the blossom to decay.

"Yes! now neglected and despised,

The rose is pale, the lily's dead;

But he that once their charms so prized,

Is sure the cause those charms are fled.

"For know, when sick'ning grief doth prey,

And tender love's repaid with scorn,

The sweetest beauty will decay,--

What floweret can endure the storm?

"At court, I'm told, is beauty's throne,

Where every lady's passing rare,

That Eastern flowers, that shame the sun,

Are not so glowing, not so fair.

"Then, Earl, why didst thou leave the beds

Where roses and where lilies vie,

To seek a primrose, whose pale shades

Must sicken when those gauds are by?

"'Mong rural beauties I was one,

Among the fields wild flowers are fair;

Some country swain might me have won,

And thought my beauty passing rare.

"But, Leicester (or I much am wrong),

Or 'tis not beauty lures thy vows;

Rather ambition's gilded crown

Makes thee forget thy humble spouse.

"Then, Leicester, why, again I plead

(The injured surely may repine)--

Why didst thou wed a country maid,

When some fair princess might be thine?

"Why didst thou praise my hum'ble charms,

And, oh! then leave them to decay?

Why didst thou win me to thy arms,

Then leave to mourn the livelong day?

"The village maidens of the plain

Salute me lowly as they go;

Envious they mark my silken train,

Nor think a Countess can have woe.

"The simple nymphs! they little know

How far more happy's their estate;

To smile for joy, than sigh for woe--

To be content, than to be great.

"How far less blest am I than them?

Daily to pine and waste with care!

Like the poor plant that, from its stem

Divided, feels the chilling air.

"Nor, cruel Earl! can I enjoy

The humble charms of solitude;

Your minions proud my peace destroy,

By sullen frowns or pratings rude.

"Last night, as sad I chanced to stray,

The village death-bell smote my ear;

They wink'd aside, and seemed to say,

'Countess, prepare, thy end is near!'

"And now, while happy peasants sleep,

Here I sit lonely and forlorn;

No one to soothe me as I weep,

Save Philomel on yonder thorn.

"My spirits flag--my hopes decay--

Still that dread death-bell smites my ear;

And many a boding seems to say,

'Countess, prepare, thy end is near!'"

Thus sore and sad that lady grieved,

In Cumnor Hall, so lone and drear;

And many a heartfelt sigh she heaved,

And let fall many a bitter tear.

And ere the dawn of day appear'd,

In Cumnor Hall, so lone and drear,

Full many a piercing scream was heard,

And many a cry of mortal fear.

The death-bell thrice was heard to ring,

An aerial voice was heard to call,

And thrice the raven flapp'd its wing

Around the towers of Cumnor Hall.

The mastiff howl'd at village door,

The oaks were shatter'd on the green;

Woe was the hour--for never more

That hapless Countess e'er was seen!

And in that Manor now no more

Is cheerful feast and sprightly ball;

For ever since that dreary hour

Have spirits haunted Cumnor Hall.

The village maids, with fearful glance,

Avoid the ancient moss-grown wall;

Nor ever lead the merry dance,

Among the groves of Cumnor Hall.

Full many a traveller oft hath sigh'd,

And pensive wept the Countess' fall,

As wand'ring onward they've espied

The haunted towers of Cumnor Hall.

ARBOTSFORD,

1st March 1831.

KENILWORTH

CHAPTER I.

I am an innkeeper, and know my grounds,

And study them; Brain o' man, I study them.

I must have jovial guests to drive my ploughs,

And whistling boys to bring my harvests home,

Or I shall hear no flails thwack. THE NEW INN.

It is the privilege of tale-tellers to open their story in an

inn, the free rendezvous of all travellers, and where the humour

of each displays itself without ceremony or restraint. This is

specially suitable when the scene is laid during the old days of

merry England, when the guests were in some sort not merely the

inmates, but the messmates and temporary companions of mine Host,

who was usually a personage of privileged freedom, comely

presence, and good-humour. Patronized by him the characters of

the company were placed in ready contrast; and they seldom

failed, during the emptying of a six-hooped pot, to throw off

reserve, and present themselves to each other, and to their

landlord, with the freedom of old acquaintance.

The village of Cumnor, within three or four miles of Oxford,

boasted, during the eighteenth of Queen Elizabeth, an excellent

inn of the old stamp, conducted, or rather ruled, by Giles

Gosling, a man of a goodly person, and of somewhat round belly;

fifty years of age and upwards, moderate in his reckonings,

prompt in his payments, having a cellar of sound liquor, a ready

wit, and a pretty daughter. Since the days of old Harry Baillie

of the Tabard in Southwark, no one had excelled Giles Gosling in

the power of pleasing his guests of every description; and so

great was his fame, that to have been in Cumnor without wetting a

cup at the bonny Black Bear, would have been to avouch one's-self

utterly indifferent to reputation as a traveller. A country

fellow might as well return from London without looking in the

face of majesty. The men of Cumnor were proud of their Host, and

their Host was proud of his house, his liquor, his daughter, and

himself.

It was in the courtyard of the inn which called this honest

fellow landlord, that a traveller alighted in the close of the

evening, gave his horse, which seemed to have made a long

journey, to the hostler, and made some inquiry, which produced

the following dialogue betwixt the myrmidons of the bonny Black

Bear.

"What, ho! John Tapster."

"At hand, Will Hostler," replied the man of the spigot, showing

himself in his costume of loose jacket, linen breeches, and green

apron, half within and half without a door, which appeared to

descend to an outer cellar.

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

hostler.

"Beshrew my heart else," answered the tapster, "since there are

but four miles betwixt us and Oxford. Marry, if my ale did not

convince the heads of the scholars, they would soon convince my

pate with the pewter flagon."

"Call you that Oxford logic?" said the stranger, who had now

quitted the rein of his horse, and was advancing towards the inn-

door, when he was encountered by the goodly form of Giles Gosling

himself.

"Is it logic you talk of, Sir Guest?" said the host; "why, then,

have at you with a downright consequence--

'The horse to the rack,

And to fire with the sack.'"

"Amen! with all my heart, my good host," said the stranger; "let

it be a quart of your best Canaries, and give me your good help

to drink it."

"Nay, you are but in your accidence yet, Sir Traveller, if you

call on your host for help for such a sipping matter as a quart

of sack; Were it a gallon, you might lack some neighbouring aid

at my hand, and yet call yourself a toper."

"Fear me not." said the guest, "I will do my devoir as becomes a

man who finds himself within five miles of Oxford; for I am not

come from the field of Mars to discredit myself amongst the

followers of Minerva."

As he spoke thus, the landlord, with much semblance of hearty

welcome, ushered his guest into a large, low chamber, where

several persons were seated together in different parties--some

drinking, some playing at cards, some conversing, and some, whose

business called them to be early risers on the morrow, concluding

their evening meal, and conferring with the chamberlain about

their night's quarters.

The entrance of a stranger procured him that general and careless

sort of attention which is usually paid on such occasions, from

which the following results were deduced:--The guest was one of

those who, with a well-made person, and features not in

themselves unpleasing, are nevertheless so far from handsome

that, whether from the expression of their features, or the tone

of their voice, or from their gait and manner, there arises, on

the whole, a disinclination to their society. The stranger's

address was bold, without being frank, and seemed eagerly and

hastily to claim for him a degree of attention and deference

which he feared would be refused, if not instantly vindicated as

his right. His attire was a riding-cloak, which, when open,

displayed a handsome jerkin overlaid with lace, and belted with a

buff girdle, which sustained a broadsword and a pair of pistols.

"You ride well provided, sir," said the host, looking at the

weapons as he placed on the table the mulled sack which the

traveller had ordered.

"Yes, mine host; I have found the use on't in dangerous times,

and I do not, like your modern grandees, turn off my followers

the instant they are useless."

"Ay, sir?" said Giles Gosling; "then you are from the Low

Countries, the land of pike and caliver?"

"I have been high and low, my friend, broad and wide, far and

near. But here is to thee in a cup of thy sack; fill thyself

another to pledge me, and, if it is less than superlative, e'en

drink as you have brewed."

"Less than superlative?" said Giles Gosling, drinking off the

cup, and smacking his lips with an air of ineffable relish,--"I

know nothing of superlative, nor is there such a wine at the

Three Cranes, in the Vintry, to my knowledge; but if you find

better sack than that in the Sheres, or in the Canaries either, I

would I may never touch either pot or penny more. Why, hold it

up betwixt you and the light, you shall see the little motes

dance in the golden liquor like dust in the sunbeam. But I would

rather draw wine for ten clowns than one traveller.--I trust your

honour likes the wine?"

"It is neat and comfortable, mine host; but to know good liquor,

you should drink where the vine grows. Trust me, your Spaniard

is too wise a man to send you the very soul of the grape. Why,

this now, which you account so choice, were counted but as a cup

of bastard at the Groyne, or at Port St. Mary's. You should

travel, mine host, if you would be deep in the mysteries of the

butt and pottle-pot."

"In troth, Signior Guest," said Giles Gosling, "if I were to

travel only that I might be discontented with that which I can

get at home, methinks I should go but on a fool's errand.

Besides, I warrant you, there is many a fool can turn his nose up

at good drink without ever having been out of the smoke of Old

England; and so ever gramercy mine own fireside."

"This is but a mean mind of yours, mine host," said the stranger;

"I warrant me, all your town's folk do not think so basely. You

have gallants among you, I dare undertake, that have made the

Virginia voyage, or taken a turn in the Low Countries at least.

Come, cudgel your memory. Have you no friends in foreign parts

that you would gladly have tidings of?"

"Troth, sir, not I," answered the host, "since ranting Robin of

Drysandford was shot at the siege of the Brill. The devil take

the caliver that fired the ball, for a blither lad never filled a

cup at midnight! But he is dead and gone, and I know not a

soldier, or a traveller, who is a soldier's mate, that I would

give a peeled codling for."

"By the Mass, that is strange. What! so many of our brave

English hearts are abroad, and you, who seem to be a man of mark,

have no friend, no kinsman among them?"

"Nay, if you speak of kinsmen," answered Gosling, "I have one

wild slip of a kinsman, who left us in the last year of Queen

Mary; but he is better lost than found."

"Do not say so, friend, unless you have heard ill of him lately.

Many a wild colt has turned out a noble steed.--His name, I pray

you?"

"Michael Lambourne," answered the landlord of the Black Bear; "a

son of my sister's--there is little pleasure in recollecting

either the name or the connection."

"Michael Lambourne!" said the stranger, as if endeavouring to

recollect himself--"what, no relation to Michael Lambourne, the

gallant cavalier who behaved so bravely at the siege of Venlo

that Grave Maurice thanked him at the head of the army? Men said

he was an English cavalier, and of no high extraction."

"It could scarcely be my nephew," said Giles Gosling, "for he had

not the courage of a hen-partridge for aught but mischief."

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

"It may be," said the landlord; "but I would have thought our

Mike more likely to lose the little he had."

"The Michael Lambourne whom I knew," continued the traveller,

"was a likely fellow--went always gay and well attired, and had a

hawk's eye after a pretty wench."

"Our Michael," replied the host, "had the look of a dog with a

bottle at its tail, and wore a coat, every rag of which was

bidding good-day to the rest."

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

"Our Mike," answered the landlord, "was more like to pick it up

in a frippery warehouse, while the broker was looking another

way; and, for the hawk's eye you talk of, his was always after my

stray spoons. He was tapster's boy here in this blessed house

for a quarter of a year; and between misreckonings, miscarriages,

mistakes, and misdemeanours, had he dwelt with me for three

months longer, I might have pulled down sign, shut up house, and

given the devil the key to keep."

"You would be sorry, after all," continued the traveller, "were I

to tell you poor Mike Lambourne was shot at the head of his

regiment at the taking of a sconce near Maestricht?"

"Sorry!--it would be the blithest news I ever heard of him, since

it would ensure me he was not hanged. But let him pass--I doubt

his end will never do such credit to his friends. Were it so, I

should say"--(taking another cup of sack)--"Here's God rest him,

with all my heart."

"Tush, man," replied the traveller, "never fear but you will have

credit by your nephew yet, especially if he be the Michael

Lambourne whom I knew, and loved very nearly, or altogether, as

well as myself. Can you tell me no mark by which I could judge

whether they be the same?"

"Faith, none that I can think of," answered Giles Gosling,

"unless that our Mike had the gallows branded on his left

shoulder for stealing a silver caudle-cup from Dame Snort of

Hogsditch."

"Nay, there you lie like a knave, uncle," said the stranger,

slipping aside his ruff; and turning down the sleeve of his

doublet from his neck and shoulder; "by this good day, my

shoulder is as unscarred as thine own.

"What, Mike, boy--Mike!" exclaimed the host;--"and is it thou,

in good earnest? Nay, I have judged so for this half-hour; for I

knew no other person would have ta'en half the interest in thee.

But, Mike, an thy shoulder be unscathed as thou sayest, thou must

own that Goodman Thong, the hangman, was merciful in his office,

and stamped thee with a cold iron."

"Tush, uncle--truce with your jests. Keep them to season your

sour ale, and let us see what hearty welcome thou wilt give a

kinsman who has rolled the world around for eighteen years; who

has seen the sun set where it rises, and has travelled till the

west has become the east."

"Thou hast brought back one traveller's gift with thee, Mike, as

I well see; and that was what thou least didst: need to travel

for. I remember well, among thine other qualities, there was no

crediting a word which came from thy mouth."

"Here's an unbelieving pagan for you, gentlemen!" said Michael

Lambourne, turning to those who witnessed this strange interview

betwixt uncle and nephew, some of whom, being natives of the

village, were no strangers to his juvenile wildness. "This may

be called slaying a Cumnor fatted calf for me with a vengeance.--

But, uncle, I come not from the husks and the swine-trough, and I

care not for thy welcome or no welcome; I carry that with me will

make me welcome, wend where I will."

So saying, he pulled out a purse of gold indifferently well

filled, the sight of which produced a visible effect upon the

company. Some shook their heads and whispered to each other,

while one or two of the less scrupulous speedily began to

recollect him as a school-companion, a townsman, or so forth. On

the other hand, two or three grave, sedate-looking persons shook

their heads, and left the inn, hinting that, if Giles Gosling

wished to continue to thrive, he should turn his thriftless,

godless nephew adrift again, as soon as he could. Gosling

demeaned himself as if he were much of the same opinion, for even

the sight of the gold made less impression on the honest

gentleman than it usually doth upon one of his calling.

"Kinsman Michael," he said, "put up thy purse. My sister's son

shall be called to no reckoning in my house for supper or

lodging; and I reckon thou wilt hardly wish to stay longer where

thou art e'en but too well known."

"For that matter, uncle," replied the traveller, "I shall consult

my own needs and conveniences. Meantime I wish to give the

supper and sleeping cup to those good townsmen who are not too

proud to remember Mike Lambourne, the tapster's boy. If you will

let me have entertainment for my money, so; if not, it is but a

short two minutes' walk to the Hare and Tabor, and I trust our

neighbours will not grudge going thus far with me."

"Nay, Mike," replied his uncle, "as eighteen years have gone over

thy head, and I trust thou art somewhat amended in thy

conditions, thou shalt not leave my house at this hour, and shalt

e'en have whatever in reason you list to call for. But I would I

knew that that purse of thine, which thou vapourest of, were as

well come by as it seems well filled."

"Here is an infidel for you, my good neighbours!" said

Lambourne, again appealing to the audience. "Here's a fellow

will rip up his kinsman's follies of a good score of years'

standing. And for the gold, why, sirs, I have been where it

grew, and was to be had for the gathering. In the New World have

I been, man--in the Eldorado, where urchins play at cherry-pit

with diamonds, and country wenches thread rubies for necklaces,

instead of rowan-tree berries; where the pantiles are made of

pure gold, and the paving-stones of virgin silver."

"By my credit, friend Mike," said young Laurence Goldthred, the

cutting mercer of Abingdon, "that were a likely coast to trade

to. And what may lawns, cypruses, and ribands fetch, where gold

is so plenty?"

"Oh, the profit were unutterable," replied Lambourne, "especially

when a handsome young merchant bears the pack himself; for the

ladies of that clime are bona-robas, and being themselves somewhat

sunburnt, they catch fire like tinder at a fresh complexion like

thine, with a head of hair inclining to be red."

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

"Why, and so thou mayest," said Michael--"that is, if thou art

the same brisk boy who was partner with me at robbing the Abbot's

orchard. 'Tis but a little touch of alchemy to decoct thy house

and land into ready money, and that ready money into a tall ship,

with sails, anchors, cordage, and all things conforming; then

clap thy warehouse of goods under hatches, put fifty good fellows

on deck, with myself to command them, and so hoist topsails, and

hey for the New World!"

"Thou hast taught him a secret, kinsman," said Giles Gosling, "to

decoct, an that be the word, his pound into a penny and his webs

into a thread.--Take a fool's advice, neighbour Goldthred. Tempt

not the sea, for she is a devourer. Let cards and cockatrices do

their worst, thy father's bales may bide a banging for a year or

two ere thou comest to the Spital; but the sea hath a bottomless

appetite,--she would swallow the wealth of Lombard Street in a

morning, as easily as I would a poached egg and a cup of clary.

And for my kinsman's Eldorado, never trust me if I do not believe

he has found it in the pouches of some such gulls as thyself.--

But take no snuff in the nose about it; fall to and welcome, for

here comes the supper, and I heartily bestow it on all that will

take share, in honour of my hopeful nephew's return, always

trusting that he has come home another man.--In faith, kinsman,

thou art as like my poor sister as ever was son to mother."

"Not quite so like old Benedict Lambourne, her husband, though,"

said the mercer, nodding and winking. "Dost thou remember, Mike,

what thou saidst when the schoolmaster's ferule was over thee for

striking up thy father's crutches?--it is a wise child, saidst

thou, that knows its own father. Dr. Bircham laughed till he

cried again, and his crying saved yours."

"Well, he made it up to me many a day after," said Lambourne;

"and how is the worthy pedagogue?"

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

"That he is," said the clerk of the parish; "I sat by his bed the

whilst. He passed away in a blessed frame. 'MORIOR--MORTUUS SUM

VEL FUI--MORI'--these were his latest words; and he just added,

'my last verb is conjugated."

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

"No, truly," replied Goldthred; "and every lash which he laid on

thee, he always was wont to say, he spared the hangman a labour."

"One would have thought he left him little to do then," said the

clerk; "and yet Goodman Thong had no sinecure of it with our

friend, after all."

"VOTO A DIOS!" exclaimed Lambourne, his patience appearing to

fail him, as he snatched his broad, slouched hat from the table

and placed it on his head, so that the shadow gave the sinister

expression of a Spanish brave to eyes and features which

naturally boded nothing pleasant. "Hark'ee, my masters--all is

fair among friends, and under the rose; and I have already

permitted my worthy uncle here, and all of you, to use your

pleasure with the frolics of my nonage. But I carry sword and

dagger, my good friends, and can use them lightly too upon

occasion. I have learned to be dangerous upon points of honour

ever since I served the Spaniard, and I would not have you

provoke me to the degree of falling foul."

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

"Ay, sir, what would you do?" said the mercer, bustling up on

the other side of the table.

"Slit your throat, and spoil your Sunday's quavering, Sir Clerk,"

said Lambourne fiercely; "cudgel you, my worshipful dealer in

flimsy sarsenets, into one of your own bales."

"Come, come," said the host, interposing, "I will have no

swaggering here.--Nephew, it will become you best to show no

haste to take offence; and you, gentlemen, will do well to

remember, that if you are in an inn, still you are the inn-

keeper's guests, and should spare the honour of his family.--I

protest your silly broils make me as oblivious as yourself; for

yonder sits my silent guest as I call him, who hath been my two

days' inmate, and hath never spoken a word, save to ask for his

food and his reckoning--gives no more trouble than a very

peasant--pays his shot like a prince royal--looks but at the sum

total of the reckoning, and does not know what day he shall go

away. Oh, 'tis a jewel of a guest! and yet, hang-dog that I am,

I have suffered him to sit by himself like a castaway in yonder

obscure nook, without so much as asking him to take bite or sup

along with us. It were but the right guerdon of my incivility

were he to set off to the Hare and Tabor before the night grows

older."

With his white napkin gracefully arranged over his left arm, his

velvet cap laid aside for the moment, and his best silver flagon

in his right hand, mine host walked up to the solitary guest whom

he mentioned, and thereby turned upon him the eyes of the

assembled company.

He was a man aged betwixt twenty-five and thirty, rather above

the middle size, dressed with plainness and decency, yet bearing

an air of ease which almost amounted to dignity, and which seemed

to infer that his habit was rather beneath his rank. His

countenance was reserved and thoughtful, with dark hair and dark

eyes; the last, upon any momentary excitement, sparkled with

uncommon lustre, but on other occasions had the same meditative

and tranquil cast which was exhibited by his features. The busy

curiosity of the little village had been employed to discover his

name and quality, as well as his business at Cumnor; but nothing

had transpired on either subject which could lead to its

gratification. Giles Gosling, head-borough of the place, and a

steady friend to Queen Elizabeth and the Protestant religion, was

at one time inclined to suspect his guest of being a Jesuit, or

seminary priest, of whom Rome and Spain sent at this time so many

to grace the gallows in England. But it was scarce possible to

retain such a prepossession against a guest who gave so little

trouble, paid his reckoning so regularly, and who proposed, as it

seemed, to make a considerable stay at the bonny Black Bear.

"Papists," argued Giles Gosling, "are a pinching, close-fisted

race, and this man would have found a lodging with the wealthy

squire at Bessellsey, or with the old Knight at Wootton, or in

some other of their Roman dens, instead of living in a house of

public entertainment, as every honest man and good Christian

should. Besides, on Friday he stuck by the salt beef and carrot,

though there were as good spitch-cocked eels on the board as ever

were ta'en out of the Isis."

Honest Giles, therefore, satisfied himself that his guest was no

Roman, and with all comely courtesy besought the stranger to

pledge him in a draught of the cool tankard, and honour with his

attention a small collation which he was giving to his nephew, in

honour of his return, and, as he verily hoped, of his

reformation. The stranger at first shook his head, as if

declining the courtesy; but mine host proceeded to urge him with

arguments founded on the credit of his house, and the

construction which the good people of Cumnor might put upon such

an unsocial humour.

"By my faith, sir," he said, "it touches my reputation that men

should be merry in my house; and we have ill tongues amongst us

at Cumnor (as where be there not?), who put an evil mark on men

who pull their hat over their brows, as if they were looking back

to the days that are gone, instead of enjoying the blithe

sunshiny weather which God has sent us in the sweet looks of our

sovereign mistress, Queen Elizabeth, whom Heaven long bless and

preserve!"

"Why, mine host," answered the stranger, "there is no treason,

sure, in a man's enjoying his own thoughts, under the shadow of

his own bonnet? You have lived in the world twice as long as I

have, and you must know there are thoughts that will haunt us in

spite of ourselves, and to which it is in vain to say, Begone,

and let me be merry."

"By my sooth," answered Giles Gosling, "if such troublesome

thoughts haunt your mind, and will not get them gone for plain

English, we will have one of Father Bacon's pupils from Oxford,

to conjure them away with logic and with Hebrew--or, what say you

to laying them in a glorious red sea of claret, my noble guest?

Come, sir, excuse my freedom. I am an old host, and must have my

talk. This peevish humour of melancholy sits ill upon you; it

suits not with a sleek boot, a hat of trim block, a fresh cloak,

and a full purse. A pize on it! send it off to those who have

their legs swathed with a hay-wisp, their heads thatched with a

felt bonnet, their jerkin as thin as a cobweb, and their pouch

without ever a cross to keep the fiend Melancholy from dancing in

it. Cheer up, sir! or, by this good liquor, we shall banish

thee from the joys of blithesome company, into the mists of

melancholy and the land of little-ease. Here be a set of good

fellows willing to be merry; do not scowl on them like the devil

looking over Lincoln."

"You say well, my worthy host," said the guest, with a melancholy

smile, which, melancholy as it was, gave a very pleasant:

expression to his countenance--"you say well, my jovial friend;

and they that are moody like myself should not disturb the mirth

of those who are happy. I will drink a round with your guests

with all my heart, rather than be termed a mar-feast."

So saying, he arose and joined the company, who, encouraged by

the precept and example of Michael Lambourne, and consisting

chiefly of persons much disposed to profit by the opportunity of

a merry meal at the expense of their landlord, had already made

some inroads upon the limits of temperance, as was evident from

the tone in which Michael inquired after his old acquaintances in

the town, and the bursts of laughter with which each answer was

received. Giles Gosling himself was somewhat scandalized at the

obstreperous nature of their mirth, especially as he

involuntarily felt some respect for his unknown guest. He

paused, therefore, at some distance from the table occupied by

these noisy revellers, and began to make a sort of apology for

their license.

"You would think," he said, "to hear these fellows talk, that

there was not one of them who had not been bred to live by Stand

and Deliver; and yet tomorrow you will find them a set of as

painstaking mechanics, and so forth, as ever cut an inch short of

measure, or paid a letter of change in light crowns over a

counter. The mercer there wears his hat awry, over a shaggy head

of hair, that looks like a curly water-dog's back, goes unbraced,

wears his cloak on one side, and affects a ruffianly vapouring

humour: when in his shop at Abingdon, he is, from his flat cap

to his glistening shoes, as precise in his apparel as if he was

named for mayor. He talks of breaking parks, and taking the

highway, in such fashion that you would think he haunted every

night betwixt Hounslow and London; when in fact he may be found

sound asleep on his feather-bed, with a candle placed beside him

on one side, and a Bible on the other, to fright away the

goblins."

"And your nephew, mine host, this same Michael Lambourne, who is

lord of the feast--is he, too, such a would-be ruffler as the

rest of them?"

"Why, there you push me hard," said the host; "my nephew is my

nephew, and though he was a desperate Dick of yore, yet Mike may

have mended like other folks, you wot. And I would not have you

think all I said of him, even now, was strict gospel; I knew the

wag all the while, and wished to pluck his plumes from him. And

now, sir, by what name shall I present my worshipful guest to

these gallants?"

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

Tressilian."

"Tressilian?" answered mine host of the Bear. "A worthy name,

and, as I think, of Cornish lineage; for what says the south

proverb--

'By Pol, Tre, and Pen,

You may know the Cornish men.'

Shall I say the worthy Master Tressilian of Cornwall?"

"Say no more than I have given you warrant for, mine host, and so

shall you be sure you speak no more than is true. A man may have

one of those honourable prefixes to his name, yet be born far

from Saint Michael's Mount."

Mine host pushed his curiosity no further, but presented Master

Tressilian to his nephew's company, who, after exchange of

salutations, and drinking to the health of their new companion,

pursued the conversation in which he found them engaged,

seasoning it with many an intervening pledge.

CHAPTER II.

Talk you of young Master Lancelot? MERCHANT OF VENICE.

After some brief interval, Master Goldthred, at the earnest

instigation of mine host, and the joyous concurrence of his

guest, indulged the company with, the following morsel of

melody:-

"Of all the birds on bush or tree,

Commend me to the owl,

Since he may best ensample be

To those the cup that trowl.

For when the sun hath left the west,

He chooses the tree that he loves the best,

And he whoops out his song, and he laughs at his jest;

Then, though hours be late and weather foul,

We'll drink to the health of the bonny, bonny owl.

"The lark is but a bumpkin fowl,

He sleeps in his nest till morn;

But my blessing upon the jolly owl,

That all night blows his horn.

Then up with your cup till you stagger in speech,

And match me this catch till you swagger and screech,

And drink till you wink, my merry men each;

For, though hours be late and weather be foul,

We'll drink to the health of the bonny, bonny owl."

"There is savour in this, my hearts," said Michael, when the

mercer had finished his song, "and some goodness seems left among

you yet; but what a bead-roll you have read me of old comrades,

and to every man's name tacked some ill-omened motto! And so

Swashing Will of Wallingford hath bid us good-night?"

"He died the death of a fat buck," said one of the party, "being

shot with a crossbow bolt, by old Thatcham, the Duke's stout

park-keeper at Donnington Castle."

"Ay, ay, he always loved venison well," replied Michael, "and a

cup of claret to boot--and so here's one to his memory. Do me

right, my masters."

When the memory of this departed worthy had been duly honoured,

Lambourne proceeded to inquire after Prance of Padworth.

"Pranced off--made immortal ten years since," said the mercer;

"marry, sir, Oxford Castle and Goodman Thong, and a tenpenny-

worth of cord, best know how."

"What, so they hung poor Prance high and dry? so much for loving

to walk by moonlight. A cup to his memory, my masters-all merry

fellows like moonlight. What has become of Hal with the Plume--

he who lived near Yattenden, and wore the long feather?--I

forget his name."

"What, Hal Hempseed?" replied the mercer. "Why, you may

remember he was a sort of a gentleman, and would meddle in state

matters, and so he got into the mire about the Duke of Norfolk's

affair these two or three years since, fled the country with a

pursuivant's warrant at his heels, and has never since been heard

of."

"Nay, after these baulks," said Michael Lambourne, "I need hardly

inquire after Tony Foster; for when ropes, and crossbow shafts,

and pursuivant's warrants, and such-like gear, were so rife, Tony

could hardly 'scape them."

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

"Why, him they called Tony Fire-the-Fagot, because he brought a

light to kindle the pile round Latimer and Ridley, when the wind

blew out Jack Thong's torch, and no man else would give him light

for love or money."

"Tony Foster lives and thrives," said the host. "But, kinsman, I

would not have you call him Tony Fire-the-Fagot, if you would

not brook the stab."

"How! is he grown ashamed on't?" said Lambourne, "Why, he was

wont to boast of it, and say he liked as well to see a roasted

heretic as a roasted ox."

"Ay, but, kinsman, that was in Mary's time," replied the

landlord, "when Tony's father was reeve here to the Abbot of

Abingdon. But since that, Tony married a pure precisian, and is

as good a Protestant, I warrant you, as the best."

"And looks grave, and holds his head high, and scorns his old

companions," said the mercer.

"Then he hath prospered, I warrant him," said Lambourne; "for

ever when a man hath got nobles of his own, he keeps out of the

way of those whose exchequers lie in other men's purchase."

"Prospered, quotha!" said the mercer; "why, you remember Cumnor

Place, the old mansion-house beside the churchyard?"

"By the same token, I robbed the orchard three times-- what of

that? It was the old abbot's residence when there was plague or

sickness at Abingdon."

"Ay," said the host, "but that has been long over; and Anthony

Foster hath a right in it, and lives there by some grant from a

great courtier, who had the church-lands from the crown. And

there he dwells, and has as little to do with any poor wight in

Cumnor, as if he were himself a belted knight."

"Nay," said the mercer, "it is not altogether pride in Tony

neither; there is a fair lady in the case, and Tony will scarce

let the light of day look on her."

"How!" said Tressilian, who now for the first time interfered in

their conversation; "did ye not say this Foster was married, and

to a precisian?"

"Married he was, and to as bitter a precisian as ever ate flesh

in Lent; and a cat-and-dog life she led with Tony, as men said.

But she is dead, rest be with her! and Tony hath but a slip of a

daughter; so it is thought he means to wed this stranger, that

men keep such a coil about."

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

Tressilian.

"Why, I wot not," answered the host, "except that men say she is

as beautiful as an angel, and no one knows whence she comes, and

every one wishes to know why she is kept so closely mewed up.

For my part, I never saw her--you have, I think, Master

Goldthred?"

"That I have, old boy," said the mercer. "Look you, I was riding

hither from Abingdon. I passed under the east oriel window of

the old mansion, where all the old saints and histories and such-

like are painted. It was not the common path I took, but one

through the Park; for the postern door was upon the latch, and I

thought I might take the privilege of an old comrade to ride

across through the trees, both for shading, as the day was

somewhat hot, and for avoiding of dust, because I had on my

peach-coloured doublet, pinked out with cloth of gold."

"Which garment," said Michael Lambourne, "thou wouldst willingly

make twinkle in the eyes of a fair dame. Ah! villain, thou wilt

never leave thy old tricks."

"Not so-not so," said the mercer, with a smirking laugh--"not

altogether so--but curiosity, thou knowest, and a strain of

compassion withal; for the poor young lady sees nothing from morn

to even but Tony Foster, with his scowling black brows, his

bull's head, and his bandy legs."

"And thou wouldst willingly show her a dapper body, in a silken

jerkin--a limb like a short-legged hen's, in a cordovan boot--

and a round, simpering, what-d'ye-lack sort of a countenance,

set off with a velvet bonnet, a Turkey feather, and a gilded

brooch? Ah! jolly mercer, they who have good wares are fond to

show them!--Come, gentles, let not the cup stand--here's to long

spurs, short boots, full bonnets, and empty skulls!"

"Nay, now, you are jealous of me, Mike," said Goldthred; "and yet

my luck was but what might have happened to thee, or any man."

"Marry confound thine impudence," retorted Lambourne; "thou

wouldst not compare thy pudding face, and sarsenet manners, to a

gentleman, and a soldier?"

"Nay, my good sir," said Tressilian, "let me beseech you will not

interrupt the gallant citizen; methinks he tells his tale so

well, I could hearken to him till midnight."

"It's more of your favour than of my desert," answered Master

Goldthred; "but since I give you pleasure, worthy Master

Tressilian, I shall proceed, maugre all the gibes and quips of

this valiant soldier, who, peradventure, hath had more cuffs than

crowns in the Low Countries. And so, sir, as I passed under the

great painted window, leaving my rein loose on my ambling

palfrey's neck, partly for mine ease, and partly that I might

have the more leisure to peer about, I hears me the lattice open;

and never credit me, sir, if there did not stand there the person

of as fair a woman as ever crossed mine eyes; and I think I have

looked on as many pretty wenches, and with as much judgment, as

other folks."

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

"Oh, sir," replied Master Goldthred, "I promise you, she was in

gentlewoman's attire--a very quaint and pleasing dress, that

might have served the Queen herself; for she had a forepart with

body and sleeves, of ginger-coloured satin, which, in my

judgment, must have cost by the yard some thirty shillings, lined

with murrey taffeta, and laid down and guarded with two broad

laces of gold and silver. And her hat, sir, was truly the best

fashioned thing that I have seen in these parts, being of tawny

taffeta, embroidered with scorpions of Venice gold, and having a

border garnished with gold fringe--I promise you, sir, an

absolute and all-surpassing device. Touching her skirts, they

were in the old pass-devant fashion."

"I did not ask you of her attire, sir," said Tressilian, who had

shown some impatience during this conversation, "but of her

complexion--the colour of her hair, her features."

"Touching her complexion," answered the mercer, "I am not so

special certain, but I marked that her fan had an ivory handle,

curiously inlaid. And then again, as to the colour of her hair,

why, I can warrant, be its hue what it might, that she wore above

it a net of green silk, parcel twisted with gold."

"A most mercer-like memory!" said Lambourne. "The gentleman

asks him of the lady's beauty, and he talks of her fine clothes!"

"I tell thee," said the mercer, somewhat disconcerted, "I had

little time to look at her; for just as I was about to give her

the good time of day, and for that purpose had puckered my

features with a smile--"

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

Lambourne.

"Up started of a sudden," continued Goldthred, without heeding

the interruption, "Tony Foster himself, with a cudgel in his

hand--"

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

his entertainer.

"That were more easily said than done," answered Goldthred

indignantly; "no, no--there was no breaking of heads. It's true,

he advanced his cudgel, and spoke of laying on, and asked why I

did not keep the public road, and such like; and I would have

knocked him over the pate handsomely for his pains, only for the

lady's presence, who might have swooned, for what I know."

"Now, out upon thee for a faint-spirited slave!" said Lambourne;

"what adventurous knight ever thought of the lady's terror, when

he went to thwack giant, dragon, or magician, in her presence,

and for her deliverance? But why talk to thee of dragons, who

would be driven back by a dragon-fly. There thou hast missed the

rarest opportunity!"

"Take it thyself, then, bully Mike," answered Goldthred. "Yonder

is the enchanted manor, and the dragon, and the lady, all at thy

service, if thou darest venture on them."

"Why, so I would for a quartern of sack," said the soldier --"or

stay: I am foully out of linen--wilt thou bet a piece of

Hollands against these five angels, that I go not up to the Hall

to-morrow and force Tony Foster to introduce me to his fair

guest?"

"I accept your wager," said the mercer; "and I think, though thou

hadst even the impudence of the devil, I shall gain on thee this

bout. Our landlord here shall hold stakes, and I will stake down

gold till I send the linen."

"I will hold stakes on no such matter," said Gosling. "Good now,

my kinsman, drink your wine in quiet, and let such ventures

alone. I promise you, Master Foster hath interest enough to lay

you up in lavender in the Castle at Oxford, or to get your legs

made acquainted with the town-stocks."

"That would be but renewing an old intimacy, for Mike's shins and

the town's wooden pinfold have been well known to each other ere

now," said the mercer; "but he shall not budge from his wager,

unless he means to pay forfeit."

"Forfeit?" said Lambourne; "I scorn it. I value Tony Foster's

wrath no more than a shelled pea-cod; and I will visit his

Lindabrides, by Saint George, be he willing or no!"

"I would gladly pay your halves of the risk, sir," said

Tressilian, "to be permitted to accompany you on the adventure."

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

"In nothing, sir," said Tressilian, "unless to mark the skill and

valour with which you conduct yourself. I am a traveller who

seeks for strange rencounters and uncommon passages, as the

knights of yore did after adventures and feats of arms."

"Nay, if it pleasures you to see a trout tickled," answered

Lambourne, "I care not how many witness my skill. And so here I

drink success to my enterprise; and he that will not pledge me on

his knees is a rascal, and I will cut his legs off by the

garters!"

The draught which Michael Lambourne took upon this occasion had

been preceded by so many others, that reason tottered on her

throne. He swore one or two incoherent oaths at the mercer, who

refused, reasonably enough, to pledge him to a sentiment which

inferred the loss of his own wager.

"Wilt thou chop logic with me," said Lambourne, "thou knave, with

no more brains than are in a skein of ravelled silk? By Heaven,

I will cut thee into fifty yards of galloon lace!"

But as he attempted to draw his sword for this doughty purpose,

Michael Lambourne was seized upon by the tapster and the

chamberlain, and conveyed to his own apartment, there to sleep

himself sober at his leisure.

The party then broke up, and the guests took their leave; much

more to the contentment of mine host than of some of the company,

who were unwilling to quit good liquor, when it was to be had for

free cost, so long as they were able to sit by it. They were,

however, compelled to remove; and go at length they did, leaving

Gosling and Tressilian in the empty apartment.

"By my faith," said the former, "I wonder where our great folks

find pleasure, when they spend their means in entertainments, and

in playing mine host without sending in a reckoning. It is what

I but rarely practise; and whenever I do, by Saint Julian, it

grieves me beyond measure. Each of these empty stoups now, which

my nephew and his drunken comrades have swilled off, should have

been a matter of profit to one in my line, and I must set them

down a dead loss. I cannot, for my heart, conceive the pleasure

of noise, and nonsense, and drunken freaks, and drunken quarrels,

and smut, and blasphemy, and so forth, when a man loses money

instead of gaining by it. And yet many a fair estate is lost in

upholding such a useless course, and that greatly contributes to

the decay of publicans; for who the devil do you think would pay

for drink at the Black Bear, when he can have it for nothing at

my Lord's or the Squire's?"

Tressilian perceived that the wine had made some impression even

on the seasoned brain of mine host, which was chiefly to be

inferred from his declaiming against drunkenness. As he himself

had carefully avoided the bowl, he would have availed himself of

the frankness of the moment to extract from Gosling some further

information upon the subject of Anthony Foster, and the lady whom

the mercer had seen in his mansion-house; but his inquiries only

set the host upon a new theme of declamation against the wiles of

the fair sex, in which he brought, at full length, the whole

wisdom of Solomon to reinforce his own. Finally, he turned his

admonitions, mixed with much objurgation, upon his tapsters and

drawers, who were employed in removing the relics of the

entertainment, and restoring order to the apartment; and at

length, joining example to precept, though with no good success,

he demolished a salver with half a score of glasses, in

attempting to show how such service was done at the Three Cranes

in the Vintry, then the most topping tavern in London. This last

accident so far recalled him to his better self, that he retired

to his bed, slept sound, and awoke a new man in the morning.

CHAPTER III.

Nay, I'll hold touch--the game shall be play'd out;

It ne'er shall stop for me, this merry wager:

That which I say when gamesome, I'll avouch

In my most sober mood, ne'er trust me else. THE HAZARD TABLE.

"And how doth your kinsman, good mine host?" said Tressilian,

when Giles Gosling first appeared in the public room, on the

morning following the revel which we described in the last

chapter. "Is he well, and will he abide by his wager?"

"For well, sir, he started two hours since, and has visited I

know not what purlieus of his old companions; hath but now

returned, and is at this instant breakfasting on new-laid eggs

and muscadine. And for his wager, I caution you as a friend to

have little to do with that, or indeed with aught that Mike

proposes. Wherefore, I counsel you to a warm breakfast upon a

culiss, which shall restore the tone of the stomach; and let my

nephew and Master Goldthred swagger about their wager as they

list."

"It seems to me, mine host," said Tressilian, "that you know not

well what to say about this kinsman of yours, and that you can

neither blame nor commend him without some twinge of conscience."

"You have spoken truly, Master Tressilian," replied Giles

Gosling. "There is Natural Affection whimpering into one ear,

'Giles, Giles, why wilt thou take away the good name of thy own

nephew? Wilt thou defame thy sister's son, Giles Gosling? wilt

thou defoul thine own nest, dishonour thine own blood?' And then,

again, comes Justice, and says, 'Here is a worthy guest as ever

came to the bonny Black Bear; one who never challenged a

reckoning' (as I say to your face you never did, Master

Tressilian--not that you have had cause), 'one who knows not why

he came, so far as I can see, or when he is going away; and wilt

thou, being a publican, having paid scot and lot these thirty

years in the town of Cumnor, and being at this instant head-

borough, wilt thou suffer this guest of guests, this man of men,

this six-hooped pot (as I may say) of a traveller, to fall into

the meshes of thy nephew, who is known for a swasher and a

desperate Dick, a carder and a dicer, a professor of the seven

damnable sciences, if ever man took degrees in them?' No, by

Heaven! I might wink, and let him catch such a small butterfly

as Goldthred; but thou, my guest, shall be forewarned, forearmed,

so thou wilt but listen to thy trusty host."

"Why, mine host, thy counsel shall not be cast away," replied

Tressilian; "however, I must uphold my share in this wager,

having once passed my word to that effect. But lend me, I pray,

some of thy counsel. This Foster, who or what is he, and why

makes he such mystery of his female inmate?"

"Troth," replied Gosling, "I can add but little to what you heard

last night. He was one of Queen Mary's Papists, and now he is

one of Queen Elizabeth's Protestants; he was an onhanger of the

Abbot of Abingdon; and now he lives as master of the Manor-house.

Above all, he was poor, and is rich. Folk talk of private

apartments in his old waste mansion-house, bedizened fine enough

to serve the Queen, God bless her! Some men think he found a

treasure in the orchard, some that he sold himself to the devil

for treasure, and some say that he cheated the abbot out of the

church plate, which was hidden in the old Manor-house at the

Reformation. Rich, however, he is, and God and his conscience,

with the devil perhaps besides, only know how he came by it. He

has sulky ways too--breaking off intercourse with all that are of

the place, as if he had either some strange secret to keep, or

held himself to be made of another clay than we are. I think it

likely my kinsman and he will quarrel, if Mike thrust his

acquaintance on him; and I am sorry that you, my worthy Master

Tressilian, will still think of going in my nephew's company."

Tressilian again answered him, that he would proceed with great

caution, and that he should have no fears on his account; in

short, he bestowed on him all the customary assurances with which

those who are determined on a rash action are wont to parry the

advice of their friends.

Meantime, the traveller accepted the landlord's invitation, and

had just finished the excellent breakfast, which was served to

him and Gosling by pretty Cicely, the beauty of the bar, when the

hero of the preceding night, Michael Lambourne, entered the

apartment. His toilet had apparently cost him some labour, for

his clothes, which differed from those he wore on his journey,

were of the newest fashion, and put on with great attention to

the display of his person.

"By my faith, uncle," said the gallant, "you made a wet night of

it, and I feel it followed by a dry morning. I will pledge you

willingly in a cup of bastard.--How, my pretty coz Cicely! why,

I left you but a child in the cradle, and there thou stand'st in

thy velvet waistcoat, as tight a girl as England's sun shines on.

Know thy friends and kindred, Cicely, and come hither, child,

that I may kiss thee, and give thee my blessing."

"Concern not yourself about Cicely, kinsman," said Giles Gosling,

"but e'en let her go her way, a' God's name; for although your

mother were her father's sister, yet that shall not make you and

her cater-cousins."

"Why, uncle," replied Lambourne, "think'st thou I am an infidel,

and would harm those of mine own house?"

"It is for no harm that I speak, Mike," answered his uncle, "but

a simple humour of precaution which I have. True, thou art as

well gilded as a snake when he casts his old slough in the spring

time; but for all that, thou creepest not into my Eden. I will

look after mine Eve, Mike, and so content thee.--But how brave

thou be'st, lad! To look on thee now, and compare thee with

Master Tressilian here, in his sad-coloured riding-suit, who

would not say that thou wert the real gentleman and he the

tapster's boy?"

"Troth, uncle," replied Lambourne, "no one would say so but one

of your country-breeding, that knows no better. I will say, and

I care not who hears me, there is something about the real gentry

that few men come up to that are not born and bred to the

mystery. I wot not where the trick lies; but although I can

enter an ordinary with as much audacity, rebuke the waiters and

drawers as loudly, drink as deep a health, swear as round an

oath, and fling my gold as freely about as any of the jingling

spurs and white feathers that are around me, yet, hang me if I

can ever catch the true grace of it, though I have practised an

hundred times. The man of the house sets me lowest at the board,

and carves to me the last; and the drawer says, 'Coming, friend,'

without any more reverence or regardful addition. But, hang it,

let it pass; care killed a cat. I have gentry enough to pass the

trick on Tony Fire-the-Faggot, and that will do for the matter in

hand."

"You hold your purpose, then, of visiting your old acquaintance?"

said Tressilian to the adventurer.

"Ay, sir," replied Lambourne; "when stakes are made, the game

must be played; that is gamester's law, all over the world. You,

sir, unless my memory fails me (for I did steep it somewhat too

deeply in the sack-butt), took some share in my hazard?"

"I propose to accompany you in your adventure," said Tressilian,

"if you will do me so much grace as to permit me; and I have

staked my share of the forfeit in the hands of our worthy host."

"That he hath," answered Giles Gosling, "in as fair Harry-nobles

as ever were melted into sack by a good fellow. So, luck to your

enterprise, since you will needs venture on Tony Foster; but, by

my credit, you had better take another draught before you depart,

for your welcome at the Hall yonder will be somewhat of the

driest. And if you do get into peril, beware of taking to cold

steel; but send for me, Giles Gosling, the head-borough, and I

may be able to make something out of Tony yet, for as proud as he

is."

The nephew dutifully obeyed his uncle's hint, by taking a second

powerful pull at the tankard, observing that his wit never served

him so well as when he had washed his temples with a deep

morning's draught; and they set forth together for the habitation

of Anthony Foster.

The village of Cumnor is pleasantly built on a hill, and in a

wooded park closely adjacent was situated the ancient mansion

occupied at this time by Anthony Foster, of which the ruins may

be still extant. The park was then full of large trees, and in

particular of ancient and mighty oaks, which stretched their

giant arms over the high wall surrounding the demesne, thus

giving it a melancholy, secluded, and monastic appearance. The

entrance to the park lay through an old-fashioned gateway in the

outer wall, the door of which was formed of two huge oaken leaves

thickly studded with nails, like the gate of an old town.

"We shall be finely helped up here," said Michael Lambourne,

looking at the gateway and gate, "if this fellow's suspicious

humour should refuse us admission altogether, as it is like he

may, in case this linsey-wolsey fellow of a mercer's visit to his

premises has disquieted him. But, no," he added, pushing the

huge gate, which gave way, "the door stands invitingly open; and

here we are within the forbidden ground, without other impediment

than the passive resistance of a heavy oak door moving on rusty

hinges."

They stood now in an avenue overshadowed by such old trees as we

have described, and which had been bordered at one time by high

hedges of yew and holly. But these, having been untrimmed for

many years, had run up into great bushes, or rather dwarf-trees,

and now encroached, with their dark and melancholy boughs, upon

the road which they once had screened. The avenue itself was

grown up with grass, and, in one or two places, interrupted by

piles of withered brushwood, which had been lopped from the trees

cut down in the neighbouring park, and was here stacked for

drying. Formal walks and avenues, which, at different points,

crossed this principal approach, were, in like manner, choked up

and interrupted by piles of brushwood and billets, and in other

places by underwood and brambles. Besides the general effect of

desolation which is so strongly impressed whenever we behold the

contrivances of man wasted and obliterated by neglect, and

witness the marks of social life effaced gradually by the

influence of vegetation, the size of the trees and the

outspreading extent of their boughs diffused a gloom over the

scene, even when the sun was at the highest, and made a

proportional impression on the mind of those who visited it.

This was felt even by Michael Lambourne, however alien his habits

were to receiving any impressions, excepting from things which

addressed themselves immediately to his passions.

"This wood is as dark as a wolf's mouth," said he to Tressilian,

as they walked together slowly along the solitary and broken

approach, and had just come in sight of the monastic front of the

old mansion, with its shafted windows, brick walls overgrown with

ivy and creeping shrubs, and twisted stalks of chimneys of heavy

stone-work. "And yet," continued Lambourne, "it is fairly done

on the part of Foster too for since he chooses not visitors, it

is right to keep his place in a fashion that will invite few to

trespass upon his privacy. But had he been the Anthony I once

knew him, these sturdy oaks had long since become the property of

some honest woodmonger, and the manor-close here had looked

lighter at midnight than it now does at noon, while Foster played

fast and loose with the price, in some cunning corner in the

purlieus of Whitefriars."

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

"He was," answered Lambourne, "like the rest of us, no saint, and

no saver. But what I liked worst of Tony was, that he loved to

take his pleasure by himself, and grudged, as men say, every drop

of water that went past his own mill. I have known him deal with

such measures of wine when he was alone, as I would not have

ventured on with aid of the best toper in Berkshire;--that, and

some sway towards superstition, which he had by temperament,

rendered him unworthy the company of a good fellow. And now he

has earthed himself here, in a den just befitting such a sly fox

as himself."

"May I ask you, Master Lambourne," said Tressilian, "since your

old companion's humour jumps so little with your own, wherefore

you are so desirous to renew acquaintance with him?"

"And may I ask you, in return, Master Tressilian," answered

Lambourne, "wherefore you have shown yourself so desirous to

accompany me on this party?"

"I told you my motive," said Tressilian, "when I took share in

your wager--it was simple curiosity."

"La you there now!" answered Lambourne. "See how you civil and

discreet gentlemen think to use us who live by the free exercise

of our wits! Had I answered your question by saying that it was

simple curiosity which led me to visit my old comrade Anthony

Foster, I warrant you had set it down for an evasion, and a turn

of my trade. But any answer, I suppose, must serve my turn."

"And wherefore should not bare curiosity," said Tressilian, "be a

sufficient reason for my taking this walk with you?"

"Oh, content yourself, sir," replied Lambourne; "you cannot put

the change on me so easy as you think, for I have lived among the

quick-stirring spirits of the age too long to swallow chaff for

grain. You are a gentleman of birth and breeding--your bearing

makes it good; of civil habits and fair reputation--your manners

declare it, and my uncle avouches it; and yet you associate

yourself with a sort of scant-of-grace, as men call me, and,

knowing me to be such, you make yourself my companion in a visit

to a man whom you are a stranger to--and all out of mere

curiosity, forsooth! The excuse, if curiously balanced, would be

found to want some scruples of just weight, or so."

"If your suspicions were just," said Tressilian, "you have shown

no confidence in me to invite or deserve mine."

"Oh, if that be all," said Lambourne, "my motives lie above

water. While this gold of mine lasts"--taking out his purse,

chucking it into the air, and catching it as it fell--"I will

make it buy pleasure; and when it is out I must have more. Now,

if this mysterious Lady of the Manor--this fair Lindabrides of

Tony Fire-the-Fagot--be so admirable a piece as men say, why,

there is a chance that she may aid me to melt my nobles into

greats; and, again, if Anthony be so wealthy a chuff as report

speaks him, he may prove the philosopher's stone to me, and

convert my greats into fair rose-nobles again."

"A comfortable proposal truly," said Tressilian; "but I see not

what chance there is of accomplishing it."

"Not to-day, or perchance to-morrow," answered Lambourne; "I

expect not to catch the old jack till. I have disposed my

ground-baits handsomely. But I know something more of his

affairs this morning than I did last night, and I will so use my

knowledge that he shall think it more perfect than it is. Nay,

without expecting either pleasure or profit, or both, I had not

stepped a stride within this manor, I can tell you; for I promise

you I hold our visit not altogether without risk.--But here we

are, and we must make the best on't."

While he thus spoke, they had entered a large orchard which

surrounded the house on two sides, though the trees, abandoned by

the care of man, were overgrown and messy, and seemed to bear

little fruit. Those which had been formerly trained as espaliers

had now resumed their natural mode of growing, and exhibited

grotesque forms, partaking of the original training which they

had received. The greater part of the ground, which had once

been parterres and flower-gardens, was suffered in like manner to

run to waste, excepting a few patches which had been dug up and

planted with ordinary pot herbs. Some statues, which had

ornamented the garden in its days of splendour, were now thrown

down from their pedestals and broken in pieces; and a large

summer-house, having a heavy stone front, decorated with carving

representing the life and actions of Samson, was in the same

dilapidated condition.

They had just traversed this garden of the sluggard, and were

within a few steps of the door of the mansion, when Lambourne had

ceased speaking; a circumstance very agreeable to Tressilian, as

it saved him the embarrassment of either commenting upon or

replying to the frank avowal which his companion had just made of

the sentiments and views which induced him to come hither.

Lambourne knocked roundly and boldly at the huge door of the

mansion, observing, at the same time, he had seen a less strong

one upon a county jail. It was not until they had knocked more

than once that an aged, sour-visaged domestic reconnoitred them

through a small square hole in the door, well secured with bars

of iron, and demanded what they wanted.

"To speak with Master Foster instantly, on pressing business of

the state," was the ready reply of Michael Lambourne.

"Methinks you will find difficulty to make that good," said

Tressilian in a whisper to his companion, while the servant went

to carry the message to his master.

"Tush," replied the adventurer; "no soldier would go on were he

always to consider when and how he should come off. Let us once

obtain entrance, and all will go well enough."

In a short time the servant returned, and drawing with a careful

hand both bolt and bar, opened the gate, which admitted them

through an archway into a square court, surrounded by buildings.

Opposite to the arch was another door, which the serving-man in

like manner unlocked, and thus introduced them into a stone-paved

parlour, where there was but little furniture, and that of the

rudest and most ancient fashion. The windows were tall and

ample, reaching almost to the roof of the room, which was

composed of black oak; those opening to the quadrangle were

obscured by the height of the surrounding buildings, and, as they

were traversed with massive shafts of solid stone-work, and

thickly painted with religious devices, and scenes taken from

Scripture history, by no means admitted light in proportion to

their size, and what did penetrate through them partook of the

dark and gloomy tinge of the stained glass.

Tressilian and his guide had time enough to observe all these

particulars, for they waited some space in the apartment ere the

present master of the mansion at length made his appearance.

Prepared as he was to see an inauspicious and ill-looking person,

the ugliness of Anthony Foster considerably exceeded what

Tressilian had anticipated. He was of middle stature, built

strongly, but so clumsily as to border on deformity, and to give

all his motions the ungainly awkwardness of a left-legged and

left-handed man. His hair, in arranging which men at that time,

as at present, were very nice and curious, instead of being

carefully cleaned and disposed into short curls, or else set up

on end, as is represented in old paintings, in a manner

resembling that used by fine gentlemen of our own day, escaped in

sable negligence from under a furred bonnet, and hung in elf-

locks, which seemed strangers to the comb, over his rugged brows,

and around his very singular and unprepossessing countenance.

His keen, dark eyes were deep set beneath broad and shaggy

eyebrows, and as they were usually bent on the ground, seemed as

if they were themselves ashamed of the expression natural to

them, and were desirous to conceal it from the observation of

men. At times, however, when, more intent on observing others,

he suddenly raised them, and fixed them keenly on those with whom

he conversed, they seemed to express both the fiercer passions,

and the power of mind which could at will suppress or disguise

the intensity of inward feeling. The features which corresponded

with these eyes and this form were irregular, and marked so as to

be indelibly fixed on the mind of him who had once seen them.

Upon the whole, as Tressilian could not help acknowledging to

himself, the Anthony Foster who now stood before them was the

last person, judging from personal appearance, upon whom one

would have chosen to intrude an unexpected and undesired visit.

His attire was a doublet of russet leather, like those worn by

the better sort of country folk, girt with a buff belt, in which

was stuck on the right side a long knife, or dudgeon dagger, and

on the other a cutlass. He raised his eyes as he entered the

room, and fixed a keenly penetrating glance upon his two

visitors; then cast them down as if counting his steps, while he

advanced slowly into the middle of the room, and said, in a low

and smothered tone of voice, "Let me pray you, gentlemen, to tell

me the cause of this visit."

He looked as if he expected the answer from Tressilian, so true

was Lambourne's observation that the superior air of breeding and

dignity shone through the disguise of an inferior dress. But it

was Michael who replied to him, with the easy familiarity of an

old friend, and a tone which seemed unembarrassed by any doubt of

the most cordial reception.

"Ha! my dear friend and ingle, Tony Foster!" he exclaimed,

seizing upon the unwilling hand, and shaking it with such

emphasis as almost to stagger the sturdy frame of the person whom

he addressed, "how fares it with you for many a long year? What!

have you altogether forgotten your friend, gossip, and

playfellow, Michael Lambourne?"

"Michael Lambourne!" said Foster, looking at him a moment; then

dropping his eyes, and with little ceremony extricating his hand

from the friendly grasp of the person by whom he was addressed,

"are you Michael Lambourne?"

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

"'Tis well," answered his sullen host. "And what may Michael

Lambourne expect from his visit hither?"

"VOTO A DIOS," answered Lambourne, "I expected a better welcome

than I am like to meet, I think."

"Why, thou gallows-bird--thou jail-rat--thou friend of the

hangman and his customers!" replied Foster, "hast thou the

assurance to expect countenance from any one whose neck is beyond

the compass of a Tyburn tippet?"

"It may be with me as you say," replied Lambourne; "and suppose I

grant it to be so for argument's sake, I were still good enough

society for mine ancient friend Anthony Fire-the-Fagot, though he

be, for the present, by some indescribable title, the master of

Cumnor Place."

"Hark you, Michael Lambourne," said Foster; "you are a gambler

now, and live by the counting of chances--compute me the odds

that I do not, on this instant, throw you out of that window into

the ditch there."

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

"And wherefore, I pray you?" demanded Anthony Foster, setting

his teeth and compressing his lips, like one who endeavours to

suppress some violent internal emotion.

"Because," said Lambourne coolly, "you dare not for your life lay

a finger on me. I am younger and stronger than you, and have in

me a double portion of the fighting devil, though not, it may be,

quite so much of the undermining fiend, that finds an underground

way to his purpose--who hides halters under folk's pillows, and

who puts rats-bane into their porridge, as the stage-play says."

Foster looked at him earnestly, then turned away, and paced the

room twice with the same steady and considerate pace with which

he had entered it; then suddenly came back, and extended his hand

to Michael Lambourne, saying, "Be not wroth with me, good Mike; I

did but try whether thou hadst parted with aught of thine old and

honourable frankness, which your enviers and backbiters called

saucy impudence."

"Let them call it what they will," said Michael Lambourne, "it is

the commodity we must carry through the world with us.--Uds

daggers! I tell thee, man, mine own stock of assurance was too

small to trade upon. I was fain to take in a ton or two more of

brass at every port where I touched in the voyage of life; and I

started overboard what modesty and scruples I had remaining, in

order to make room for the stowage."

"Nay, nay," replied Foster, "touching scruples and modesty, you

sailed hence in ballast. But who is this gallant, honest Mike?

--is he a Corinthian--a cutter like thyself?"

"I prithee, know Master Tressilian, bully Foster," replied

Lambourne, presenting his friend in answer to his friend's

question, "know him and honour him, for he is a gentleman of many

admirable qualities; and though he traffics not in my line of

business, at least so far as I know, he has, nevertheless, a just

respect and admiration for artists of our class. He will come to

in time, as seldom fails; but as yet he is only a neophyte, only

a proselyte, and frequents the company of cocks of the game, as a

puny fencer does the schools of the masters, to see how a foil is

handled by the teachers of defence."

"If such be his quality, I will pray your company in another

chamber, honest Mike, for what I have to say to thee is for thy

private ear.--Meanwhile, I pray you, sir, to abide us in this

apartment, and without leaving it; there be those in this house

who would be alarmed by the sight of a stranger."

Tressilian acquiesced, and the two worthies left the apartment

together, in which he remained alone to await their return."

[See Note 1. Foster, Lambourne, and the Black Bear.]

CHAPTER IV.

Not serve two masters?--Here's a youth will try it--

Would fain serve God, yet give the devil his due;

Says grace before he doth a deed of villainy,

And returns his thanks devoutly when 'tis acted, OLD PLAY.

The room into which the Master of Cumnor Place conducted his

worthy visitant was of greater extent than that in which they had

at first conversed, and had yet more the appearance of

dilapidation. Large oaken presses, filled with shelves of the

same wood, surrounded the room, and had, at one time, served for

the arrangement of a numerous collection of books, many of which

yet remained, but torn and defaced, covered with dust, deprived

of their costly clasps and bindings, and tossed together in heaps

upon the shelves, as things altogether disregarded, and abandoned

to the pleasure of every spoiler. The very presses themselves

seemed to have incurred the hostility of those enemies of

learning who had destroyed the volumes with which they had been

heretofore filled. They were, in several places, dismantled of

their shelves, and otherwise broken and damaged, and were,

moreover, mantled with cobwebs and covered with dust.

"The men who wrote these books," said Lambourne, looking round

him, "little thought whose keeping they were to fall into."

"Nor what yeoman's service they were to do me," quoth Anthony

Foster; "the cook hath used them for scouring his pewter, and the

groom hath had nought else to clean my boots with, this many a

month past."

"And yet," said Lambourne, "I have been in cities where such

learned commodities would have been deemed too good for such

offices."

"Pshaw, pshaw," answered Foster, "'they are Popish trash, every

one of them--private studies of the mumping old Abbot of

Abingdon. The nineteenthly of a pure gospel sermon were worth a

cartload of such rakings of the kennel of Rome."

"Gad-a-mercy, Master Tony Fire-the-Fagot!" said Lambourne, by

way of reply.

Foster scowled darkly at him, as he replied, "Hark ye, friend

Mike; forget that name, and the passage which it relates to, if

you would not have our newly-revived comradeship die a sudden and

a violent death."

"Why," said Michael Lambourne, "you were wont to glory in the

share you had in the death of the two old heretical bishops."

"That," said his comrade, "was while I was in the gall of

bitterness and bond of iniquity, and applies not to my walk or my

ways now that I am called forth into the lists. Mr. Melchisedek

Maultext compared my misfortune in that matter to that of the

Apostle Paul, who kept the clothes of the witnesses who stoned

Saint Stephen. He held forth on the matter three Sabbaths past,

and illustrated the same by the conduct of an honourable person

present, meaning me."

"I prithee peace, Foster," said Lambourne, "for I know not how it

is, I have a sort of creeping comes over my skin when I hear the

devil quote Scripture; and besides, man, how couldst thou have

the heart to quit that convenient old religion, which you could

slip off or on as easily as your glove? Do I not remember how

you were wont to carry your conscience to confession, as duly as

the month came round? and when thou hadst it scoured, and

burnished, and whitewashed by the priest, thou wert ever ready

for the worst villainy which could be devised, like a child who

is always readiest to rush into the mire when he has got his

Sunday's clean jerkin on."

"Trouble not thyself about my conscience," said Foster; "it is a

thing thou canst not understand, having never had one of thine

own. But let us rather to the point, and say to me, in one word,

what is thy business with me, and what hopes have drawn thee

hither?"

"The hope of bettering myself, to be sure," answered Lambourne,

"as the old woman said when she leapt over the bridge at

Kingston. Look you, this purse has all that is left of as round

a sum as a man would wish to carry in his slop-pouch. You are

here well established, it would seem, and, as I think, well

befriended, for men talk of thy being under some special

protection--nay, stare not like a pig that is stuck, mon; thou

canst not dance in a net and they not see thee. Now I know such

protection is not purchased for nought; you must have services to

render for it, and in these I propose to help thee."

"But how if I lack no assistance from thee, Mike? I think thy

modesty might suppose that were a case possible."

"That is to say," retorted Lambourne, "that you would engross the

whole work, rather than divide the reward. But be not over-

greedy, Anthony--covetousness bursts the sack and spills the

grain. Look you, when the huntsman goes to kill a stag, he takes

with him more dogs than one. He has the stanch lyme-hound to

track the wounded buck over hill and dale, but he hath also the

fleet gaze-hound to kill him at view. Thou art the lyme-hound, I

am the gaze-hound; and thy patron will need the aid of both, and

can well afford to requite it. Thou hast deep sagacity--an

unrelenting purpose--a steady, long-breathed malignity of nature,

that surpasses mine. But then, I am the bolder, the quicker, the

more ready, both at action and expedient. Separate, our

properties are not so perfect; but unite them, and we drive the

world before us. How sayest thou--shall we hunt in couples?"

"It is a currish proposal--thus to thrust thyself upon my private

matters," replied Foster; "but thou wert ever an ill-nurtured

whelp."

"You shall have no cause to say so, unless you spurn my

courtesy," said Michael Lambourne; "but if so, keep thee well

from me, Sir Knight, as the romance has it. I will either share

your counsels or traverse them; for I have come here to be busy,

either with thee or against thee."

"Well," said Anthony Foster, "since thou dost leave me so fair a

choice, I will rather be thy friend than thine enemy. Thou art

right; I CAN prefer thee to the service of a patron who has

enough of means to make us both, and an hundred more. And, to

say truth, thou art well qualified for his service. Boldness and

dexterity he demands--the justice-books bear witness in thy

favour; no starting at scruples in his service why, who ever

suspected thee of a conscience? an assurance he must have who

would follow a courtier--and thy brow is as impenetrable as a

Milan visor. There is but one thing I would fain see amended in

thee."

"And what is that, my most precious friend Anthony?" replied

Lambourne; "for I swear by the pillow of the Seven Sleepers I

will not be slothful in amending it."

"Why, you gave a sample of it even now," said Foster. "Your

speech twangs too much of the old stamp, and you garnish it ever

and anon with singular oaths, that savour of Papistrie. Besides,

your exterior man is altogether too deboshed and irregular to

become one of his lordship's followers, since he has a reputation

to keep up in the eye of the world. You must somewhat reform

your dress, upon a more grave and composed fashion; wear your

cloak on both shoulders, and your falling band unrumpled and well

starched. You must enlarge the brim of your beaver, and diminish

the superfluity of your trunk-hose; go to church, or, which will

be better, to meeting, at least once a month; protest only upon

your faith and conscience; lay aside your swashing look, and

never touch the hilt of your sword but when you would draw the

carnal weapon in good earnest."

"By this light, Anthony, thou art mad," answered Lambourne, "and

hast described rather the gentleman-usher to a puritan's wife,

than the follower of an ambitious courtier! Yes, such a thing as

thou wouldst make of me should wear a book at his girdle instead

of a poniard, and might just be suspected of manhood enough to

squire a proud dame-citizen to the lecture at Saint Antonlin's,

and quarrel in her cause with any flat-capped threadmaker that

would take the wall of her. He must ruffle it in another sort

that would walk to court in a nobleman's train."

"Oh, content you, sir," replied Foster, "there is a change since

you knew the English world; and there are those who can hold

their way through the boldest courses, and the most secret, and

yet never a swaggering word, or an oath, or a profane word in

their conversation."

"That is to say," replied Lambourne, "they are in a trading

copartnery, to do the devil's business without mentioning his

name in the firm? Well, I will do my best to counterfeit, rather

than lose ground in this new world, since thou sayest it is grown

so precise. But, Anthony, what is the name of this nobleman, in

whose service I am to turn hypocrite?"

"Aha! Master Michael, are you there with your bears?" said

Foster, with a grim smile; "and is this the knowledge you pretend

of my concernments? How know you now there is such a person IN

RERUM NATURA, and that I have not been putting a jape upon you

all this time?"

"Thou put a jape on me, thou sodden-brained gull?" answered

Lambourne, nothing daunted. "Why, dark and muddy as thou

think'st thyself, I would engage in a day's space to sec as clear

through thee and thy concernments, as thou callest them, as

through the filthy horn of an old stable lantern."

At this moment their conversation was interrupted by a scream

from the next apartment.

"By the holy Cross of Abingdon," exclaimed Anthony Foster,

forgetting his Protestantism in his alarm, "I am a ruined man!"

So saying, he rushed into the apartment whence the scream issued,

followed by Michael Lambourne. But to account for the sounds

which interrupted their conversation, it is necessary to recede a

little way in our narrative.

It has been already observed, that when Lambourne accompanied

Foster into the library, they left Tressilian alone in the

ancient parlour. His dark eye followed them forth of the

apartment with a glance of contempt, a part of which his mind

instantly transferred to himself, for having stooped to be even

for a moment their familiar companion. "These are the

associates, Amy"--it was thus he communed with himself--"to which

thy cruel levity--thine unthinking and most unmerited falsehood,

has condemned him of whom his friends once hoped far other

things, and who now scorns himself, as he will be scorned by

others, for the baseness he stoops to for the love of thee! But

I will not leave the pursuit of thee, once the object of my

purest and most devoted affection, though to me thou canst

henceforth be nothing but a thing to weep over. I will save thee

from thy betrayer, and from thyself; I will restore thee to thy

parent--to thy God. I cannot bid the bright star again sparkle

in the sphere it has shot from, but--"

A slight noise in the apartment interrupted his reverie. He

looked round, and in the beautiful and richly-attired female who

entered at that instant by a side-door he recognized the object

of his search. The first impulse arising from this discovery

urged him to conceal his face with the collar of his cloak, until

he should find a favourable moment of making himself known. But

his purpose was disconcerted by the young lady (she was not above

eighteen years old), who ran joyfully towards him, and, pulling

him by the cloak, said playfully, "Nay, my sweet friend, after I

have waited for you so long, you come not to my bower to play the

masquer. You are arraigned of treason to true love and fond

affection, and you must stand up at the bar and answer it with

face uncovered--how say you, guilty or not?"

"Alas, Amy!" said Tressilian, in a low and melancholy tone, as

he suffered her to draw the mantle from his face. The sound of

his voice, and still more the unexpected sight of his face,

changed in an instant the lady's playful mood. She staggered

back, turned as pale as death, and put her hands before her face.

Tressilian was himself for a moment much overcome, but seeming

suddenly to remember the necessity of using an opportunity which

might not again occur, he said in a low tone, "Amy, fear me not."

"Why should I fear you?" said the lady, withdrawing her hands

from her beautiful face, which was now covered with crimson,-

-"Why should I fear you, Master Tressilian?--or wherefore have

you intruded yourself into my dwelling, uninvited, sir, and

unwished for?"

"Your dwelling, Amy!" said Tressilian. "Alas! is a prison your

dwelling?--a prison guarded by one of the most sordid of men, but

not a greater wretch than his employer!"

"This house is mine," said Amy--"mine while I choose to inhabit

it. If it is my pleasure to live in seclusion, who shall gainsay

me?"

"Your father, maiden," answered Tressilian, "your broken-hearted

father, who dispatched me in quest of you with that authority

which he cannot exert in person. Here is his letter, written

while he blessed his pain of body which somewhat stunned the

agony of his mind."

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

"So ill," answered Tressilian, "that even your utmost haste may

not restore him to health; but all shall be instantly prepared

for your departure, the instant you yourself will give consent."

"Tressilian," answered the lady, "I cannot, I must not, I dare

not leave this place. Go back to my father--tell him I will

obtain leave to see him within twelve hours from hence. Go back,

Tressilian--tell him I am well, I am happy--happy could I think

he was so; tell him not to fear that I will come, and in such a

manner that all the grief Amy has given him shall be forgotten

--the poor Amy is now greater than she dare name. Go, good

Tressilian--I have injured thee too, but believe me I have power

to heal the wounds I have caused. I robbed you of a childish

heart, which was not worthy of you, and I can repay the loss with

honours and advancement."

"Do you say this to me, Amy?--do you offer me pageants of idle

ambition, for the quiet peace you have robbed me of!--But be it

so I came not to upbraid, but to serve and to free you. You

cannot disguise it from me--you are a prisoner. Otherwise your

kind heart--for it was once a kind heart--would have been already

at your father's bedside.--Come, poor, deceived, unhappy maiden!

--all shall be forgot--all shall be forgiven. Fear not my

importunity for what regarded our contract--it was a dream, and I

have awaked. But come--your father yet lives--come, and one word

of affection, one tear of penitence, will efface the memory of

all that has passed."

"Have I not already said, Tressilian," replied she, "that I will

surely come to my father, and that without further delay than is

necessary to discharge other and equally binding duties?--Go,

carry him the news; I come as sure as there is light in heaven

--that is, when I obtain permission."

"Permission!--permission to visit your father on his sick-bed,

perhaps on his death-bed!" repeated Tressilian, impatiently;

"and permission from whom? From the villain, who, under disguise

of friendship, abused every duty of hospitality, and stole thee

from thy father's roof!"

"Do him no slander, Tressilian! He whom thou speakest of wears a

sword as sharp as thine--sharper, vain man; for the best deeds

thou hast ever done in peace or war were as unworthy to be named

with his, as thy obscure rank to match itself with the sphere he

moves in.--Leave me! Go, do mine errand to my father; and when

he next sends to me, let him choose a more welcome messenger."

"Amy," replied Tressilian calmly, "thou canst not move me by thy

reproaches. Tell me one thing, that I may bear at least one ray

of comfort to my aged friend:--this rank of his which thou dost

boast--dost thou share it with him, Amy?--does he claim a

husband's right to control thy motions?"

"Stop thy base, unmannered tongue!" said the lady; "to no

question that derogates from my honour do I deign an answer."

"You have said enough in refusing to reply," answered Tressilian;

"and mark me, unhappy as thou art, I am armed with thy father's

full authority to command thy obedience, and I will save thee

from the slavery of sin and of sorrow, even despite of thyself,

Amy."

"Menace no violence here!" exclaimed the lady, drawing back from

him, and alarmed at the determination expressed in his look and

manner; "threaten me not, Tressilian, for I have means to repel

force."

"But not, I trust, the wish to use them in so evil a cause?"

said Tressilian. "With thy will--thine uninfluenced, free, and

natural will, Amy, thou canst not choose this state of slavery

and dishonour. Thou hast been bound by some spell--entrapped by

some deceit--art now detained by some compelled vow. But thus I

break the charm--Amy, in the name of thine excellent, thy broken-

hearted father, I command thee to follow me!"

As he spoke he advanced and extended his arm, as with the purpose

of laying hold upon her. But she shrunk back from his grasp, and

uttered the scream which, as we before noticed, brought into the

apartment Lambourne and Foster.

The latter exclaimed, as soon as he entered, "Fire and fagot!

what have we here?" Then addressing the lady, in a tone betwixt

entreaty and command, he added, "Uds precious! madam, what make

you here out of bounds? Retire--retire--there is life and death

in this matter.--And you, friend, whoever you may be, leave this

house--out with you, before my dagger's hilt and your costard

become acquainted.--Draw, Mike, and rid us of the knave!"

"Not I, on my soul," replied Lambourne; "he came hither in my

company, and he is safe from me by cutter's law, at least till we

meet again.--But hark ye, my Cornish comrade, you have brought a

Cornish flaw of wind with you hither, a hurricanoe as they call

it in the Indies. Make yourself scarce--depart--vanish--or we'll

have you summoned before the Mayor of Halgaver, and that before

Dudman and Ramhead meet." [Two headlands on the Cornish coast.

The expressions are proverbial.]

"Away, base groom!" said Tressilian.--"And you, madam, fare you

well--what life lingers in your father's bosom will leave him at

the news I have to tell."

He departed, the lady saying faintly as he left the room,

"Tressilian, be not rash--say no scandal of me."

"Here is proper gear," said Foster. "I pray you go to your

chamber, my lady, and let us consider how this is to be answered

--nay, tarry not."

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

"Nay, but you must, fair lady," replied Foster; "excuse my

freedom, but, by blood and nails, this is no time to strain

courtesies--you MUST go to your chamber.--Mike, follow that

meddling coxcomb, and, as you desire to thrive, see him safely

clear of the premises, while I bring this headstrong lady to

reason. Draw thy tool, man, and after him."

"I'll follow him," said Michael Lambourne, "and see him fairly

out of Flanders; but for hurting a man I have drunk my morning's

draught withal, 'tis clean against my conscience." So saying, he

left the apartment.

Tressilian, meanwhile, with hasty steps, pursued the first path

which promised to conduct him through the wild and overgrown park

in which the mansion of Foster was situated. Haste and distress

of mind led his steps astray, and instead of taking the avenue

which led towards the village, he chose another, which, after he

had pursued it for some time with a hasty and reckless step,

conducted him to the other side of the demesne, where a postern

door opened through the wall, and led into the open country.

Tressilian paused an instant. It was indifferent to him by what

road he left a spot now so odious to his recollections; but it

was probable that the postern door was locked, and his retreat by

that pass rendered impossible.

"I must make the attempt, however," he said to himself; "the only

means of reclaiming this lost--this miserable--this still most

lovely and most unhappy girl, must rest in her father's appeal to

the broken laws of his country. I must haste to apprise him of

this heartrending intelligence."

As Tressilian, thus conversing with himself, approached to try

some means of opening the door, or climbing over it, he perceived

there was a key put into the lock from the outside. It turned

round, the bolt revolved, and a cavalier, who entered, muffled in

his riding-cloak, and wearing a slouched hat with a drooping

feather, stood at once within four yards of him who was desirous

of going out. They exclaimed at once, in tones of resentment and

surprise, the one "Varney!" the other "Tressilian!"

"What make you here?" was the stern question put by the stranger

to Tressilian, when the moment of surprise was past--"what make

you here, where your presence is neither expected nor desired?"

"Nay, Varney," replied Tressilian, "what make you here? Are you

come to triumph over the innocence you have destroyed, as the

vulture or carrion-crow comes to batten on the lamb whose eyes it

has first plucked out? Or are you come to encounter the merited

vengeance of an honest man? Draw, dog, and defend thyself!"

Tressilian drew his sword as he spoke, but Varney only laid his

hand on the hilt of his own, as he replied, "Thou art mad,

Tressilian. I own appearances are against me; but by every oath

a priest can make or a man can swear, Mistress Amy Robsart hath

had no injury from me. And in truth I were somewhat loath to

hurt you in this cause--thou knowest I can fight."

"I have heard thee say so, Varney," replied Tressilian; "but now,

methinks, I would fain have some better evidence than thine own

word."

"That shall not be lacking, if blade and hilt be but true to me,"

answered Varney; and drawing his sword with the right hand, he

threw his cloak around his left, and attacked Tressilian with a

vigour which, for a moment, seemed to give him the advantage of

the combat. But this advantage lasted not long. Tressilian

added to a spirit determined on revenge a hand and eye admirably

well adapted to the use of the rapier; so that Varney, finding

himself hard pressed in his turn, endeavoured to avail himself of

his superior strength by closing with his adversary. For this

purpose, he hazarded the receiving one of Tressilian's passes in

his cloak, wrapped as it was around his arm, and ere his

adversary could, extricate his rapier thus entangled, he closed

with him, shortening his own sword at the same time, with the

purpose of dispatching him. But Tressilian was on his guard, and

unsheathing his poniard, parried with the blade of that weapon

the home-thrust which would otherwise have finished the combat,

and, in the struggle which followed, displayed so much address,

as might have confirmed, the opinion that he drew his origin from

Cornwall whose natives are such masters in the art of wrestling,

as, were the games of antiquity revived, might enable them to

challenge all Europe to the ring. Varney, in his ill-advised

attempt, received a fall so sudden and violent that his sword

flew several paces from his hand and ere he could recover his

feet, that of his antagonist was; pointed to his throat.

"Give me the instant means of relieving the victim of thy

treachery," said Tressilian, "or take the last look of your

Creator's blessed sun!"

And while Varney, too confused or too sullen to reply, made a

sudden effort to arise, his adversary drew back his arm, and

would have executed his threat, but that the blow was arrested by

the grasp of Michael Lambourne, who, directed by the clashing of

swords had come up just in time to save the life of Varney,

"Come, come, comrade;" said Lambourne, "here is enough done and

more than enough; put up your fox and let us be jogging. The

Black Bear growls for us."

"Off, abject!" said Tressilian, striking himself free of

Lambourne's grasp; "darest thou come betwixt me and mine enemy?"

"Abject! abject!" repeated Lambourne; "that shall be answered

with cold steel whenever a bowl of sack has washed out memory of

the morning's draught that we had together. In the meanwhile, do

you see, shog--tramp--begone--we are two to one."

He spoke truth, for Varney had taken the opportunity to regain

his weapon, and Tressilian perceived it was madness to press the

quarrel further against such odds. He took his purse from his

side, and taking out two gold nobles, flung them to Lambourne.

"There, caitiff, is thy morning wage; thou shalt not say thou

hast been my guide unhired.--Varney, farewell! we shall meet

where there are none to come betwixt us." So saying, he turned

round and departed through the postern door.

Varney seemed to want the inclination, or perhaps the power (for

his fall had been a severe one), to follow his retreating enemy.

But he glared darkly as he disappeared, and then addressed

Lambourne. "Art thou a comrade of Foster's, good fellow?"

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

Lambourne.

"Here is a broad piece for thee. Follow yonder fellow, and see

where he takes earth, and bring me word up to the mansion-house

here. Cautious and silent, thou knave, as thou valuest thy

throat."

"Enough said," replied Lambourne; "I can draw on a scent as well

as a sleuth-hound."

"Begone, then," said Varney, sheathing his rapier; and, turning

his back on Michael Lambourne, he walked slowly towards the

house. Lambourne stopped but an instant to gather the nobles

which his late companion had flung towards him so

unceremoniously, and muttered to himself, while he put them upon

his purse along with the gratuity of Varney, "I spoke to yonder

gulls of Eldorado. By Saint Anthony, there is no Eldorado for

men of our stamp equal to bonny Old England! It rains nobles, by

Heaven--they lie on the grass as thick as dewdrops--you may have

them for gathering. And if I have not my share of such

glittering dewdrops, may my sword melt like an icicle!"

CHAPTER V.

He was a man

Versed in the world as pilot in his compass.

The needle pointed ever to that interest

Which was his loadstar, and he spread his sails

With vantage to the gale of others' passion.

THE DECEIVER, A TRAGEDY.

Antony Foster was still engaged in debate with his fair guest,

who treated with scorn every entreaty and request that she would

retire to her own apartment, when a whistle was heard at the

entrance-door of the mansion.

"We are fairly sped now," said Foster; "yonder is thy lord's

signal, and what to say about the disorder which has happened in

this household, by my conscience, I know not. Some evil fortune

dogs the heels of that unhanged rogue Lambourne, and he has

'scaped the gallows against every chance, to come back and be the

ruin of me!"

"Peace, sir," said the lady, "and undo the gate to your master.

--My lord! my dear lord!" she then exclaimed, hastening to the

entrance of the apartment; then added, with a voice expressive of

disappointment, "Pooh! it is but Richard Varney."

"Ay, madam," said Varney, entering and saluting the lady with a

respectful obeisance, which she returned with a careless mixture

of negligence and of displeasure, "it is but Richard Varney; but

even the first grey cloud should be acceptable, when it lightens

in the east, because it announces the approach of the blessed

sun."

"How! comes my lord hither to-night?" said the lady, in joyful

yet startled agitation; and Anthony Foster caught up the word,

and echoed the question. Varney replied to the lady, that his

lord purposed to attend her; and would have proceeded with some

compliment, when, running to the door of the parlour, she called

aloud, "Janet--Janet! come to my tiring-room instantly." Then

returning to Varney, she asked if her lord sent any further

commendations to her.

"This letter, honoured madam," said he, taking from his bosom a

small parcel wrapped in scarlet silk, "and with it a token to

the Queen of his Affections." With eager speed the lady hastened

to undo the silken string which surrounded the little packet, and

failing to unloose readily the knot with which it was secured,

she again called loudly on Janet, "Bring me a knife--scissors--

aught that may undo this envious knot!"

"May not my poor poniard serve, honoured madam?" said Varney,

presenting a small dagger of exquisite workmanship, which hung in

his Turkey-leather sword-belt.

"No, sir," replied the lady, rejecting the instrument which he

offered--"steel poniard shall cut no true-love knot of mine."

"It has cut many, however," said Anthony Foster, half aside, and

looking at Varney. By this time the knot was disentangled

without any other help than the neat and nimble fingers of Janet,

a simply-attired pretty maiden, the daughter of Anthony Foster,

who came running at the repeated call of her mistress. A

necklace of orient pearl, the companion of a perfumed billet, was

now hastily produced from the packet. The lady gave the one,

after a slight glance, to the charge of her attendant, while she

read, or rather devoured, the contents of the other.

"Surely, lady," said Janet, gazing with admiration at the neck-

string of pearls, "the daughters of Tyre wore no fairer neck-

jewels than these. And then the posy, 'For a neck that is

fairer'--each pearl is worth a freehold."

"Each word in this dear paper is worth the whole string, my girl.

But come to my tiring-room, girl; we must be brave, my lord comes

hither to-night.--He bids me grace you, Master Varney, and to me

his wish is a law. I bid you to a collation in my bower this

afternoon; and you, too, Master Foster. Give orders that all is

fitting, and that suitable preparations be made for my lord's

reception to-night." With these words she left the apartment.

"She takes state on her already," said Varney, "and distributes

the favour of her presence, as if she were already the partner of

his dignity. Well, it is wise to practise beforehand the part

which fortune prepares us to play--the young eagle must gaze at

the sun ere he soars on strong wing to meet it."

"If holding her head aloft," said Foster, "will keep her eyes

from dazzling, I warrant you the dame will not stoop her crest.

She will presently soar beyond reach of my whistle, Master

Varney. I promise you, she holds me already in slight regard."

"It is thine own fault, thou sullen, uninventive companion,"

answered Varney, "who knowest no mode of control save downright

brute force. Canst thou not make home pleasant to her, with

music and toys? Canst thou not make the out-of-doors frightful

to her, with tales of goblins? Thou livest here by the

churchyard, and hast not even wit enough to raise a ghost, to

scare thy females into good discipline."

"Speak not thus, Master Varney," said Foster; "the living I fear

not, but I trifle not nor toy with my dead neighbours of the

churchyard. I promise you, it requires a good heart to live so

near it. Worthy Master Holdforth, the afternoon's lecturer of

Saint Antonlin's, had a sore fright there the last time he came

to visit me."

"Hold thy superstitious tongue," answered Varney; "and while thou

talkest of visiting, answer me, thou paltering knave, how came

Tressilian to be at the postern door?"

"Tressilian!" answered Foster, "what know I of Tressilian? I

never heard his name."

"Why, villain, it was the very Cornish chough to whom old Sir

Hugh Robsart destined his pretty Amy; and hither the hot-brained

fool has come to look after his fair runaway. There must be some

order taken with him, for he thinks he hath wrong, and is not the

mean hind that will sit down with it. Luckily he knows nought of

my lord, but thinks he has only me to deal with. But how, in the

fiend's name, came he hither?"

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

"And who is Mike Lambourne?" demanded Varney. "By Heaven! thou

wert best set up a bush over thy door, and invite every stroller

who passes by to see what thou shouldst keep secret even from the

sun and air."

"Ay! ay! this is a courtlike requital of my service to you,

Master Richard Varney," replied Foster. "Didst thou not charge

me to seek out for thee a fellow who had a good sword and an

unscrupulous conscience? and was I not busying myself to find a

fit man--for, thank Heaven, my acquaintance lies not amongst such

companions--when, as Heaven would have it, this tall fellow, who

is in all his dualities the very flashing knave thou didst wish,

came hither to fix acquaintance upon me in the plenitude of his

impudence; and I admitted his claim, thinking to do you a

pleasure. And now see what thanks I get for disgracing myself by

converse with him!"

"And did he," said Varney, "being such a fellow as thyself, only

lacking, I suppose, thy present humour of hypocrisy, which lies

as thin over thy hard, ruffianly heart as gold lacquer upon rusty

iron--did he, I say, bring the saintly, sighing Tressilian in his

train?"

"They came together, by Heaven!" said Foster; "and Tressilian--

to speak Heaven's truth--obtained a moment's interview with our

pretty moppet, while I was talking apart with Lambourne."

"Improvident villain! we are both undone," said Varney. "She

has of late been casting many a backward look to her father's

halls, whenever her lordly lover leaves her alone. Should this

preaching fool whistle her back to her old perch, we were but

lost men."

"No fear of that, my master," replied Anthony Foster; "she is in

no mood to stoop to his lure, for she yelled out on seeing him as

if an adder had stung her."

"That is good. Canst thou not get from thy daughter an inkling

of what passed between them, good Foster?"

"I tell you plain, Master Varney," said Foster, "my daughter

shall not enter our purposes or walk in our paths. They may suit

me well enough, who know how to repent of my misdoings; but I

will not have my child's soul committed to peril either for your

pleasure or my lord's. I may walk among snares and pitfalls

myself, because I have discretion, but I will not trust the poor

lamb among them."

"Why, thou suspicious fool, I were as averse as thou art that thy

baby-faced girl should enter into my plans, or walk to hell at

her father's elbow. But indirectly thou mightst gain some

intelligence of her?"

"And so I did, Master Varney," answered Foster; "and she said her

lady called out upon the sickness of her father."

"Good!" replied Varney; "that is a hint worth catching, and I

will work upon it. But the country must be rid of this

Tressilian. I would have cumbered no man about the matter, for I

hate him like strong poison--his presence is hemlock to me--and

this day I had been rid of him, but that my foot slipped, when,

to speak truth, had not thy comrade yonder come to my aid, and

held his hand, I should have known by this time whether you and I

have been treading the path to heaven or hell."

"And you can speak thus of such a risk!" said Foster. "You keep

a stout heart, Master Varney. For me, if I did not hope to live

many years, and to have time for the great work of repentance, I

would not go forward with you."

"Oh! thou shalt live as long as Methuselah," said Varney, "and

amass as much wealth as Solomon; and thou shalt repent so

devoutly, that thy repentance shall be more famous than thy

villainy--and that is a bold word. But for all this, Tressilian

must be looked after. Thy ruffian yonder is gone to dog him. It

concerns our fortunes, Anthony."

"Ay, ay," said Foster sullenly, "this it is to be leagued with

one who knows not even so much of Scripture, as that the labourer

is worthy of his hire. I must, as usual, take all the trouble

and risk."

"Risk! and what is the mighty risk, I pray you?" answered

Varney. "This fellow will come prowling again about your demesne

or into your house, and if you take him for a house-breaker or a

park-breaker, is it not most natural you should welcome him with

cold steel or hot lead? Even a mastiff will pull down those who

come near his kennel; and who shall blame him?"

"Ay, I have a mastiff's work and a mastiff's wage among you,"

said Foster. "Here have you, Master Varney, secured a good

freehold estate out of this old superstitious foundation; and I

have but a poor lease of this mansion under you, voidable at your

honour's pleasure."

"Ay, and thou wouldst fain convert thy leasehold into a copyhold

--the thing may chance to happen, Anthony Foster, if thou dost

good service for it. But softly, good Anthony--it is not the

lending a room or two of this old house for keeping my lord's

pretty paroquet--nay, it is not the shutting thy doors and

windows to keep her from flying off that may deserve it.

Remember, the manor and tithes are rated at the clear annual

value of seventy-nine pounds five shillings and fivepence

halfpenny, besides the value of the wood. Come, come, thou must

be conscionable; great and secret service may deserve both this

and a better thing. And now let thy knave come and pluck off my

boots. Get us some dinner, and a cup of thy best wine. I must

visit this mavis, brave in apparel, unruffled in aspect, and gay

in temper."

They parted and at the hour of noon, which was then that of

dinner, they again met at their meal, Varney gaily dressed like a

courtier of the time, and even Anthony Foster improved in

appearance, as far as dress could amend an exterior so

unfavourable.

This alteration did not escape Varney. Then the meal was

finished, the cloth removed, and they were left to their private

discourse--"Thou art gay as a goldfinch, Anthony," said Varney,

looking at his host; "methinks, thou wilt whistle a jig anon.

But I crave your pardon, that would secure your ejection from the

congregation of the zealous botchers, the pure-hearted weavers,

and the sanctified bakers of Abingdon, who let their ovens cool

while their brains get heated."

"To answer you in the spirit, Master Varney," said Foster, "were

--excuse the parable--to fling sacred and precious things before

swine. So I will speak to thee in the language of the world,

which he who is king of the world, hath taught thee, to

understand, and to profit by in no common measure."

"Say what thou wilt, honest Tony," replied Varney; "for be it

according to thine absurd faith, or according to thy most

villainous practice, it cannot choose but be rare matter to

qualify this cup of Alicant. Thy conversation is relishing and

poignant, and beats caviare, dried neat's-tongue, and all other

provocatives that give savour to good liquor."

"Well, then, tell me," said Anthony Foster, "is not our good lord

and master's turn better served, and his antechamber more

suitably filled, with decent, God-fearing men, who will work his

will and their own profit quietly, and without worldly scandal,

than that he should be manned, and attended, and followed by such

open debauchers and ruffianly swordsmen as Tidesly, Killigrew,

this fellow Lambourne, whom you have put me to seek out for you,

and other such, who bear the gallows in their face and murder in

their right hand--who are a terror to peaceable men, and a

scandal to my lord's service?"

"Oh, content you, good Master Anthony Foster," answered Varney;

"he that flies at all manner of game must keep all kinds of

hawks, both short and long-winged. The course my lord holds is

no easy one, and he must stand provided at all points with trusty

retainers to meet each sort of service. He must have his gay

courtier, like myself, to ruffle it in the presence-chamber, and

to lay hand on hilt when any speaks in disparagement of my lord's

honour--"

"Ay," said Foster, "and to whisper a word for him into a fair

lady's ear, when he may not approach her himself."

"Then," said Varney, going on without appearing to notice the

interruption, "he must have his lawyers--deep, subtle pioneers

--to draw his contracts, his pre-contracts, and his post-

contracts, and to find the way to make the most of grants of

church-lands, and commons, and licenses for monopoly. And he

must have physicians who can spice a cup or a caudle. And he

must have his cabalists, like Dec and Allan, for conjuring up the

devil. And he must have ruffling swordsmen, who would fight the

devil when he is raised and at the wildest. And above all,

without prejudice to others, he must have such godly, innocent,

puritanic souls as thou, honest Anthony, who defy Satan, and do

his work at the same time."

"You would not say, Master Varney," said Foster, "that our good

lord and master, whom I hold to be fulfilled in all nobleness,

would use such base and sinful means to rise, as thy speech

points at?"

"Tush, man," said Varney, "never look at me with so sad a brow.

You trap me not--nor am I in your power, as your weak brain may

imagine, because I name to you freely the engines, the springs,

the screws, the tackle, and braces, by which great men rise in

stirring times. Sayest thou our good lord is fulfilled of all

nobleness? Amen, and so be it--he has the more need to have

those about him who are unscrupulous in his service, and who,

because they know that his fall will overwhelm and crush them,

must wager both blood and brain, soul and body, in order to keep

him aloft; and this I tell thee, because I care not who knows

it."

"You speak truth, Master Varney," said Anthony Foster. "He that

is head of a party is but a boat on a wave, that raises not

itself, but is moved upward by the billow which it floats upon."

"Thou art metaphorical, honest Anthony," replied Varney; "that

velvet doublet hath made an oracle of thee. We will have thee to

Oxford to take the degrees in the arts. And, in the meantime,

hast thou arranged all the matters which were sent from London,

and put the western chambers into such fashion as may answer my

lord's humour?"

"They may serve a king on his bridal-day," said Anthony; "and I

promise you that Dame Amy sits in them yonder as proud and gay as

if she were the Queen of Sheba."

"'Tis the better, good Anthony," answered Varney; "we must found

our future fortunes on her good liking."

"We build on sand then," said Anthony Foster; "for supposing that

she sails away to court in all her lord's dignity and authority,

how is she to look back upon me, who am her jailor as it were, to

detain her here against her will, keeping her a caterpillar on an

old wall, when she would fain be a painted butterfly in a court

garden?"

"Fear not her displeasure, man," said Varney. "I will show her

all thou hast done in this matter was good service, both to my

lord and her; and when she chips the egg-shell and walks alone,

she shall own we have hatched her greatness."

"Look to yourself, Master Varney," said Foster, "you may

misreckon foully in this matter. She gave you but a frosty

reception this morning, and, I think, looks on you, as well as

me, with an evil eye."

"You mistake her, Foster--you mistake her utterly. To me she is

bound by all the ties which can secure her to one who has been

the means of gratifying both her love and ambition. Who was it

that took the obscure Amy Robsart, the daughter of an

impoverished and dotard knight--the destined bride of a

moonstruck, moping enthusiast, like Edmund Tressilian, from her

lowly fates, and held out to her in prospect the brightest

fortune in England, or perchance in Europe? Why, man, it was I

--as I have often told thee--that found opportunity for their

secret meetings. It was I who watched the wood while he beat for

the deer. It was I who, to this day, am blamed by her family as

the companion of her flight; and were I in their neighbourhood,

would be fain to wear a shirt of better stuff than Holland linen,

lest my ribs should be acquainted with Spanish steel. Who

carried their letters?--I. Who amused the old knight and

Tressilian?--I. Who planned her escape?--it was I. It was I, in

short, Dick Varney, who pulled this pretty little daisy from its

lowly nook, and placed it in the proudest bonnet in Britain."

"Ay, Master Varney," said Foster; "but it may be she thinks that

had the matter remained with you, the flower had been stuck so

slightly into the cap, that the first breath of a changeable

breeze of passion had blown the poor daisy to the common."

"She should consider," said Varney, smiling, "the true faith I

owed my lord and master prevented me at first from counselling

marriage; and yet I did counsel marriage when I saw she would not

be satisfied without the--the sacrament, or the ceremony--which

callest thou it, Anthony?"

"Still she has you at feud on another score," said Foster; "and I

tell it you that you may look to yourself in time. She would not

hide her splendour in this dark lantern of an old monastic house,

but would fain shine a countess amongst countesses."

"Very natural, very right," answered Varney; "but what have I to

do with that?--she may shine through horn or through crystal at

my lord's pleasure, I have nought to say against it."

"She deems that you have an oar upon that side of the boat,

Master Varney," replied Foster, "and that you can pull it or no,

at your good pleasure. In a word, she ascribes the secrecy and

obscurity in which she is kept to your secret counsel to my lord,

and to my strict agency; and so she loves us both as a sentenced

man loves his judge and his jailor."

"She must love us better ere she leave this place, Anthony,"

answered Varney. "If I have counselled for weighty reasons that

she remain here for a season, I can also advise her being brought

forth in the full blow of her dignity. But I were mad to do so,

holding so near a place to my lord's person, were she mine enemy.

Bear this truth in upon her as occasion offers, Anthony, and let

me alone for extolling you in her ear, and exalting you in her

opinion--KA ME, KA THEE--it is a proverb all over the world. The

lady must know her friends, and be made to judge of the power

they have of being her enemies; meanwhile, watch her strictly,

but with all the outward observance that thy rough nature will

permit. 'Tis an excellent thing that sullen look and bull-dog

humour of thine; thou shouldst thank God for it, and so should my

lord, for when there is aught harsh or hard-natured to be done,

thou dost it as if it flowed from thine own natural doggedness,

and not from orders, and so my lord escapes the scandal.--But,

hark--some one knocks at the gate. Look out at the window--let

no one enter--this were an ill night to be interrupted."

"It is he whom we spoke of before dinner," said Foster, as he

looked through the casement; "it is Michael Lambourne."

"Oh, admit him, by all means," said the courtier; "he comes to

give some account of his guest; it imports us much to know the

movements of Edmund Tressilian.--Admit him, I say, but bring him

not hither; I will come to you presently in the Abbot's library."

Foster left the room, and the courtier, who remained behind,

paced the parlour more than once in deep thought, his arms folded

on his bosom, until at length he gave vent to his meditations in

broken words, which we have somewhat enlarged and connected, that

his soliloquy may be intelligible to the reader.

"'Tis true," he said, suddenly stopping, and resting his right

hand on the table at which they had been sitting, "this base

churl hath fathomed the very depth of my fear, and I have been

unable to disguise it from him. She loves me not--I would it

were as true that I loved not her! Idiot that I was, to move her

in my own behalf, when wisdom bade me be a true broker to my

lord! And this fatal error has placed me more at her discretion

than a wise man would willingly be at that of the best piece of

painted Eve's flesh of them all. Since the hour that my policy

made so perilous a slip, I cannot look at her without fear, and

hate, and fondness, so strangely mingled, that I know not

whether, were it at my choice, I would rather possess or ruin

her. But she must not leave this retreat until I am assured on

what terms we are to stand. My lord's interest--and so far it is

mine own, for if he sinks I fall in his train--demands

concealment of this obscure marriage; and besides, I will not

lend her my arm to climb to her chair of state, that she may set

her foot on my neck when she is fairly seated. I must work an

interest in her, either through love or through fear; and who

knows but I may yet reap the sweetest and best revenge for her

former scorn?--that were indeed a masterpiece of courtlike art!

Let me but once be her counsel-keeper--let her confide to me a

secret, did it but concern the robbery of a linnet's nest, and,

fair Countess, thou art mine own!" He again paced the room in

silence, stopped, filled and drank a cup of wine, as if to

compose the agitation of his mind, and muttering, "Now for a

close heart and an open and unruffled brow," he left the

apartment.

CHAPTER VI.

The dews of summer night did fall,

The moon, sweet regent of the sky,

Silver'd the walls of Cumnor Hall,

And many an oak that grew thereby. MICKLE.

[This verse is the commencement of the ballad already quoted, as

what suggested the novel.]

Four apartments; which, occupied the western side of the old

quadrangle at Cumnor Place, had been fitted up with extraordinary

splendour. This had been the work of several days prior to that

on which our story opened. Workmen sent from London, and not

permitted to leave the premises until the work was finished, had

converted the apartments in that side of the building from the

dilapidated appearance of a dissolved monastic house into the

semblance of a royal palace. A mystery was observed in all these

arrangements: the workmen came thither and returned by night,

and all measures were taken to prevent the prying curiosity of

the villagers from observing or speculating upon the changes

which were taking place in the mansion of their once indigent but

now wealthy neighbour, Anthony Foster. Accordingly, the secrecy

desired was so far preserved, that nothing got abroad but vague

and uncertain reports, which were received and repeated, but

without much credit being attached to them.

On the evening of which we treat, the new and highly-decorated

suite of rooms were, for the first time, illuminated, and that

with a brilliancy which might have been visible half-a-dozen

miles off, had not oaken shutters, carefully secured with bolt

and padlock, and mantled with long curtains of silk and of

velvet, deeply fringed with gold, prevented the slightest gleam

of radiance front being seen without.

The principal apartments, as we have seen, were four in number,

each opening into the other. Access was given to them by a large

scale staircase, as they were then called, of unusual length and

height, which had its landing-place at the door of an

antechamber, shaped somewhat like a gallery. This apartment the

abbot had used as an occasional council-room, but it was now

beautifully wainscoted with dark, foreign wood of a brown colour,

and bearing a high polish, said to have been brought from the

Western Indies, and to have been wrought in London with infinite

difficulty and much damage to the tools of the workmen. The dark

colour of this finishing was relieved by the number of lights in

silver sconces which hung against the walls, and by six large and

richly-framed pictures, by the first masters of the age. A massy

oaken table, placed at the lower end of the apartment, served to

accommodate such as chose to play at the then fashionable game of

shovel-board; and there was at the other end an elevated gallery

for the musicians or minstrels, who might be summoned to increase

the festivity of the evening.

From this antechamber opened a banqueting-room of moderate size,

but brilliant enough to dazzle the eyes of the spectator with the

richness of its furniture. The walls, lately so bare and

ghastly, were now clothed with hangings of sky-blue velvet and

silver; the chairs were of ebony, richly carved, with cushions

corresponding to the hangings; and the place of the silver

sconces which enlightened the ante-chamber was supplied by a huge

chandelier of the same precious metal. The floor was covered

with a Spanish foot-cloth, or carpet, on which flowers and fruits

were represented in such glowing and natural colours, that you

hesitated to place the foot on such exquisite workmanship. The

table, of old English oak, stood ready covered with the finest

linen; and a large portable court-cupboard was placed with the

leaves of its embossed folding-doors displayed, showing the

shelves within, decorated with a full display of plate and

porcelain. In the midst of the table stood a salt-cellar of

Italian workmanship--a beautiful and splendid piece of plate

about two feet high, moulded into a representation of the giant

Briareus, whose hundred hands of silver presented to the guests

various sorts of spices, or condiments, to season their food

withal.

The third apartment was called the withdrawing-room. It was hung

with the finest tapestry, representing the fall of Phaeton; for

the looms of Flanders were now much occupied on classical

subjects. The principal seat of this apartment was a chair of

state, raised a step or two from the floor, and large enough to

contain two persons. It was surmounted by a canopy, which, as

well as the cushions, side-curtains, and the very footcloth, was

composed of crimson velvet, embroidered with seed-pearl. On the

top of the canopy were two coronets, resembling those of an earl

and countess. Stools covered with velvet, and some cushions

disposed in the Moorish fashion, and ornamented with Arabesque

needle-work, supplied the place of chairs in this apartment,

which contained musical instruments, embroidery frames, and other

articles for ladies' pastime. Besides lesser lights, the

withdrawing-room was illuminated by four tall torches of virgin

wax, each of which was placed in the grasp of a statue,

representing an armed Moor, who held in his left arm a round

buckler of silver, highly polished, interposed betwixt his breast

and the light, which was thus brilliantly reflected as from a

crystal mirror.

The sleeping chamber belonging to this splendid suite of

apartments was decorated in a taste less showy, but not less

rich, than had been displayed in the others. Two silver lamps,

fed with perfumed oil, diffused at once a delicious odour and a

trembling twilight-seeming shimmer through the quiet apartment.

It was carpeted so thick that the heaviest step could not have

been heard, and the bed, richly heaped with down, was spread with

an ample coverlet of silk and gold; from under which peeped forth

cambric sheets and blankets as white as the lambs which yielded

the fleece that made them. The curtains were of blue velvet,

lined with crimson silk, deeply festooned with gold, and

embroidered with the loves of Cupid and Psyche. On the toilet

was a beautiful Venetian mirror, in a frame of silver filigree,

and beside it stood a gold posset-dish to contain the night-

draught. A pair of pistols and a dagger, mounted with gold, were

displayed near the head of the bed, being the arms for the night,

which were presented to honoured guests, rather, it may be

supposed, in the way of ceremony than from any apprehension of

danger. We must not omit to mention, what was more to the credit

of the manners of the time, that in a small recess, illuminated

by a taper, were disposed two hassocks of velvet and gold,

corresponding with the bed furniture, before a desk of carved

ebony. This recess had formerly been the private oratory of the

abbot; but the crucifix was removed, and instead there were

placed on the desk, two Books of Common Prayer, richly bound, and

embossed with silver. With this enviable sleeping apartment,

which was so far removed from every sound save that of the wind

sighing among the oaks of the park, that Morpheus might have

coveted it for his own proper repose, corresponded two wardrobes,

or dressing-rooms as they are now termed, suitably furnished, and

in a style of the same magnificence which we have already

described. It ought to be added, that a part of the building in

the adjoining wing was occupied by the kitchen and its offices,

and served to accommodate the personal attendants of the great

and wealthy nobleman, for whose use these magnificent

preparations had been made.

The divinity for whose sake this temple had been decorated was

well worthy the cost and pains which had been bestowed. She was

seated in the withdrawing-room which we have described, surveying

with the pleased eye of natural and innocent vanity the splendour

which had been so suddenly created, as it were, in her honour.

For, as her own residence at Cumnor Place formed the cause of the

mystery observed in all the preparations for opening these

apartments, it was sedulously arranged that, until she took

possession of them, she should have no means of knowing what was

going forward in that part of the ancient building, or of

exposing herself to be seen by the workmen engaged in the

decorations. She had been, therefore, introduced on that evening

to a part of the mansion which she had never yet seen, so

different from all the rest that it appeared, in comparison, like

an enchanted palace. And when she first examined and occupied

these splendid rooms, it was with the wild and unrestrained joy

of a rustic beauty who finds herself suddenly invested with a

splendour which her most extravagant wishes had never imagined,

and at the same time with the keen feeling of an affectionate

heart, which knows that all the enchantment that surrounds her is

the work of the great magician Love.

The Countess Amy, therefore--for to that rank she was exalted by

her private but solemn union with England's proudest Earl--had

for a time flitted hastily from room to room, admiring each new

proof of her lover and her bridegroom's taste, and feeling that

admiration enhanced as she recollected that all she gazed upon

was one continued proof of his ardent and devoted affection.

"How beautiful are these hangings! How natural these paintings,

which seem to contend with life! How richly wrought is that

plate, which looks as if all the galleons of Spain had been

intercepted on the broad seas to furnish it forth! And oh,

Janet!" she exclaimed repeatedly to the daughter of Anthony

Foster, the close attendant, who, with equal curiosity, but

somewhat less ecstatic joy, followed on her mistress's footsteps

--"oh, Janet! how much more delightful to think that all these

fair things have been assembled by his love, for the love of me!

and that this evening--this very evening, which grows darker

every instant, I shall thank him more for the love that has

created such an unimaginable paradise, than for all the wonders

it contains."

"The Lord is to be thanked first," said the pretty Puritan, "who

gave thee, lady, the kind and courteous husband whose love has

done so much for thee. I, too, have done my poor share. But if

you thus run wildly from room to room, the toil of my crisping

and my curling pins will vanish like the frost-work on the window

when the sun is high."

"Thou sayest true, Janet," said the young and beautiful Countess,

stopping suddenly from her tripping race of enraptured delight,

and looking at herself from head to foot in a large mirror, such

as she had never before seen, and which, indeed, had few to match

it even in the Queen's palace--"thou sayest true, Janet!" she

answered, as she saw, with pardonable self-applause, the noble

mirror reflect such charms as were seldom presented to its fair

and polished surface; "I have more of the milk-maid than the

countess, with these cheeks flushed with haste, and all these

brown curls, which you laboured to bring to order, straying as

wild as the tendrils of an unpruned vine. My falling ruff is

chafed too, and shows the neck and bosom more than is modest and

seemly. Come, Janet; we will practise state--we will go to the

withdrawing-room, my good girl, and thou shalt put these rebel

locks in order, and imprison within lace and cambric the bosom

that beats too high."

They went to the withdrawing apartment accordingly, where the

Countess playfully stretched herself upon the pile of Moorish

cushions, half sitting, half reclining, half wrapt in her own

thoughts, half listening to the prattle of her attendant.

While she was in this attitude, and with a corresponding

expression betwixt listlessness and expectation on her fine and

intelligent features, you might have searched sea and land

without finding anything half so expressive or half so lovely.

The wreath of brilliants which mixed with her dark-brown hair did

not match in lustre the hazel eye which a light-brown eyebrow,

pencilled with exquisite delicacy, and long eyelashes of the same

colour, relieved and shaded. The exercise she had just taken,

her excited expectation and gratified vanity, spread a glow over

her fine features, which had been sometimes censured (as beauty

as well as art has her minute critics) for being rather too pale.

The milk-white pearls of the necklace which she wore, the same

which she had just received as a true-love token from her

husband, were excelled in purity by her teeth, and by the colour

of her skin, saving where the blush of pleasure and self-

satisfaction had somewhat stained the neck with a shade of light

crimson.--"Now, have done with these busy fingers, Janet," she

said to her handmaiden, who was still officiously employed in

bringing her hair and her dress into order--"have done, I say. I

must see your father ere my lord arrives, and also Master Richard

Varney, whom my lord has highly in his esteem--but I could tell

that of him would lose him favour."

"Oh, do not do so, good my lady!" replied Janet; "leave him to

God, who punishes the wicked in His own time; but do not you

cross Varney's path, for so thoroughly hath he my lord's ear,

that few have thriven who have thwarted his courses."

"And from whom had you this, my most righteous Janet?" said the

Countess; "or why should I keep terms with so mean a gentleman as

Varney, being as I am, wife to his master and patron?"

"Nay, madam," replied Janet Foster, "your ladyship knows better

than I; but I have heard my father say he would rather cross a

hungry wolf than thwart Richard Varney in his projects. And he

has often charged me to have a care of holding commerce with

him."

"Thy father said well, girl, for thee," replied the lady, "and I

dare swear meant well. It is a pity, though, his face and manner

do little match his true purpose--for I think his purpose may be

true."

"Doubt it not, my lady," answered Janet--"doubt not that my

father purposes well, though he is a plain man, and his blunt

looks may belie his heart."

"I will not doubt it, girl, were it only for thy sake; and yet he

has one of those faces which men tremble when they look on. I

think even thy mother, Janet--nay, have done with that poking-

iron--could hardly look upon him without quaking."

"If it were so, madam," answered Janet Foster, "my mother had

those who could keep her in honourable countenance. Why, even

you, my lady, both trembled and blushed when Varney brought the

letter from my lord."

"You are bold, damsel," said the Countess, rising from the

cushions on which she sat half reclined in the arms of her

attendant. "Know that there are causes of trembling which have

nothing to do with fear.--But, Janet," she added, immediately

relapsing into the good-natured and familiar tone which was

natural to her, "believe me, I will do what credit I can to your

father, and the rather that you, sweetheart, are his child.

Alas! alas!" she added, a sudden sadness passing over her fine

features, and her eyes filling with tears, "I ought the rather to

hold sympathy with thy kind heart, that my own poor father is

uncertain of my fate, and they say lies sick and sorrowful for my

worthless sake! But I will soon cheer him--the news of my

happiness and advancement will make him young again. And that I

may cheer him the sooner"--she wiped her eyes as she spoke--"I

must be cheerful myself. My lord must not find me insensible to

his kindness, or sorrowful, when he snatches a visit to his

recluse, after so long an absence. Be merry, Janet; the night

wears on, and my lord must soon arrive. Call thy father hither,

and call Varney also. I cherish resentment against neither; and

though I may have some room to be displeased with both, it shall

be their own fault if ever a complaint against them reaches the

Earl through my means. Call them hither, Janet."

Janet Foster obeyed her mistress; and in a few minutes after,

Varney entered the withdrawing-room with the graceful ease and

unclouded front of an accomplished courtier, skilled, under the

veil of external politeness, to disguise his own feelings and to

penetrate those of others. Anthony Foster plodded into the

apartment after him, his natural gloomy vulgarity of aspect

seeming to become yet more remarkable, from his clumsy attempt to

conceal the mixture of anxiety and dislike with which he looked

on her, over whom he had hitherto exercised so severe a control,

now so splendidly attired, and decked with so many pledges of the

interest which she possessed in her husband's affections. The

blundering reverence which he made, rather AT than TO the

Countess, had confession in it. It was like the reverence which

the criminal makes to the judge, when he at once owns his guilt

and implores mercy--which is at the same time an impudent and

embarrassed attempt at defence or extenuation, a confession of a

fault, and an entreaty for lenity.

Varney, who, in right of his gentle blood, had pressed into the

room before Anthony Foster, knew better what to say than he, and

said it with more assurance and a better grace.

The Countess greeted him indeed with an appearance of cordiality,

which seemed a complete amnesty for whatever she might have to

complain of. She rose from her seat, and advanced two steps

towards him, holding forth her hand as she said, "Master Richard

Varney, you brought me this morning such welcome tidings, that I

fear surprise and joy made me neglect my lord and husband's

charge to receive you with distinction. We offer you our hand,

sir, in reconciliation."

"I am unworthy to touch it," said Varney, dropping on one knee,

"save as a subject honours that of a prince."

He touched with his lips those fair and slender fingers, so

richly loaded with rings and jewels; then rising, with graceful

gallantry, was about to hand her to the chair of state, when she

said, "No, good Master Richard Varney, I take not my place there

until my lord himself conducts me. I am for the present but a

disguised Countess, and will not take dignity on me until

authorized by him whom I derive it from."

"I trust, my lady," said Foster, "that in doing the commands of

my lord your husband, in your restraint and so forth, I have not

incurred your displeasure, seeing that I did but my duty towards

your lord and mine; for Heaven, as holy writ saith, hath given

the husband supremacy and dominion over the wife--I think it runs

so, or something like it."

"I receive at this moment so pleasant a surprise, Master Foster,"

answered the Countess, "that I cannot but excuse the rigid

fidelity which secluded me from these apartments, until they had

assumed an appearance so new and so splendid."

"Ay lady," said Foster, "it hath cost many a fair crown; and that

more need not be wasted than is absolutely necessary, I leave you

till my lord's arrival with good Master Richard Varney, who, as I

think, hath somewhat to say to you from your most noble lord and

husband.--Janet, follow me, to see that all be in order."

"No, Master Foster," said the Countess, "we will your daughter

remains here in our apartment--out of ear-shot, however, in case

Varney bath ought to say to me from my lord."

Foster made his clumsy reverence, and departed, with an aspect

which seemed to grudge the profuse expense which had been wasted

upon changing his house from a bare and ruinous grange to an

Asiastic palace. When he was gone, his daughter took her

embroidery frame, and went to establish herself at the bottom of

the apartment; while Richard Varney, with a profoundly humble

courtesy, took the lowest stool he could find, and placing it by

the side of the pile of cushions on which the Countess had now

again seated herself, sat with his eyes for a time fixed on the

ground, and in pro-found silence

"I thought, Master Varney," said the Countess, when she saw he

was not likely to open the conversation, "that you had something

to communicate from my lord and husband; so at least I understood

Master Foster, and therefore I removed my waiting-maid. If I am

mistaken, I will recall her to my side; for her needle is not so

absolutely perfect in tent and cross-stitch, but that my

superintendence is advisable."

"Lady," said Varney, "Foster was partly mistaken in my purpose.

It was not FROM but OF your noble husband, and my approved and

most noble patron, that I am led, and indeed bound, to speak."

"The theme is most welcome, sir," said the Countess, "whether it

be of or from my noble husband. But be brief, for I expect his

hasty approach."

"Briefly then, madam," replied Varney, "and boldly, for my

argument requires both haste and courage--you have this day seen

Tressilian?"

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

sharply.

"Nothing that concerns me, lady," Varney replied with humility.

"But, think you, honoured madam, that your lord will hear it with

equal equanimity?"

"And wherefore should he not? To me alone was Tressilian's visit

embarrassing and painful, for he brought news of my good father's

illness."

"Of your father's illness, madam!" answered Varney. "It must

have been sudden then--very sudden; for the messenger whom I

dispatched, at my lord's instance, found the good knight on the

hunting field, cheering his beagles with his wonted jovial field-

cry. I trust Tressilian has but forged this news. He hath his

reasons, madam, as you well know, for disquieting your present

happiness."

"You do him injustice, Master Varney," replied the Countess, with

animation--"you do him much injustice. He is the freest, the

most open, the most gentle heart that breathes. My honourable

lord ever excepted, I know not one to whom falsehood is more

odious than to Tressilian."

"I crave your pardon, madam," said Varney, "I meant the gentleman

no injustice--I knew not how nearly his cause affected you. A

man may, in some circumstances, disguise the truth for fair and

honest purpose; for were it to be always spoken, and upon all

occasions, this were no world to live in."

"You have a courtly conscience, Master Varney," said the

Countess, "and your veracity will not, I think, interrupt your

preferment in the world, such as it is. But touching Tressilian

--I must do him justice, for I have done him wrong, as none knows

better than thou. Tressilian's conscience is of other mould--the

world thou speakest of has not that which could bribe him from

the way of truth and honour; and for living in it with a soiled

fame, the ermine would as soon seek to lodge in the den of the

foul polecat. For this my father loved him; for this I would

have loved him--if I could. And yet in this case he had what

seemed to him, unknowing alike of my marriage and to whom I was

united, such powerful reasons to withdraw me from this place,

that I well trust he exaggerated much of my father's

indisposition, and that thy better news may be the truer."

"Believe me they are, madam," answered Varney. "I pretend not to

be a champion of that same naked virtue called truth, to the very

outrance. I can consent that her charms be hidden with a veil,

were it but for decency's sake. But you must think lower of my

head and heart than is due to one whom my noble lord deigns to

call his friend, if you suppose I could wilfully and

unnecessarily palm upon your ladyship a falsehood, so soon to be

detected, in a matter which concerns your happiness."

"Master Varney," said the Countess, "I know that my lord esteems

you, and holds you a faithful and a good pilot in those seas in

which he has spread so high and so venturous a sail. Do not

suppose, therefore, I meant hardly by you, when I spoke the truth

in Tressilian's vindication. I am as you well know, country-

bred, and like plain rustic truth better than courtly compliment;

but I must change my fashions with my sphere, I presume."

"True, madam," said Varney, smiling; "and though you speak now in

jest, it will not be amiss that in earnest your present speech

had some connection with your real purpose. A court-dame--take

the most noble, the most virtuous, the most unimpeachable that

stands around our Queen's throne--would, for example, have

shunned to speak the truth, or what she thought such, in praise

of a discarded suitor, before the dependant and confidant of her

noble husband."

"And wherefore," said the Countess, colouring impatiently,

"should I not do justice to Tressilian's worth, before my

husband's friend--before my husband himself--before the whole

world?"

"And with the same openness," said Varney, "your ladyship will

this night tell my noble lord your husband that Tressilian has

discovered your place of residence, so anxiously concealed from

the world, and that he has had an interview with you?"

"Unquestionably," said the Countess. "It will be the first thing

I tell him, together with every word that Tressilian said and

that I answered. I shall speak my own shame in this, for

Tressilian's reproaches, less just than he esteemed them, were

not altogether unmerited. I will speak, therefore, with pain,

but I will speak, and speak all."

"Your ladyship will do your pleasure," answered Varney; "but

methinks it were as well, since nothing calls for so frank a

disclosure, to spare yourself this pain, and my noble lord the

disquiet, and Master Tressilian, since belike he must be thought

of in the matter, the danger which is like to ensue."

"I can see nought of all these terrible consequences," said the

lady composedly, "unless by imputing to my noble lord unworthy

thoughts, which I am sure never harboured in his generous heart."

"Far be it from me to do so," said Varney. And then, after a

moment's silence, he added, with a real or affected plainness of

manner, very different from his usual smooth courtesy, "Come,

madam, I will show you that a courtier dare speak truth as well

as another, when it concerns the weal of those whom he honours

and regards, ay, and although it may infer his own danger." He

waited as if to receive commands, or at least permission, to go

on; but as the lady remained silent, he proceeded, but obviously

with caution. "Look around you," he said, "noble lady, and

observe the barriers with which this place is surrounded, the

studious mystery with which the brightest jewel that England

possesses is secluded from the admiring gaze. See with what

rigour your walks are circumscribed. and your movement

restrained at the beck of yonder churlish Foster. Consider all

this, and judge for yourself what can be the cause.

"My lord's pleasure," answered the Countess; "and I am bound to

seek no other motive."

"His pleasure it is indeed," said Varney; "and his pleasure

arises out of a love worthy of the object which inspires it. But

he who possesses a treasure, and who values it, is oft anxious,

in proportion to the value he puts upon it, to secure it from the

depredations of others."

"What needs all this talk, Master Varney?" said the lady, in

reply. "You would have me believe that my noble lord is

jealous. Suppose it true, I know a cure for jealousy."

"Indeed, madam?" said Varney.

"It is," replied the lady, "to speak the truth to my lord at all

times--to hold up my mind and my thoughts before him as pure as

that polished mirror--so that when he looks into my heart, he

shall only see his own features reflected there."

"I am mute, madam answered Varney; "and as I have no reason to

grieve for Tressilian, who would have my heart's blood were he

able, I shall reconcile myself easily to what may befall the

gentleman in consequence of your frank disclosure of his having

presumed to intrude upon your solitude. You, who know my lord so

much better than I, will judge if he be likely to bear the insult

unavenged."

"Nay, if I could think myself the cause of Tressilian's ruin,"

said the Countess, "I who have already occasioned him so much

distress, I might be brought to be silent. And yet what will it

avail, since he was seen by Foster, and I think by some one else?

No, no, Varney, urge it no more. I will tell the whole matter to

my lord; and with such pleading for Tressilian's folly, as shall

dispose my lord's generous heart rather to serve than to punish

him."

"Your judgment, madam," said Varney, "is far superior to mine,

especially as you may, if you will, prove the ice before you step

on it, by mentioning Tressilian's name to my lord, and observing

how he endures it. For Foster and his attendant, they know not

Tressilian by sight, and I can easily give them some reasonable

excuse for the appearance of an unknown stranger."

The lady paused for an instant, and then replied, "If, Varney, it

be indeed true that Foster knows not as yet that the man he saw

was Tressilian, I own I were unwilling he should learn what

nowise concerns him. He bears himself already with austerity

enough, and I wish him not to be judge or privy-councillor in my

affairs."

"Tush," said Varney, "what has the surly groom to do with your

ladyship's concerns?--no more, surely, than the ban-dog which

watches his courtyard. If he is in aught distasteful to your

ladyship, I have interest enough to have him exchanged for a

seneschal that shall be more agreeable to you."

"Master Varney," said the Countess, "let us drop this theme.

When I complain of the attendants whom my lord has placed around

me, it must be to my lord himself.--Hark! I hear the trampling

of horse. He comes! he comes!" she exclaimed, jumping up in

ecstasy.

"I cannot think it is he," said Varney; "or that you can hear the

tread of his horse through the closely-mantled casements."

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

"But, madam!--but, madam!" exclaimed Varney anxiously, and still

placing himself in her way, "I trust that what I have spoken in

humble duty and service will not be turned to my ruin? I hope

that my faithful advice will not be bewrayed to my prejudice? I

implore that--"

"Content thee, man--content thee!" said the Countess, "and quit

my skirt--you are too bold to detain me. Content thyself, I

think not of thee."

At this moment the folding-doors flew wide open, and a man of

majestic mien, muffled in the folds of a long dark riding-cloak,

entered the apartment.

CHAPTER VII.

This is he

Who rides on the court-gale; controls its tides;

Knows all their secret shoals and fatal eddies;

Whose frown abases, and whose smile exalts.

He shines like any rainbow--and, perchance,

His colours are as transient." OLD PLAY.

There was some little displeasure and confusion on the Countess's

brow, owing to her struggle with Varney's pertinacity; but it was

exchanged for an expression of the purest joy and affection, as

she threw herself into the arms of the noble stranger who

entered, and clasping him to her bosom, exclaimed, "At length--at

length thou art come!"

Varney discreetly withdrew as his lord entered, and Janet was

about to do the same, when her mistress signed to her to remain.

She took her place at the farther end of the apartment, and

continued standing, as if ready for attendance.

Meanwhile the Earl, for he was of no inferior rank, returned his

lady's caress with the most affectionate ardour, but affected to

resist when she strove to take his cloak from him.

"Nay," she said, "but I will unmantle you. I must see if you

have kept your word to me, and come as the great Earl men call

thee, and not as heretofore like a private cavalier."

"Thou art like the rest of the world, Amy," said the Earl,

suffering her to prevail in the playful contest; "the jewels, and

feathers, and silk are more to them than the man whom they adorn

--many a poor blade looks gay in a velvet scabbard."

"But so cannot men say of thee, thou noble Earl," said his lady,

as the cloak dropped on the floor, and showed him dressed as

princes when they ride abroad; "thou art the good and well-tried

steel, whose inly worth deserves, yet disdains, its outward

ornaments. Do not think Amy can love thee better in this

glorious garb than she did when she gave her heart to him who

wore the russet-brown cloak in the woods of Devon."

"And thou too," said the Earl, as gracefully and majestically he

led his beautiful Countess towards the chair of state which was

prepared for them both--"thou too, my love, hast donned a dress

which becomes thy rank, though it cannot improve thy beauty.

What think'st thou of our court taste?"

The lady cast a sidelong glance upon the great mirror as they

passed it by, and then said, "I know not how it is, but I think

not of my own person while I look at the reflection of thine.

Sit thou there," she said, as they approached the chair of state,

"like a thing for men to worship and to wonder at."

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

"Not so," said the Countess; "I will sit on this footstool at thy

feet, that I may spell over thy splendour, and learn, for the

first time, how princes are attired."

And with a childish wonder, which her youth and rustic education

rendered not only excusable but becoming, mixed as it was with a

delicate show of the most tender conjugal affection, she examined

and admired from head to foot the noble form and princely attire

of him who formed the proudest ornament of the court of England's

Maiden Queen, renowned as it was for splendid courtiers, as well

as for wise counsellors. Regarding affectionately his lovely

bride, and gratified by her unrepressed admiration, the dark eye

and noble features of the Earl expressed passions more gentle

than the commanding and aspiring look which usually sat upon his

broad forehead, and in the piercing brilliancy of his dark eye;

and he smiled at the simplicity which dictated the questions she

put to him concerning the various ornaments with which he was

decorated.

"The embroidered strap, as thou callest it, around my knee," he

said, "is the English Garter, an ornament which kings are proud

to wear. See, here is the star which belongs to it, and here the

Diamond George, the jewel of the order. You have heard how King

Edward and the Countess of Salisbury--"

"Oh, I know all that tale," said the Countess, slightly blushing,

"and how a lady's garter became the proudest badge of English

chivalry."

"Even so," said the Earl; "and this most honourable Order I had

the good hap to receive at the same time with three most noble

associates, the Duke of Norfolk, the Marquis of Northampton, and

the Earl of Rutland. I was the lowest of the four in rank--but

what then? he that climbs a ladder must begin at the first

round."

"But this other fair collar, so richly wrought, with some jewel

like a sheep hung by the middle attached to it, what," said the

young Countess, "does that emblem signify?"

"This collar," said the Earl, "with its double fusilles

interchanged with these knobs, which are supposed to present

flint-stones sparkling with fire, and sustaining the jewel you

inquire about, is the badge of the noble Order of the Golden

Fleece, once appertaining to the House of Burgundy it hath high

privileges, my Amy, belonging to it, this most noble Order; for

even the King of Spain himself, who hath now succeeded to the

honours and demesnes of Burgundy, may not sit in judgment upon a

knight of the Golden Fleece, unless by assistance and consent of

the Great Chapter of the Order."

"And is this an Order belonging to the cruel King of Spain?"

said the Countess. "Alas! my noble lord, that you will defile

your noble English breast by bearing such an emblem! Bethink you

of the most unhappy Queen Mary's days, when this same Philip held

sway with her in England, and of the piles which were built for

our noblest, and our wisest, and our most truly sanctified

prelates and divines--and will you, whom men call the standard-

bearer of the true Protestant faith, be contented to wear the

emblem and mark of such a Romish tyrant as he of Spain?"

"Oh, content you, my love," answered the Earl; "we who spread our

sails to gales of court favour cannot always display the ensigns

we love the best, or at all times refuse sailing under colours

which we like not. Believe me, I am not the less good

Protestant, that for policy I must accept the honour offered me

by Spain, in admitting me to this his highest order of

knighthood. Besides, it belongs properly to Flanders; and

Egmont, Orange, and others have pride in seeing it displayed on

an English bosom."

"Nay, my lord, you know your own path best," replied the

Countess. "And this other collar, to what country does this fair

jewel belong?"

"To a very poor one, my love," replied the Earl; "this is the

Order of Saint Andrew, revived by the last James of Scotland. It

was bestowed on me when it was thought the young widow of France

and Scotland would gladly have wedded an English baron; but a

free coronet of England is worth a crown matrimonial held at the

humour of a woman, and owning only the poor rocks and bogs of the

north."

The Countess paused, as if what the Earl last said had excited

some painful but interesting train of thought; and, as she still

remained silent, her husband proceeded:--

"And now, loveliest, your wish is gratified, and you have seen

your vassal in such of his trim array as accords with riding

vestments; for robes of state and coronets are only for princely

halls."

"Well, then," said the Countess, "my gratified wish has, as

usual, given rise to a new one."

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

husband.

"I wished to see my Earl visit this obscure and secret bower,"

said the Countess, "in all his princely array; and now, methinks

I long to sit in one of his princely halls, and see him enter

dressed in sober russet, as when he won poor Amy Robsart's

heart."

"That is a wish easily granted," said the Earl--"the sober russet

shall be donned to-morrow, if you will."

"But shall I," said the lady, "go with you to one of your

castles, to see how the richness of your dwelling will correspond

with your peasant habit?"

"Why, Amy," said the Earl, looking around, "are not these

apartments decorated with sufficient splendour? I gave the most

unbounded order, and, methinks, it has been indifferently well

obeyed; but if thou canst tell me aught which remains to be done,

I will instantly give direction."

"Nay, my lord, now you mock me," replied the Countess; "the

gaiety of this rich lodging exceeds my imagination as much as it

does my desert. But shall not your wife, my love--at least one

day soon--be surrounded with the honour which arises neither from

the toils of the mechanic who decks her apartment, nor from the

silks and jewels with which your generosity adorns her, but which

is attached to her place among the matronage, as the avowed wife

of England's noblest Earl?"

"One day?" said her husband. "Yes, Amy, my love, one day this

shall surely happen; and, believe me, thou canst not wish for

that day more fondly than I. With what rapture could I retire

from labours of state, and cares and toils of ambition, to spend

my life in dignity and honour on my own broad domains, with thee,

my lovely Amy, for my friend and companion! But, Amy, this

cannot yet be; and these dear but stolen interviews are all I can

give to the loveliest and the best beloved of her sex."

"But WHY can it not be?" urged the Countess, in the softest

tones of persuasion--"why can it not immediately take place--this

more perfect, this uninterrupted union, for which you say you

wish, and which the laws of God and man alike command? Ah! did

you but desire it half as much as you say, mighty and favoured as

you are, who or what should bar your attaining your wish?"

The Earl's brow was overcast.

"Amy," he said, "you speak of what you understand not. We that

toil in courts are like those who climb a mountain of loose sand

--we dare make no halt until some projecting rock affords us a

secure footing and resting-place. If we pause sooner, we slide

down by our own weight, an object of universal derision. I stand

high, but I stand not secure enough to follow my own inclination.

To declare my marriage were to be the artificer of my own ruin.

But, believe me, I will reach a point, and that speedily, when I

can do justice to thee and to myself. Meantime, poison not the

bliss of the present moment, by desiring that which cannot at

present be, Let me rather know whether all here is managed to thy

liking. How does Foster bear himself to you?--in all things

respectful, I trust, else the fellow shall dearly rue it."

"He reminds me sometimes of the necessity of this privacy,"

answered the lady, with a sigh; "but that is reminding me of your

wishes, and therefore I am rather bound to him than disposed to

blame him for it."

"I have told you the stern necessity which is upon us," replied

the Earl. "Foster is, I note, somewhat sullen of mood; but

Varney warrants to me his fidelity and devotion to my service.

If thou hast aught, however, to complain of the mode in which he

discharges his duty, he shall abye it."

"Oh, I have nought to complain of," answered the lady, "so he

discharges his task with fidelity to you; and his daughter Janet

is the kindest and best companion of my solitude--her little air

of precision sits so well upon her!"

"Is she indeed?" said the Earl. "She who gives you pleasure

must not pass unrewarded.--Come hither, damsel."

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

Janet, who, as we already noticed, had discreetly retired to some

distance, that her presence might be no check upon the private

conversation of her lord and lady, now came forward; and as she

made her reverential curtsy, the Earl could not help smiling at

the contrast which the extreme simplicity of her dress, and the

prim demureness of her looks, made with a very pretty countenance

and a pair of black eyes, that laughed in spite of their

mistress's desire to look grave.

"I am bound to you, pretty damsel," said the Earl, "for the

contentment which your service hath given to this lady." As he

said this, he took from his finger a ring of some price, and

offered it to Janet Foster, adding, "Wear this, for her sake and

for mine."

"I am well pleased, my lord," answered Janet demurely, "that my

poor service hath gratified my lady, whom no one can draw nigh to

without desiring to please; but we of the precious Master

Holdforth's congregation seek not, like the gay daughters of this

world, to twine gold around our fingers, or wear stones upon our

necks, like the vain women of Tyre and of Sidon."

"Oh, what! you are a grave professor of the precise sisterhood,

pretty Mistress Janet," said the Earl, "and I think your father

is of the same congregation in sincerity? I like you both the

better for it; for I have been prayed for, and wished well to, in

your congregations. And you may the better afford the lack of

ornament, Mistress Janet, because your fingers are slender, and

your neck white. But here is what neither Papist nor Puritan,

latitudinarian nor precisian, ever boggles or makes mouths at.

E'en take it, my girl, and employ it as you list."

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

and Mary,

"I would not accept this gold either," said Janet, "but that I

hope to find a use for it which will bring a blessing on us all."

"Even please thyself, pretty Janet," said the Earl, "and I shall

be well satisfied. And I prithee let them hasten the evening

collation."

"I have bidden Master Varney and Master Foster to sup with us, my

lord," said the Countess, as Janet retired to obey the Earl's

commands; "has it your approbation?"

"What you do ever must have so, my sweet Amy," replied her

husband; "and I am the better pleased thou hast done them this

grace, because Richard Varney is my sworn man, and a close

brother of my secret council; and for the present, I must needs

repose much trust in this Anthony Foster."

"I had a boon to beg of thee, and a secret to tell thee, my dear

lord," said the Countess, with a faltering accent.

"Let both be for to-morrow, my love," replied the Earl. "I see

they open the folding-doors into the banqueting-parlour, and as I

have ridden far and fast, a cup of wine will not be

unacceptable."

So saying he led his lovely wife into the next apartment, where

Varney and Foster received them with the deepest reverences,

which the first paid after the fashion of the court, and the

second after that of the congregation. The Earl returned their

salutation with the negligent courtesy of one long used to such

homage; while the Countess repaid it with a punctilious

solicitude, which showed it was not quite so familiar to her.

The banquet at which the company seated themselves corresponded

in magnificence with the splendour of the apartment in which it

was served up, but no domestic gave his attendance. Janet alone

stood ready to wait upon the company; and, indeed, the board was

so well supplied with all that could be desired, that little or

no assistance was necessary. The Earl and his lady occupied the

upper end of the table, and Varney and Foster sat beneath the

salt, as was the custom with inferiors. The latter, overawed

perhaps by society to which he was altogether unused, did not

utter a single syllable during the repast; while Varney, with

great tact and discernment, sustained just so much of the

conversation as, without the appearance of intrusion on his part,

prevented it from languishing, and maintained the good-humour of

the Earl at the highest pitch. This man was indeed highly

qualified by nature to discharge the part in which he found

himself placed, being discreet and cautious on the one hand, and,

on the other, quick, keen-witted, and imaginative; so that even

the Countess, prejudiced as she was against him on many accounts,

felt and enjoyed his powers of conversation, and was more

disposed than she had ever hitherto found herself to join in the

praises which the Earl lavished on his favourite. The hour of

rest at length arrived, the Earl and Countess retired to their

apartment, and all was silent in the castle for the rest of the

night.

Early on the ensuing morning, Varney acted as the Earl's

chamberlain as well as his master of horse, though the latter was

his proper office in that magnificent household, where knights

and gentlemen of good descent were well contented to hold such

menial situations, as nobles themselves held in that of the

sovereign. The duties of each of these charges were familiar to

Varney, who, sprung from an ancient but somewhat decayed family,

was the Earl's page during his earlier and more obscure fortunes,

and, faithful to him in adversity, had afterwards contrived to

render himself no less useful to him in his rapid and splendid

advance to fortune; thus establishing in him an interest resting

both on present and past services, which rendered him an almost

indispensable sharer of his confidence.

"Help me to do on a plainer riding-suit, Varney," said the Earl,

as he laid aside his morning-gown, flowered with silk and lined

with sables, "and put these chains and fetters there" (pointing

to the collars of the various Orders which lay on the table)

"into their place of security--my neck last night was well-nigh

broke with the weight of them. I am half of the mind that they

shall gall me no more. They are bonds which knaves have invented

to fetter fools. How thinkest thou, Varney?"

"Faith, my good lord," said his attendant, "I think fetters of

gold are like no other fetters--they are ever the weightier the

welcomer."

"For all that, Varney," replied his master, "I am well-nigh

resolved they shall bind me to the court no longer. What can

further service and higher favour give me, beyond the high rank

and large estate which I have already secured? What brought my

father to the block, but that he could not bound his wishes

within right and reason? I have, you know, had mine own ventures

and mine own escapes. I am well-nigh resolved to tempt the sea

no further, but sit me down in quiet on the shore."

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

Varney.

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

"Nay, my lord," said Varney, "be not angry with me. If your

lordship is happy in a lady so rarely lovely that, in order to

enjoy her company with somewhat more freedom, you are willing to

part with all you have hitherto lived for, some of your poor

servants may be sufferers; but your bounty hath placed me so

high, that I shall ever have enough to maintain a poor gentleman

in the rank befitting the high office he has held in your

lordship's family."

"Yet you seem discontented when I propose throwing up a dangerous

game, which may end in the ruin of both of us."

"I, my lord?" said Varney; "surely I have no cause to regret

your lordship's retreat! It will not be Richard Varney who will

incur the displeasure of majesty, and the ridicule of the court,

when the stateliest fabric that ever was founded upon a prince's

favour melts away like a morning frost-work. I would only have

you yourself to be assured, my lord, ere you take a step which

cannot be retracted, that you consult your fame and happiness in

the course you propose."

"Speak on, then, Varney," said the Earl; "I tell thee I have

determined nothing, and will weigh all considerations on either

side."

"Well, then, my lord," replied Varney, "we will suppose the step

taken, the frown frowned, the laugh laughed, and the moan moaned.

You have retired, we will say, to some one of your most distant

castles, so far from court that you hear neither the sorrow of

your friends nor the glee of your enemies, We will suppose, too,

that your successful rival will be satisfied (a thing greatly to

be doubted) with abridging and cutting away the branches of the

great tree which so long kept the sun from him, and that he does

not insist upon tearing you up by the roots. Well; the late

prime favourite of England, who wielded her general's staff and

controlled her parliaments, is now a rural baron, hunting,

hawking, drinking fat ale with country esquires, and mustering

his men at the command of the high sheriff--"

"Varney, forbear!" said the Earl.

"Nay, my lord, you must give me leave to conclude my picture.

--Sussex governs England--the Queen's health fails--the

succession is to be settled--a road is opened to ambition more

splendid than ambition ever dreamed of. You hear all this as you

sit by the hob, under the shade of your hall-chimney. You then

begin to think what hopes you have fallen from, and what

insignificance you have embraced; and all that you might look

babies in the eyes of your fair wife oftener than once a

fortnight,"

"I say, Varney," said the Earl, "no more of this. I said not

that the step, which my own ease and comfort would urge me to,

was to be taken hastily, or without due consideration to the

public safety. Bear witness to me, Varney; I subdue my wishes of

retirement, not because I am moved by the call of private

ambition, but that I may preserve the position in which I may

best serve my country at the hour of need.--Order our horses

presently; I will wear, as formerly, one of the livery cloaks,

and ride before the portmantle. Thou shalt be master for the

day, Varney--neglect nothing that can blind suspicion. We will

to horse ere men are stirring. I will but take leave of my lady,

and be ready. I impose a restraint on my own poor heart, and

wound one yet more dear to me; but the patriot must subdue the

husband.

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

dressing apartment.

"I am glad thou art gone," thought Varney, "or, practised as I am

in the follies of mankind, I had laughed in the very face of

thee! Thou mayest tire as thou wilt of thy new bauble, thy

pretty piece of painted Eve's flesh there, I will not be thy

hindrance. But of thine old bauble, ambition, thou shalt not

tire; for as you climb the hill, my lord, you must drag Richard

Varney up with you, and if he can urge you to the ascent he means

to profit by, believe me he will spare neither whip nor spur, and

for you, my pretty lady, that would be Countess outright, you

were best not thwart my courses, lest you are called to an old

reckoning on a new score. 'Thou shalt be master,' did he say?

By my faith, he may find that he spoke truer than he is aware of;

and thus he who, in the estimation of so many wise-judging men,

can match Burleigh and Walsingham in policy, and Sussex in war,

becomes pupil to his own menial--and all for a hazel eye and a

little cunning red and white, and so falls ambition. And yet if

the charms of mortal woman could excuse a man's politic pate for

becoming bewildered, my lord had the excuse at his right hand on

this blessed evening that has last passed over us. Well--let

things roll as they may, he shall make me great, or I will make

myself happy; and for that softer piece of creation, if she speak

not out her interview with Tressilian, as well I think she dare

not, she also must traffic with me for concealment and mutual

support, in spite of all this scorn. I must to the stables.

Well, my lord, I order your retinue now; the time may soon come

that my master of the horse shall order mine own. What was

Thomas Cromwell but a smith's son? and he died my lord--on a

scaffold, doubtless, but that, too, was in character. And what

was Ralph Sadler but the clerk of Cromwell? and he has gazed

eighteen fair lordships--VIA! I know my steerage as well as

they."

So saying, he left the apartment.

In the meanwhile the Earl had re-entered the bedchamber, bent on

taking a hasty farewell of the lovely Countess, and scarce daring

to trust himself in private with her, to hear requests again

urged which he found it difficult to parry, yet which his recent

conversation with his master of horse had determined him not to

grant.

He found her in a white cymar of silk lined with furs, her little

feet unstockinged and hastily thrust into slippers; her unbraided

hair escaping from under her midnight coif, with little array but

her own loveliness, rather augmented than diminished by the grief

which she felt at the approaching moment of separation.

"Now, God be with thee, my dearest and loveliest!" said the

Earl, scarce tearing himself from her embrace, yet again

returning to fold her again and again in his arms, and again

bidding farewell, and again returning to kiss and bid adieu once

more. "The sun is on the verge of the blue horizon--I dare not

stay. Ere this I should have been ten miles from hence."

Such were the words with which at length he strove to cut short

their parting interview. "You will not grant my request, then?"

said the Countess. "Ah, false knight! did ever lady, with bare

foot in slipper, seek boon of a brave knight, yet return with

denial?"

"Anything, Amy, anything thou canst ask I will grant," answered

the Earl--"always excepting," he said, "that which might ruin us

both."

"Nay," said the Countess, "I urge not my wish to be acknowledged

in the character which would make me the envy of England--as the

wife, that is, of my brave and noble lord, the first as the most

fondly beloved of English nobles. Let me but share the secret

with my dear father! Let me but end his misery on my unworthy

account--they say he is ill, the good old kind-hearted man!"

"They say?" asked the Earl hastily; "who says? Did not Varney

convey to Sir Hugh all we dare at present tell him concerning

your happiness and welfare? and has he not told you that the

good old knight was following, with good heart and health, his

favourite and wonted exercise. Who has dared put other thoughts

into your head?"

"Oh, no one, my lord, no one," said the Countess, something

alarmed at the tone, in which the question was put; "but yet, my

lord, I would fain be assured by mine own eyesight that my father

is well."

"Be contented, Amy; thou canst not now have communication with

thy father or his house. Were it not a deep course of policy to

commit no secret unnecessarily to the custody of more than must

needs be, it were sufficient reason for secrecy that yonder

Cornish man, yonder Trevanion, or Tressilian, or whatever his

name is, haunts the old knight's house, and must necessarily know

whatever is communicated there."

"My lord," answered the Countess, "I do not think it so. My

father has been long noted a worthy and honourable man; and for

Tressilian, if we can pardon ourselves the ill we have wrought

him, I will wager the coronet I am to share with you one day that

he is incapable of returning injury for injury."

"I will not trust him, however, Amy," said her husband--"by my

honour, I will not trust him, I would rather the foul fiend

intermingle in our secret than this Tressilian!"

"And why, my lord?" said the Countess, though she shuddered

slightly at the tone of determination in which he spoke; "let me

but know why you think thus hardly of Tressilian?"

"Madam," replied the Earl, "my will ought to be a sufficient

reason. If you desire more, consider how this Tressilian is

leagued, and with whom. He stands high in the opinion of this

Radcliffe, this Sussex, against whom I am barely able to maintain

my ground in the opinion of our suspicious mistress; and if he

had me at such advantage, Amy, as to become acquainted with the

tale of our marriage, before Elizabeth were fitly prepared, I

were an outcast from her grace for ever--a bankrupt at once in

favour and in fortune, perhaps, for she hath in her a touch of

her father Henry--a victim, and it may be a bloody one, to her

offended and jealous resentment."

"But why, my lord," again urged his lady, "should you deem thus

injuriously of a man of whom you know so little? What you do

know of Tressilian is through me, and it is I who assure you that

in no circumstances will be betray your secret. If I did him

wrong in your behalf, my lord, I am now the more concerned you

should do him justice. You are offended at my speaking of him,

what would you say had I actually myself seen him?"

"If you had," replied the Earl, "you would do well to keep that

interview as secret as that which is spoken in a confessional. I

seek no one's ruin; but he who thrusts himself on my secret

privacy were better look well to his future walk. The bear [The

Leicester cognizance was the ancient device adopted by his

father, when Earl of Warwick, the bear and ragged staff.] brooks

no one to cross his awful path."

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

"You are ill, my love," said the Earl, supporting her in his

arms. "Stretch yourself on your couch again; it is but an early

day for you to leave it. Have you aught else, involving less

than my fame, my fortune, and my life, to ask of me?"

"Nothing, my lord and love," answered the Countess faintly;

"something there was that I would have told you, but your anger

has driven it from my recollection."

"Reserve it till our next meeting, my love," said the Earl

fondly, and again embracing her; "and barring only those requests

which I cannot and dare not grant, thy wish must be more than

England and all its dependencies can fulfil, if it is not

gratified to the letter."

Thus saying, he at length took farewell. At the bottom of the

staircase he received from Varney an ample livery cloak and

slouched hat, in which he wrapped himself so as to disguise his

person and completely conceal his features. Horses were ready in

the courtyard for himself and Varney; for one or two of his

train, intrusted with the secret so far as to know or guess that

the Earl intrigued with a beautiful lady at that mansion, though

her name and duality were unknown to them, had already been

dismissed over-night.

Anthony Foster himself had in hand the rein of the Earl's

palfrey, a stout and able nag for the road; while his old

serving-man held the bridle of the more showy and gallant steed

which Richard Varney was to occupy in the character of master.

As the Earl approached, however, Varney advanced to hold his

master's bridle, and to prevent Foster from paying that duty to

the Earl which he probably considered as belonging to his own

office. Foster scowled at an interference which seemed intended

to prevent his paying his court to his patron, but gave place to

Varney; and the Earl, mounting without further observation, and

forgetting that his assumed character of a domestic threw him

into the rear of his supposed master, rode pensively out of the

quadrangle, not without waving his hand repeatedly in answer to

the signals which were made by the Countess with her kerchief

from the windows of her apartment.

While his stately form vanished under the dark archway which led

out of the quadrangle, Varney muttered, "There goes fine policy

--the servant before the master!" then as he disappeared, seized

the moment to speak a word with Foster. "Thou look'st dark on

me, Anthony," he said, "as if I had deprived thee of a parting

nod of my lord; but I have moved him to leave thee a better

remembrance for thy faithful service. See here! a purse of as

good gold as ever chinked under a miser's thumb and fore-finger.

Ay, count them, lad," said he, as Foster received the gold with a

grim smile, "and add to them the goodly remembrance he gave last

night to Janet."

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

gold to Janet?"

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

require guerdon?"

"She shall have none on't," said Foster; "she shall return it. I

know his dotage on one face is as brief as it is deep. His

affections are as fickle as the moon."

"Why, Foster, thou art mad--thou dost not hope for such good

fortune as that my lord should cast an eye on Janet? Who, in the

fiend's name, would listen to the thrush while the nightingale is

singing?"

"Thrush or nightingale, all is one to the fowler; and, Master

Varney, you can sound the quail-pipe most daintily to wile

wantons into his nets. I desire no such devil's preferment for

Janet as you have brought many a poor maiden to. Dost thou

laugh? I will keep one limb of my family, at least, from Satan's

clutches, that thou mayest rely on. She shall restore the gold."

"Ay, or give it to thy keeping, Tony, which will serve as well,"

answered Varney; "but I have that to say which is more serious.

Our lord is returning to court in an evil humour for us."

"How meanest thou?" said Foster. "Is he tired already of his

pretty toy--his plaything yonder? He has purchased her at a

monarch's ransom, and I warrant me he rues his bargain."

"Not a whit, Tony," answered the master of the horse; "he dotes

on her, and will forsake the court for her. Then down go hopes,

possessions, and safety--church-lands are resumed, Tony, and well

if the holders be not called to account in Exchequer."

"That were ruin," said Foster, his brow darkening with

apprehensions; "and all this for a woman! Had it been for his

soul's sake, it were something; and I sometimes wish I myself

could fling away the world that cleaves to me, and be as one of

the poorest of our church."

"Thou art like enough to be so, Tony," answered Varney; "but I

think the devil will give thee little credit for thy compelled

poverty, and so thou losest on all hands. But follow my counsel,

and Cumnor Place shall be thy copyhold yet. Say nothing of this

Tressilian's visit--not a word until I give thee notice."

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

"Dull beast!" replied Varney. "In my lord's present humour it

were the ready way to confirm him in his resolution of

retirement, should he know that his lady was haunted with such a

spectre in his absence. He would be for playing the dragon

himself over his golden fruit, and then, Tony, thy occupation is

ended. A word to the wise. Farewell! I must follow him."

He turned his horse, struck him with the spurs, and rode off

under the archway in pursuit of his lord.

"Would thy occupation were ended, or thy neck broken, damned

pander!" said Anthony Foster. "But I must follow his beck, for

his interest and mine are the same, and he can wind the proud

Earl to his will. Janet shall give me those pieces though; they

shall be laid out in some way for God's service, and I will keep

them separate in my strong chest, till I can fall upon a fitting

employment for them. No contagious vapour shall breathe on

Janet--she shall remain pure as a blessed spirit, were it but to

pray God for her father. I need her prayers, for I am at a hard

pass. Strange reports are abroad concerning my way of life. The

congregation look cold on me, and when Master Holdforth spoke of

hypocrites being like a whited sepulchre, which within was full

of dead men's bones, methought he looked full at me. The Romish

was a comfortable faith; Lambourne spoke true in that. A man had

but to follow his thrift by such ways as offered--tell his beads,

hear a mass, confess, and be absolved. These Puritans tread a

harder and a rougher path; but I will try--I will read my Bible

for an hour ere I again open mine iron chest."

Varney, meantime, spurred after his lord, whom he found waiting

for him at the postern gate of the park.

"You waste time, Varney," said the Earl, "and it presses. I must

be at Woodstock before I can safely lay aside my disguise, and

till then I journey in some peril."

"It is but two hours' brisk riding, my lord," said Varney. "For

me, I only stopped to enforce your commands of care and secrecy

on yonder Foster, and to inquire about the abode of the gentleman

whom I would promote to your lordship's train, in the room of

Trevors."

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

said the Earl.

"He promises well, my lord," replied Varney ; "but if your

lordship were pleased to ride on, I could go back to Cumnor, and

bring him to your lordship at Woodstock before you are out of

bed."

"Why, I am asleep there, thou knowest, at this moment," said the

Earl; "and I pray you not to spare horse-flesh, that you may be

with me at my levee."

So saying, he gave his horse the spur, and proceeded on his

journey, while Varney rode back to Cumnor by the public road,

avoiding the park. The latter alighted at the door of the bonny

Black Bear, and desired to speak with Master Michael Lambourne,

That respectable character was not long of appearing before his

new patron, but it was with downcast looks.

"Thou hast lost the scent," said Varney, "of thy comrade

Tressilian. I know it by thy bang-dog visage. Is this thy

alacrity, thou impudent knave?"

"Cogswounds!" said Lambourne, "there was never a trail so finely

hunted. I saw him to earth at mine uncle's here--stuck to him

like bees'-wax--saw him at supper--watched him to his chamber,

and, presto! he is gone next morning, the very hostler knows not

where."

"This sounds like practice upon me, sir," replied Varney; "and if

it proves so, by my soul you shall repent it!"

"Sir, the best hound will be sometimes at fault," answered

Lambourne; "how should it serve me that this fellow should have

thus evanished? You may ask mine host, Giles Gosling--ask the

tapster and hostler--ask Cicely, and the whole household, how I

kept eyes on Tressilian while he was on foot. On my soul, I

could not be expected to watch him like a sick nurse, when I had

seen him fairly a-bed in his chamber. That will be allowed me,

surely."

Varney did, in fact, make some inquiry among the household, which

confirmed the truth of Lambourne's statement. Tressilian, it was

unanimously agreed, had departed suddenly and unexpectedly,

betwixt night and morning.

"But I will wrong no one," said mine host; "he left on the table

in his lodging the full value of his reckoning, with some

allowance to the servants of the house, which was the less

necessary that he saddled his own gelding, as it seems, without

the hostler's assistance."

Thus satisfied of the rectitude of Lambourne's conduct, Varney

began to talk to him upon his future prospects, and the mode in

which he meant to bestow himself, intimating that he understood

from Foster he was not disinclined to enter into the household of

a nobleman.

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

"No," replied Lambourne; "but ever since I was ten years old, I

have dreamt once a week that I was there, and made my fortune."

"It may be your own fault if your dream comes not true," said

Varney. "Are you needy?"

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

"That is a sufficient answer, and an honest one," said Varney.

"Know you aught of the requisites expected from the retainer of a

rising courtier?"

"I have imagined them to myself, sir," answered Lambourne; "as,

for example, a quick eye, a close mouth, a ready and bold hand, a

sharp wit, and a blunt conscience."

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

long since?"

"I cannot remember, sir, that its edge was ever over-keen,"

replied Lambourne. "When I was a youth, I had some few whimsies;

but I rubbed them partly out of my recollection on the rough

grindstone of the wars, and what remained I washed out in the

broad waves of the Atlantic."

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

"In both East and West," answered the candidate for court

service, "by both sea and land. I have served both the Portugal

and the Spaniard, both the Dutchman and the Frenchman, and have

made war on our own account with a crew of jolly fellows, who

held there was no peace beyond the Line." [Sir Francis Drake,

Morgan, and many a bold buccaneer of those days, were, in fact,

little better than pirates.]

"Thou mayest do me, and my lord, and thyself, good service," said

Varney, after a pause. "But observe, I know the world--and

answer me truly, canst thou be faithful?"

"Did you not know the world," answered Lambourne, "it were my

duty to say ay, without further circumstance, and to swear to it

with life and honour, and so forth. But as it seems to me that

your worship is one who desires rather honest truth than politic

falsehood, I reply to you, that I can be faithful to the gallows'

foot, ay, to the loop that dangles from it, if I am well used and

well recompensed--not otherwise."

"To thy other virtues thou canst add, no doubt," said Varney, in

a jeering tone, "the knack of seeming serious and religious, when

the moment demands it?"

"It would cost me nothing," said Lambourne, "to say yes; but, to

speak on the square, I must needs say no. If you want a

hypocrite, you may take Anthony Foster, who, from his childhood,

had some sort of phantom haunting him, which he called religion,

though it was that sort of godliness which always ended in being

great gain. But I have no such knack of it."

"Well," replied Varney, "if thou hast no hypocrisy, hast thou not

a nag here in the stable?"

"Ay, sir," said Lambourne, "that shall take hedge and ditch with

my Lord Duke's best hunters. Then I made a little mistake on

Shooter's Hill, and stopped an ancient grazier whose pouches were

better lined than his brain-pan, the bonny bay nag carried me

sheer off in spite of the whole hue and cry."

"Saddle him then instantly, and attend me," said Varney. "Leave

thy clothes and baggage under charge of mine host; and I will

conduct thee to a service, in which, if thou do not better

thyself, the fault shall not be fortune's, but thine own."

"Brave and hearty!" said Lambourne, "and I am mounted in an

instant.--Knave, hostler, saddle my nag without the loss of one

second, as thou dost value the safety of thy noddle.--Pretty

Cicely, take half this purse to comfort thee for my sudden

departure."

"Gogsnouns!" replied the father, "Cicely wants no such token

from thee. Go away, Mike, and gather grace if thou canst, though

I think thou goest not to the land where it grows."

"Let me look at this Cicely of thine, mine host," said Varney; "I

have heard much talk of her beauty."

"It is a sunburnt beauty," said mine host, "well qualified to

stand out rain and wind, but little calculated to please such

critical gallants as yourself. She keeps her chamber, and cannot

encounter the glance of such sunny-day courtiers as my noble

guest."

"Well, peace be with her, my good host," answered Varney; "our

horses are impatient--we bid you good day."

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

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

"You are right--fully right," replied mine host--"you are, I say,

fully right, my kinsman. Thou hast got a gay horse; see thou

light not unaware upon a halter--or, if thou wilt needs be made

immortal by means of a rope, which thy purpose of following this

gentleman renders not unlikely, I charge thee to find a gallows

as far from Cumnor as thou conveniently mayest. And so I commend

you to your saddle."

The master of the horse and his new retainer mounted accordingly,

leaving the landlord to conclude his ill-omened farewell, to

himself and at leisure; and set off together at a rapid pace,

which prevented conversation until the ascent of a steep sandy

hill permitted them to resume it.

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

court service?"

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

yours."

"And what are your terms?" demanded Varney.

"If I am to have a quick eye for my patron's interest, he must

have a dull one towards my faults," said Lambourne.

"Ay," said Varney, "so they lie not so grossly open that he must

needs break his shins over them."

"Agreed," said Lambourne. "Next, if I run down game, I must have

the picking of the bones."

"That is but reason," replied Varney, "so that your betters are

served before you."

"Good," said Lambourne; "and it only remains to be said, that if

the law and I quarrel, my patron must bear me out, for that is a

chief point."

"Reason again," said Varney, "if the quarrel hath happened in

your master's service."

"For the wage and so forth, I say nothing," proceeded Lambourne;

"it is the secret guerdon that I must live by."

"Never fear," said Varney; "thou shalt have clothes and spending

money to ruffle it with the best of thy degree, for thou goest to

a household where you have gold, as they say, by the eye."

"That jumps all with my humour," replied Michael Lambourne; "and

it only remains that you tell me my master's name."

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

"But I mean," said Lambourne, "the name of the noble lord to

whose service you are to prefer me."

"How, knave, art thou too good to call me master?" said Varney

hastily; "I would have thee bold to others, but not saucy to me."

"I crave your worship's pardon," said Lambourne, "but you seemed

familiar with Anthony Foster; now I am familiar with Anthony

myself."

"Thou art a shrewd knave, I see," replied Varney. "Mark me--I do

indeed propose to introduce thee into a nobleman's household; but

it is upon my person thou wilt chiefly wait, and upon my

countenance that thou wilt depend. I am his master of horse.

Thou wilt soon know his name--it is one that shakes the council

and wields the state."

"By this light, a brave spell to conjure with," said Lambourne,

"if a man would discover hidden treasures!"

"Used with discretion, it may prove so," replied Varney; "but

mark--if thou conjure with it at thine own hand, it may raise a

devil who will tear thee in fragments."

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

The travellers then resumed the rapid rate of travelling which

their discourse had interrupted, and soon arrived at the Royal

Park of Woodstock. This ancient possession of the crown of

England was then very different from what it had been when it was

the residence of the fair Rosamond, and the scene of Henry the

Second's secret and illicit amours; and yet more unlike to the

scene which it exhibits in the present day, when Blenheim House

commemorates the victory of Marlborough, and no less the genius

of Vanbrugh, though decried in his own time by persons of taste

far inferior to his own. It was, in Elizabeth's time, an ancient

mansion in bad repair, which had long ceased to be honoured with

the royal residence, to the great impoverishment of the adjacent

village. The inhabitants, however, had made several petitions to

the Queen to have the favour of the sovereign's countenance

occasionally bestowed upon them; and upon this very business,

ostensibly at least, was the noble lord, whom we have already

introduced to our readers, a visitor at Woodstock.

Varney and Lambourne galloped without ceremony into the courtyard

of the ancient and dilapidated mansion, which presented on that

morning a scene of bustle which it had not exhibited for two

reigns. Officers of the Earl's household, liverymen and

retainers, went and came with all the insolent fracas which

attaches to their profession. The neigh of horses and the baying

of hounds were heard; for my lord, in his occupation of

inspecting and surveying the manor and demesne, was of course

provided with the means of following his pleasure in the chase or

park, said to have been the earliest that was enclosed in

England, and which was well stocked with deer that had long

roamed there unmolested. Several of the inhabitants of the

village, in anxious hope of a favourable result from this

unwonted visit, loitered about the courtyard, and awaited the

great man's coming forth. Their attention was excited by the

hasty arrival of Varney, and a murmur ran amongst them, "The

Earl's master of the horse!" while they hurried to bespeak

favour by hastily unbonneting, and proffering to hold the bridle

and stirrup of the favoured retainer and his attendant.

"Stand somewhat aloof, my masters!" said Varney haughtily, "and

let the domestics do their office."

The mortified citizens and peasants fell back at the signal;

while Lambourne, who had his eye upon his superior's deportment,

repelled the services of those who offered to assist him, with

yet more discourtesy--"Stand back, Jack peasant, with a murrain

to you, and let these knave footmen do their duty!"

While they gave their nags to the attendants of the household,

and walked into the mansion with an air of superiority which long

practice and consciousness of birth rendered natural to Varney,

and which Lambourne endeavoured to imitate as well as he could,

the poor inhabitants of Woodstock whispered to each other, "Well-

a-day! God save us from all such misproud princoxes! An the

master be like the men, why, the fiend may take all, and yet have

no more than his due."

"Silence, good neighbours!" said the bailiff, "keep tongue

betwixt teeth; we shall know more by-and-by. But never will a

lord come to Woodstock so welcome as bluff old King Harry! He

would horsewhip a fellow one day with his own royal hand, and

then fling him an handful of silver groats, with his own broad

face on them, to 'noint the sore withal."

"Ay, rest be with him!" echoed the auditors; "it will be long

ere this Lady Elizabeth horsewhip any of us."

"There is no saying," answered the bailiff. "Meanwhile,

patience, good neighbours, and let us comfort ourselves by

thinking that we deserve such notice at her Grace's hands."

Meanwhile, Varney, closely followed by his new dependant, made

his way to the hall, where men of more note and consequence than

those left in the courtyard awaited the appearance of the Earl,

who as yet kept his chamber. All paid court to Varney, with more

or less deference, as suited their own rank, or the urgency of

the business which brought them to his lord's levee. To the

general question of, "When comes my lord forth, Master Varney?"

he gave brief answers, as, "See you not my boots? I am but just

returned from Oxford, and know nothing of it," and the like,

until the same query was put in a higher tone by a personage of

more importance. "I will inquire of the chamberlain, Sir Thomas

Copely," was the reply. The chamberlain, distinguished by his

silver key, answered that the Earl only awaited Master Varney's

return to come down, but that he would first speak with him in

his private chamber. Varney, therefore, bowed to the company,

and took leave, to enter his lord's apartment.

There was a murmur of expectation which lasted a few minutes, and

was at length hushed by the opening of the folding-doors at the

upper end or the apartment, through which the Earl made his

entrance, marshalled by his chamberlain and the steward of his

family, and followed by Richard Varney. In his noble mien and

princely features, men read nothing of that insolence which was

practised by his dependants. His courtesies were, indeed,

measured by the rank of those to whom they were addressed, but

even the meanest person present had a share of his gracious

notice. The inquiries which he made respecting the condition of

the manor, of the Queen's rights there, and of the advantages and

disadvantages which might attend her occasional residence at the

royal seat of Woodstock, seemed to show that he had most

earnestly investigated the matter of the petition of the

inhabitants, and with a desire to forward the interest of the

place.

"Now the Lord love his noble countenance!" said the bailiff, who

had thrust himself into the presence-chamber; "he looks somewhat

pale. I warrant him he hath spent the whole night in perusing

our memorial. Master Toughyarn, who took six months to draw it

up, said it would take a week to understand it; and see if the

Earl hath not knocked the marrow out of it in twenty-four hours!"

The Earl then acquainted them that he should move their sovereign

to honour Woodstock occasionally with her residence during her

royal progresses, that the town and its vicinity might derive,

from her countenance and favour, the same advantages as from

those of her predecessors. Meanwhile, he rejoiced to be the

expounder of her gracious pleasure, in assuring them that, for

the increase of trade and encouragement of the worthy burgesses

of Woodstock, her Majesty was minded to erect the town into a

Staple for wool.

This joyful intelligence was received with the acclamations not

only of the better sort who were admitted to the audience-

chamber, but of the commons who awaited without.

The freedom of the corporation was presented to the Earl upon

knee by the magistrates of the place, together with a purse of

gold pieces, which the Earl handed to Varney, who, on his part,

gave a share to Lambourne, as the most acceptable earnest of his

new service.

The Earl and his retinue took horse soon after to return to

court, accompanied by the shouts of the inhabitants of Woodstock,

who made the old oaks ring with re-echoing, "Long live Queen

Elizabeth, and the noble Earl of Leicester!" The urbanity and

courtesy of the Earl even threw a gleam of popularity over his

attendants, as their haughty deportment had formerly obscured

that of their master; and men shouted, "Long life to the Earl,

and to his gallant followers!" as Varney and Lambourne, each in

his rank, rode proudly through the streets of Woodstock.

CHAPTER VIII.

HOST. I will hear you, Master Fenton; and I will, at the

least, keep your counsel.--MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.

It becomes necessary to return to the detail of those

circumstances which accompanied, and indeed occasioned, the

sudden disappearance of Tressilian from the sign of the Black

Bear at Cumnor. It will be recollected that this gentleman,

after his rencounter with Varney, had returned to Giles Gosling's

caravansary, where he shut himself up in his own chamber,

demanded pen, ink, and paper, and announced his purpose to remain

private for the day. In the evening he appeared again in the

public room, where Michael Lambourne, who had been on the watch

for him, agreeably to his engagement to Varney, endeavoured to

renew his acquaintance with him, and hoped he retained no

unfriendly recollection of the part he had taken in the morning's

scuffle.

But Tressilian repelled his advances firmly, though with

civility. "Master Lambourne," said he, "I trust I have

recompensed to your pleasure the time you have wasted on me.

Under the show of wild bluntness which you exhibit, I know you

have sense enough to understand me, when I say frankly that the

object of our temporary acquaintance having been accomplished, we

must be strangers to each other in future."

"VOTO!" said Lambourne, twirling his whiskers with one hand, and

grasping the hilt of his weapon with the other; "if I thought

that this usage was meant to insult me--"

"You would bear it with discretion, doubtless," interrupted

Tressilian, "as you must do at any rate. You know too well the

distance that is betwixt us, to require me to explain myself

further. Good evening."

So saying, he turned his back upon his former companion, and

entered into discourse with the landlord. Michael Lambourne felt

strongly disposed to bully; but his wrath died away in a few

incoherent oaths and ejaculations, and he sank unresistingly

under the ascendency which superior spirits possess over persons

of his habits and description. He remained moody and silent in a

corner of the apartment, paying the most marked attention to

every motion of his late companion, against whom he began now to

nourish a quarrel on his own account, which he trusted to avenge

by the execution of his new master Varney's directions. The hour

of supper arrived, and was followed by that of repose, when

Tressilian, like others, retired to his sleeping apartment.

He had not been in bed long, when the train of sad reveries,

which supplied the place of rest in his disturbed mind, was

suddenly interrupted by the jar of a door on its hinges, and a

light was seen to glimmer in the apartment. Tressilian, who was

as brave as steel, sprang from his bed at this alarm, and had

laid hand upon his sword, when he was prevented from drawing it

by a voice which said, "Be not too rash with your rapier, Master

Tressilian. It is I, your host, Giles Gosling."

At the same time, unshrouding the dark lantern, which had

hitherto only emitted an indistinct glimmer, the goodly aspect

and figure of the landlord of the Black Bear was visibly

presented to his astonished guest.

"What mummery is this, mine host?" said Tressilian. "Have you

supped as jollily as last night, and so mistaken your chamber?

or is midnight a time for masquerading it in your guest's

lodging?"

"Master Tressilian," replied mine host, "I know my place and my

time as well as e'er a merry landlord in England. But here has

been my hang-dog kinsman watching you as close as ever cat

watched a mouse; and here have you, on the other hand, quarrelled

and fought, either with him or with some other person, and I fear

that danger will come of it."

"Go to, thou art but a fool, man," said Tressilian. "Thy kinsman

is beneath my resentment; and besides, why shouldst thou think I

had quarrelled with any one whomsoever?"

"Oh, sir," replied the innkeeper, "there was a red spot on thy

very cheek-bone, which boded of a late brawl, as sure as the

conjunction of Mars and Saturn threatens misfortune; and when you

returned, the buckles of your girdle were brought forward, and

your step was quick and hasty, and all things showed your hand

and your hilt had been lately acquainted."

"Well, good mine host, if I have been obliged to draw my sword,"

said Tressilian, "why should such a circumstance fetch thee out

of thy warm bed at this time of night? Thou seest the mischief

is all over."

"Under favour, that is what I doubt. Anthony Foster is a

dangerous man, defended by strong court patronage, which hath

borne him out in matters of very deep concernment. And, then, my

kinsman--why, I have told you what he is; and if these two old

cronies have made up their old acquaintance, I would not, my

worshipful guest, that it should be at thy cost. I promise you,

Mike Lambourne has been making very particular inquiries at my

hostler when and which way you ride. Now, I would have you think

whether you may not have done or said something for which you may

be waylaid, and taken at disadvantage."

"Thou art an honest man, mine host," said Tressilian, after a

moment's consideration, "and I will deal frankly with thee. If

these men's malice is directed against me--as I deny not but it

may--it is because they are the agents of a more powerful villain

than themselves."

"You mean Master Richard Varney, do you not?" said the landlord;

"he was at Cumnor Place yesterday, and came not thither so

private but what he was espied by one who told me."

"I mean the same, mine host."

"Then, for God's sake, worshipful Master Tressilian," said honest

Gosling, "look well to yourself. This Varney is the protector

and patron of Anthony Foster, who holds under him, and by his

favour, some lease of yonder mansion and the park. Varney got a

large grant of the lands of the Abbacy of Abingdon, and Cumnor

Place amongst others, from his master, the Earl of Leicester.

Men say he can do everything with him, though I hold the Earl too

good a nobleman to employ him as some men talk of. And then the

Earl can do anything (that is, anything right or fitting) with

the Queen, God bless her! So you see what an enemy you have made

to yourself."

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

"Uds precious, but it must be helped in some manner," said the

host. "Richard Varney--why, what between his influence with my

lord, and his pretending to so many old and vexatious claims in

right of the abbot here, men fear almost to mention his name,

much more to set themselves against his practices. You may judge

by our discourses the last night. Men said their pleasure of Tony

Foster, but not a word of Richard Varney, though all men judge

him to be at the bottom of yonder mystery about the pretty wench.

But perhaps you know more of that matter than I do; for women,

though they wear not swords, are occasion for many a blade's

exchanging a sheath of neat's leather for one of flesh and

blood."

"I do indeed know more of that poor unfortunate lady than thou

dost, my friendly host; and so bankrupt am I, at this moment, of

friends and advice, that I will willingly make a counsellor of

thee, and tell thee the whole history, the rather that I have a

favour to ask when my tale is ended."

"Good Master Tressilian," said the landlord, "I am but a poor

innkeeper, little able to adjust or counsel such a guest as

yourself. But as sure as I have risen decently above the world,

by giving good measure and reasonable charges, I am an honest

man; and as such, if I may not be able to assist you, I am, at

least, not capable to abuse your confidence. Say away therefore,

as confidently as if you spoke to your father; and thus far at

least be certain, that my curiosity--for I will not deny that

which belongs to my calling--is joined to a reasonable degree of

discretion."

"I doubt it not, mine host," answered Tressilian; and while his

auditor remained in anxious expectation, he meditated for an

instant how he should commence his narrative. "My tale," he at

length said, "to be quite intelligible, must begin at some

distance back. You have heard of the battle of Stoke, my good

host, and perhaps of old Sir Roger Robsart, who, in that battle,

valiantly took part with Henry VII., the Queen's grandfather, and

routed the Earl of Lincoln, Lord Geraldin and his wild Irish, and

the Flemings whom the Duchess of Burgundy had sent over, in the

quarrel of Lambert Simnel?"

"I remember both one and the other," said Giles Gosling; "it is

sung of a dozen times a week on my ale-bench below. Sir Roger

Robsart of Devon--oh, ay, 'tis him of whom minstrels sing to this

hour,--

'He was the flower of Stoke's red field,

When Martin Swart on ground lay slain;

In raging rout he never reel'd,

But like a rock did firm remain.'

[This verse, or something similar, occurs in a long ballad, or

poem, on Flodden Field, reprinted by the late Henry Weber.]

Ay, and then there was Martin Swart I have heard my grandfather

talk of, and of the jolly Almains whom he commanded, with their

slashed doublets and quaint hose, all frounced with ribands above

the nether-stocks. Here's a song goes of Martin Swart, too, an I

had but memory for it:--

'Martin Swart and his men,

Saddle them, saddle them,

Martin Swart and his men;

Saddle them well.'"

[This verse of an old song actually occurs in an old play where

the singer boasts,

"Courteously I can both counter and knack

Of Martin Swart and all his merry men."]

"True, good mine host--the day was long talked of; but if you

sing so loud, you will awake more listeners than I care to commit

my confidence unto."

"I crave pardon, my worshipful guest," said mine host, "I was

oblivious. When an old song comes across us merry old knights of

the spigot, it runs away with our discretion."

"Well, mine host, my grandfather, like some other Cornishmen,

kept a warm affection to the House of York, and espoused the

quarrel of this Simnel, assuming the title of Earl of Warwick, as

the county afterwards, in great numbers, countenanced the cause

of Perkin Warbeck, calling himself the Duke of York. My

grandsire joined Simnel's standard, and was taken fighting

desperately at Stoke, where most of the leaders of that unhappy

army were slain in their harness. The good knight to whom he

rendered himself, Sir Roger Robsart, protected him from the

immediate vengeance of the king, and dismissed him without

ransom. But he was unable to guard him from other penalties of

his rashness, being the heavy fines by which he was impoverished,

according to Henry's mode of weakening his enemies. The good

knight did what he might to mitigate the distresses of my

ancestor; and their friendship became so strict, that my father

was bred up as the sworn brother and intimate of the present Sir

Hugh Robsart, the only son of Sir Roger, and the heir of his

honest, and generous, and hospitable temper, though not equal to

him in martial achievements."

"I have heard of good Sir Hugh Robsart," interrupted the host,

"many a time and oft; his huntsman and sworn servant, Will

Badger, hath spoken of him an hundred times in this very house.

A jovial knight he is, and hath loved hospitality and open

housekeeping more than the present fashion, which lays as much

gold lace on the seams of a doublet as would feed a dozen of tall

fellows with beef and ale for a twelvemonth, and let them have

their evening at the alehouse once a week, to do good to the

publican."

"If you have seen Will Badger, mine host," said Tressilian, "you

have heard enough of Sir Hugh Robsart; and therefore I will but

say, that the hospitality you boast of hath proved somewhat

detrimental to the estate of his family, which is perhaps of the

less consequence, as he has but one daughter to whom to bequeath

it. And here begins my share in the tale. Upon my father's

death, now several years since, the good Sir Hugh would willingly

have made me his constant companion. There was a time, however,

at which I felt the kind knight's excessive love for field-sports

detained me from studies, by which I might have profited more;

but I ceased to regret the leisure which gratitude and hereditary

friendship compelled me to bestow on these rural avocations. The

exquisite beauty of Mistress Amy Robsart, as she grew up from

childhood to woman, could not escape one whom circumstances

obliged to be so constantly in her company--I loved her, in

short, mine host, and her father saw it."

"And crossed your true loves, no doubt?" said mine host. "It is

the way in all such cases; and I judge it must have been so in

your instance, from the heavy sigh you uttered even now."

"The case was different, mine host. My suit was highly approved

by the generous Sir Hugh Robsart; it was his daughter who was

cold to my passion."

"She was the more dangerous enemy of the two," said the

innkeeper. "I fear me your suit proved a cold one."

"She yielded me her esteem," said Tressilian, "and seemed not

unwilling that I should hope it might ripen into a warmer

passion. There was a contract of future marriage executed

betwixt us, upon her father's intercession; but to comply with

her anxious request, the execution was deferred for a

twelvemonth. During this period, Richard Varney appeared in the

country, and, availing himself of some distant family connection

with Sir Hugh Robsart, spent much of his time in his company,

until, at length, he almost lived in the family."

"That could bode no good to the place he honoured with his

residence," said Gosling.

"No, by the rood!" replied Tressilian. "Misunderstanding and

misery followed his presence, yet so strangely that I am at this

moment at a loss to trace the gradations of their encroachment

upon a family which had, till then, been so happy. For a time

Amy Robsart received the attentions of this man Varney with the

indifference attached to common courtesies; then followed a

period in which she seemed to regard him with dislike, and even

with disgust; and then an extraordinary species of connection

appeared to grow up betwixt them. Varney dropped those airs of

pretension and gallantry which had marked his former approaches;

and Amy, on the other hand, seemed to renounce the ill-disguised

disgust with which she had regarded them. They seemed to have

more of privacy and confidence together than I fully liked, and I

suspected that they met in private, where there was less

restraint than in our presence. Many circumstances, which I

noticed but little at the time--for I deemed her heart as open as

her angelic countenance--have since arisen on my memory, to

convince me of their private understanding. But I need not

detail them--the fact speaks for itself. She vanished from her

father's house; Varney disappeared at the same time; and this

very day I have seen her in the character of his paramour, living

in the house of his sordid dependant Foster, and visited by him,

muffled, and by a secret entrance."

"And this, then, is the cause of your quarrel? Methinks, you

should have been sure that the fair lady either desired or

deserved your interference."

"Mine host," answered Tressilian, "my father--such I must ever

consider Sir Hugh Robsart--sits at home struggling with his

grief, or, if so far recovered, vainly attempting to drown, in

the practice of his field-sports, the recollection that he had

once a daughter--a recollection which ever and anon breaks from

him under circumstances the most pathetic. I could not brook the

idea that he should live in misery, and Amy in guilt; and I

endeavoured to-seek her out, with the hope of inducing her to

return to her family. I have found her, and when I have either

succeeded in my attempt, or have found it altogether unavailing,

it is my purpose to embark for the Virginia voyage."

"Be not so rash, good sir," replied Giles Gosling, "and cast not

yourself away because a woman--to be brief--IS a woman, and

changes her lovers like her suit of ribands, with no better

reason than mere fantasy. And ere we probe this matter further,

let me ask you what circumstances of suspicion directed you so

truly to this lady's residence, or rather to her place of

concealment?"

"The last is the better chosen word, mine host," answered

Tressilian; "and touching your question, the knowledge that

Varney held large grants of the demesnes formerly belonging to

the monks of Abingdon directed me to this neighbourhood; and your

nephew's visit to his old comrade Foster gave me the means of

conviction on the subject."

"And what is now your purpose, worthy sir?--excuse my freedom in

asking the question so broadly."

"I purpose, mine host," said Tressilian, "to renew my visit to

the place of her residence to-morrow, and to seek a more detailed

communication with her than I have had to-day. She must indeed

be widely changed from what she once was, if my words make no

impression upon her."

"Under your favour, Master Tressilian," said the landlord, "you

can follow no such course. The lady, if I understand you, has

already rejected your interference in the matter."

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

"Then, marry, by what right or interest do you process a

compulsory interference with her inclination, disgraceful as it

may be to herself and to her parents? Unless my judgment gulls

me, those under whose protection she has thrown herself would

have small hesitation to reject your interference, even if it

were that of a father or brother; but as a discarded lover, you

expose yourself to be repelled with the strong hand, as well as

with scorn. You can apply to no magistrate for aid or

countenance; and you are hunting, therefore, a shadow in water,

and will only (excuse my plainness) come by ducking and danger in

attempting to catch it."

"I will appeal to the Earl of Leicester," said Tressilian,

"against the infamy of his favourite. He courts the severe and

strict sect of Puritans. He dare not, for the sake of his own

character, refuse my appeal, even although he were destitute of

the principles of honour and nobleness with which fame invests

him. Or I will appeal to the Queen herself."

"Should Leicester," said the landlord, "be disposed to protect

his dependant (as indeed he is said to be very confidential with

Varney), the appeal to the Queen may bring them both to reason.

Her Majesty is strict in such matters, and (if it be not treason

to speak it) will rather, it is said, pardon a dozen courtiers

for falling in love with herself, than one for giving preference

to another woman. Coragio then, my brave guest! for if thou

layest a petition from Sir Hugh at the foot of the throne,

bucklered by the story of thine own wrongs, the favourite Earl

dared as soon leap into the Thames at the fullest and deepest, as

offer to protect Varney in a cause of this nature. But to do

this with any chance of success, you must go formally to work;

and, without staying here to tilt with the master of horse to a

privy councillor, and expose yourself to the dagger of his

cameradoes, you should hie you to Devonshire, get a petition

drawn up for Sir Hugh Robsart, and make as many friends as you

can to forward your interest at court."

"You have spoken well, mine host," said Tressilian, "and I will

profit by your advice, and leave you to-morrow early."

"Nay, leave me to-night, sir, before to-morrow comes," said he

landlord. "I never prayed for a guest's arrival more eagerly

than I do to have you safely gone, My kinsman's destiny is most

like to be hanged for something, but I would not that the cause

were the murder of an honoured guest of mine. 'Better ride safe

in the dark,' says the proverb, 'than in daylight with a cut-

throat at your elbow.' Come, sir, I move you for your own safety.

Your horse and all is ready, and here is your score."

"It is somewhat under a noble," said Tressilian, giving one to

the host; "give the balance to pretty Cicely, your daughter, and

the servants of the house."

"They shall taste of your bounty, sir," said Gosling, "and you

should taste of my daughter's lips in grateful acknowledgment,

but at this hour she cannot grace the porch to greet your

departure."

"Do not trust your daughter too far with your guests, my good

landlord," said Tressilian.

"Oh, sir, we will keep measure; but I wonder not that you are

jealous of them all.--May I crave to know with what aspect the

fair lady at the Place yesterday received you?"

"I own," said Tressilian, "it was angry as well as confused, and

affords me little hope that she is yet awakened from her unhappy

delusion."

"In that case, sir, I see not why you should play the champion of

a wench that will none of you, and incur the resentment of a

favourite's favourite, as dangerous a monster as ever a knight

adventurer encountered in the old story books."

"You do me wrong in the supposition, mine host--gross wrong,"

said Tressilian; "I do not desire that Amy should ever turn

thought upon me more. Let me but see her restored to her father,

and all I have to do in Europe--perhaps in the world--is over and

ended."

"A wiser resolution were to drink a cup of sack, and forget her,"

said the landlord. "But five-and-twenty and fifty look on those

matters with different eyes, especially when one cast of peepers

is set in the skull of a young gallant, and the other in that of

an old publican. I pity you, Master Tressilian, but I see not

how I can aid you in the matter."

"Only thus far, mine host," replied Tressilian--"keep a watch on

the motions of those at the Place, which thou canst easily learn

without suspicion, as all men's news fly to the ale-bench; and be

pleased to communicate the tidings in writing to such person, and

to no other, who shall bring you this ring as a special token.

Look at it; it is of value, and I will freely bestow it on you."

"Nay, sir," said the landlord, "I desire no recompense--but it

seems an unadvised course in me, being in a public line, to

connect myself in a matter of this dark and perilous nature. I

have no interest in it."

"You, and every father in the land, who would have his daughter

released from the snares of shame, and sin, and misery, have an

interest deeper than aught concerning earth only could create."

"Well, sir," said the host, "these are brave words; and I do pity

from my soul the frank-hearted old gentleman, who has minished

his estate in good housekeeping for the honour of his country,

and now has his daughter, who should be the stay of his age, and

so forth, whisked up by such a kite as this Varney. And though

your part in the matter is somewhat of the wildest, yet I will

e'en be a madcap for company, and help you in your honest attempt

to get back the good man's child, so far as being your faithful

intelligencer can serve. And as I shall be true to you, I pray

you to be trusty to me, and keep my secret; for it were bad for

the custom of the Black Bear should it be said the bear-warder

interfered in such matters. Varney has interest enough with the

justices to dismount my noble emblem from the post on which he

swings so gallantly, to call in my license, and ruin me from

garret to cellar."

"Do not doubt my secrecy, mine host," said Tressilian; "I will

retain, besides, the deepest sense of thy service, and of the

risk thou dost run--remember the ring is my sure token. And now,

farewell! for it was thy wise advice that I should tarry here as

short a time as may be."

"Follow me, then, Sir Guest," said the landlord, "and tread as

gently as if eggs were under your foot, instead of deal boards.

No man must know when or how you departed."

By the aid of his dark lantern he conducted Tressilian, as soon

as he had made himself ready for his journey, through a long

intricacy of passages, which opened to an outer court, and from

thence to a remote stable, where he had already placed his

guest's horse. He then aided him to fasten on the saddle the

small portmantle which contained his necessaries, opened a

postern door, and with a hearty shake of the hand, and a

reiteration of his promise to attend to what went on at Cumnor

Place, he dismissed his guest to his solitary journey.

CHAPTER IX.

Far in the lane a lonely hut he found,

No tenant ventured on the unwholesome ground:

Here smokes his forge, he bares his sinewy arm,

And early strokes the sounding anvil warm;

Around his shop the steely sparkles flew,

As for the steed he shaped the bending shoe. GAY'S TRIVIA.

As it was deemed proper by the traveller himself, as well as by

Giles Gosling, that Tressilian should avoid being seen in the

neighbourhood of Cumnor by those whom accident might make early

risers, the landlord had given him a route, consisting of various

byways and lanes, which he was to follow in succession, and

which, all the turns and short-cuts duly observed, was to conduct

him to the public road to Marlborough.

But, like counsel of every other kind, this species of direction

is much more easily given than followed; and what betwixt the

intricacy of the way, the darkness of the night, Tressilian's

ignorance of the country, and the sad and perplexing thoughts

with which he had to contend, his journey proceeded so slowly,

that morning found him only in the vale of Whitehorse, memorable

for the defeat of the Danes in former days, with his horse

deprived of a fore-foot shoe, an accident which threatened to put

a stop to his journey by laming the animal. The residence of a

smith was his first object of inquiry, in which he received

little satisfaction from the dullness or sullenness of one or two

peasants, early bound for their labour, who gave brief and

indifferent answers to his questions on the subject. Anxious, at

length, that the partner of his journey should suffer as little

as possible from the unfortunate accident, Tressilian dismounted,

and led his horse in the direction of a little hamlet, where he

hoped either to find or hear tidings of such an artificer as he

now wanted. Through a deep and muddy lane, he at length waded on

to the place, which proved only an assemblage of five or six

miserable huts, about the doors of which one or two persons,

whose appearance seemed as rude as that of their dwellings, were

beginning the toils of the day. One cottage, however, seemed of

rather superior aspect, and the old dame, who was sweeping her

threshold, appeared something less rude than her neighbours. To

her Tressilian addressed the oft-repeated question, whether there

was a smith in this neighbourhood, or any place where he could

refresh his horse? The dame looked him in the face with a

peculiar expression as she replied, "Smith! ay, truly is there a

smith--what wouldst ha' wi' un, mon?"

"To shoe my horse, good dame," answered Tressiliany: you may see

that he has thrown a fore-foot shoe."

"Master Holiday!" exclaimed the dame, without returning any

direct answer--"Master Herasmus Holiday, come and speak to mon,

and please you."

"FAVETE LINGUIS," answered a voice from within;" I cannot now

come forth, Gammer Sludge, being in the very sweetest bit of my

morning studies."

"Nay, but, good now, Master Holiday, come ye out, do ye. Here's

a mon would to Wayland Smith, and I care not to show him way to

devil; his horse hath cast shoe."

"QUID MIHI CUM CABALLO?" replied the man of learning from

within; "I think there is but one wise man in the hundred, and

they cannot shoe a horse without him!"

And forth came the honest pedagogue, for such his dress bespoke

him. A long, lean, shambling, stooping figure was surmounted by

a head thatched with lank, black hair somewhat inclining to grey.

His features had the cast of habitual authority, which I suppose

Dionysius carried with him from the throne to the schoolmaster's

pulpit, and bequeathed as a legacy to all of the same profession,

A black buckram cassock was gathered at his middle with a belt,

at which hung, instead of knife or weapon, a goodly leathern pen-

and-ink case. His ferula was stuck on the other side, like

Harlequin's wooden sword; and he carried in his hand the tattered

volume which he had been busily perusing.

On seeing a person of Tressilian's appearance, which he was

better able to estimate than the country folks had been, the

schoolmaster unbonneted, and accosted him with, "SALVE, DOMINE.

INTELLIGISNE LINGUAM LATINAM?"

Tressilian mustered his learning to reply, "LINGUAE LATINAE HAUD

PENITUS IGNARUS, VENIA TUA, DOMINE ERUDITISSIME, VERNACULAM

LIBENTIUS LOQUOR."

The Latin reply had upon the schoolmaster the effect which the

mason's sign is said to produce on the brethren of the trowel.

He was at once interested in the learned traveller, listened with

gravity to his story of a tired horse and a lost shoe, and then

replied with solemnity, "It may appear a simple thing, most

worshipful, to reply to you that there dwells, within a brief

mile of these TUGURIA, the best FABER FERARIUS, the most

accomplished blacksmith, that ever nailed iron upon horse. Now,

were I to say so, I warrant me you would think yourself COMPOS

VOTI, or, as the vulgar have it, a made man."

"I should at least," said Tressilian, "have a direct answer to a

plain question, which seems difficult to be obtained in this

country."

"It is a mere sending of a sinful soul to the evil un," said the

old woman, "the sending a living creature to Wayland Smith."

"Peace, Gammer Sludge!" said the pedagogue; "PAUCA VERBA, Gammer

Sludge; look to the furmity, Gammer Sludge; CURETUR JENTACULUM,

Gammer Sludge; this gentleman is none of thy gossips." Then

turning to Tressilian, he resumed his lofty tone, "And so, most

worshipful, you would really think yourself FELIX BIS TERQUE

should I point out to you the dwelling of this same smith?"

"Sir," replied Tressilian, "I should in that case have all that I

want at present--a horse fit to carry me forward;--out of hearing

of your learning." The last words he muttered to himself.

"O CAECA MENS MORTALIUM!" said the learned man "well was it sung

by Junius Juvenalis, 'NUMINIBUS VOTA EXAUDITA MALIGNIS!'"

"Learned Magister," said Tressilian, "your erudition so greatly

exceeds my poor intellectual capacity that you must excuse my

seeking elsewhere for information which I can better understand."

"There again now," replied the pedagogue, "how fondly you fly

from him that would instruct you! Truly said Quintilian--"

"I pray, sir, let Quintilian be for the present, and answer, in a

word and in English, if your learning can condescend so far,

whether there is any place here where I can have opportunity to

refresh my horse until I can have him shod?"

"Thus much courtesy, sir," said the schoolmaster, "I can readily

render you, that although there is in this poor hamlet (NOSTRA

PAUPERA REGNA) no regular HOSPITIUM, as my namesake Erasmus

calleth it, yet, forasmuch as you are somewhat embued, or at

least tinged, as it were, with good letters, I will use my

interest with the good woman of the house to accommodate you with

a platter of furmity--an wholesome food for which I have found no

Latin phrase--your horse shall have a share of the cow-house,

with a bottle of sweet hay, in which the good woman Sludge so

much abounds, that it may be said of her cow, FAENUM HABET IN

CORNU; and if it please you to bestow on me the pleasure of your

company, the banquet shall cost you NE SEMISSEM QUIDEM, so much

is Gammer Sludge bound to me for the pains I have bestowed on the

top and bottom of her hopeful heir Dickie, whom I have painfully

made to travel through the accidence."

"Now, God yield ye for it, Master Herasmus," said the good

Gammer, "and grant that little Dickie may be the better for his

accident! And for the rest, if the gentleman list to stay,

breakfast shall be on the board in the wringing of a dishclout;

and for horse-meat, and man's meat, I bear no such base mind as

to ask a penny."

Considering the state of his horse, Tressilian, upon the whole,

saw no better course than to accept the invitation thus learnedly

made and hospitably confirmed, and take chance that when the good

pedagogue had exhausted every topic of conversation, he might

possibly condescend to tell him where he could find the smith

they spoke of. He entered the hut accordingly, and sat down with

the learned Magister Erasmus Holiday, partook of his furmity, and

listened to his learned account of himself for a good half hour,

ere he could get him to talk upon any other topic, The reader

will readily excuse our accompanying this man of learning into

all the details with which he favoured Tressilian, of which the

following sketch may suffice.

He was born at Hogsnorton, where, according to popular saying,

the pigs play upon the organ; a proverb which he interpreted

allegorically, as having reference to the herd of Epicurus, of

which litter Horace confessed himself a porker. His name of

Erasmus he derived partly from his father having been the son of

a renowned washerwoman, who had held that great scholar in clean

linen all the while he was at Oxford; a task of some difficulty,

as he was only possessed of two shirts, "the one," as she

expressed herself, "to wash the other," The vestiges of one of

these CAMICIAE, as Master Holiday boasted, were still in his

possession, having fortunately been detained by his grandmother

to cover the balance of her bill. But he thought there was a

still higher and overruling cause for his having had the name of

Erasmus conferred on him--namely, the secret presentiment of his

mother's mind that, in the babe to be christened, was a hidden

genius, which should one day lead him to rival the fame of the

great scholar of Amsterdam. The schoolmaster's surname led him

as far into dissertation as his Christian appellative. He was

inclined to think that he bore the name of Holiday QUASI LUCUS A

NON LUCENDO, because he gave such few holidays to his school.

"Hence," said he, "the schoolmaster is termed, classically, LUDI

MAGISTER, because he deprives boys of their play." And yet, on

the other hand, he thought it might bear a very different

interpretation, and refer to his own exquisite art in arranging

pageants, morris-dances, May-day festivities, and such-like

holiday delights, for which he assured Tressilian he had

positively the purest and the most inventive brain in England;

insomuch, that his cunning in framing such pleasures had made him

known to many honourable persons, both in country and court, and

especially to the noble Earl of Leicester. "And although he may

now seem to forget me," he said, "in the multitude of state

affairs, yet I am well assured that, had he some pretty pastime

to array for entertainment of the Queen's Grace, horse and man

would be seeking the humble cottage of Erasmus Holiday. PARVO

CONTENTUS, in the meanwhile, I hear my pupils parse and construe,

worshipful sir, and drive away my time with the aid of the Muses.

And I have at all times, when in correspondence with foreign

scholars, subscribed myself Erasmus ab Die Fausto, and have

enjoyed the distinction due to the learned under that title:

witness the erudite Diedrichus Buckerschockius, who dedicated to

me under that title his treatise on the letter TAU. In fine,

sir, I have been a happy and distinguished man."

"Long may it be so, sir!" said the traveller; "but permit me to

ask, in your own learned phrase, QUID HOC AD IPHYCLI BOVES? what

has all this to do with the shoeing of my poor nag?"

"FESTINA LENTE," said the man of learning, "we will presently

came to that point. You must know that some two or three years

past there came to these parts one who called himself Doctor

Doboobie, although it may be he never wrote even MAGISTER ARTIUM,

save in right of his hungry belly. Or it may be, that if he had

any degrees, they were of the devil's giving; for he was what the

vulgar call a white witch, a cunning man, and such like.--Now,

good sir, I perceive you are impatient; but if a man tell not his

tale his own way, how have you warrant to think that he can tell

it in yours?"

"Well, then, learned sir, take your way," answered Tressilian;

"only let us travel at a sharper pace, for my time is somewhat of

the shortest."

"Well, sir," resumed Erasmus Holiday, with the most provoking

perseverance, "I will not say that this same Demetrius for so he

wrote himself when in foreign parts, was an actual conjurer, but

certain it is that he professed to be a brother of the mystical

Order of the Rosy Cross, a disciple of Geber (EX NOMINE CUJUS

VENIT VERBUM VERNACULUM, GIBBERISH). He cured wounds by salving

the weapon instead of the sore; told fortunes by palmistry;

discovered stolen goods by the sieve and shears; gathered the

right maddow and the male fern seed, through use of which men

walk invisible; pretended some advances towards the panacea, or

universal elixir; and affected to convert good lead into sorry

silver."

"In other words," said Tressilian, "he was a quacksalver and

common cheat; but what has all this to do with my nag, and the

shoe which he has lost?"

"With your worshipful patience," replied the diffusive man of

letters, "you shall understand that presently--PATENTIA then,

right worshipful, which word, according to our Marcus Tullius, is

'DIFFICILIUM RERUM DIURNA PERPESSIO.' This same Demetrius

Doboobie, after dealing with the country, as I have told you,

began to acquire fame INTER MAGNATES, among the prime men of the

land, and there is likelihood he might have aspired to great

matters, had not, according to vulgar fame (for I aver not the

thing as according with my certain knowledge), the devil claimed

his right, one dark night, and flown off with Demetrius, who was

never seen or heard of afterwards. Now here comes the MEDULLA,

the very marrow, of my tale. This Doctor Doboobie had a servant,

a poor snake, whom he employed in trimming his furnace,

regulating it by just measure--compounding his drugs--tracing his

circles--cajoling his patients, ET SIC ET CAETERIS. Well, right

worshipful, the Doctor being removed thus strangely, and in a way

which struck the whole country with terror, this poor Zany thinks

to himself, in the words of Maro, 'UNO AVULSO, NON DEFICIT

ALTER;' and, even as a tradesman's apprentice sets himself up in

his master's shop when he is dead or hath retired from business,

so doth this Wayland assume the dangerous trade of his defunct

master. But although, most worshipful sir, the world is ever

prone to listen to the pretensions of such unworthy men, who are,

indeed, mere SALTIM BANQUI and CHARLATANI, though usurping the

style and skill of doctors of medicine, yet the pretensions of

this poor Zany, this Wayland, were too gross to pass on them, nor

was there a mere rustic, a villager, who was not ready to accost

him in the sense of Persius, though in their own rugged words,--

DILIUS HELLEBORUM CERTO COMPESCERE PUNCTO

NESCIUS EXAMEN? VETAT HOC NATURA VEDENDI;'

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

Wilt thou mix hellebore, who dost not know

How many grains should to the mixture go?

The art of medicine this forbids, I trow.

Moreover, the evil reputation of the master, and his strange and

doubtful end, or at least sudden disappearance, prevented any,

excepting the most desperate of men, to seek any advice or

opinion from the servant; wherefore, the poor vermin was likely

at first to swarf for very hunger. But the devil that serves

him, since the death of Demetrius or Doboobie, put him on a fresh

device. This knave, whether from the inspiration of the devil,

or from early education, shoes horses better than e'er a man

betwixt us and Iceland; and so he gives up his practice on the

bipeds, the two-legged and unfledged species called mankind, and

betakes him entirely to shoeing of horses."

"Indeed! and where does he lodge all this time?" said

Tressilian. "And does he shoe horses well? Show me his dwelling

presently."

The interruption pleased not the Magister, who exclaimed, "O

CAECA MENS MORTALIUM!--though, by the way, I used that quotation

before. But I would the classics could afford me any sentiment

of power to stop those who are so willing to rush upon their own

destruction. Hear but, I pray you, the conditions of this man,"

said he, in continuation, "ere you are so willing to place

yourself within his danger--"

"A' takes no money for a's work," said the dame, who stood by,

enraptured as it were with the line words and learned apophthegms

which glided so fluently from her erudite inmate, Master Holiday.

But this interruption pleased not the Magister more than that of

the traveller.

"Peace," said he, "Gammer Sludge; know your place, if it be your

will. SUFFLAMINA, Gammer Sludge, and allow me to expound this

matter to our worshipful guest.--Sir," said he, again addressing

Tressilian, "this old woman speaks true, though in her own rude

style; for certainly this FABER FERRARIUS, or blacksmith, takes

money of no one."

"And that is a sure sign he deals with Satan," said Dame Sludge;

"since no good Christian would ever refuse the wages of his

labour."

"The old woman hath touched it again," said the pedagogue; "REM

ACU TETIGIT--she hath pricked it with her needle's point. This

Wayland takes no money, indeed; nor doth he show himself to any

one."

"And can this madman, for such I hold him," said the traveller,

"know aught like good skill of his trade?"

"Oh, sir, in that let us give the devil his due--Mulciber

himself, with all his Cyclops, could hardly amend him. But

assuredly there is little wisdom in taking counsel or receiving

aid from one who is but too plainly in league with the author of

evil."

"I must take my chance of that, good Master Holiday," said

Tressilian, rising; "and as my horse must now have eaten his

provender, I must needs thank you for your good cheer, and pray

you to show me this man's residence, that I may have the means of

proceeding on my journey."

"Ay, ay, do ye show him, Master Herasmus," said the old dame, who

was, perhaps, desirous to get her house freed of her guest; "a'

must needs go when the devil drives."

"DO MANUS," said the Magister, "I submit--taking the world to

witness, that I have possessed this honourable gentleman with the

full injustice which he has done and shall do to his own soul, if

he becomes thus a trinketer with Satan. Neither will I go forth

with our guest myself, but rather send my pupil.--RICARDE!

ADSIS, NEBULO."

"Under your favour, not so," answered the old woman; "you may

peril your own soul, if you list, but my son shall budge on no

such errand. And I wonder at you, Dominie Doctor, to propose

such a piece of service for little Dickie."

"Nay, my good Gammer Sludge," answered the preceptor, "Ricardus

shall go but to the top of the hill, and indicate with his digit

to the stranger the dwelling of Wayland Smith. Believe not that

any evil can come to him, he having read this morning, fasting, a

chapter of the Septuagint, and, moreover, having had his lesson

in the Greek Testament."

"Ay," said his mother, "and I have sewn a sprig of witch's elm in

the neck of un's doublet, ever since that foul thief has begun

his practices on man and beast in these parts."

"And as he goes oft (as I hugely suspect) towards this conjurer

for his own pastime, he may for once go thither, or near it, to

pleasure us, and to assist this stranger.--ERGO, HEUS RICARDE!

ADSIS, QUAESO, MI DIDASCULE."

The pupil, thus affectionately invoked, at length came stumbling

into the room; a queer, shambling, ill-made urchin, who, by his

stunted growth, seemed about twelve or thirteen years old, though

he was probably, in reality, a year or two older, with a carroty

pate in huge disorder, a freckled, sunburnt visage, with a snub

nose, a long chin, and two peery grey eyes, which had a droll

obliquity of vision, approaching to a squint, though perhaps not

a decided one. It was impossible to look at the little man

without some disposition to laugh, especially when Gammer Sludge,

seizing upon and kissing him, in spite of his struggling and

kicking in reply to her caresses, termed him her own precious

pearl of beauty.

"RICARDE," said the preceptor, "you must forthwith (which is

PROFECTO) set forth so far as the top of the hill, and show this

man of worship Wayland Smith's workshop."

"A proper errand of a morning," said the boy, in better language

than Tressilian expected; "and who knows but the devil may fly

away with me before I come back?"

"Ay, marry may un," said Dame Sludge; "and you might have thought

twice, Master Domine, ere you sent my dainty darling on arrow

such errand. It is not for such doings I feed your belly and

clothe your back, I warrant you!"

"Pshaw--NUGAE, good Gammer Sludge," answered the preceptor; "I

ensure you that Satan, if there be Satan in the case, shall not

touch a thread of his garment; for Dickie can say his PATER with

the best, and may defy the foul fiend--EUMENIDES, STYGIUMQUE

NEFAS."

"Ay, and I, as I said before, have sewed a sprig of the mountain-

ash into his collar," said the good woman, "which will avail more

than your clerkship, I wus; but for all that, it is ill to seek

the devil or his mates either."

"My good boy," said Tressilian, who saw, from a grotesque sneer

on Dickie's face, that he was more likely to act upon his own

bottom than by the instructions of his elders, "I will give thee

a silver groat, my pretty fellow, if you will but guide me to

this man's forge."

The boy gave him a knowing side-look, which seemed to promise

acquiescence, while at the same time he exclaimed, "I be your

guide to Wayland Smith's! Why, man, did I not say that the devil

might fly off with me, just as the kite there" (looking to the

window) "is flying off with one of grandam's chicks?"

"The kite! the kite!" exclaimed the old woman in return, and

forgetting all other matters in her alarm, hastened to the rescue

of her chickens as fast as her old legs could carry her.

"Now for it," said the urchin to Tressilian; "snatch your beaver,

get out your horse, and have at the silver groat you spoke of."

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

RICARDE!"

"Tarry yourself," said Dickie, "and think what answer you are to

make to granny for sending me post to the devil."

The teacher, aware of the responsibility he was incurring,

bustled up in great haste to lay hold of the urchin and to

prevent his departure; but Dickie slipped through his fingers,

bolted from the cottage, and sped him to the top of a

neighbouring rising ground, while the preceptor, despairing, by

well-taught experience, of recovering his pupil by speed of foot,

had recourse to the most honied epithets the Latin vocabulary

affords to persuade his return. But to MI ANIME, CORCULUM MEUM,

and all such classical endearments, the truant turned a deaf ear,

and kept frisking on the top of the rising ground like a goblin

by moonlight, making signs to his new acquaintance, Tressilian,

to follow him.

The traveller lost no time in getting out his horse and departing

to join his elvish guide, after half-forcing on the poor,

deserted teacher a recompense for the entertainment he had

received, which partly allayed that terror he had for facing the

return of the old lady of the mansion. Apparently this took

place soon afterwards; for ere Tressilian and his guide had

proceeded far on their journey, they heard the screams of a

cracked female voice, intermingled with the classical

objurgations of Master Erasmus Holiday. But Dickie Sludge,

equally deaf to the voice of maternal tenderness and of

magisterial authority, skipped on unconsciously before

Tressilian, only observing that "if they cried themselves hoarse,

they might go lick the honey-pot, for he had eaten up all the

honey-comb himself on yesterday even."

CHAPTER X.

There entering in, they found the goodman selfe

Full busylie unto his work ybent,

Who was to weet a wretched wearish elf,

With hollow eyes and rawbone cheeks forspent,

As if he had been long in prison pent. THE FAERY QUEENE.

"Are we far from the dwelling of this smith, my pretty lad?"

said Tressilian to his young guide.

"How is it you call me?" said the boy, looking askew at him with

his sharp, grey eyes.

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

"No; but were you with my grandam and Dominie Holiday, you might

sing chorus to the old song of

'We three

Tom-fools be.'"

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

"Because," answered the ugly urchin, "you are the only three ever

called me pretty lad. Now my grandam does it because she is

parcel blind by age, and whole blind by kindred; and my master,

the poor Dominie, does it to curry favour, and have the fullest

platter of furmity and the warmest seat by the fire. But what

you call me pretty lad for, you know best yourself."

"Thou art a sharp wag at least, if not a pretty one. But what do

thy playfellows call thee?"

"Hobgoblin," answered the boy readily; "but for all that, I would

rather have my own ugly viznomy than any of their jolter-heads,

that have no more brains in them than a brick-bat."

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

"Me fear him!" answered the boy. "If he were the devil folk

think him, I would not fear him; but though there is something

queer about him, he's no more a devil than you are, and that's

what I would not tell to every one."

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

"Because you are another guess gentleman than those we see here

every day," replied Dickie; "and though I am as ugly as sin, I

would not have you think me an ass, especially as I may have a

boon to ask of you one day."

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

Tressilian.

"Oh, if I were to ask it just now," said the boy, "you would deny

it me; but I will wait till we meet at court."

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

"Ay, ay, that's just like the rest of them," replied the boy. "I

warrant me, you think, what should such an ill-favoured,

scrambling urchin do at court? But let Richard Sludge alone; I

have not been cock of the roost here for nothing. I will make

sharp wit mend foul feature."

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

Holiday?"

"E'en what they like," replied Dickie; "the one has her chickens

to reckon, and the other has his boys to whip. I would have

given them the candle to hold long since, and shown this trumpery

hamlet a fair pair of heels, but that Dominie promises I should

go with him to bear share in the next pageant he is to set forth,

and they say there are to be great revels shortly."

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

Tressilian.

"Oh, at some castle far in the north," answered his guide--"a

world's breadth from Berkshire. But our old Dominie holds that

they cannot go forward without him; and it may be he is right,

for he has put in order many a fair pageant. He is not half the

fool you would take him for, when he gets to work he understands;

and so he can spout verses like a play-actor, when, God wot, if

you set him to steal a goose's egg, he would be drubbed by the

gander."

"And you are to play a part in his next show?" said Tressilian,

somewhat interested by the boy's boldness of conversation and

shrewd estimate of character.

"In faith," said Richard Sludge, in answer, "he hath so promised

me; and if he break his word, it will be the worse for him, for

let me take the bit between my teeth, and turn my head downhill,

and I will shake him off with a fall that may harm his bones.

And I should not like much to hurt him neither," said he, "for

the tiresome old fool has painfully laboured to teach me all he

could. But enough of that--here are we at Wayland Smith's forge-

door."

"You jest, my little friend," said Tressilian; "here is nothing

but a bare moor, and that ring of stones, with a great one in the

midst, like a Cornish barrow."

"Ay, and that great flat stone in the midst, which lies across

the top of these uprights," said the boy, "is Wayland Smith's

counter, that you must tell down your money upon."

"What do you mean by such folly?" said the traveller, beginning

to be angry with the boy, and vexed with himself for having

trusted such a hare-brained guide.

"Why," said Dickie, with a grin, "you must tie your horse to that

upright stone that has the ring in't, and then you must whistle

three times, and lay me down your silver groat on that other flat

stone, walk out of the circle, sit down on the west side of that

little thicket of bushes, and take heed you look neither to right

nor to left for ten minutes, or so long as you shall hear the

hammer clink, and whenever it ceases, say your prayers for the

space you could tell a hundred--or count over a hundred, which

will do as well--and then come into the circle; you will find

your money gone and your horse shod."

"My money gone to a certainty!" said Tressilian; "but as for the

rest--Hark ye, my lad, I am not your school-master, but if you

play off your waggery on me, I will take a part of his task off

his hands, and punish you to purpose."

"Ay, when you catch me!" said the boy; and presently took to his

heels across the heath, with a velocity which baffled every

attempt of Tressilian to overtake him, loaded as he was with his

heavy boots. Nor was it the least provoking part of the urchin's

conduct, that he did not exert his utmost speed, like one who

finds himself in danger, or who is frightened, but preserved just

such a rate as to encourage Tressilian to continue the chase, and

then darted away from him with the swiftness of the wind, when

his pursuer supposed he had nearly run him down, doubling at the

same time, and winding, so as always to keep near the place from

which he started.

This lasted until Tressilian, from very weariness, stood still,

and was about to abandon the pursuit with a hearty curse on the

ill-favoured urchin, who had engaged him in an exercise so

ridiculous. But the boy, who had, as formerly, planted himself

on the top of a hillock close in front, began to clap his long,

thin hands, point with his skinny fingers, and twist his wild and

ugly features into such an extravagant expression of laughter and

derision, that Tressilian began half to doubt whether he had not

in view an actual hobgoblin.

Provoked extremely, yet at the same time feeling an irresistible

desire to laugh, so very odd were the boy's grimaces and

gesticulations, the Cornishman returned to his horse, and mounted

him with the purpose of pursuing Dickie at more advantage.

The boy no sooner saw him mount his horse, than he holloed out to

him that, rather than he should spoil his white-footed nag, he

would come to him, on condition he would keep his fingers to

himself.

"I will make no conditions with thee, thou ugly varlet!" said

Tressilian; "I will have thee at my mercy in a moment."

"Aha, Master Traveller," said the boy, "there is a marsh hard by

would swallow all the horses of the Queen's guard. I will into

it, and see where you will go then. You shall hear the bittern

bump, and the wild-drake quack, ere you get hold of me without my

consent, I promise you."

Tressilian looked out, and, from the appearance of the ground

behind the hillock, believed it might be as the boy said, and

accordingly determined to strike up a peace with so light-footed

and ready-witted an enemy. "Come down," he said, "thou

mischievous brat! Leave thy mopping and mowing, and, come

hither.

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

The boy answered his invitation with the utmost confidence, and

danced down from his stance with a galliard sort of step, keeping

his eye at the same time fixed on Tressilian's, who, once more

dismounted, stood with his horse's bridle in his hand,

breathless, and half exhausted with his fruitless exercise,

though not one drop of moisture appeared on the freckled forehead

of the urchin, which looked like a piece of dry and discoloured

parchment, drawn tight across the brow of a fleshless skull.

"And tell me," said Tressilian, "why you use me thus, thou

mischievous imp? or what your meaning is by telling me so absurd

a legend as you wished but now to put on me? Or rather show me,

in good earnest, this smith's forge, and I will give thee what

will buy thee apples through the whole winter."

"Were you to give me an orchard of apples," said Dickie Sludge,

"I can guide thee no better than I have done. Lay down the

silver token on the flat stone--whistle three times--then come

sit down on the western side of the thicket of gorse. I will sit

by you, and give you free leave to wring my head off, unless you

hear the smith at work within two minutes after we are seated."

"I may be tempted to take thee at thy word," said Tressilian, "if

you make me do aught half so ridiculous for your own mischievous

sport; however, I will prove your spell. Here, then, I tie my

horse to this upright stone. I must lay my silver groat here,

and whistle three times, sayest thou?"

"Ay, but thou must whistle louder than an unfledged ousel," said

the boy, as Tressilian, having laid down his money, and half

ashamed of the folly he practised, made a careless whistle--"you

must whistle louder than that, for who knows where the smith is

that you call for? He may be in the King of France's stables for

what I know."

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

"Man or devil," said Dickie, "I see that I must summon him for

you;" and therewithal he whistled sharp and shrill, with an

acuteness of sound that almost thrilled through Tressilian's

brain. "That is what I call whistling," said he, after he had

repeated the signal thrice; "and now to cover, to cover, or

Whitefoot will not be shod this day."

Tressilian, musing what the upshot of this mummery was to be, yet

satisfied there was to be some serious result, by the confidence

with which the boy had put himself in his power, suffered himself

to be conducted to that side of the little thicket of gorse and

brushwood which was farthest from the circle of stones, and there

sat down; and as it occurred to him that, after all, this might

be a trick for stealing his horse, he kept his hand on the boy's

collar, determined to make him hostage for its safety.

"Now, hush and listen," said Dickie, in a low whisper; "you will

soon hear the tack of a hammer that was never forged of earthly

iron, for the stone it was made of was shot from the moon." And

in effect Tressilian did immediately hear the light stroke of a

hammer, as when a farrier is at work. The singularity of such a

sound, in so very lonely a place, made him involuntarily start;

but looking at the boy, and discovering, by the arch malicious

expression of his countenance, that the urchin saw and enjoyed

his slight tremor, he became convinced that the whole was a

concerted stratagem, and determined to know by whom, or for what

purpose, the trick was played off.

Accordingly, he remained perfectly quiet all the time that the

hammer continued to sound, being about the space usually employed

in fixing a horse-shoe. But the instant the sound ceased,

Tressilian, instead of interposing the space of time which his

guide had required, started up with his sword in his hand, ran

round the thicket, and confronted a man in a farrier's leathern

apron, but otherwise fantastically attired in a bear-skin dressed

with the fur on, and a cap of the same, which almost hid the

sooty and begrimed features of the wearer. "Come back, come

back!" cried the boy to Tressilian, "or you will be torn to

pieces; no man lives that looks on him." In fact, the invisible

smith (now fully visible) heaved up his hammer, and showed

symptoms of doing battle.

But when the boy observed that neither his own entreaties nor the

menaces of the farrier appeared to change Tressilian's purpose,

but that, on the contrary, he confronted the hammer with his

drawn sword, he exclaimed to the smith in turn, "Wayland, touch

him not, or you will come by the worse!--the gentleman is a true

gentleman, and a bold."

"So thou hast betrayed me, Flibbertigibbet?" said the smith; "it

shall be the worse for thee!"

"Be who thou wilt," said Tressilian, "thou art in no danger from

me, so thou tell me the meaning of this practice, and why thou

drivest thy trade in this mysterious fashion."

The smith, however, turning to Tressilian, exclaimed, in a

threatening tone, "Who questions the Keeper of the Crystal Castle

of Light, the Lord of the Green Lion, the Rider of the Red

Dragon? Hence!--avoid thee, ere I summon Talpack with his fiery

lance, to quell, crush, and consume!" These words he uttered

with violent gesticulation, mouthing, and flourishing his hammer.

"Peace, thou vile cozener, with thy gipsy cant!" replied

Tressilian scornfully, "and follow me to the next magistrate, or

I will cut thee over the pate."

"Peace, I pray thee, good Wayland!" said the boy. "Credit me,

the swaggering vein will not pass here; you must cut boon whids."

["Give good words."--SLANG DIALECT.]

"I think, worshipful sir," said the smith, sinking his hammer,

and assuming a more gentle and submissive tone of voice, "that

when so poor a man does his day's job, he might be permitted to

work it out after his own fashion. Your horse is shod, and your

farrier paid--what need you cumber yourself further than to mount

and pursue your journey?"

"Nay, friend, you are mistaken," replied Tressilian; "every man

has a right to take the mask from the face of a cheat and a

juggler; and your mode of living raises suspicion that you are

both."

"If you are so determined; sir," said the smith, "I cannot help

myself save by force, which I were unwilling to use towards you,

Master Tressilian; not that I fear your weapon, but because I

know you to be a worthy, kind, and well-accomplished gentleman,

who would rather help than harm a poor man that is in a strait."

"Well said, Wayland," said the boy, who had anxiously awaited the

issue of their conference. "But let us to thy den, man, for it

is ill for thy health to stand here talking in the open air."

"Thou art right, Hobgoblin," replied the smith; and going to the

little thicket of gorse on the side nearest to the circle, and

opposite to that at which his customer had so lately crouched, he

discovered a trap-door curiously covered with bushes, raised it,

and, descending into the earth, vanished from their eyes.

Notwithstanding Tressilian's curiosity, he had some hesitation at

following the fellow into what might be a den of robbers,

especially when he heard the smith's voice, issuing from the

bowels of the earth, call out, "Flibertigibbet, do you come last,

and be sure to fasten the trap!"

"Have you seen enough of Wayland Smith now?" whispered the

urchin to Tressilian, with an arch sneer, as if marking his

companion's uncertainty.

"Not yet," said Tressilian firmly; and shaking off his momentary

irresolution, he descended into the narrow staircase, to which

the entrance led, and was followed by Dickie Sludge, who made

fast the trap-door behind him, and thus excluded every glimmer of

daylight. The descent, however, was only a few steps, and led to

a level passage of a few yards' length, at the end of which

appeared the reflection of a lurid and red light. Arrived at

this point, with his drawn sword in his hand, Tressilian found

that a turn to the left admitted him and Hobgoblin, who followed

closely, into a small, square vault, containing a smith's forge,

glowing with charcoal, the vapour of which filled the apartment

with an oppressive smell, which would have been altogether

suffocating, but that by some concealed vent the smithy

communicated with the upper air. The light afforded by the red

fuel, and by a lamp suspended in an iron chain, served to show

that, besides an anvil, bellows, tongs, hammers, a quantity of

ready-made horse-shoes, and other articles proper to the

profession of a farrier, there were also stoves, alembics,

crucibles, retorts, and other instruments of alchemy. The

grotesque figure of the smith, and the ugly but whimsical

features of the boy, seen by the gloomy and imperfect light of

the charcoal fire and the dying lamp, accorded very well with all

this mystical apparatus, and in that age of superstition would

have made some impression on the courage of most men.

But nature had endowed Tressilian with firm nerves, and his

education, originally good, had been too sedulously improved by

subsequent study to give way to any imaginary terrors; and after

giving a glance around him, he again demanded of the artist who

he was, and by what accident he came to know and address him by

his name.

"Your worship cannot but remember," said the smith, "that about

three years since, upon Saint Lucy's Eve, there came a travelling

juggler to a certain hall in Devonshire, and exhibited his skill

before a worshipful knight and a fair company.--I see from your

worship's countenance, dark as this place is, that my memory has

not done me wrong."

"Thou hast said enough," said Tressilian, turning away, as

wishing to hide from the speaker the painful train of

recollections which his discourse had unconsciously awakened.

"The juggler," said the smith, "played his part so bravely that

the clowns and clown-like squires in the company held his art to

be little less than magical; but there was one maiden of fifteen,

or thereby, with the fairest face I ever looked upon, whose rosy

cheek grew pale, and her bright eyes dim, at the sight of the

wonders exhibited."

"Peace, I command thee, peace!" said Tressilian.

"I mean your worship no offence," said the fellow; "but I have

cause to remember how, to relieve the young maiden's fears, you

condescended to point out the mode in which these deceptions were

practised, and to baffle the poor juggler by laying bare the

mysteries of his art, as ably as if you had been a brother of his

order.--She was indeed so fair a maiden that, to win a smile of

her, a man might well--"

"Not a word more of her, I charge thee!" said Tressilian. "I do

well remember the night you speak of--one of the few happy

evenings my life has known."

"She is gone, then," said the smith, interpreting after his own

fashion the sigh with which Tressilian uttered these words--"she

is gone, young, beautiful, and beloved as she was!--I crave your

worship's pardon--I should have hammered on another theme. I see

I have unwarily driven the nail to the quick."

This speech was made with a mixture of rude feeling which

inclined Tressilian favourably to the poor artisan, of whom

before he was inclined to judge very harshly. But nothing can so

soon attract the unfortunate as real or seeming sympathy with

their sorrows.

"I think," proceeded Tressilian, after a minute's silence, "thou

wert in those days a jovial fellow, who could keep a company

merry by song, and tale, and rebeck, as well as by thy juggling

tricks--why do I find thee a laborious handicraftsman, plying thy

trade in so melancholy a dwelling and under such extraordinary

circumstances?"

"My story is not long," said the artist, "but your honour had

better sit while you listen to it." So saying, he approached to

the fire a three-footed stool, and took another himself; while

Dickie Sludge, or Flibbertigibbet, as he called the boy, drew a

cricket to the smith's feet, and looked up in his face with

features which, as illuminated by the glow of the forge, seemed

convulsed with intense curiosity. "Thou too," said the smith to

him, "shalt learn, as thou well deservest at my hand, the brief

history of my life; and, in troth, it were as well tell it thee

as leave thee to ferret it out, since Nature never packed a

shrewder wit into a more ungainly casket.--Well, sir, if my poor

story may pleasure you, it is at your command, But will you not

taste a stoup of liquor? I promise you that even in this poor

cell I have some in store."

"Speak not of it," said Tressilian, "but go on with thy story,

for my leisure is brief."

"You shall have no cause to rue the delay," said the smith, "for

your horse shall be better fed in the meantime than he hath been

this morning, and made fitter for travel."

With that the artist left the vault, and returned after a few

minutes' interval. Here, also, we pause, that the narrative may

commence in another chapter.

CHAPTER XI.

I say, my lord, can such a subtilty

(But all his craft ye must not wot of me,

And somewhat help I yet to his working),

That all the ground on which we ben riding,

Till that we come to Canterbury town,

He can all clean turnen so up so down,

And pave it all of silver and of gold.

THE CANON'S YEOMAN'S PROLOGUE, CANTERBURY TALES.

THE artist commenced his narrative in the following terms:--

"I was bred a blacksmith, and knew my art as well as e'er a

black-thumbed, leathern-aproned, swart-faced knave of that noble

mystery. But I tired of ringing hammer-tunes on iron stithies,

and went out into the world, where I became acquainted with a

celebrated juggler, whose fingers had become rather too stiff for

legerdemain, and who wished to have the aid of an apprentice in

his noble mystery. I served him for six years, until I was

master of my trade--I refer myself to your worship, whose

judgment cannot be disputed, whether I did not learn to ply the

craft indifferently well?"

"Excellently," said Tressilian; "but be brief."

"It was not long after I had performed at Sir Hugh Robsart's, in

your worship's presence," said the artist, "that I took myself to

the stage, and have swaggered with the bravest of them all, both

at the Black Bull, the Globe, the Fortune, and elsewhere; but I

know not how--apples were so plenty that year that the lads in

the twopenny gallery never took more than one bite out of them,

and threw the rest of the pippin at whatever actor chanced to be

on the stage. So I tired of it--renounced my half share in the

company, gave my foil to my comrade, my buskins to the wardrobe,

and showed the theatre a clean pair of heels."

"Well, friend, and what," said Tressilian, "was your next shift?"

"I became," said the smith, "half partner, half domestic to a man

of much skill and little substance, who practised the trade of a

physicianer."

"In other words," said Tressilian, "you were Jack Pudding to a

quacksalver."

"Something beyond that, let me hope, my good Master Tressilian,"

replied the artist; "and yet to say truth, our practice was of an

adventurous description, and the pharmacy which I had acquired in

my first studies for the benefit of horses was frequently applied

to our human patients. But the seeds of all maladies are the

same; and if turpentine, tar, pitch, and beef-suet, mingled with

turmerick, gum-mastick, and one bead of garlick, can cure the

horse that hath been grieved with a nail, I see not but what it

may benefit the man that hath been pricked with a sword. But my

master's practice, as well as his skill, went far beyond mine,

and dealt in more dangerous concerns. He was not only a bold,

adventurous practitioner in physic, but also, if your pleasure so

chanced to be, an adept who read the stars, and expounded the

fortunes of mankind, genethliacally, as he called it, or

otherwise. He was a learned distiller of simples, and a profound

chemist--made several efforts to fix mercury, and judged himself

to have made a fair hit at the philosopher's stone. I have yet a

programme of his on that subject, which, if your honour

understandeth, I believe you have the better, not only of all who

read, but also of him who wrote it."

He gave Tressilian a scroll of parchment, bearing at top and

bottom, and down the margin, the signs of the seven planets,

curiously intermingled with talismanical characters and scraps of

Greek and Hebrew. In the midst were some Latin verses from a

cabalistical author, written out so fairly, that even the gloom

of the place did not prevent Tressilian from reading them. The

tenor of the original ran as follows:-

"Si fixum solvas, faciasque volare solutum,

Et volucrem figas, facient te vivere tutum;

Si pariat ventum, valet auri pondere centum;

Ventus ubi vult spirat--Capiat qui capere potest."

"I protest to you," said Tressilian, "all I understand of this

jargon is that the last words seem to mean 'Catch who catch

can.'"

"That," said the smith, "is the very principle that my worthy

friend and master, Doctor Doboobie, always acted upon; until,

being besotted with his own imaginations, and conceited of his

high chemical skill, he began to spend, in cheating himself, the

money which he had acquired in cheating others, and either

discovered or built for himself, I could never know which, this

secret elaboratory, in which he used to seclude himself both from

patients and disciples, who doubtless thought his long and

mysterious absences from his ordinary residence in the town of

Farringdon were occasioned by his progress in the mystic

sciences, and his intercourse with the invisible world. Me also

he tried to deceive; but though I contradicted him not, he saw

that I knew too much of his secrets to be any longer a safe

companion. Meanwhile, his name waxed famous--or rather infamous,

and many of those who resorted to him did so under persuasion

that he was a sorcerer. And yet his supposed advance in the

occult sciences drew to him the secret resort of men too powerful

to be named, for purposes too dangerous to be mentioned. Men

cursed and threatened him, and bestowed on me, the innocent

assistant of his studies, the nickname of the Devil's foot-post,

which procured me a volley of stones as soon as ever I ventured

to show my face in the street of the village. At length my

master suddenly disappeared, pretending to me that he was about

to visit his elaboratory in this place, and forbidding me to

disturb him till two days were past. When this period had

elapsed, I became anxious, and resorted to this vault, where I

found the fires extinguished and the utensils in confusion, with

a note from the learned Doboobius, as he was wont to style

himself, acquainting me that we should never meet again,

bequeathing me his chemical apparatus, and the parchment which I

have just put into your hands, advising me strongly to prosecute

the secret which it contained, which would infallibly lead me to

the discovery of the grand magisterium."

"And didst thou follow this sage advice?" said Tressilian.

"Worshipful sir, no," replied the smith; "for, being by nature

cautious, and suspicious from knowing with whom I had to do, I

made so many perquisitions before I ventured even to light a

fire, that I at length discovered a small barrel of gunpowder,

carefully hid beneath the furnace, with the purpose, no doubt,

that as soon as I should commence the grand work of the

transmutation of metals, the explosion should transmute the vault

and all in it into a heap of ruins, which might serve at once for

my slaughter-house and my grave. This cured me of alchemy, and

fain would I have returned to the honest hammer and anvil; but

who would bring a horse to be shod by the Devil's post?

Meantime, I had won the regard of my honest Flibbertigibbet here,

he being then at Farringdon with his master, the sage Erasmus

Holiday, by teaching him a few secrets, such as please youth at

his age; and after much counsel together, we agreed that, since I

could get no practice in the ordinary way, I should try how I

could work out business among these ignorant boors, by practising

upon their silly fears; and, thanks to Flibbertigibbet, who hath

spread my renown, I have not wanted custom. But it is won at too

great risk, and I fear I shall be at length taken up for a

wizard; so that I seek but an opportunity to leave this vault,

when I can have the protection of some worshipful person against

the fury of the populace, in case they chance to recognize me."

"And art thou," said Tressilian, "perfectly acquainted with the

roads in this country?"

"I could ride them every inch by midnight," answered Wayland

Smith, which was the name this adept had assumed.

"Thou hast no horse to ride upon," said Tressilian.

"Pardon me," replied Wayland; "I have as good a tit as ever

yeoman bestrode; and I forgot to say it was the best part of the

mediciner's legacy to me, excepting one or two of the choicest of

his medical secrets, which I picked up without his knowledge and

against his will."

"Get thyself washed and shaved, then," said Tressilian; "reform

thy dress as well as thou canst, and fling away these grotesque

trappings; and, so thou wilt be secret and faithful, thou shalt

follow me for a short time, till thy pranks here are forgotten.

Thou hast, I think, both address and courage, and I have matter

to do that may require both."

Wayland Smith eagerly embraced the proposal, and protested his

devotion to his new master. In a very few minutes he had made so

great an alteration in his original appearance, by change of

dress, trimming his beard and hair, and so forth, that Tressilian

could not help remarking that he thought he would stand in little

need of a protector, since none of his old acquaintance were

likely to recognize him.

"My debtors would not pay me money," said Wayland, shaking his

head; "but my creditors of every kind would be less easily

blinded. And, in truth, I hold myself not safe, unless under the

protection of a gentleman of birth and character, as is your

worship."

So saying, he led the way out of the cavern. He then called

loudly for Hobgoblin, who, after lingering for an instant,

appeared with the horse furniture, when Wayland closed and

sedulously covered up the trap-door, observing it might again

serve him at his need, besides that the tools were worth

somewhat. A whistle from the owner brought to his side a nag

that fed quietly on the common, and was accustomed to the signal.

While he accoutred him for the journey, Tressilian drew his own

girths tighter, and in a few minutes both were ready to mount.

At this moment Sludge approached to bid them farewell.

"You are going to leave me, then, my old playfellow," said the

boy; "and there is an end of all our game at bo-peep with the

cowardly lubbards whom I brought hither to have their broad-

footed nags shed by the devil and his imps?"

"It is even so," said Wayland Smith, "the best friends must part,

Flibbertigibbet; but thou, my boy, art the only thing in the Vale

of Whitehorse which I shall regret to leave behind me."

"Well, I bid thee not farewell," said Dickie Sludge, "for you

will be at these revels, I judge, and so shall I; for if Dominie

Holiday take me not thither, by the light of day, which we see

not in yonder dark hole, I will take myself there!"

"In good time," said Wayland; "but I pray you to do nought

rashly."

"Nay, now you would make a child, a common child of me, and tell

me of the risk of walking without leading-strings. But before

you are a mile from these stones, you shall know by a sure token

that I have more of the hobgoblin about me than you credit; and I

will so manage that, if you take advantage, you may profit by my

prank."

"What dost thou mean, boy?" said Tressilian; but Flibbertigibbet

only answered with a grin and a caper, and bidding both of them

farewell, and, at the same time, exhorting them to make the best

of their way from the place, he set them the example by running

homeward with the same uncommon velocity with which he had

baffled Tressilian's former attempts to get hold of him.

"It is in vain to chase him," said Wayland Smith; "for unless

your worship is expert in lark-hunting, we should never catch

hold of him--and besides, what would it avail? Better make the

best of our way hence, as he advises."

They mounted their horses accordingly, and began to proceed at a

round pace, as soon as Tressilian had explained to his guide the

direction in which he desired to travel.

After they had trotted nearly a mile, Tressilian could not help

observing to his companion that his horse felt more lively under

him than even when he mounted in the morning.

"Are you avised of that?" said Wayland Smith, smiling. "That is

owing to a little secret of mine. I mixed that with an handful

of oats which shall save your worship's heels the trouble of

spurring these six hours at least. Nay, I have not studied

medicine and pharmacy for nought."

"I trust," said Tressilian, "your drugs will do my horse no

harm?"

"No more than the mare's milk; which foaled him," answered the

artist, and was proceeding to dilate on the excellence of his

recipe when he was interrupted by an explosion as loud and

tremendous as the mine which blows up the rampart of a

beleaguered city. The horses started, and the riders were

equally surprised. They turned to gaze in the direction from

which the thunder-clap was heard, and beheld, just over the spot

they had left so recently, a huge pillar of dark smoke rising

high into the clear, blue atmosphere. "My habitation is gone to

wreck," said Wayland, immediately conjecturing the cause of the

explosion. "I was a fool to mention the doctor's kind intentions

towards my mansion before that limb of mischief, Flibbertigibbet;

I might have guessed he would long to put so rare a frolic into

execution. But let us hasten on, for the sound will collect the

country to the spot."

So saying, he spurred his horse, and Tressilian also quickening

his speed, they rode briskly forward.

"This, then, was the meaning of the little imp's token which he

promised us?" said Tressilian. "Had we lingered near the spot,

we had found it a love-token with a vengeance."

"He would have given us warning," said the smith. "I saw him

look back more than once to see if we were off--'tis a very

devil for mischief, yet not an ill-natured devil either. It were

long to tell your honour how I became first acquainted with him,

and how many tricks he played me. Many a good turn he did me

too, especially in bringing me customers; for his great delight

was to see them sit shivering behind the bushes when they heard

the click of my hammer. I think Dame Nature, when she lodged a

double quantity of brains in that misshapen head of his, gave him

the power of enjoying other people's distresses, as she gave them

the pleasure of laughing at his ugliness."

"It may be so," said Tressilian; "those who find themselves

severed from society by peculiarities of form, if they do not

hate the common bulk of mankind, are at least not altogether

indisposed to enjoy their mishaps and calamities."

"But Flibbertigibbet," answered Wayland, "hath that about him

which may redeem his turn for mischievous frolic; for he is as

faithful when attached as he is tricky and malignant to

strangers, and, as I said before, I have cause to say so."

Tressilian pursued the conversation no further, and they

continued their journey towards Devonshire without further

adventure, until they alighted at an inn in the town of

Marlborough, since celebrated for having given title to the

greatest general (excepting one) whom Britain ever produced.

Here the travellers received, in the same breath, an example of

the truth of two old proverbs--namely, that ILL NEWS FLY FAST,

and that LISTENERS SELDOM HEAR A GOOD TALE OF THEMSELVES.

The inn-yard was in a sort of combustion when they alighted;

insomuch, that they could scarce get man or boy to take care of

their horses, so full were the whole household of some news which

flew from tongue to tongue, the import of which they were for

some time unable to discover. At length, indeed, they found it

respected matters which touched them nearly.

"What is the matter, say you, master?" answered, at length, the

head hostler, in reply to Tressilian's repeated questions.--"Why,

truly, I scarce know myself. But here was a rider but now, who

says that the devil hath flown away with him they called Wayland

Smith, that won'd about three miles from the Whitehorse of

Berkshire, this very blessed morning, in a flash of fire and a

pillar of smoke, and rooted up the place he dwelt in, near that

old cockpit of upright stones, as cleanly as if it had all been

delved up for a cropping."

"Why, then," said an old farmer, "the more is the pity; for that

Wayland Smith (whether he was the devil's crony or no I skill

not) had a good notion of horses' diseases, and it's to be

thought the bots will spread in the country far and near, an

Satan has not gien un time to leave his secret behind un."

"You may say that, Gaffer Grimesby," said the hostler in return;

"I have carried a horse to Wayland Smith myself, for he passed

all farriers in this country."

"Did you see him?" said Dame Alison Crane, mistress of the inn

bearing that sign, and deigning to term HUSBAND the owner

thereof, a mean-looking hop-o'-my-thumb sort or person, whose

halting gait, and long neck, and meddling, henpecked

insignificance are supposed to have given origin to the

celebrated old English tune of "My name hath a lame tame Crane."

On this occasion he chirped out a repetition of his wife's

question, "Didst see the devil, Jack Hostler, I say?"

"And what if I did see un, Master Crane?" replied Jack Hostler,

for, like all the rest of the household, he paid as little

respect to his master as his mistress herself did.

"Nay, nought, Jack Hostler," replied the pacific Master Crane;

"only if you saw the devil, methinks I would like to know what

un's like?"

"You will know that one day, Master Crane," said his helpmate,

"an ye mend not your manners, and mind your business, leaving off

such idle palabras.--But truly, Jack Hostler, I should be glad to

know myself what like the fellow was."

"Why, dame," said the hostler, more respectfully, "as for what he

was like I cannot tell, nor no man else, for why I never saw un."

"And how didst thou get thine errand done," said Gaffer Grimesby,

"if thou seedst him not?"

"Why, I had schoolmaster to write down ailment o' nag," said Jack

Hostler; "and I went wi' the ugliest slip of a boy for my guide

as ever man cut out o' lime-tree root to please a child withal."

"And what was it?--and did it cure your nag, Jack Hostler?" was

uttered and echoed by all who stood around.

"Why, how can I tell you what it was?" said the hostler; "simply

it smelled and tasted--for I did make bold to put a pea's

substance into my mouth--like hartshorn and savin mixed with

vinegar; but then no hartshorn and savin ever wrought so speedy a

cure. And I am dreading that if Wayland Smith be gone, the bots

will have more power over horse and cattle."

The pride of art, which is certainly not inferior in its

influence to any other pride whatever, here so far operated on

Wayland Smith, that, notwithstanding the obvious danger of his

being recognized, he could not help winking to Tressilian, and

smiling mysteriously, as if triumphing in the undoubted evidence

of his veterinary skill. In the meanwhile, the discourse

continued.

"E'en let it be so," said a grave man in black, the companion of

Gaffer Grimesby; "e'en let us perish under the evil God sends us,

rather than the devil be our doctor."

"Very true," said Dame Crane; "and I marvel at Jack Hostler that

he would peril his own soul to cure the bowels of a nag."

"Very true, mistress," said Jack Hostler, "but the nag was my

master's; and had it been yours, I think ye would ha' held me

cheap enow an I had feared the devil when the poor beast was in

such a taking. For the rest, let the clergy look to it. Every

man to his craft, says the proverb--the parson to the prayer-

book, and the groom to his curry-comb.

"I vow," said Dame Crane, "I think Jack Hostler speaks like a

good Christian and a faithful servant, who will spare neither

body nor soul in his master's service. However, the devil has

lifted him in time, for a Constable of the Hundred came hither

this morning to get old Gaffer Pinniewinks, the trier of witches,

to go with him to the Vale of Whitehorse to comprehend Wayland

Smith, and put him to his probation. I helped Pinniewinks to

sharpen his pincers and his poking-awl, and I saw the warrant

from Justice Blindas."

"Pooh--pooh--the devil would laugh both at Blindas and his

warrant, constable and witch-finder to boot," said old Dame

Crank, the Papist laundress; "Wayland Smith's flesh would mind

Pinniewinks' awl no more than a cambric ruff minds a hot

piccadilloe-needle. But tell me, gentlefolks, if the devil ever

had such a hand among ye, as to snatch away your smiths and your

artists from under your nose, when the good Abbots of Abingdon

had their own? By Our Lady, no!--they had their hallowed tapers;

and their holy water, and their relics, and what not, could send

the foulest fiends a-packing. Go ask a heretic parson to do the

like. But ours were a comfortable people."

"Very true, Dame Crank," said the hostler; "so said Simpkins of

Simonburn when the curate kissed his wife,--'They are a

comfortable people,' said he."

"Silence, thou foul-mouthed vermin," said Dame Crank; "is it fit

for a heretic horse-boy like thee to handle such a text as the

Catholic clergy?"

"In troth no, dame," replied the man of oats; "and as you

yourself are now no text for their handling, dame, whatever may

have been the case in your day, I think we had e'en better leave

un alone."

At this last exchange of sarcasm, Dame Crank set up her throat,

and began a horrible exclamation against Jack Hostler, under

cover of which Tressilian and his attendant escaped into the

house.

They had no sooner entered a private chamber, to which Goodman

Crane himself had condescended to usher them, and dispatched

their worthy and obsequious host on the errand of procuring wine

and refreshment, than Wayland Smith began to give vent to his

self-importance.

"You see, sir," said he, addressing Tressilian, "that I nothing

fabled in asserting that I possessed fully the mighty mystery of

a farrier, or mareschal, as the French more honourably term us.

These dog-hostlers, who, after all, are the better judges in such

a case, know what credit they should attach to my medicaments. I

call you to witness, worshipful Master Tressilian, that nought,

save the voice of calumny and the hand of malicious violence,

hath driven me forth from a station in which I held a place alike

useful and honoured."

"I bear witness, my friend, but will reserve my listening,"

answered Tressilian, "for a safer time; unless, indeed, you deem

it essential to your reputation to be translated, like your late

dwelling, by the assistance of a flash of fire. For you see your

best friends reckon you no better than a mere sorcerer."

"Now, Heaven forgive them," said the artist, "who confounded

learned skill with unlawful magic! I trust a man may be as

skilful, or more so, than the best chirurgeon ever meddled with

horse-flesh, and yet may be upon the matter little more than

other ordinary men, or at the worst no conjurer."

"God forbid else!" said Tressilian. "But be silent just for the

present, since here comes mine host with an assistant, who seems

something of the least."

Everybody about the inn, Dame Crane herself included, had been

indeed so interested and agitated by the story they had heard of

Wayland Smith, and by the new, varying, and more marvellous

editions of the incident which arrived from various quarters,

that mine host, in his righteous determination to accommodate his

guests, had been able to obtain the assistance of none of his

household, saving that of a little boy, a junior tapster, of

about twelve years old, who was called Sampson.

"I wish," he said, apologizing to his guests, as he set down a

flagon of sack, and promised some food immediately--"I wish the

devil had flown away with my wife and my whole family instead of

this Wayland Smith, who, I daresay, after all said and done, was

much less worthy of the distinction which Satan has done him."

"I hold opinion with you, good fellow," replied Wayland Smith;

"and I will drink to you upon that argument."

"Not that I would justify any man who deals with the devil," said

mine host, after having pledged Wayland in a rousing draught of

sack, "but that--saw ye ever better sack, my masters?--but that,

I say, a man had better deal with a dozen cheats and scoundrel

fellows, such as this Wayland Smith, than with a devil incarnate,

that takes possession of house and home, bed and board."

The poor fellow's detail of grievances was here interrupted by

the shrill voice of his helpmate, screaming from the kitchen, to

which he instantly hobbled, craving pardon of his guests. He was

no sooner gone than Wayland Smith expressed, by every

contemptuous epithet in the language, his utter scorn for a

nincompoop who stuck his head under his wife's apron-string; and

intimated that, saving for the sake of the horses, which required

both rest and food, he would advise his worshipful Master

Tressilian to push on a stage farther, rather than pay a

reckoning to such a mean-spirited, crow-trodden, henpecked

coxcomb, as Gaffer Crane.

The arrival of a large dish of good cow-heel and bacon something

soothed the asperity of the artist, which wholly vanished before

a choice capon, so delicately roasted that the lard frothed on

it, said Wayland, like May-dew on a lily; and both Gaffer Crane

and his good dame became, in his eyes, very painstaking,

accommodating, obliging persons.

According to the manners of the times, the master and his

attendant sat at the same table, and the latter observed, with

regret, how little attention Tressilian paid to his meal. He

recollected, indeed, the pain he had given by mentioning the

maiden in whose company he had first seen him; but, fearful of

touching upon a topic too tender to be tampered with, he chose to

ascribe his abstinence to another cause.

"This fare is perhaps too coarse for your worship," said Wayland,

as the limbs of the capon disappeared before his own exertions;

"but had you dwelt as long as I have done in yonder dungeon,

which Flibbertigibbet has translated to the upper element, a

place where I dared hardly broil my food, lest the smoke should

be seen without, you would think a fair capon a more welcome

dainty."

"If you are pleased, friend," said Tressilian, "it is well.

Nevertheless, hasten thy meal if thou canst, For this place is

unfriendly to thy safety, and my concerns crave travelling."

Allowing, therefore, their horses no more rest than was

absolutely necessary for them, they pursued their journey by a

forced march as far as Bradford, where they reposed themselves

for the night.

The next morning found them early travellers. And, not to

fatigue the reader with unnecessary particulars, they traversed

without adventure the counties of Wiltshire and Somerset, and

about noon of the third day after Tressilian's leaving Cumnor,

arrived at Sir Hugh Robsart's seat, called Lidcote Hall, on the

frontiers of Devonshire.

CHAPTER XII.

Ah me! the flower and blossom of your house,

The wind hath blown away to other towers.

JOANNA BAILLIE'S FAMILY LEGEND.

The ancient seat of Lidcote Hall was situated near the village of

the same name, and adjoined the wild and extensive forest of

Exmoor, plentifully stocked with game, in which some ancient

rights belonging to the Robsart family entitled Sir Hugh to

pursue his favourite amusement of the chase. The old mansion was

a low, venerable building, occupying a considerable space of

ground, which was surrounded by a deep moat. The approach and

drawbridge were defended by an octagonal tower, of ancient

brickwork, but so clothed with ivy and other creepers that it was

difficult to discover of what materials it was constructed. The

angles of this tower were each decorated with a turret,

whimsically various in form and in size, and, therefore, very

unlike the monotonous stone pepperboxes which, in modern Gothic

architecture, are employed for the same purpose. One of these

turrets was square, and occupied as a clock-house. But the clock

was now standing still; a circumstance peculiarly striking to

Tressilian, because the good old knight, among other harmless

peculiarities, had a fidgety anxiety about the exact measurement

of time, very common to those who have a great deal of that

commodity to dispose of, and find it lie heavy upon their hands--

just as we see shopkeepers amuse themselves with taking an exact

account of their stock at the time there is least demand for it.

The entrance to the courtyard of the old mansion lay through an

archway, surmounted by the foresaid tower; but the drawbridge was

down, and one leaf of the iron-studded folding-doors stood

carelessly open. Tressilian hastily rode over the drawbridge,

entered the court, and began to call loudly on the domestics by

their names. For some time he was only answered by the echoes

and the howling of the hounds, whose kennel lay at no great

distance from the mansion, and was surrounded by the same moat.

At length Will Badger, the old and favourite attendant of the

knight, who acted alike as squire of his body and superintendent

of his sports, made his appearance. The stout, weather-beaten

forester showed great signs of joy when he recognized Tressilian.

"Lord love you," he said, "Master Edmund, be it thou in flesh and

fell? Then thou mayest do some good on Sir Hugh, for it passes

the wit of man--that is, of mine own, and the curate's, and

Master Mumblazen's--to do aught wi'un."

"Is Sir Hugh then worse since I went away, Will?" demanded

Tressilian.

"For worse in body--no; he is much better," replied the domestic;

"but he is clean mazed as it were--eats and drinks as he was

wont--but sleeps not, or rather wakes not, for he is ever in a

sort of twilight, that is neither sleeping nor waking. Dame

Swineford thought it was like the dead palsy. But no, no, dame,

said I, it is the heart, it is the heart."

"Can ye not stir his mind to any pastimes?" said Tressilian.

"He is clean and quite off his sports," said Will Badger; "hath

neither touched backgammon or shovel-board, nor looked on the big

book of harrowtry wi' Master Mumblazen. I let the clock run

down, thinking the missing the bell might somewhat move him--for

you know, Master Edmund, he was particular in counting time--but

he never said a word on't, so I may e'en set the old chime a-

towling again. I made bold to tread on Bungay's tail too, and

you know what a round rating that would ha' cost me once a-day;

but he minded the poor tyke's whine no more than a madge howlet

whooping down the chimney--so the case is beyond me."

"Thou shalt tell me the rest within doors, Will. Meanwhile, let

this person be ta'en to the buttery, and used with respect. He

is a man of art."

"White art or black art, I would," said Will Badger, "that he had

any art which could help us.--Here, Tom Butler, look to the man

of art;--and see that he steals none of thy spoons, lad," he

added in a whisper to the butler, who showed himself at a low

window, "I have known as honest a faced fellow have art enough to

do that."

He then ushered Tressilian into a low parlour, and went, at his

desire, to see in what state his master was, lest the sudden

return of his darling pupil and proposed son-in-law should affect

him too strongly. He returned immediately, and said that Sir

Hugh was dozing in his elbow-chair, but that Master Mumblazen

would acquaint Master Tressilian the instant he awaked.

"But it is chance if he knows you," said the huntsman, "for he

has forgotten the name of every hound in the pack. I thought,

about a week since, he had gotten a favourable turn. 'Saddle me

old Sorrel,' said he suddenly, after he had taken his usual

night-draught out of the great silver grace-cup, 'and take the

hounds to Mount Hazelhurst to-morrow.' Glad men were we all, and

out we had him in the morning, and he rode to cover as usual,

with never a word spoken but that the wind was south, and the

scent would lie. But ere we had uncoupled'the hounds, he began

to stare round him, like a man that wakes suddenly out of a

dream--turns bridle, and walks back to Hall again, and leaves us

to hunt at leisure by ourselves, if we listed."

"You tell a heavy tale, Will," replied Tressilian; "but God must

help us--there is no aid in man."

"Then you bring us no news of young Mistress Amy? But what need

I ask--your brow tells the story. Ever I hoped that if any man

could or would track her, it must be you. All's over and lost

now. But if ever I have that Varney within reach of a flight-

shot, I will bestow a forked shaft on him; and that I swear by

salt and bread."

As he spoke, the door opened, and Master Mumblazen appeared--a

withered, thin, elderly gentleman, with a cheek like a winter

apple, and his grey hair partly concealed by a small, high hat,

shaped like a cone, or rather like such a strawberry-basket as

London fruiterers exhibit at their windows. He was too

sententious a person to waste words on mere salutation; so,

having welcomed Tressilian with a nod and a shake of the hand, he

beckoned him to follow to Sir Hugh's great chamber, which the

good knight usually inhabited. Will Badger followed, unasked,

anxious to see whether his master would be relieved from his

state of apathy by the arrival of Tressilian.

In a long, low parlour, amply furnished with implements of the

chase, and with silvan trophies, by a massive stone chimney, over

which hung a sword and suit of armour somewhat obscured by

neglect, sat Sir Hugh Robsart of Lidcote, a man of large size,

which had been only kept within moderate compass by the constant

use of violent exercise, It seemed to Tressilian that the

lethargy, under which his old friend appeared to labour, had,

even during his few weeks' absence, added bulk to his person--at

least it had obviously diminished the vivacity of his eye, which,

as they entered, first followed Master Mumblazen slowly to a

large oaken desk, on which a ponderous volume lay open, and then

rested, as if in uncertainty, on the stranger who had entered

along with him. The curate, a grey-headed clergyman, who had

been a confessor in the days of Queen Mary, sat with a book in

his hand in another recess in the apartment. He, too, signed a

mournful greeting to Tressilian, and laid his book aside, to

watch the effect his appearance should produce on the afflicted

old man.

As Tressilian, his own eyes filling fast with tears, approached

more and more nearly to the father of his betrothed bride, Sir

Hugh's intelligence seemed to revive. He sighed heavily, as one

who awakens from a state of stupor; a slight convulsion passed

over his features; he opened his arms without speaking a word,

and, as Tressilian threw himself into them, he folded him to his

bosom.

"There is something left to live for yet," were the first words

he uttered; and while he spoke, he gave vent to his feelings in a

paroxysm of weeping, the tears chasing each other down his

sunburnt cheeks and long white beard.

"I ne'er thought to have thanked God to see my master weep," said

Will Badger; "but now I do, though I am like to weep for

company."

"I will ask thee no questions," said the old knight; "no

questions--none, Edmund. Thou hast not found her--or so found

her, that she were better lost."

Tressilian was unable to reply otherwise than by putting his

hands before his face.

"It is enough--it is enough. But do not thou weep for her,

Edmund. I have cause to weep, for she was my daughter; thou hast

cause to rejoice, that she did not become thy wife.--Great God!

thou knowest best what is good for us. It was my nightly prayer

that I should see Amy and Edmund wedded,--had it been granted, it

had now been gall added to bitterness."

"Be comforted, my friend," said the curate, addressing Sir Hugh,

"it cannot be that the daughter of all our hopes and affections

is the vile creature you would bespeak her."

"Oh, no," replied Sir Hugh impatiently, "I were wrong to name

broadly the base thing she is become--there is some new court

name for it, I warrant me. It is honour enough for the daughter

of an old Devonshire clown to be the leman of a gay courtier--of

Varney too--of Varney, whose grandsire was relieved by my father,

when his fortune was broken, at the battle of--the battle of--

where Richard was slain--out on my memory!--and I warrant none

of you will help me--"

"The battle of Bosworth," said Master Mumblazen--"stricken

between Richard Crookback and Henry Tudor, grandsire of the Queen

that now is, PRIMO HENRICI SEPTIMI; and in the year one thousand

four hundred and eighty-five, POST CHRISTUM NATUM."

"Ay, even so," said the old knight; "every child knows it. But

my poor head forgets all it should remember, and remembers only

what it would most willingly forget. My brain has been at fault,

Tressilian, almost ever since thou hast been away, and even yet

it hunts counter."

"Your worship," said the good clergyman, "had better retire to

your apartment, and try to sleep for a little space. The

physician left a composing draught; and our Great Physician has

commanded us to use earthly means, that we may be strengthened to

sustain the trials He sends us."

"True, true, old friend," said Sir Hugh; "and we will bear our

trials manfully--we have lost but a woman.--See, Tressilian,"--he

drew from his bosom a long ringlet of glossy hair,--"see this

lock! I tell thee, Edmund, the very night she disappeared, when

she bid me good even, as she was wont, she hung about my neck,

and fondled me more than usual; and I, like an old fool, held her

by this lock, until she took her scissors, severed it, and left

it in my hand--as all I was ever to see more of her!"

Tressilian was unable to reply, well judging what a complication

of feelings must have crossed the bosom of the unhappy fugitive

at that cruel moment. The clergyman was about to speak, but Sir

Hugh interrupted him.

"I know what you would say, Master Curate,--After all, it is but

a lock of woman's tresses; and by woman, shame, and sin, and

death came into an innocent world.--And learned Master Mumblazen,

too, can say scholarly things of their inferiority."

"C'EST L'HOMME," said Master Mumblazen, "QUI SE BAST, ET QUI

CONSEILLE."

"True," said Sir Hugh, "and we will bear us, therefore, like men

who have both mettle and wisdom in us.--Tressilian, thou art as

welcome as if thou hadst brought better news. But we have spoken

too long dry-lipped.--Amy, fill a cup of wine to Edmund, and

another to me." Then instantly recollecting that he called upon

her who could not hear, he shook his head, and said to the

clergyman, "This grief is to my bewildered mind what the church

of Lidcote is to our park: we may lose ourselves among the briers

and thickets for a little space, but from the end of each avenue

we see the old grey steeple and the grave of my forefathers. I

would I were to travel that road tomorrow!"

Tressilian and the curate joined in urging the exhausted old man

to lay himself to rest, and at length prevailed. Tressilian

remained by his pillow till he saw that slumber at length sunk

down on him, and then returned to consult with the curate what

steps should be adopted in these unhappy circumstances.

They could not exclude from these deliberations Master Michael

Mumblazen; and they admitted him the more readily, that besides

what hopes they entertained from his sagacity, they knew him to

be so great a friend to taciturnity, that there was no doubt of

his keeping counsel. He was an old bachelor, of good family, but

small fortune, and distantly related to the House of Robsart; in

virtue of which connection, Lidcote Hall had been honoured with

his residence for the last twenty years. His company was

agreeable to Sir Hugh, chiefly on account of his profound

learning, which, though it only related to heraldry and

genealogy, with such scraps of history as connected themselves

with these subjects, was precisely of a kind to captivate the

good old knight; besides the convenience which he found in having

a friend to appeal to when his own memory, as frequently

happened, proved infirm and played him false concerning names and

dates, which, and all similar deficiencies, Master Michael

Mumblazen supplied with due brevity and discretion. And, indeed,

in matters concerning the modern world, he often gave, in his

enigmatical and heraldic phrase, advice which was well worth

attending to, or, in Will Badger's language, started the game

while others beat the bush.

"We have had an unhappy time of it with the good knight, Master

Edmund," said the curate. "I have not suffered so much since I

was torn away from my beloved flock, and compelled to abandon

them to the Romish wolves."

"That was in TERTIO MARIAE," said Master Mumblazen.

"In the name of Heaven," continued the curate, "tell us, has your

time been better spent than ours, or have you any news of that

unhappy maiden, who, being for so many years the principal joy of

this broken-down house, is now proved our greatest unhappiness?

Have you not at least discovered her place of residence?"

"I have," replied Tressilian. "Know you Cumnor Place, near

Oxford?"

"Surely," said the clergyman; "it was a house of removal for the

monks of Abingdon."

"Whose arms," said Master Michael, "I have seen over a stone

chimney in the hall,--a cross patonce betwixt four martlets."

"There," said Tressilian, "this unhappy maiden resides, in

company with the villain Varney. But for a strange mishap, my

sword had revenged all our injuries, as well as hers, on his

worthless head."

"Thank God, that kept thine hand from blood-guiltiness, rash

young man!" answered the curate. "Vengeance is mine, saith the

Lord, and I will repay it. It were better study to free her from

the villain's nets of infamy."

"They are called, in heraldry, LAQUEI AMORIS, or LACS D'AMOUR,"

said Mumblazen.

"It is in that I require your aid, my friends," said Tressilian.

"I am resolved to accuse this villain, at the very foot of the

throne, of falsehood, seduction, and breach of hospitable laws.

The Queen shall hear me, though the Earl of Leicester, the

villain's patron, stood at her right hand."

"Her Grace," said the curate, "hath set a comely example of

continence to her subjects, and will doubtless do justice on this

inhospitable robber. But wert thou not better apply to the Earl

of Leicester, in the first place, for justice on his servant? If

he grants it, thou dost save the risk of making thyself a

powerful adversary, which will certainly chance if, in the first

instance, you accuse his master of the horse and prime favourite

before the Queen."

"My mind revolts from your counsel," said Tressilian. "I cannot

brook to plead my noble patron's cause the unhappy Amy's cause--

before any one save my lawful Sovereign. Leicester, thou wilt

say, is noble. Be it so; he is but a subject like ourselves, and

I will not carry my plaint to him, if I can do better. Still, I

will think on what thou hast said; but I must have your

assistance to persuade the good Sir Hugh to make me his

commissioner and fiduciary in this matter, for it is in his name

I must speak, and not in my own. Since she is so far changed as

to dote upon this empty profligate courtier, he shall at least do

her the justice which is yet in his power."

"Better she died CAELEBS and SINE PROLE," said Mumblazen, with

more animation than he usually expressed, "than part, PER PALE,

the noble coat of Robsart with that of such a miscreant!"

"If it be your object, as I cannot question," said the clergyman,

"to save, as much as is yet possible, the credit of this unhappy

young woman, I repeat, you should apply, in the first instance,

to the Earl of Leicester. He is as absolute in his household as

the Queen in her kingdom, and if he expresses to Varney that such

is his pleasure, her honour will not stand so publicly

committed."

"You are right, you are right!" said Tressilian eagerly, "and I

thank you for pointing out what I overlooked in my haste. I

little thought ever to have besought grace of Leicester; but I

could kneel to the proud Dudley, if doing so could remove one

shade of shame from this unhappy damsel. You will assist me then

to procure the necessary powers from Sir Hugh Robsart?"

The curate assured him of his assistance, and the herald nodded

assent.

"You must hold yourselves also in readiness to testify, in case

you are called upon, the openhearted hospitality which our good

patron exercised towards this deceitful traitor, and the

solicitude with which he laboured to seduce his unhappy

daughter."

"At first," said the clergyman, "she did not, as it seemed to me,

much affect his company; but latterly I saw them often together."

"SEIANT in the parlour," said Michael Mumblazen, "and PASSANT in

the garden."

"I once came on them by chance," said the priest, "in the South

wood, in a spring evening. Varney was muffled in a russet cloak,

so that I saw not his face. They separated hastily, as they

heard me rustle amongst the leaves; and I observed she turned her

head and looked long after him."

"With neck REGUARDANT," said the herald. "And on the day of her

flight, and that was on Saint Austen's Eve, I saw Varney's groom,

attired in his liveries, hold his master's horse and Mistress

Amy's palfrey, bridled and saddled PROPER, behind the wall of the

churchyard,"

"And now is she found mewed up in his secret place of

retirement," said Tressilian. "The villain is taken in the

manner, and I well wish he may deny his crime, that I may thrust

conviction down his false throat! But I must prepare for my

journey. Do you, gentlemen, dispose my patron to grant me such

powers as are needful to act in his name."

So saying, Tressilian left the room.

"He is too hot," said the curate; "and I pray to God that He may

grant him the patience to deal with Varney as is fitting."

"Patience and Varney," said Mumblazen, "is worse heraldry than

metal upon metal. He is more false than a siren, more rapacious

than a griffin, more poisonous than a wyvern, and more cruel than

a lion rampant."

"Yet I doubt much," said the curate, "whether we can with

propriety ask from Sir Hugh Robsart, being in his present

condition, any deed deputing his paternal right in Mistress Amy

to whomsoever--"

"Your reverence need not doubt that," said Will Badger, who

entered as he spoke, "for I will lay my life he is another man

when he wakes than he has been these thirty days past."

"Ay, Will," said the curate, "hast thou then so much confidence

in Doctor Diddleum's draught?"

"Not a whit," said Will, "because master ne'er tasted a drop

on't, seeing it was emptied out by the housemaid. But here's a

gentleman, who came attending on Master Tressilian, has given Sir

Hugh a draught that is worth twenty of yon un. I have spoken

cunningly with him, and a better farrier or one who hath a more

just notion of horse and dog ailment I have never seen; and such

a one would never be unjust to a Christian man."

"A farrier! you saucy groom--and by whose authority, pray?"

said the curate, rising in surprise and indignation; "or who will

be warrant for this new physician?"

"For authority, an it like your reverence, he had mine; and for

warrant, I trust I have not been five-and-twenty years in this

house without having right to warrant the giving of a draught to

beast or body--I who can gie a drench, and a ball, and bleed, or

blister, if need, to my very self."

The counsellors of the house of Robsart thought it meet to carry

this information instantly to Tressilian, who as speedily

summoned before him Wayland Smith, and demanded of him (in

private, however) by what authority he had ventured to administer

any medicine to Sir Hugh Robsart?

"Why," replied the artist, "your worship cannot but remember that

I told you I had made more progress into my master's--I mean the

learned Doctor Doboobie's--mystery than he was willing to own;

and indeed half of his quarrel and malice against me was that,

besides that I got something too deep into his secrets, several

discerning persons, and particularly a buxom young widow of

Abingdon, preferred my prescriptions to his."

"None of thy buffoonery, sir," said Tressilian sternly. "If thou

hast trifled with us--much more, if thou hast done aught that may

prejudice Sir Hugh Robsart's health, thou shalt find thy grave at

the bottom of a tin-mine."

"I know too little of the great ARCANUM to convert the ore to

gold," said Wayland firmly. "But truce to your apprehensions,

Master Tressilian. I understood the good knight's case from what

Master William Badger told me; and I hope I am able enough to

administer a poor dose of mandragora, which, with the sleep that

must needs follow, is all that Sir Hugh Robsart requires to

settle his distraught brains."

"I trust thou dealest fairly with me, Wayland?" said Tressilian.

"Most fairly and honestly, as the event shall show," replied the

artist. "What would it avail me to harm the poor old man for

whom you are interested?--you, to whom I owe it that Gaffer

Pinniewinks is not even now rending my flesh and sinews with his

accursed pincers, and probing every mole in my body with his

sharpened awl (a murrain on the hands which forged it!) in order

to find out the witch's mark?--I trust to yoke myself as a humble

follower to your worship's train, and I only wish to have my

faith judged of by the result of the good knight's slumbers."

Wayland Smith was right in his prognostication. The sedative

draught which his skill had prepared, and Will Badger's

confidence had administered, was attended with the most

beneficial effects. The patient's sleep was long and healthful,

and the poor old knight awoke, humbled indeed in thought and weak

in frame, yet a much better judge of whatever was subjected to

his intellect than he had been for some time past. He resisted

for a while the proposal made by his friends that Tressilian

should undertake a journey to court, to attempt the recovery of

his daughter, and the redress of her wrongs, in so far as they

might yet be repaired. "Let her go," he said; "she is but a hawk

that goes down the wind; I would not bestow even a whistle to

reclaim her." But though he for some time maintained this

argument, he was at length convinced it was his duty to take the

part to which natural affection inclined him, and consent that

such efforts as could yet be made should be used by Tressilian in

behalf of his daughter. He subscribed, therefore, a warrant of

attorney, such as the curate's skill enabled him to draw up; for

in those simple days the clergy were often the advisers of their

flock in law as well as in gospel.

All matters were prepared for Tressilian's second departure,

within twenty-four hours after he had returned to Lidcote Hall;

but one material circumstance had been forgotten, which was first

called to the remembrance of Tressilian by Master Mumblazen.

"You are going to court, Master Tressilian," said he; "you will

please remember that your blazonry must be ARGENT and OR--no

other tinctures will pass current." The remark was equally just

and embarrassing. To prosecute a suit at court, ready money was

as indispensable even in the golden days of Elizabeth as at any

succeeding period; and it was a commodity little at the command

of the inhabitants of Lidcote Hall. Tressilian was himself poor;

the revenues of good Sir Hugh Robsart were consumed, and even

anticipated, in his hospitable mode of living; and it was finally

necessary that the herald who started the doubt should himself

solve it. Master Michael Mumblazen did so by producing a bag of

money, containing nearly three hundred pounds in gold and silver

of various coinage, the savings of twenty years, which he now,

without speaking a syllable upon the subject, dedicated to the

service of the patron whose shelter and protection had given him

the means of making this little hoard. Tressilian accepted it

without affecting a moment's hesitation, and a mutual grasp of

the hand was all that passed betwixt them, to express the

pleasure which the one felt in dedicating his all to such a

purpose, and that which the other received from finding so

material an obstacle to the success of his journey so suddenly

removed, and in a manner so unexpected.

While Tressilian was making preparations for his departure early

the ensuing morning, Wayland Smith desired to speak with him,

and, expressing his hope that he had been pleased with the

operation of his medicine in behalf of Sir Hugh Robsart, added

his desire to accompany him to court. This was indeed what

Tressilian himself had several times thought of; for the

shrewdness, alertness of understanding, and variety of resource

which this fellow had exhibited during the time they had

travelled together, had made him sensible that his assistance

might be of importance. But then Wayland was in danger from the

grasp of law; and of this Tressilian reminded him, mentioning

something, at the same time, of the pincers of Pinniewinks and

the warrant of Master Justice Blindas. Wayland Smith laughed

both to scorn.

"See you, sir!" said he, "I have changed my garb from that of a

farrier to a serving-man; but were it still as it was, look at my

moustaches. They now hang down; I will but turn them up, and dye

them with a tincture that I know of, and the devil would scarce

know me again."

He accompanied these words with the appropriate action, and in

less than a minute, by setting up, his moustaches and his hair,

he seemed a different person from him that had but now entered

the room. Still, however, Tressilian hesitated to accept his

services, and the artist became proportionably urgent.

"I owe you life and limb," he said, "and I would fain pay a part

of the debt, especially as I know from Will Badger on what

dangerous service your worship is bound. I do not, indeed,

pretend to be what is called a man of mettle, one of those

ruffling tear-cats who maintain their master's quarrel with sword

and buckler. Nay, I am even one of those who hold the end of a

feast better than the beginning of a fray. But I know that I can

serve your worship better, in such quest as yours, than any of

these sword-and-dagger men, and that my head will be worth an

hundred of their hands."

Tressilian still hesitated. He knew not much of this strange

fellow, and was doubtful how far he could repose in him the

confidence necessary to render him a useful attendant upon the

present emergency. Ere he had come to a determination, the

trampling of a horse was heard in the courtyard, and Master

Mumblazen and Will Badger both entered hastily into Tressilian's

chamber, speaking almost at the same moment.

"Here is a serving-man on the bonniest grey tit I ever see'd in

my life," said Will Badger, who got the start--"having on his

arm a silver cognizance, being a fire-drake holding in his mouth

a brickbat, under a coronet of an Earl's degree," said Master

Mumblazen, "and bearing a letter sealed of the same."

Tressilian took the letter, which was addressed "To the

worshipful Master Edmund Tressilian, our loving kinsman--These--

ride, ride, ride--for thy life, for thy life, for thy life. "He

then opened it, and found the following contents:--

"MASTER TRESSILIAN, OUR GOOD FRIEND AND COUSIN,

"We are at present so ill at ease, and otherwise so unhappily

circumstanced, that we are desirous to have around us those of

our friends on whose loving-kindness we can most especially

repose confidence; amongst whom we hold our good Master

Tressilian one of the foremost and nearest, both in good will and

good ability. We therefore pray you, with your most convenient

speed, to repair to our poor lodging, at Sayes Court, near

Deptford, where we will treat further with you of matters which

we deem it not fit to commit unto writing. And so we bid you

heartily farewell, being your loving kinsman to command,

"RATCLIFFE, EARL OF SUSSEX."

"Send up the messenger instantly, Will Badger," said Tressilian;

and as the man entered the room, he exclaimed, "Ah, Stevens, is

it you? how does my good lord?"

"Ill, Master Tressilian," was the messenger's reply, "and having

therefore the more need of good friends around him."

"But what is my lord's malady?" said Tressilian anxiously; I

heard nothing of his being ill."

"I know not, sir," replied the man; "he is very ill at ease. The

leeches are at a stand, and many of his household suspect foul

practice-witchcraft, or worse."

"What are the symptoms?" said Wayland Smith, stepping forward

hastily.

"Anan?" said the messenger, not comprehending his meaning.

"What does he ail?" said Wayland; "where lies his disease?"

The man looked at Tressilian, as if to know whether he should

answer these inquiries from a stranger, and receiving a sign in

the affirmative, he hastily enumerated gradual loss of strength,

nocturnal perspiration, and loss of appetite, faintness, etc.

"Joined," said Wayland, "to a gnawing pain in the stomach, and a

low fever?"

"Even so," said the messenger, somewhat surprised.

"I know how the disease is caused," said the artist, "and I know

the cause. Your master has eaten of the manna of Saint Nicholas.

I know the cure too--my master shall not say I studied in his

laboratory for nothing."

"How mean you?" said Tressilian, frowning; "we speak of one of

the first nobles of England. Bethink you, this is no subject for

buffoonery."

"God forbid!" said Wayland Smith. "I say that I know this

disease, and can cure him. Remember what I did for Sir Hugh

Robsart,"

"We will set forth instantly," said Tressilian. "God calls us."

Accordingly, hastily mentioning this new motive for his instant

departure, though without alluding to either the suspicions of

Stevens, or the assurances of Wayland Smith, he took the kindest

leave of Sir Hugh and the family at Lidcote Hall, who accompanied

him with prayers and blessings, and, attended by Wayland and the

Earl of Sussex's domestic, travelled with the utmost speed

towards London.

CHAPTER XIII.

Ay, I know you have arsenic,

Vitriol, sal-tartre, argaile, alkaly,

Cinoper: I know all.--This fellow, Captain,

Will come in time to be a great distiller,

And give a say (I will not say directly,

But very near) at the philosopher's stone. THE ALCHEMIST.

Tressilian and his attendants pressed their route with all

dispatch. He had asked the smith, indeed, when their departure

was resolved on, whether he would not rather choose to avoid

Berkshire, in which he had played a part so conspicuous? But

Wayland returned a confident answer. He had employed the short

interval they passed at Lidcote Hall in transforming himself in a

wonderful manner. His wild and overgrown thicket of beard was

now restrained to two small moustaches on the upper lip, turned

up in a military fashion. A tailor from the village of Lidcote

(well paid) had exerted his skill, under his customer's

directions, so as completely to alter Wayland's outward man, and

take off from his appearance almost twenty years of age.

Formerly, besmeared with soot and charcoal, overgrown with hair,

and bent double with the nature of his labour, disfigured too by

his odd and fantastic dress, he seemed a man of fifty years old.

But now, in a handsome suit of Tressilian's livery, with a sword

by his side and a buckler on his shoulder, he looked like a gay

ruffling serving-man, whose age might be betwixt thirty and

thirty-five, the very prime of human life. His loutish, savage-

looking demeanour seemed equally changed, into a forward, sharp,

and impudent alertness of look and action.

When challenged by Tressilian, who desired to know the cause of a

metamorphosis so singular and so absolute, Wayland only answered

by singing a stave from a comedy, which was then new, and was

supposed, among the more favourable judges, to augur some genius

on the part of the author. We are happy to preserve the couplet,

which ran exactly thus,--

"Ban, ban, ca Caliban--

Get a new master--Be a new man."

Although Tressilian did not recollect the verses, yet they

reminded him that Wayland had once been a stage player, a

circumstance which, of itself, accounted indifferently well for

the readiness with which he could assume so total a change of

personal appearance. The artist himself was so confident of his

disguise being completely changed, or of his having completely

changed his disguise, which may be the more correct mode of

speaking, that he regretted they were not to pass near his old

place of retreat.

"I could venture," he said, "in my present dress, and with your

worship's backing, to face Master Justice Blindas, even on a day

of Quarter Sessions; and I would like to know what is become of

Hobgoblin, who is like to play the devil in the world, if he can

once slip the string, and leave his granny and his dominie.--Ay,

and the scathed vault!" he said; "I would willingly have seen

what havoc the explosion of so much gunpowder has made among

Doctor Demetrius Doboobie's retorts and phials. I warrant me, my

fame haunts the Vale of the Whitehorse long after my body is

rotten; and that many a lout ties up his horse, lays down his

silver groat, and pipes like a sailor whistling in a calm for

Wayland Smith to come and shoe his tit for him. But the horse

will catch the founders ere the smith answers the call."

In this particular, indeed, Wayland proved a true prophet; and so

easily do fables rise, that an obscure tradition of his

extraordinary practice in farriery prevails in the Vale of

Whitehorse even unto this day; and neither the tradition of

Alfred's Victory, nor of the celebrated Pusey Horn, are better

preserved in Berkshire than the wild legend of Wayland Smith.

[See Note 2, Legend of Wayland Smith.]

The haste of the travellers admitted their making no stay upon

their journey, save what the refreshment of the horses required;

and as many of the places through which they passed were under

the influence of the Earl of Leicester, or persons immediately

dependent on him, they thought it prudent to disguise their names

and the purpose of their journey. On such occasions the agency

of Wayland Smith (by which name we shall continue to distinguish

the artist, though his real name was Lancelot Wayland) was

extremely serviceable. He seemed, indeed, to have a pleasure in

displaying the alertness with which he could baffle

investigation, and amuse himself by putting the curiosity of

tapsters and inn-keepers on a false scent. During the course of

their brief journey, three different and inconsistent reports

were circulated by him on their account--namely, first, that

Tressilian was the Lord Deputy of Ireland, come over in disguise

to take the Queen's pleasure concerning the great rebel Rory Oge

MacCarthy MacMahon; secondly, that the said Tressilian was an

agent of Monsieur, coming to urge his suit to the hand of

Elizabeth; thirdly, that he was the Duke of Medina, come over,

incognito, to adjust the quarrel betwixt Philip and that

princess.

Tressilian was angry, and expostulated with the artist on the

various inconveniences, and, in particular, the unnecessary

degree of attention to which they were subjected by the figments

he thus circulated; but he was pacified (for who could be proof

against such an argument?) by Wayland's assuring him that a

general importance was attached to his own (Tressilian's)

striking presence, which rendered it necessary to give an

extraordinary reason for the rapidity and secrecy of his journey.

At length they approached the metropolis, where, owing to the

more general recourse of strangers, their appearance excited

neither observation nor inquiry, and finally they entered London

itself.

It was Tressilian's purpose to go down directly to Deptford,

where Lord Sussex resided, in order to be near the court, then

held at Greenwich, the favourite residence of Elizabeth, and

honoured as her birthplace. Still a brief halt in London was

necessary; and it was somewhat prolonged by the earnest

entreaties of Wayland Smith, who desired permission to take a

walk through the city.

"Take thy sword and buckler, and follow me, then," said

Tressilian; "I am about to walk myself, and we will go in

company."

This he said, because he was not altogether so secure of the

fidelity of his new retainer as to lose sight of him at this

interesting moment, when rival factions at the court of Elizabeth

were running so high. Wayland Smith willingly acquiesced in the

precaution, of which he probably conjectured the motive, but only

stipulated that his master should enter the shops of such

chemists or apothecaries as he should point out, in walking

through Fleet Street, and permit him to make some necessary

purchases. Tressilian agreed, and obeying the signal of his

attendant, walked successively into more than four or five shops,

where he observed that Wayland purchased in each only one single

drug, in various quantities. The medicines which he first asked

for were readily furnished, each in succession, but those which

he afterwards required were less easily supplied; and Tressilian

observed that Wayland more than once, to the surprise of the

shopkeeper, returned the gum or herb that was offered to him, and

compelled him to exchange it for the right sort, or else went on

to seek it elsewhere. But one ingredient, in particular, seemed

almost impossible to be found. Some chemists plainly admitted

they had never seen it; others denied that such a drug existed,

excepting in the imagination of crazy alchemists; and most of

them attempted to satisfy their customer, by producing some

substitute, which, when rejected by Wayland, as not being what he

had asked for, they maintained possessed, in a superior degree,

the self-same qualities. In general they all displayed some

curiosity concerning the purpose for which he wanted it. One

old, meagre chemist, to whom the artist put the usual question,

in terms which Tressilian neither understood nor could recollect,

answered frankly, there was none of that drug in London, unless

Yoglan the Jew chanced to have some of it upon hand.

"I thought as much," said Wayland. And as soon as they left the

shop, he said to Tressilian, "I crave your pardon, sir, but no

artist can work without his tools. I must needs go to this

Yoglan's; and I promise you, that if this detains you longer than

your leisure seems to permit, you shall, nevertheless, be well

repaid by the use I will make of this rare drug. Permit me," he

added, "to walk before you, for we are now to quit the broad

street and we will make double speed if I lead the way."

Tressilian acquiesced, and, following the smith down a lane which

turned to the left hand towards the river, he found that his

guide walked on with great speed, and apparently perfect

knowledge of the town, through a labyrinth of by-streets, courts,

and blind alleys, until at length Wayland paused in the midst of

a very narrow lane, the termination of which showed a peep of the

Thames looking misty and muddy, which background was crossed

saltierwise, as Mr. Mumblazen might have said, by the masts of

two lighters that lay waiting for the tide. The shop under which

he halted had not, as in modern days, a glazed window, but a

paltry canvas screen surrounded such a stall as a cobbler now

occupies, having the front open, much in the manner of a

fishmonger's booth of the present day. A little old smock-faced

man, the very reverse of a Jew in complexion, for he was very

soft-haired as well as beardless, appeared, and with many

courtesies asked Wayland what he pleased to want. He had no

sooner named the drug, than the Jew started and looked surprised.

"And vat might your vorship vant vith that drug, which is not

named, mein God, in forty years as I have been chemist here?"

"These questions it is no part of my commission to answer," said

Wayland; "I only wish to know if you have what I want, and having

it, are willing to sell it?"

"Ay, mein God, for having it, that I have, and for selling it, I

am a chemist, and sell every drug." So saying, he exhibited a

powder, and then continued, "But it will cost much moneys. Vat I

ave cost its weight in gold--ay, gold well-refined--I vilI say

six times. It comes from Mount Sinai, where we had our blessed

Law given forth, and the plant blossoms but once in one hundred

year."

"I do not know how often it is gathered on Mount Sinai," said

Wayland, after looking at the drug offered him with great

disdain, "but I will wager my sword and buckler against your

gaberdine, that this trash you offer me, instead of what I asked

for, may be had for gathering any day of the week in the castle

ditch of Aleppo."

"You are a rude man," said the Jew; "and, besides, I ave no

better than that--or if I ave, I will not sell it without order

of a physician, or without you tell me vat you make of it."

The artist made brief answer in a language of which Tressilian

could not understand a word, and which seemed to strike the Jew

with the utmost astonishment. He stared upon Wayland like one

who has suddenly recognized some mighty hero or dreaded

potentate, in the person of an unknown and unmarked stranger.

"Holy Elias!" he exclaimed, when he had recovered the first

stunning effects of his surprise; and then passing from his

former suspicious and surly manner to the very extremity of

obsequiousness, he cringed low to the artist, and besought him to

enter his poor house, to bless his miserable threshold by

crossing it.

"Vill you not taste a cup vith the poor Jew, Zacharias Yoglan?

--Vill you Tokay ave?--vill you Lachrymae taste?--vill you--"

"You offend in your proffers," said Wayland; "minister to me in

what I require of you, and forbear further discourse."

The rebuked Israelite took his bunch of keys, and opening with

circumspection a cabinet which seemed more strongly secured than

the other cases of drugs and medicines amongst which it stood, he

drew out a little secret drawer, having a glass lid, and

containing a small portion of a black powder. This he offered to

Wayland, his manner conveying the deepest devotion towards him,

though an avaricious and jealous expression, which seemed to

grudge every grain of what his customer was about to possess

himself, disputed ground in his countenance with the obsequious

deference which he desired it should exhibit.

"Have you scales?" said Wayland.

The Jew pointed to those which lay ready for common use in the

shop, but he did so with a puzzled expression of doubt and fear,

which did not escape the artist.

"They must be other than these," said Wayland sternly. "Know you

not that holy things lose their virtue if weighed in an unjust

balance?"

The Jew hung his head, took from a steel-plated casket a pair of

scales beautifully mounted, and said, as he adjusted them for the

artist's use, "With these I do mine own experiment--one hair of

the high-priest's beard would turn them."

"It suffices," said the artist, and weighed out two drachms for

himself of the black powder, which he very carefully folded up,

and put into his pouch with the other drugs. He then demanded

the price of the Jew, who answered, shaking his head and bowing,

"No price--no, nothing at all from such as you. But you will see

the poor Jew again? you will look into his laboratory, where,

God help him, he hath dried himself to the substance of the

withered gourd of Jonah, the holy prophet. You will ave pity on

him, and show him one little step on the great road?"

"Hush!" said Wayland, laying his finger mysteriously on his

mouth; "it may be we shall meet again. Thou hast already the

SCHAHMAJM, as thine own Rabbis call it--the general creation;

watch, therefore, and pray, for thou must attain the knowledge of

Alchahest Elixir Samech ere I may commune further with thee."

Then returning with a slight nod the reverential congees of the

Jew, he walked gravely up the lane, followed by his master, whose

first observation on the scene he had just witnessed was, that

Wayland ought to have paid the man for his drug, whatever it was.

"I pay him?" said the artist. "May the foul fiend pay me if I

do! Had it not been that I thought it might displease your

worship, I would have had an ounce or two of gold out of him, in

exchange of the same just weight of brick dust."

"I advise you to practise no such knavery while waiting upon me,"

said Tressilian.

"Did I not say," answered the artist, "that for that reason alone

I forbore him for the present?--Knavery, call you it? Why,

yonder wretched skeleton hath wealth sufficient to pave the whole

lane he lives in with dollars, and scarce miss them out of his

own iron chest; yet he goes mad after the philosopher's stone.

And besides, he would have cheated a poor serving-man, as he

thought me at first, with trash that was not worth a penny.

Match for match, quoth the devil to the collier; if his false

medicine was worth my good crowns, my true brick dust is as well

worth his good gold."

"It may be so, for aught I know," said Tressilian, "in dealing

amongst Jews and apothecaries; but understand that to have such

tricks of legerdemain practised by one attending on me diminishes

my honour, and that I will not permit them. I trust thou hast

made up thy purchases?"

"I have, sir," replied Wayland; "and with these drugs will I,

this very day, compound the true orvietan, that noble medicine

which is so seldom found genuine and effective within these

realms of Europe, for want of that most rare and precious drug

which I got but now from Yoglan." [Orvietan, or Venice treacle,

as it was sometimes called, was understood to be a sovereign

remedy against poison; and the reader must be contented, for the

time he peruses these pages, to hold the same opinion, which was

once universally received by the learned as well as the vulgar.]

"But why not have made all your purchases at one shop?" said his

master; "we have lost nearly an hour in running from one pounder

of simples to another."

"Content you, sir," said Wayland. "No man shall learn my secret;

and it would not be mine long, were I to buy all my materials

from one chemist."

They now returned to their inn (the famous Bell-Savage); and

while the Lord Sussex's servant prepared the horses for their

journey, Wayland, obtaining from the cook the service of a

mortar, shut himself up in a private chamber, where he mixed,

pounded, and amalgamated the drugs which he had bought, each in

its due proportion, with a readiness and address that plainly

showed him well practised in all the manual operations of

pharmacy.

By the time Wayland's electuary was prepared the horses were

ready, and a short hour's riding brought them to the present

habitation of Lord Sussex, an ancient house, called Sayes Court,

near Deptford, which had long pertained to a family of that name,

but had for upwards of a century been possessed by the ancient

and honourable family of Evelyn. The present representative of

that ancient house took a deep interest in the Earl of Sussex,

and had willingly accommodated both him and his numerous retinue

in his hospitable mansion. Sayes Court was afterwards the

residence of the celebrated Mr. Evelyn, whose "Silva" is still

the manual of British planters; and whose life, manners, and

principles, as illustrated in his Memoirs, ought equally to be

the manual of English gentlemen.

CHAPTER XIV.

This is rare news thou tell'st me, my good fellow;

There are two bulls fierce battling on the green

For one fair heifer--if the one goes down,

The dale will be more peaceful, and the herd,

Which have small interest in their brulziement,

May pasture there in peace.--OLD PLAY.

Sayes Court was watched like a beleaguered fort; and so high rose

the suspicions of the time, that Tressilian and his attendants

were stopped and questioned repeatedly by sentinels, both on foot

and horseback, as they approached the abode of the sick Earl. In

truth, the high rank which Sussex held in Queen Elizabeth's

favour, and his known and avowed rivalry of the Earl of

Leicester, caused the utmost importance to be attached to his

welfare; for, at the period we treat of, all men doubted whether

he or the Earl of Leicester might ultimately have the higher rank

in her regard.

Elizabeth, like many of her sex, was fond of governing by

factions, so as to balance two opposing interests, and reserve in

her own hand the power of making either predominate, as the

interest of the state, or perhaps as her own female caprice (for

to that foible even she was not superior), might finally

determine. To finesse--to hold the cards--to oppose one interest

to another--to bridle him who thought himself highest in her

esteem, by the fears he must entertain of another equally

trusted, if not equally beloved, were arts which she used

throughout her reign, and which enabled her, though frequently

giving way to the weakness of favouritism, to prevent most of its

evil effects on her kingdom and government.

The two nobles who at present stood as rivals in her favour

possessed very different pretensions to share it; yet it might be

in general said that the Earl of Sussex had been most serviceable

to the Queen, while Leicester was most dear to the woman. Sussex

was, according to the phrase of the times, a martialist--had done

good service in Ireland and in Scotland, and especially in the

great northern rebellion, in 1569, which was quelled, in a great

measure, by his military talents. He was, therefore, naturally

surrounded and looked up to by those who wished to make arms

their road to distinction. The Earl of Sussex, moreover, was of

more ancient and honourable descent than his rival, uniting in

his person the representation of the Fitz-Walters, as well as of

the Ratcliffes; while the scutcheon of Leicester was stained by

the degradation of his grandfather, the oppressive minister of

Henry VII., and scarce improved by that of his father, the

unhappy Dudley, Duke of Northumberland, executed on Tower Hill,

August 22, 1553. But in person, features, and address, weapons

so formidable in the court of a female sovereign, Leicester had

advantages more than sufficient to counterbalance the military

services, high blood, and frank bearing of the Earl of Sussex;

and he bore, in the eye of the court and kingdom, the higher

share in Elizabeth's favour, though (for such was her uniform

policy) by no means so decidedly expressed as to warrant him

against the final preponderance of his rival's pretensions. The

illness of Sussex therefore happened so opportunely for

Leicester, as to give rise to strange surmises among the public;

while the followers of the one Earl were filled with the deepest

apprehensions, and those of the other with the highest hopes of

its probable issue. Meanwhile--for in that old time men never

forgot the probability that the matter might be determined by

length of sword--the retainers of each noble flocked around their

patron, appeared well armed in the vicinity of the court itself,

and disturbed the ear of the sovereign by their frequent and

alarming debates, held even within the precincts of her palace.

This preliminary statement is necessary, to render what follows

intelligible to the reader. [See Note 3. Leicester and Sussex.]

On Tressilian's arrival at Sayes Court, he found the place filled

with the retainers of the Earl of Sussex, and of the gentlemen

who came to attend their patron in his illness. Arms were in

every hand, and a deep gloom on every countenance, as if they had

apprehended an immediate and violent assault from the opposite

faction. In the hall, however, to which Tressilian was ushered

by one of the Earl's attendants, while another went to inform

Sussex of his arrival, he found only two gentlemen in waiting.

There was a remarkable contrast in their dress, appearance, and

manners. The attire of the elder gentleman, a person as it

seemed of quality and in the prime of life, was very plain and

soldierlike, his stature low, his limbs stout, his bearing

ungraceful, and his features of that kind which express sound

common sense, without a grain of vivacity or imagination. The

younger, who seemed about twenty, or upwards, was clad in the

gayest habit used by persons of quality at the period, wearing a

crimson velvet cloak richly ornamented with lace and embroidery,

with a bonnet of the same, encircled with a gold chain turned

three times round it, and secured by a medal. His hair was

adjusted very nearly like that of some fine gentlemen of our own

time--that is, it was combed upwards, and made to stand as it

were on end; and in his ears he wore a pair of silver earrings,

having each a pearl of considerable size. The countenance of

this youth, besides being regularly handsome and accompanied by a

fine person, was animated and striking in a degree that seemed to

speak at once the firmness of a decided and the fire of an

enterprising character, the power of reflection, and the

promptitude of determination.

Both these gentlemen reclined nearly in the same posture on

benches near each other; but each seeming engaged in his own

meditations, looked straight upon the wall which was opposite to

them, without speaking to his companion. The looks of the elder

were of that sort which convinced the beholder that, in looking

on the wall, he saw no more than the side of an old hall hung

around with cloaks, antlers, bucklers, old pieces of armour,

partisans, and the similar articles which were usually the

furniture of such a place. The look of the younger gallant had

in it something imaginative; he was sunk in reverie, and it

seemed as if the empty space of air betwixt him and the wall were

the stage of a theatre on which his fancy was mustering his own

DRAMATIS PERSONAE, and treating him with sights far different

from those which his awakened and earthly vision could have

offered.

At the entrance of Tressilian both started from their musing, and

made him welcome--the younger, in particular, with great

appearance of animation and cordiality.

"Thou art welcome, Tressilian," said the youth. "Thy philosophy

stole thee from us when this household had objects of ambition to

offer; it is an honest philosophy, since it returns thee to us

when there are only dangers to be shared."

"Is my lord, then, so greatly indisposed?" said Tressilian.

"We fear the very worst," answered the elder gentleman, "and by

the worst practice."

"Fie," replied Tressilian, "my Lord of Leicester is honourable."

"What doth he with such attendants, then, as he hath about him?"

said the younger gallant. "The man who raises the devil may be

honest, but he is answerable for the mischief which the fiend

does, for all that."

"And is this all of you, my mates," inquired Tressilian, "that

are about my lord in his utmost straits?"

"No, no," replied the elder gentleman, "there are Tracy, Markham,

and several more; but we keep watch here by two at once, and some

are weary and are sleeping in the gallery above."

"And some," said the young man," are gone down to the Dock yonder

at Deptford, to look out such a hull; as they may purchase by

clubbing their broken fortunes; and as soon as all is over, we

will lay our noble lord in a noble green grave, have a blow at

those who have hurried him thither, if opportunity suits, and

then sail for the Indies with heavy hearts and light purses."

"It may be," said Tressilian, "that I will embrace the same

purpose, so soon as I have settled some business at court."

"Thou business at court!" they both exclaimed at once, "and thou

make the Indian voyage!"

"Why, Tressilian," said the younger man, "art thou not wedded,

and beyond these flaws of fortune, that drive folks out to sea

when their bark bears fairest for the haven?-- What has become of

the lovely Indamira that was to match my Amoret for truth and

beauty?"

"Speak not of her!" said Tressilian, averting his face.

"Ay, stands it so with you?" said the youth, taking his hand

very affectionately; "then, fear not I will again touch the green

wound. But it is strange as well as sad news. Are none of our

fair and merry fellowship to escape shipwreck of fortune and

happiness in this sudden tempest? I had hoped thou wert in

harbour, at least, my dear Edmund. But truly says another dear

friend of thy name,

'What man that sees the ever whirling wheel

Of Chance, the which all mortal things doth sway,

But that thereby doth find and plainly feel,

How Mutability in them doth play

Her cruel sports to many men's decay.'"

The elder gentleman had risen from his bench, and was pacing the

hall with some impatience, while the youth, with much earnestness

and feeling, recited these lines. When he had done, the other

wrapped himself in his cloak, and again stretched himself down,

saying, "I marvel, Tressilian, you will feed the lad in this

silly humour. If there were ought to draw a judgment upon a

virtuous and honourable household like my lord's, renounce me if

I think not it were this piping, whining, childish trick of

poetry, that came among us with Master Walter Wittypate here and

his comrades, twisting into all manner of uncouth and

incomprehensible forms of speech, the honest plain English phrase

which God gave us to express our meaning withal."

"Blount believes," said his comrade, laughing, "the devil woo'd

Eve in rhyme, and that the mystic meaning of the Tree of

Knowledge refers solely to the art of clashing rhymes and meting

out hexameters." [See Note 4. Sir Walter Raleigh.]

At this moment the Earl's chamberlain entered, and informed

Tressilian that his lord required to speak with him.

He found Lord Sussex dressed, but unbraced, and lying on his

couch, and was shocked at the alteration disease had made in his

person. The Earl received him with the most friendly cordiality,

and inquired into the state of his courtship. Tressilian evaded

his inquiries for a moment, and turning his discourse on the

Earl's own health, he discovered, to his surprise, that the

symptoms of his disorder corresponded minutely with those which

Wayland had predicated concerning it. He hesitated not,

therefore, to communicate to Sussex the whole history of his

attendant, and the pretensions he set up to cure the disorder

under which he laboured. The Earl listened with incredulous

attention until the name of Demetrius was mentioned, and then

suddenly called to his secretary to bring him a certain casket

which contained papers of importance. "Take out from thence," he

said, "the declaration of the rascal cook whom we had under

examination, and look heedfully if the name of Demetrius be not

there mentioned."

The secretary turned to the passage at once, and read, "And said

declarant, being examined, saith, That he remembers having made

the sauce to the said sturgeon-fish, after eating of which the

said noble Lord was taken ill; "and he put the usual ingredients

and condiments therein, namely--"

"Pass over his trash," said the Earl, "and see whether he had not

been supplied with his materials by a herbalist called

Demetrius."

"It is even so," answered the secretary. "And he adds, he has

not since seen the said Demetrius."

"This accords with thy fellow's story, Tressilian," said the

Earl; "call him hither."

On being summoned to the Earl's presence, Wayland Smith told his

former tale with firmness and consistency.

"It may be," said the Earl, "thou art sent by those who have

begun this work, to end it for them; but bethink, if I miscarry

under thy medicine, it may go hard with thee."

"That were severe measure," said Wayland, "since the issue of

medicine, and the end of life, are in God's disposal. But I will

stand the risk. I have not lived so long under ground to be

afraid of a grave."

"Nay, if thou be'st so confident," said the Earl of Sussex, "I

will take the risk too, for the learned can do nothing for me.

Tell me how this medicine is to be taken."

"That will I do presently," said Wayland; "but allow me to

condition that, since I incur all the risk of this treatment, no

other physician shall be permitted to interfere with it."

"That is but fair," replied the Earl; "and now prepare your

drug."

While Wayland obeyed the Earl's commands, his servants, by the

artist's direction, undressed their master, and placed him in

bed.

"I warn you," he said, "that the first operation of this medicine

will be to produce a heavy sleep, during which time the chamber

must be kept undisturbed, as the consequences may otherwise he

fatal. I myself will watch by the Earl with any of the gentlemen

of his chamber."

"Let all leave the room, save Stanley and this good fellow," said

the Earl.

"And saving me also," said Tressilian. "I too am deeply

interested in the effects of this potion."

"Be it so, good friend," said the Earl. "And now for our

experiment; but first call my secretary and chamberlain."

"Bear witness," he continued, when these officers arrived--"bear

witness for me, gentlemen, that our honourable friend Tressilian

is in no way responsible for the effects which this medicine may

produce upon me, the taking it being my own free action and

choice, in regard I believe it to be a remedy which God has

furnished me by unexpected means to recover me of my present

malady. Commend me to my noble and princely Mistress; and say

that I live and die her true servant, and wish to all about her

throne the same singleness of heart and will to serve her, with

more ability to do so than hath been assigned to poor Thomas

Ratcliffe."

He then folded his hands, and seemed for a second or two absorbed

in mental devotion, then took the potion in his hand, and,

pausing, regarded Wayland with a look that seemed designed to

penetrate his very soul, but which caused no anxiety or

hesitation in the countenance or manner of the artist.

"Here is nothing to be feared," said Sussex to Tressilian, and

swallowed the medicine without further hesitation

"I am now to pray your lordship," said Wayland, "to dispose

yourself to rest as commodiously as you can; and of you,

gentlemen, to remain as still and mute as if you waited at your

mother's deathbed."

The chamberlain and secretary then withdrew, giving orders that

all doors should be bolted, and all noise in the house strictly

prohibited. Several gentlemen were voluntary watchers in the

hall, but none remained in the chamber of the sick Earl, save his

groom of the chamber, the artist, and Tressilian.--Wayland

Smith's predictions were speedily accomplished, and a sleep fell

upon the Earl, so deep and sound that they who watched his

bedside began to fear that, in his weakened state, he might pass

away without awakening from his lethargy. Wayland Smith himself

appeared anxious, and felt the temples of the Earl slightly, from

time to time, attending particularly to the state of his

respiration, which was full and deep, but at the same time easy

and uninterrupted.

CHAPTER XV,

You loggerheaded and unpolish'd grooms,

What, no attendance, no regard, no duty?

Where is the foolish knave I sent before? TAMING OF THE SHREW.

There is no period at which men look worse in the eyes of each

other, or feel more uncomfortable, than when the first dawn of

daylight finds them watchers. Even a beauty of the first order,

after the vigils of a ball are interrupted by the dawn, would do

wisely to withdraw herself from the gaze of her fondest and most

partial admirers. Such was the pale, inauspicious, and

ungrateful light which began to beam upon those who kept watch

all night in the hall at Sayes Court, and which mingled its cold,

pale, blue diffusion with the red, yellow, and smoky beams of

expiring lamps and torches. The young gallant, whom we noticed

in our last chapter, had left the room for a few minutes, to

learn the cause of a knocking at the outward gate, and on his

return was so struck with the forlorn and ghastly aspects of his

companions of the watch that he exclaimed, "Pity of my heart, my

masters, how like owls you look! Methinks, when the sun rises, I

shall see you flutter off with your eyes dazzled, to stick

yourselves into the next ivy-tod or ruined steeple."

"Hold thy peace, thou gibing fool," said Blount; "hold thy peace.

Is this a time for jeering, when the manhood of England is

perchance dying within a wall's breadth of thee?"

"There thou liest," replied the gallant.

"How, lie!" exclaimed Blount, starting up, "lie! and to me?"

"Why, so thou didst, thou peevish fool," answered the youth;

"thou didst lie on that bench even now, didst thou not? But art

thou not a hasty coxcomb to pick up a wry word so wrathfully?

Nevertheless, loving and, honouring my lord as truly as thou, or

any one, I do say that, should Heaven take him from us, all

England's manhood dies not with him."

"Ay," replied Blount, "a good portion will survive with thee,

doubtless."

"And a good portion with thyself, Blount, and with stout Markham

here, and Tracy, and all of us. But I am he will best employ the

talent Heaven has given to us all."

"As how, I prithee?" said Blount; "tell us your mystery of

multiplying."

"Why, sirs," answered the youth, "ye are like goodly land, which

bears no crop because it is not quickened by manure; but I have

that rising spirit in me which will make my poor faculties labour

to keep pace with it. My ambition will keep my brain at work, I

warrant thee."

"I pray to God it does not drive thee mad," said Blount; "for my

part, if we lose our noble lord, I bid adieu to the court and to

the camp both. I have five hundred foul acres in Norfolk, and

thither will I, and change the court pantoufle for the country

hobnail."

"O base transmutation!" exclaimed his antagonist; "thou hast

already got the true rustic slouch--thy shoulders stoop, as if

thine hands were at the stilts of the plough; and thou hast a

kind of earthy smell about thee, instead of being perfumed with

essence, as a gallant and courtier should. On my soul, thou hast

stolen out to roll thyself on a hay mow! Thy only excuse will be

to swear by thy hilts that the farmer had a fair daughter."

"I pray thee, Walter," said another of the company, "cease thy

raillery, which suits neither time nor place, and tell us who was

at the gate just now."

"Doctor Masters, physician to her Grace in ordinary, sent by her

especial orders to inquire after the Earl's health," answered

Walter.

"Ha! what?" exclaimed Tracy; "that was no slight mark of

favour. If the Earl can but come through, he will match with

Leicester yet. Is Masters with my lord at present?"

"Nay," replied Walter, "he is half way back to Greenwich by this

time, and in high dudgeon."

"Thou didst not refuse him admittance?" exclaimed Tracy.

"Thou wert not, surely, so mad?" ejaculated Blount.

"I refused him admittance as flatly, Blount, as you would refuse

a penny to a blind beggar--as obstinately, Tracy, as thou didst

ever deny access to a dun."

"Why, in the fiend's name, didst thou trust him to go to the

gate?" said Blount to Tracy.

"It suited his years better than mine," answered Tracy; "but he

has undone us all now thoroughly. My lord may live or die, he

will never have a look of favour from her Majesty again."

"Nor the means of making fortunes for his followers," said the

young gallant, smiling contemptuously;--"there lies the sore

point that will brook no handling. My good sirs, I sounded my

lamentations over my lord somewhat less loudly than some of you;

but when the point comes of doing him service, I will yield to

none of you. Had this learned leech entered, think'st thou not

there had been such a coil betwixt him and Tressilian's

mediciner, that not the sleeper only, but the very dead might

have awakened? I know what larurm belongs to the discord of

doctors."

"And who is to take the blame of opposing the Queen's orders?"

said Tracy; "for, undeniably, Doctor Masters came with her

Grace's positive commands to cure the Earl."

"I, who have done the wrong, will bear the blame," said Walter.

"Thus, then, off fly the dreams of court favour thou hast

nourished," said Blount, "and despite all thy boasted art and

ambition, Devonshire will see thee shine a true younger brother,

fit to sit low at the board, carve turn about with the chaplain,

look that the hounds be fed, and see the squire's girths drawn

when he goes a-hunting."

"Not so," said the young man, colouring, "not while Ireland and

the Netherlands have wars, and not while the sea hath pathless

waves. The rich West hath lands undreamed of, and Britain

contains bold hearts to venture on the quest of them. Adieu for

a space, my masters. I go to walk in the court and look to the

sentinels."

"The lad hath quicksilver in his veins, that is certain," said

Blount, looking at Markham.

"He hath that both in brain and blood," said Markham, "which may

either make or mar him. But in closing the door against Masters,

he hath done a daring and loving piece of service; for

Tressilian's fellow hath ever averred that to wake the Earl were

death, and Masters would wake the Seven Sleepers themselves, if

he thought they slept not by the regular ordinance of medicine."

Morning was well advanced when Tressilian, fatigued and over-

watched, came down to the hall with the joyful intelligence that

the Earl had awakened of himself, that he found his internal

complaints much mitigated, and spoke with a cheerfulness, and

looked round with a vivacity, which of themselves showed a

material and favourable change had taken place. Tressilian at

the same time commanded the attendance of one or two of his

followers, to report what had passed during the night, and to

relieve the watchers in the Earl's chamber.

When the message of the Queen was communicated to the Earl of

Sussex, he at first smiled at the repulse which the physician had

received from his zealous young follower; but instantly

recollecting himself, he commanded Blount, his master of the

horse, instantly to take boat, and go down the river to the

Palace of Greenwich, taking young Walter and Tracy with him, and

make a suitable compliment, expressing his grateful thanks to his

Sovereign, and mentioning the cause why he had not been enabled

to profit by the assistance of the wise and learned Doctor

Masters.

"A plague on it!" said Blount, as he descended the stairs; "had

he sent me with a cartel to Leicester I think I should have done

his errand indifferently well. But to go to our gracious

Sovereign, before whom all words must be lacquered over either

with gilding or with sugar, is such a confectionary matter as

clean baffles my poor old English brain.--Come with me, Tracy,

and come you too, Master Walter Wittypate, that art the cause of

our having all this ado. Let us see if thy neat brain, that

frames so many flashy fireworks, can help out a plain fellow at

need with some of thy shrewd devices."

"Never fear, never fear," exclaimed the youth, "it is I will help

you through; let me but fetch my cloak."

"Why, thou hast it on thy shoulders," said Blount,--"the lad is

mazed,"

"No, No, this is Tracy's old mantle," answered Walter. "I go not

with thee to court unless as a gentleman should."

"Why," Said Blount, "thy braveries are like to dazzle the eyes of

none but some poor groom or porter."

"I know that," said the youth; "but I am resolved I will have my

own cloak, ay, and brush my doublet to boot, ere I stir forth

with you."

"Well, well," said Blount, "here is a coil about a doublet and a

cloak. Get thyself ready, a God's name!"

They were soon launched on the princely bosom of the broad

Thames, upon which the sun now shone forth in all its splendour.

"There are two things scarce matched in the universe," said

Walter to Blount--"the sun in heaven, and the Thames on the

earth."

"The one will light us to Greenwich well enough," said Blount,

"and the other would take us there a little faster if it were

ebb-tide."

"And this is all thou thinkest--all thou carest--all thou deemest

the use of the King of Elements and the King of Rivers--to guide

three such poor caitiffs as thyself, and me, and Tracy, upon an

idle journey of courtly ceremony!"

"It is no errand of my seeking, faith," replied Blount, "and I

could excuse both the sun and the Thames the trouble of carrying

me where I have no great mind to go, and where I expect but dog's

wages for my trouble--and by my honour," he added, looking out

from the head of the boat, "it seems to me as if our message were

a sort of labour in vain, for, see, the Queen's barge lies at the

stairs as if her Majesty were about to take water."

It was even so. The royal barge, manned with the Queen's

watermen richly attired in the regal liveries, and having the

Banner of England displayed, did indeed lie at the great stairs

which ascended from the river, and along with it two or three

other boats for transporting such part of her retinue as were not

in immediate attendance on the royal person. The yeomen of the

guard, the tallest and most handsome men whom England could

produce, guarded with their halberds the passage from the palace-

gate to the river side, and all seemed in readiness for the

Queen's coming forth, although the day was yet so early.

"By my faith, this bodes us no good," said Blount; "it must be

some perilous cause puts her Grace in motion thus untimeously, By

my counsel, we were best put back again, and tell the Earl what

we have seen."

"Tell the Earl what we have seen!" said Walter; "why what have

we seen but a boat, and men with scarlet jerkins, and halberds in

their hands? Let us do his errand, and tell him what the Queen

says in reply."

So saying, he caused the boat to be pulled towards a landing-

place at some distance from the principal one, which it would

not, at that moment, have been thought respectful to approach,

and jumped on shore, followed, though with reluctance, by his

cautious and timid companions. As they approached the gate of

the palace, one of the sergeant porters told them they could not

at present enter, as her Majesty was in the act of coming forth.

The gentlemen used the name of the Earl of Sussex; but it proved

no charm to subdue the officer, who alleged, in reply, that it

was as much as his post was worth to disobey in the least tittle

the commands which he had received.

"Nay, I told you as much before," said Blount; "do, I pray you,

my dear Walter, let us take boat and return."

"Not till I see the Queen come forth," returned the youth

composedly.

"Thou art mad, stark mad, by the Mass!" answered Blount.

"And thou," said Walter, "art turned coward of the sudden. I

have seen thee face half a score of shag-headed Irish kerns to

thy own share of them; and now thou wouldst blink and go back to

shun the frown of a fair lady!"

At this moment the gates opened, and ushers began to issue forth

in array, preceded and flanked by the band of Gentlemen

Pensioners. After this, amid a crowd of lords and ladies, yet so

disposed around her that she could see and be seen on all sides,

came Elizabeth herself, then in the prime of womanhood, and in

the full glow of what in a Sovereign was called beauty, and who

would in the lowest rank of life have been truly judged a noble

figure, joined to a striking and commanding physiognomy. She

leant on the arm of Lord Hunsdon, whose relation to her by her

mother's side often procured him such distinguished marks of

Elizabeth's intimacy.

The young cavalier we have so often mentioned had probably never

yet approached so near the person of his Sovereign, and he

pressed forward as far as the line of warders permitted, in order

to avail himself of the present opportunity. His companion, on

the contrary, cursing his imprudence, kept pulling him backwards,

till Walter shook him off impatiently, and letting his rich cloak

drop carelessly from one shoulder; a natural action, which

served, however, to display to the best advantage his well-

proportioned person. Unbonneting at the same time, he fixed his

eager gaze on the Queen's approach, with a mixture of respectful

curiosity and modest yet ardent admiration, which suited so well

with his fine features that the warders, struck with his rich

attire and noble countenance, suffered him to approach the ground

over which the Queen was to pass, somewhat closer than was

permitted to ordinary spectators. Thus the adventurous youth

stood full in Elizabeth's eye--an eye never indifferent to the

admiration which she deservedly excited among her subjects, or to

the fair proportions of external form which chanced to

distinguish any of her courtiers.

Accordingly, she fixed her keen glance on the youth, as she

approached the place where he stood, with a look in which

surprise at his boldness seemed to be unmingled with resentment,

while a trifling accident happened which attracted her attention

towards him yet more strongly. The night had been rainy, and

just where the young gentleman stood a small quantity of mud

interrupted the Queen's passage. As she hesitated to pass on,

the gallant, throwing his cloak from his shoulders, laid it on

the miry spot, so as to ensure her stepping over it dry-shod.

Elizabeth looked at the young man, who accompanied this act of

devoted courtesy with a profound reverence, and a blush that

overspread his whole countenance. The Queen was confused, and

blushed in her turn, nodded her head, hastily passed on, and

embarked in her barge without saying a word.

"Come along, Sir Coxcomb," said Blount; "your gay cloak will need

the brush to-day, I wot. Nay, if you had meant to make a

footcloth of your mantle, better have kept Tracy's old drab-de-

bure, which despises all colours."

"This cloak," said the youth, taking it up and folding it, "shall

never be brushed while in my possession."

"And that will not be long, if you learn not a little more

economy; we shall have you in CUERPO soon, as the Spaniard says."

Their discourse was here interrupted by one of the band of

Pensioners.

"I was sent," said he, after looking at them attentively, "to a

gentleman who hath no cloak, or a muddy one.--You, sir, I think,"

addressing the younger cavalier, "are the man; you will please to

follow me."

"He is in attendance on me," said Blount--"on me, the noble Earl

of Sussex's master of horse."

"I have nothing to say to that," answered the messenger; "my

orders are directly from her Majesty, and concern this gentleman

only."

So saying, he walked away, followed by Walter, leaving the others

behind, Blount's eyes almost starting from his head with the

excess of his astonishment. At length he gave vent to it in an

exclamation, "Who the good jere would have thought this!" And

shaking his head with a mysterious air, he walked to his own

boat, embarked, and returned to Deptford.

The young cavalier was in the meanwhile guided to the water-side

by the Pensioner, who showed him considerable respect; a

circumstance which, to persons in his situation, may be

considered as an augury of no small consequence. He ushered him

into one of the wherries which lay ready to attend the Queen's

barge, which was already proceeding; up the river, with the

advantage of that flood-tide of which, in the course of their

descent, Blount had complained to his associates.

The two rowers used their oars with such expedition at the signal

of the Gentleman Pensioner, that they very soon brought their

little skiff under the stern of the Queen's boat, where she sat

beneath an awning, attended by two or three ladies, and the

nobles of her household. She looked more than once at the wherry

in which the young adventurer was seated, spoke to those around

her, and seemed to laugh. At length one of the attendants, by

the Queen's order apparently, made a sign for the wherry to come

alongside, and the young man was desired to step from his own

skiff into the Queen's barge, which he performed with graceful

agility at the fore part of the boat, and was brought aft to the

Queen's presence, the wherry at the same time dropping into the

rear. The youth underwent the gaze of Majesty, not the less

gracefully that his self-possession was mingled with

embarrassment. The muddled cloak still hung upon his arm, and

formed the natural topic with which the Queen introduced the

conversation.

"You have this day spoiled a gay mantle in our behalf, young man.

We thank you for your service, though the manner of offering it

was unusual, and something bold."

"In a sovereign's need," answered the youth, "it is each liege-

man's duty to be bold."

"God's pity! that was well said, my lord," said the Queen,

turning to a grave person who sat by her, and answered with a

grave inclination of the head, and something of a mumbled

assent.--"Well, young man, your gallantry shall not go

unrewarded. Go to the wardrobe keeper, and he shall have orders

to supply the suit which you have cast away in our service. Thou

shalt have a suit, and that of the newest cut, I promise thee, on

the word of a princess."

"May it please your Grace," said Walter, hesitating, "it is not

for so humble a servant of your Majesty to measure out your

bounties; but if it became me to choose--"

"Thou wouldst have gold, I warrant me," said the Queen,

interrupting him. "Fie, young man! I take shame to say that in

our capital such and so various are the means of thriftless

folly, that to give gold to youth is giving fuel to fire, and

furnishing them with the means of self-destruction. If I live

and reign, these means of unchristian excess shall be abridged.

Yet thou mayest be poor," she added, "or thy parents may be. It

shall be gold, if thou wilt, but thou shalt answer to me for the

use on't."

Walter waited patiently until the Queen had done, and then

modestly assured her that gold was still less in his wish than

the raiment her Majesty had before offered.

"How, boy!" said the Queen, "neither gold nor garment? What is

it thou wouldst have of me, then?"

"Only permission, madam--if it is not asking too high an honour

--permission to wear the cloak which did you this trifling

service."

"Permission to wear thine own cloak, thou silly boy!" said the

Queen.

"It is no longer mine," said Walter; "when your Majesty's foot

touched it, it became a fit mantle for a prince, but far too rich

a one for its former owner."

The Queen again blushed, and endeavoured to cover, by laughing, a

slight degree of not unpleasing surprise and confusion.

"Heard you ever the like, my lords? The youth's head is turned

with reading romances. I must know something of him, that I may

send him safe to his friends.--What art thou?"

"A gentleman of the household of the Earl of Sussex, so please

your Grace, sent hither with his master of horse upon message to

your Majesty."

In a moment the gracious expression which Elizabeth's face had

hitherto maintained, gave way to an expression of haughtiness and

severity.

"My Lord of Sussex," she said, "has taught us how to regard his

messages by the value he places upon ours. We sent but this

morning the physician in ordinary of our chamber, and that at no

usual time, understanding his lordship's illness to be more

dangerous than we had before apprehended. There is at no court

in Europe a man more skilled in this holy and most useful science

than Doctor Masters, and he came from Us to our subject.

Nevertheless, he found the gate of Sayes Court defended by men

with culverins, as if it had been on the borders of Scotland, not

in the vicinity of our court; and when he demanded admittance in

our name, it was stubbornly refused. For this slight of a

kindness, which had but too much of condescension in it, we will

receive, at present at least, no excuse; and some such we suppose

to have been the purport of my Lord of Sussex's message."

This was uttered in a tone and with a gesture which made Lord

Sussex's friends who were within hearing tremble. He to whom the

speech was addressed, however, trembled not; but with great

deference and humility, as soon as the Queen's passion gave him

an opportunity, he replied, "So please your most gracious

Majesty, I was charged with no apology from the Earl of Sussex."

"With what were you then charged, sir?" said the Queen, with the

impetuosity which, amid nobler qualities, strongly marked her

character. "Was it with a justification?--or, God's death! with

a defiance?"

"Madam," said the young man, "my Lord of Sussex knew the offence

approached towards treason, and could think of nothing save of

securing the offender, and placing him in your Majesty's hands,

and at your mercy. The noble Earl was fast asleep when your most

gracious message reached him, a potion having been administered

to that purpose by his physician; and his Lordship knew not of

the ungracious repulse your Majesty's royal and most comfortable

message had received, until after he awoke this morning."

"And which of his domestics, then, in the name of Heaven,

presumed to reject my message, without even admitting my own

physician to the presence of him whom I sent him to attend?"

said the Queen, much surprised.

"The offender, madam, is before you," replied Walter, bowing very

low; "the full and sole blame is mine; and my lord has most

justly sent me to abye the consequences of a fault, of which he

is as innocent as a sleeping man's dreams can be of a waking

man's actions."

"What! was it thou?--thou thyself, that repelled my messenger

and my physician from Sayes Court?" said the Queen. "What could

occasion such boldness in one who seems devoted--that is, whose

exterior bearing shows devotion--to his Sovereign?"

"Madam," said the youth--who, notwithstanding an assumed

appearance of severity, thought that he saw something in the

Queen's face that resembled not implacability--"we say in our

country, that the physician is for the time the liege sovereign

of his patient. Now, my noble master was then under dominion of

a leech, by whose advice he hath greatly profited, who had issued

his commands that his patient should not that night be disturbed,

on the very peril of his life."

"Thy master hath trusted some false varlet of an empiric," said

the Queen.

"I know not, madam, but by the fact that he is now--this very

morning--awakened much refreshed and strengthened from the only

sleep he hath had for many hours."

The nobles looked at each other, but more with the purpose to see

what each thought of this news, than to exchange any remarks on

what had happened. The Queen answered hastily, and without

affecting to disguise her satisfaction, "By my word, I am glad he

is better. But thou wert over-bold to deny the access of my

Doctor Masters. Knowest thou not the Holy Writ saith, 'In the

multitude of counsel there is safety'?"

"Ay, madam," said Walter; "but I have heard learned men say that

the safety spoken of is for the physicians, not for the patient."

"By my faith, child, thou hast pushed me home," said the Queen,

laughing; "for my Hebrew learning does not come quite at a call.

--How say you, my Lord of Lincoln? Hath the lad given a just

interpretation of the text?"

"The word SAFETY, most gracious madam," said the Bishop of

Lincoln, "for so hath been translated, it may be somewhat

hastily, the Hebrew word, being--"

"My lord," said the Queen, interrupting him, "we said we had

forgotten our Hebrew.--But for thee, young man, what is thy name

and birth?"

"Raleigh is my name, most gracious Queen, the youngest son of a

large but honourable family of Devonshire."

"Raleigh?" said Elizabeth, after a moment's recollection. "Have

we not heard of your service in Ireland?"

"I have been so fortunate as to do some service there, madam,"

replied Raleigh; "scarce, however, of consequence sufficient to

reach your Grace's ears."

"They hear farther than you think of," said the Queen graciously,

"and have heard of a youth who defended a ford in Shannon against

a whole band of wild Irish rebels, until the stream ran purple

with their blood and his own."

"Some blood I may have lost," said the youth, looking down, "but

it was where my best is due, and that is in your Majesty's

service."

The Queen paused, and then said hastily, "You are very young to

have fought so well, and to speak so well. But you must not

escape your penance for turning back Masters. The poor man hath

caught cold on the river for our order reached him when he was

just returned from certain visits in London, and he held it

matter of loyalty and conscience instantly to set forth again.

So hark ye, Master Raleigh, see thou fail not to wear thy muddy

cloak, in token of penitence, till our pleasure be further known.

And here," she added, giving him a jewel of gold, in the form of

a chess-man, "I give thee this to wear at the collar."

Raleigh, to whom nature had taught intuitively, as it were, those

courtly arts which many scarce acquire from long experience,

knelt, and, as he took from her hand the jewel, kissed the

fingers which gave it. He knew, perhaps, better than almost any

of the courtiers who surrounded her, how to mingle the devotion

claimed by the Queen with the gallantry due to her personal

beauty; and in this, his first attempt to unite them, he

succeeded so well as at once to gratify Elizabeth's personal

vanity and her love of power. [See Note 5. Court favour of Sir

Walter Raleigh.]

His master, the Earl of Sussex, had the full advantage of the

satisfaction which Raleigh had afforded Elizabeth, on their first

interview.

"My lords and ladies," said the Queen, looking around to the

retinue by whom she was attended, "methinks, since we are upon

the river, it were well to renounce our present purpose of going

to the city, and surprise this poor Earl of Sussex with a visit.

He is ill, and suffering doubtless under the fear of our

displeasure, from which he hath been honestly cleared by the

frank avowal of this malapert boy. What think ye? were it not

an act of charity to give him such consolation as the thanks of a

Queen, much bound to him for his loyal service, may perchance

best minister?"

It may be readily supposed that none to whom this speech was

addressed ventured to oppose its purport.

"Your Grace," said the Bishop of Lincoln, "is the breath of our

nostrils." The men of war averred that the face of the Sovereign

was a whetstone to the soldier's sword; while the men of state

were not less of opinion that the light of the Queen's

countenance was a lamp to the paths of her councillors; and the

ladies agreed, with one voice, that no noble in England so well

deserved the regard of England's Royal Mistress as the Earl of

Sussex--the Earl of Leicester's right being reserved entire, so

some of the more politic worded their assent, an exception to

which Elizabeth paid no apparent attention. The barge had,

therefore, orders to deposit its royal freight at Deptford, at

the nearest and most convenient point of communication with Sayes

Court, in order that the Queen might satisfy her royal and

maternal solicitude, by making personal inquiries after the

health of the Earl of Sussex.

Raleigh, whose acute spirit foresaw and anticipated important

consequences from the most trifling events, hastened to ask the

Queen's permission to go in the skiff; and announce the royal

visit to his master; ingeniously suggesting that the joyful

surprise might prove prejudicial to his health, since the richest

and most generous cordials may sometimes be fatal to those who

have been long in a languishing state.

But whether the Queen deemed it too presumptuous in so young a

courtier to interpose his opinion unasked, or whether she was

moved by a recurrence of the feeling of jealousy which had been

instilled into her by reports that the Earl kept armed men about

his person, she desired Raleigh, sharply, to reserve his counsel

till it was required of him, and repeated her former orders to be

landed at Deptford, adding, "We will ourselves see what sort of

household my Lord of Sussex keeps about him."

"Now the Lord have pity on us!" said the young courtier to

himself. "Good hearts, the Earl hath many a one round him; but

good heads are scarce with us--and he himself is too ill to give

direction. And Blount will be at his morning meal of Yarmouth

herrings and ale, and Tracy will have his beastly black puddings

and Rhenish; those thorough-paced Welshmen, Thomas ap Rice and

Evan Evans, will be at work on their leek porridge and toasted

cheese;--and she detests, they say, all coarse meats, evil

smells, and strong wines. Could they but think of burning some

rosemary in the great hall! but VOGUE LA GALERE, all must now be

trusted to chance. Luck hath done indifferent well for me this

morning; for I trust I have spoiled a cloak, and made a court

fortune. May she do as much for my gallant patron!"

The royal barge soon stopped at Deptford, and, amid the loud

shouts of the populace, which her presence never failed to

excite, the Queen, with a canopy borne over her head, walked,

accompanied by her retinue, towards Sayes Court, where the

distant acclamations of the people gave the first notice of her

arrival. Sussex, who was in the act of advising with Tressilian

how he should make up the supposed breach in the Queen's favour,

was infinitely surprised at learning her immediate approach. Not

that the Queen's custom of visiting her more distinguished

nobility, whether in health or sickness, could be unknown to him;

but the suddenness of the communication left no time for those

preparations with which he well knew Elizabeth loved to be

greeted, and the rudeness and confusion of his military

household, much increased by his late illness, rendered him

altogether unprepared for her reception.

Cursing internally the chance which thus brought her gracious

visitation on him unaware, he hastened down with Tressilian, to

whose eventful and interesting story he had just given an

attentive ear.

"My worthy friend," he said, "such support as I can give your

accusation of Varney, you have a right to expect, alike from

justice and gratitude. Chance will presently show whether I can

do aught with our Sovereign, or whether, in very deed, my

meddling in your affair may not rather prejudice than serve you."

Thus spoke Sussex while hastily casting around him a loose robe

of sables, and adjusting his person in the best manner he could

to meet the eye of his Sovereign. But no hurried attention

bestowed on his apparel could remove the ghastly effects of long

illness on a countenance which nature had marked with features

rather strong than pleasing. Besides, he was low of stature,

and, though broad-shouldered, athletic, and fit for martial

achievements, his presence in a peaceful hall was not such as

ladies love to look upon; a personal disadvantage, which was

supposed to give Sussex, though esteemed and honoured by his

Sovereign, considerable disadvantage when compared with

Leicester, who was alike remarkable for elegance of manners and

for beauty of person.

The Earl's utmost dispatch only enabled him to meet the Queen as

she entered the great hall, and he at once perceived there was a

cloud on her brow. Her jealous eye had noticed the martial array

of armed gentlemen and retainers with which the mansion-house was

filled, and her first words expressed her disapprobation. "Is

this a royal garrison, my Lord of Sussex, that it holds so many

pikes and calivers? or have we by accident overshot Sayes Court,

and landed at Our Tower of London?"

Lord Sussex hastened to offer some apology.

"It needs not," she said. "My lord, we intend speedily to take

up a certain quarrel between your lordship and another great lord

of our household, and at the same time to reprehend this

uncivilized and dangerous practice of surrounding yourselves with

armed, and even with ruffianly followers, as if, in the

neighbourhood of our capital, nay in the very verge of our royal

residence, you were preparing to wage civil war with each other.

--We are glad to see you so well recovered, my lord, though

without the assistance of the learned physician whom we sent to

you. Urge no excuse; we know how that matter fell out, and we

have corrected for it the wild slip, young Raleigh. By the way,

my lord, we will speedily relieve your household of him, and take

him into our own. Something there is about him which merits to

be better nurtured than he is like to be amongst your very

military followers."

To this proposal Sussex, though scarce understanding how the

Queen came to make it could only bow and express his

acquiescence. He then entreated her to remain till refreshment

could be offered, but in this he could not prevail. And after a

few compliments of a much colder and more commonplace character

than might have been expected from a step so decidedly favourable

as a personal visit, the Queen took her leave of Sayes Court,

having brought confusion thither along with her, and leaving

doubt and apprehension behind.

CHAPTER XVI.

Then call them to our presence. Face to face,

And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear

The accuser and accused freely speak;--

High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire,

In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire. RICHARD II.

"I am ordered to attend court to-morrow," said Leicester,

speaking to Varney, "to meet, as they surmise, my Lord of Sussex.

The Queen intends to take up matters betwixt us. This comes of

her visit to Sayes Court, of which you must needs speak so

lightly."

"I maintain it was nothing," said Varney; "nay, I know from a

sure intelligencer, who was within earshot of much that was said,

that Sussex has lost rather than gained by that visit. The Queen

said, when she stepped into the boat, that Sayes Court looked

like a guard-house, and smelt like an hospital. 'Like a cook's

shop in Ram's Alley, rather,' said the Countess of Rutland, who

is ever your lordship's good friend. And then my Lord of Lincoln

must needs put in his holy oar, and say that my Lord of Sussex

must be excused for his rude and old-world housekeeping, since he

had as yet no wife."

"And what said the Queen?" asked Leicester hastily.

"She took him up roundly," said Varney, "and asked what my Lord

Sussex had to do with a wife, or my Lord Bishop to speak on such

a subject. 'If marriage is permitted,' she said, 'I nowhere read

that it is enjoined.'"

"She likes not marriages, or speech of marriage, among

churchmen," said Leicester.

"Nor among courtiers neither," said Varney; but, observing that

Leicester changed countenance, he instantly added, "that all the

ladies who were present had joined in ridiculing Lord Sussex's

housekeeping, and in contrasting it with the reception her Grace

would have assuredly received at my Lord of Leicester's."

"You have gathered much tidings," said Leicester, "but you have

forgotten or omitted the most important of all. She hath added

another to those dangling satellites whom it is her pleasure to

keep revolving around her."

"Your lordship meaneth that Raleigh, the Devonshire youth," said

Varney--"the Knight of the Cloak, as they call him at court?"

"He may be Knight of the Garter one day, for aught I know," said

Leicester, "for he advances rapidly--she hath capped verses with

him, and such fooleries. I would gladly abandon, of my own free

will, the part--I have in her fickle favour; but I will not be

elbowed out of it by the clown Sussex, or this new upstart. I

hear Tressilian is with Sussex also, and high in his favour. I

would spare him for considerations, but he will thrust himself on

his fate. Sussex, too, is almost as well as ever in his health."

"My lord," replied Varney, "there will be rubs in the smoothest

road, specially when it leads uphill. Sussex's illness was to us

a godsend, from which I hoped much. He has recovered, indeed,

but he is not now more formidable than ere he fell ill, when he

received more than one foil in wrestling with your lordship. Let

not your heart fail you, my lord, and all shall be well."

"My heart never failed me, sir," replied Leicester.

"No, my lord," said Varney; "but it has betrayed you right often.

He that would climb a tree, my lord, must grasp by the branches,

not by the blossom."

"Well, well, well!" said Leicester impatiently; "I understand

thy meaning--my heart shall neither fail me nor seduce me. Have

my retinue in order--see that their array be so splendid as to

put down, not only the rude companions of Ratcliffe, but the

retainers of every other nobleman and courtier. Let them be well

armed withal, but without any outward display of their weapons,

wearing them as if more for fashion's sake than for use. Do thou

thyself keep close to me, I may have business for you."

The preparations of Sussex and his party were not less anxious

than those of Leicester.

"Thy Supplication, impeaching Varney of seduction," said the Earl

to Tressilian, "is by this time in the Queen's hand--I have sent

it through a sure channel. Methinks your suit should succeed,

being, as it is, founded in justice and honour, and Elizabeth

being the very muster of both. But--I wot not how--the gipsy"

(so Sussex was wont to call his rival on account of his dark

complexion) "hath much to say with her in these holyday times of

peace. Were war at the gates, I should be one of her white boys;

but soldiers, like their bucklers and Bilboa blades, get out of

fashion in peace time, and satin sleeves and walking rapiers bear

the bell. Well, we must be gay, since such is the fashion.--

Blount, hast thou seen our household put into their new

braveries? "But thou knowest as little of these toys as I do;

thou wouldst be ready enow at disposing a stand of pikes."

"My good lord," answered Blount, "Raleigh hath been here, and

taken that charge upon him--your train will glitter like a May

morning. Marry, the cost is another question. One might keep an

hospital of old soldiers at the charge of ten modern lackeys."

"He must not count cost to-day, Nicholas," said the Earl in

reply. "I am beholden to Raleigh for his care. I trust, though,

he has remembered that I am an old soldier, and would have no

more of these follies than needs must."

"Nay, I understand nought about it," said Blount; "but here are

your honourable lordship's brave kinsmen and friends coming in by

scores to wait upon you to court, where, methinks, we shall bear

as brave a front as Leicester, let him ruffle it as he will."

"Give them the strictest charges," said Sussex, "that they suffer

no provocation short of actual violence to provoke them into

quarrel. They have hot bloods, and I would not give Leicester

the advantage over me by any imprudence of theirs."

The Earl of Sussex ran so hastily through these directions, that

it was with difficulty Tressilian at length found opportunity to

express his surprise that he should have proceeded so far in the

affair of Sir Hugh Robsart as to lay his petition at once before

the Queen. "It was the opinion of the young lady's friends," he

said, "that Leicester's sense of justice should be first appealed

to, as the offence had been committed by his officer, and so he

had expressly told to Sussex."

"This could have been done without applying to me," said Sussex,

somewhat haughtily. "I at least, ought not to have been a

counsellor when the object was a humiliating reference to

Leicester; and I am suprised that you, Tressilian, a man of

honour, and my friend, would assume such a mean course. If you

said so, I certainly understood you not in a matter which sounded

so unlike yourself."

"My lord," said Tressilian, "the course I would prefer, for my

own sake, is that you have adopted; but the friends of this most

unhappy lady--"

"Oh, the friends--the friends," said Sussex, interrupting him;

"they must let us manage this cause in the way which seems best.

This is the time and the hour to accumulate every charge against

Leicester and his household, and yours the Queen will hold a

heavy one. But at all events she hath the complaint before her."

Tressilian could not help suspecting that, in his eagerness to

strengthen himself against his rival, Sussex had purposely

adopted the course most likely to throw odium on Leicester,

without considering minutely whether it were the mode of

proceeding most likely to be attended with success. But the step

was irrevocable, and Sussex escaped from further discussing it by

dismissing his company, with the command, "Let all be in order at

eleven o'clock; I must be at court and in the presence by high

noon precisely."

While the rival statesmen were thus anxiously preparing for their

approaching meeting in the Queen's presence, even Elizabeth

herself was not without apprehension of what might chance from

the collision of two such fiery spirits, each backed by a strong

and numerous body of followers, and dividing betwixt them, either

openly or in secret, the hopes and wishes of most of her court.

The band of Gentlemen Pensioners were all under arms, and a

reinforcement of the yeomen of the guard was brought down the

Thames from London. A royal proclamation was sent forth,

strictly prohibiting nobles of whatever degree to approach the

Palace with retainers or followers armed with shot or with long

weapons; and it was even whispered that the High Sheriff of Kent

had secret instructions to have a part of the array of the county

ready on the shortest notice.

The eventful hour, thus anxiously prepared for on all sides, at

length approached, and, each followed by his long and glittering

train of friends and followers, the rival Earls entered the

Palace Yard of Greenwich at noon precisely.

As if by previous arrangement, or perhaps by intimation that such

was the Queen's pleasure, Sussex and his retinue came to the

Palace from Deptford by water while Leicester arrived by land;

and thus they entered the courtyard from opposite sides. This

trifling circumstance gave Leicester a ascendency in the opinion

of the vulgar, the appearance of his cavalcade of mounted

followers showing more numerous and more imposing than those of

Sussex's party, who were necessarily upon foot. No show or sign

of greeting passed between the Earls, though each looked full at

the other, both expecting perhaps an exchange of courtesies,

which neither was willing to commence. Almost in the minute of

their arrival the castle-bell tolled, the gates of the Palace

were opened, and the Earls entered, each numerously attended by

such gentlemen of their train whose rank gave them that

privilege. The yeomen and inferior attendants remained in the

courtyard, where the opposite parties eyed each other with looks

of eager hatred and scorn, as if waiting with impatience for some

cause of tumult, or some apology for mutual aggression. But they

were restrained by the strict commands of their leaders, and

overawed, perhaps, by the presence of an armed guard of unusual

strength.

In the meanwhile, the more distinguished persons of each train

followed their patrons into the lofty halls and ante-chambers of

the royal Palace, flowing on in the same current, like two

streams which are compelled into the same channel, yet shun to

mix their waters. The parties arranged themselves, as it were

instinctively, on the different sides of the lofty apartments,

and seemed eager to escape from the transient union which the

narrowness of the crowded entrance had for an instant compelled

them to submit to. The folding doors at the upper end of the

long gallery were immediately afterwards opened, and it was

announced in a whisper that the Queen was in her presence-

chamber, to which these gave access. Both Earls moved slowly and

stately towards the entrance--Sussex followed by Tressilian,

Blount, and Raleigh, and Leicester by Varney. The pride of

Leicester was obliged to give way to court-forms, and with a

grave and formal inclination of the head, he paused until his

rival, a peer of older creation than his own, passed before him.

Sussex returned the reverence with the same formal civility, and

entered the presence-room. Tressilian and Blount offered to

follow him, but were not permitted, the Usher of the Black Rod

alleging in excuse that he had precise orders to look to all

admissions that day. To Raleigh, who stood back on the repulse

of his companions, he said, "You, sir, may enter," and he entered

accordingly.

"Follow me close, Varney," said the Earl of Leicester, who had

stood aloof for a moment to mark the reception of Sussex; and

advancing to the entrance, he was about to pass on, when Varney,

who was close behind him, dressed out in the utmost bravery of

the day, was stopped by the usher, as Tressilian and Blount had

been before him, "How is this, Master Bowyer?" said the Earl of

Leicester. "Know you who I am, and that this is my friend and

follower?"

"Your lordship will pardon me," replied Bowyer stoutly; "my

orders are precise, and limit me to a strict discharge of my

duty."

"Thou art a partial knave," said Leicester, the blood mounting to

his face, "to do me this dishonour, when you but now admitted a

follower of my Lord of Sussex."

"My lord," said Bowyer, "Master Raleigh is newly admitted a sworn

servant of her Grace, and to him my orders did not apply."

"Thou art a knave--an ungrateful knave," said Leicester; "but he

that hath done can undo--thou shalt not prank thee in thy

authority long!"

This threat he uttered aloud, with less than his usual policy and

discretion; and having done so, he entered the presence-chamber,

and made his reverence to the Queen, who, attired with even more

than her usual splendour, and surrounded by those nobles and

statesmen whose courage and wisdom have rendered her reign

immortal, stood ready to receive the hommage of her subjects.

She graciously returned the obeisance of the favourite Earl, and

looked alternately at him and at Sussex, as if about to speak,

when Bowyer, a man whose spirit could not brook the insult he had

so openly received from Leicester, in the discharge of his

office, advanced with his black rad in his hand, and knelt down

before her.

"Why, how now, Bowyer?" said Elizabeth, "thy courtesy seems

strangely timed!"

"My Liege Sovereign," he said, while every courtier around

trembled at his audacity, "I come but to ask whether, in the

discharge of mine office, I am to obey your Highness's commands,

or those of the Earl of Leicester, who has publicly menaced me

with his displeasure, and treated me with disparaging terms,

because I denied entry to one of his followers, in obedience to

your Grace's precise orders?"

The spirit of Henry VIII. was instantly aroused in the bosom of

his daughter, and she turned on Leicester with a severity which

appalled him, as well as all his followers.

"God's death! my lord." such was her emphatic phrase, "what

means this? We have thought well of you, and brought you near to

our person; but it was not that you might hide the sun from our

other faithful subjects. Who gave you license to contradict our

orders, or control our officers? I will have in this court, ay,

and in this realm, but one mistress, and no master. Look to it

that Master Bowyer sustains no harm for his duty to me faithfully

discharged; for, as I am Christian woman and crowned Queen, I

will hold you dearly answerable.--Go, Bowyer, you have done the

part of an honest man and a true subject. We will brook no mayor

of the palace here.

Bowyer kissed the hand which she extended towards him, and

withdrew to his post! astonished at the success of his own

audacity. A smile of triumph pervaded the faction of Sussex;

that of Leicester seemed proportionally dismayed, and the

favourite himself, assuming an aspect of the deepest humility,

did not even attempt a word in his own esculpation.

He acted wisely; for it was the policy of Elizabeth to humble,

not to disgrace him, and it was prudent to suffer her, without

opposition or reply, to glory in the exertion of her authority.

The dignity of the Queen was gratified, and the woman began soon

to feel for the mortification which she had imposed on her

favourite. Her keen eye also observed the secret looks of

congratulation exchanged amongst those who favoured Sussex, and

it was no part of her policy to give either party a decisive

triumph.

"What I say to my Lord of Leicester," she said, after a moment's

pause, "I say also to you, my Lord of Sussex. You also must

needs ruffle in the court of England, at the head of a faction of

your own?"

"My followers, gracious Princess," said Sussex, "have indeed

ruffled in your cause in Ireland, in Scotland, and against yonder

rebellious Earls in the north. I am ignorant that--"

"Do you bandy looks and words with me, my lord?" said the Queen,

interrupting him; "methinks you might learn of my Lord of

Leicester the modesty to be silent, at least, under our censure.

I say, my lord, that my grandfather and my father, in their

wisdom, debarred the nobles of this civilized land from

travelling with such disorderly retinues; and think you, that

because I wear a coif, their sceptre has in my hand been changed

into a distaff? I tell you, no king in Christendom will less

brook his court to be cumbered, his people oppressed, and his

kingdom's peace disturbed, by the arrogance of overgrown power,

than she who now speaks with you.--My Lord of Leicester, and you,

my Lord of Sussex, I command you both to be friends with each

other; or by the crown I wear, you shall find an enemy who will

be too strong for both of you!"

"Madam," said the Earl of Leicester, "you who are yourself the

fountain of honour know best what is due to mine. I place it at

your disposal, and only say that the terms on which I have stood

with my Lord of Sussex have not been of my seeking; nor had he

cause to think me his enemy, until he had done me gross wrong."

"For me, madam," said the Earl of Sussex, "I cannot appeal from

your sovereign pleasure; but I were well content my Lord of

Leicester should say in what I have, as he terms it, wronged him,

since my tongue never spoke the word that I would not willingly

justify either on foot or horseback.

"And for me," said Leicester, "always under my gracious

Sovereign's pleasure, my hand shall be as ready to make good my

words as that of any man who ever wrote himself Ratcliffe."

"My lords," said the Queen, "these are no terms for this

presence; and if you cannot keep your temper, we will find means

to keep both that and you close enough. Let me see you join

hands, my lords, and forget your idle animosities."

The two rivals looked at each other with reluctant eyes, each

unwilling to make the first advance to execute the Queen's will.

"Sussex," said Elizabeth,"I entreat--Leicester, I command you."

Yet, so were her words accented, that the entreaty sounded like

command, and the command like entreaty. They remained still and

stubborn, until she raised her voice to a height which argued at

once impatience and absolute command.

"Sir Henry Lee," she said, to an officer in attendance, "have a

guard in present readiness, and man a barge instantly.--My Lords

of Sussex and Leicester, I bid you once more to join hands; and,

God's death! he that refuses shall taste of our Tower fare ere

he sees our face again. I will lower your proud hearts ere we

part, and that I promise, on the word of a Queen!"

"The prison?" said Leicester, "might be borne, but to lose your

Grace's presence were to lose light and life at once.--Here,

Sussex, is my hand."

"And here," said Sussex, "is mine in truth and honesty; but--"

"Nay, under favour, you shall add no more," said the Queen.

"Why, this is as it should be," she added, looking on them more

favourably; "and when you the shepherds of the people, unite to

protect them, it shall be well with the flock we rule over. For,

my lords, I tell you plainly, your follies and your brawls lead

to strange disorders among your servants.--My Lord of Leicester,

you have a gentleman in your household called Varney?"

"Yes, gracious madam," replied Leicester; "I presented him to

kiss your royal hand when you were last at Nonsuch."

"His outside was well enough," said the Queen, "but scarce so

fair, I should have thought, as to have caused a maiden of

honourable birth and hopes to barter her fame for his good looks,

and become his paramour. Yet so it is; this fellow of yours hath

seduced the daughter of a good old Devonshire knight, Sir Hugh

Robsart of Lidcote Hall, and she hath fled with him from her

father's house like a castaway.--My Lord of Leicester, are you

ill, that you look so deadly pale?"

"No, gracious madam," said Leicester; and it required every

effort he could make to bring forth these few words.

"You are surely ill, my lord?" said Elizabeth, going towards him

with hasty speech and hurried step, which indicated the deepest

concern. "Call Masters--call our surgeon in ordinary.--Where be

these loitering fools?--we lose the pride of our court through

their negligence.--Or is it possible, Leicester," she continued,

looking on him with a very gentle aspect, "can fear of my

displeasure have wrought so deeply on thee? Doubt not for a

moment, noble Dudley, that we could blame THEE for the folly of

thy retainer--thee, whose thoughts we know to be far otherwise

employed. He that would climb the eagle's nest, my lord, cares

not who are catching linnets at the foot of the precipice."

"Mark you that?" said Sussex aside to Raleigh. "The devil aids

him surely; for all that would sink another ten fathom deep seems

but to make him float the more easily. Had a follower of mine

acted thus--"

"Peace, my good lord," said Raleigh, "for God's sake, peace!

Wait the change of the tide; it is even now on the turn."

The acute observation of Raleigh, perhaps, did not deceive him;

for Leicester's confusion was so great, and, indeed, for the

moment, so irresistibly overwhelming, that Elizabeth, after

looking at him with a wondering eye, and receiving no

intelligible answer to the unusual expressions of grace and

affection which had escaped from her, shot her quick glance

around the circle of courtiers, and reading, perhaps, in their

faces something that accorded with her own awakened suspicions,

she said suddenly, "Or is there more in this than we see--or than

you, my lord, wish that we should see? Where is this Varney?

Who saw him?"

"An it please your Grace," said Bowyer, "it is the same against

whom I this instant closed the door of the presence-room."

"An it please me?" repeated Elizabeth sharply, not at that

moment in the humour of being pleased with anything.--"It does

NOT please me that he should pass saucily into my presence, or

that you should exclude from it one who came to justify himself

from an accusation."

"May it please you," answered the perplexed usher, "if I knew, in

such case, how to bear myself, I would take heed--"

"You should have reported the fellow's desire to us, Master

Usher, and taken our directions. You think yourself a great man,

because but now we chid a nobleman on your account; yet, after

all, we hold you but as the lead-weight that keeps the door fast.

Call this Varney hither instantly. There is one Tressilian also

mentioned in this petition. Let them both come before us."

She was obeyed, and Tressilian and Varney appeared accordingly.

Varney's first glance was at Leicester, his second at the Queen.

In the looks of the latter there appeared an approaching storm,

and in the downcast countenance of his patron he could read no

directions in what way he was to trim his vessel for the

encounter. He then saw Tressilian, and at once perceived the

peril of the situation in which he was placed. But Varney was as

bold-faced and ready-witted as he was cunning and unscrupulous--a

skilful pilot in extremity, and fully conscious of the advantages

which he would obtain could he extricate Leicester from his

present peril, and of the ruin that yawned for himself should he

fail in doing so.

"Is it true, sirrah," said the Queen, with one of those searching

looks which few had the audacity to resist, "that you have

seduced to infamy a young lady of birth and breeding, the

daughter of Sir Hugh Robsart of Lidcote Hall?"

Varney kneeled down, and replied, with a look of the most

profound contrition, "There had been some love passages betwixt

him and Mistress Amy Robsart."

Leicester's flesh quivered with indignation as he heard his

dependant make this avowal, and for one moment he manned himself

to step forward, and, bidding farewell to the court and the royal

favour, confess the whole mystery of the secret marriage. But he

looked at Sussex, and the idea of the triumphant smile which

would clothe his cheek upon hearing the avowal sealed his lips.

"Not now, at least," he thought, "or in this presence, will I

afford him so rich a triumph." And pressing his lips close

together, he stood firm and collected, attentive to each word

which Varney uttered, and determined to hide to the last the

secret on which his court-favour seemed to depend. Meanwhile,

the Queen proceeded in her examination of Varney.

"Love passages!" said she, echoing his last words; "what

passages, thou knave? and why not ask the wench's hand from her

father, if thou hadst any honesty in thy love for her?"

"An it please your Grace," said Varney, still on his knees, "I

dared not do so, for her father had promised her hand to a

gentleman of birth and honour--I will do him justice, though I

know he bears me ill-will--one Master Edmund Tressilian, whom I

now see in the presence."

"Soh!" replied the Queen. "And what was your right to make the

simple fool break her worthy father's contract, through your love

PASSAGES, as your conceit and assurance terms them?"

"Madam," replied Varney, "it is in vain to plead the cause of

human frailty before a judge to whom it is unknown, or that of

love to one who never yields to the passion"--he paused an

instant, and then added, in a very low and timid tone--"which she

inflicts upon all others."

Elizabeth tried to frown, but smiled in her own despite, as she

answered, "Thou art a marvellously impudent knave. Art thou

married to the girl?"

Leicester's feelings became so complicated and so painfully

intense, that it seemed to him as if his life was to depend on

the answer made by Varney, who, after a moment's real hesitation,

answered, "Yes."

"Thou false villain!" said Leicester, bursting forth into rage,

yet unable to add another word to the sentence which he had begun

with such emphatic passion.

"Nay, my lord," said the Queen, "we will, by your leave, stand

between this fellow and your anger. We have not yet done with

him.--Knew your master, my Lord of Leicester, of this fair work

of yours? Speak truth, I command thee, and I will be thy warrant

from danger on every quarter."

"Gracious madam," said Varney, "to speak Heaven's truth, my lord

was the cause of the whole matter."

"Thou villain, wouldst thou betray me?" said Leicester.

"Speak on," said the Queen hastily, her cheek colouring, and her

eyes sparkling, as she addressed Varney--"speak on. Here no

commands are heard but mine."

"They are omnipotent, gracious madam," replied Varney; "and to

you there can be no secrets.--Yet I would not," he added, looking

around him, "speak of my master's concerns to other ears."

"Fall back, my lords," said the Queen to those who surrounded

her, "and do you speak on. What hath the Earl to do with this

guilty intrigue of thine? See, fellow, that thou beliest him

not!"

"Far be it from me to traduce my noble patron," replied Varney;

"yet I am compelled to own that some deep, overwhelming, yet

secret feeling hath of late dwelt in my lord's mind, hath

abstracted him from the cares of the household which he was wont

to govern with such religious strictness, and hath left us

opportunities to do follies, of which the shame, as in this case,

partly falls upon our patron. Without this, I had not had means

or leisure to commit the folly which has drawn on me his

displeasure--the heaviest to endure by me which I could by any

means incur, saving always the yet more dreaded resentment of

your Grace."

"And in this sense, and no other, hath he been accessory to thy

fault?" said Elizabeth.

"Surely, madam, in no other," replied Varney; "but since somewhat

hath chanced to him, he can scarce be called his own man. Look

at him, madam, how pale and trembling he stands! how unlike his

usual majesty of manner!--yet what has he to fear from aught I

can say to your Highness? Ah! madam, since he received that

fatal packet!"

"What packet, and from whence?" said the Queen eagerly.

"From whence, madam, I cannot guess; but I am so near to his

person that I know he has ever since worn, suspended around his

neck and next to his heart, that lock of hair which sustains a

small golden jewel shaped like a heart. He speaks to it when

alone--he parts not from it when he sleeps--no heathen ever

worshipped an idol with such devotion."

"Thou art a prying knave to watch thy master so closely," said

Elizabeth, blushing, but not with anger; "and a tattling knave to

tell over again his fooleries.--What colour might the braid of

hair be that thou pratest of?"

Varney replied, "A poet, madam, might call it a thread from the

golden web wrought by Minerva; but to my thinking it was paler

than even the purest gold--more like the last parting sunbeam of

the softest day of spring."

"Why, you are a poet yourself, Master Varney," said the Queen,

smiling. "But I have not genius quick enough to follow your rare

metaphors. Look round these ladies--is there"--(she hesitated,

and endeavoured to assume an air of great indifference)--"is

there here, in this presence, any lady, the colour of whose hair

reminds thee of that braid? Methinks, without prying into my

Lord of Leicester's amorous secrets, I would fain know what kind

of locks are like the thread of Minerva's web, or the--what was

it?--the last rays of the May-day sun."

Varney looked round the presence-chamber, his eye travelling from

one lady to another, until at length it rested upon the Queen

herself, but with an aspect of the deepest veneration. "I see no

tresses," he said, "in this presence, worthy of such similies,

unless where I dare not look on them."

"How, sir knave?" said the Queen; "dare you intimate--"

"Nay, madam," replied Varney, shading his eyes with his hand, "it

was the beams of the May-day sun that dazzled my weak eyes."

"Go to--go to," said the Queen; "thou art a foolish fellow"--and

turning quickly from him she walked up to Leicester.

Intense curiosity, mingled with all the various hopes, fears, and

passions which influence court faction, had occupied the

presence-chamber during the Queen's conference with Varney, as if

with the strength of an Eastern talisman. Men suspended every,

even the slightest external motion, and would have ceased to

breathe, had Nature permitted such an intermission of her

functions. The atmosphere was contagious, and Leicester, who saw

all around wishing or fearing his advancement or his fall forgot

all that love had previously dictated, and saw nothing for the

instant but the favour or disgrace which depended on the nod of

Elizabeth and the fidelity of Varney. He summoned himself

hastily, and prepared to play his part in the scene which was

like to ensue, when, as he judged from the glances which the

Queen threw towards him, Varney's communications, be they what

they might, were operating in his favour. Elizabeth did not long

leave him in doubt; for the more than favour with which she

accosted him decided his triumph in the eyes of his rival, and of

the assembled court of England. "Thou hast a prating servant of

this same Varney, my lord," she said; "it is lucky you trust him

with nothing that can hurt you in our opinion, for believe me, he

would keep no counsel."

"From your Highness," said Leicester, dropping gracefully on one

knee, "it were treason he should. I would that my heart itself

lay before you, barer than the tongue of any servant could strip

it."

"What, my lord," said Elizabeth, looking kindly upon him, "is

there no one little corner over which you would wish to spread a

veil? Ah! I see you are confused at the question, and your

Queen knows she should not look too deeply into her servants'

motives for their faithful duty, lest she see what might, or at

least ought to, displease her."

Relieved by these last words, Leicester broke out into a torrent

of expressions of deep and passionate attachment, which perhaps,

at that moment, were not altogether fictitious. The mingled

emotions which had at first overcome him had now given way to the

energetic vigour with which he had determined to support his

place in the Queen's favour; and never did he seem to Elizabeth

more eloquent, more handsome, more interesting, than while,

kneeling at her feet, he conjured her to strip him of all his

dower, but to leave him the name of her servant.--"Take from the

poor Dudley," he exclaimed, "all that your bounty has made him,

and bid him be the poor gentleman he was when your Grace first

shone on him; leave him no more than his cloak and his sword, but

let him still boast he has--what in word or deed he never

forfeited--the regard of his adored Queen and mistress!"

"No, Dudley!" said Elizabeth, raising him with one hand, while

she extended the other that he might kiss it. "Elizabeth hath

not forgotten that, whilst you were a poor gentleman, despoiled

of your hereditary rank, she was as poor a princess, and that in

her cause you then ventured all that oppression had left you--

your life and honour. Rise, my lord, and let my hand go--rise,

and be what you have ever been, the grace of our court and the

support of our throne! Your mistress may be forced to chide your

misdemeanours, but never without owning your merits.--And so help

me God," she added, turning to the audience, who, with various

feelings, witnessed this interesting scene--"so help me God,

gentlemen, as I think never sovereign had a truer servant than I

have in this noble Earl!"

A murmur of assent rose from the Leicestrian faction, which the

friends of Sussex dared not oppose. They remained with their

eyes fixed on the ground, dismayed as well as mortified by the

public and absolute triumph of their opponents. Leicester's

first use of the familiarity to which the Queen had so publicly

restored him was to ask her commands concerning Varney's offence.

"although," he said, "the fellow deserves nothing from me but

displeasure, yet, might I presume to intercede--"

"In truth, we had forgotten his matter," said the Queen; "and it

was ill done of us, who owe justice to our meanest as well as to

our highest subject. We are pleased, my lord, that you were the

first to recall the matter to our memory.--Where is Tressilian,

the accuser?--let him come before us."

Tressilian appeared, and made a low and beseeming reference. His

person, as we have elsewhere observed, had an air of grace and

even of nobleness, which did not escape Queen Elizabeth's

critical observation. She looked at him with, attention as he

stood before her unabashed, but with an air of the deepest

dejection.

"I cannot but grieve for this gentleman," she said to Leicester.

"I have inquired concerning him, and his presence confirms what I

heard, that he is a scholar and a soldier, well accomplished both

in arts and arms. We women, my lord, are fanciful in our choice

--I had said now, to judge by the eye, there was no comparison to

be held betwixt your follower and this gentleman. But Varney is

a well-spoken fellow, and, to say truth, that goes far with us of

the weaker sex.--look you, Master Tressilian, a bolt lost is not

a bow broken. Your true affection, as I will hold it to be, hath

been, it seems, but ill requited; but you have scholarship, and

you know there have been false Cressidas to be found, from the

Trojan war downwards. Forget, good sir, this Lady Light o' Love

--teach your affection to see with a wiser eye. This we say to

you, more from the writings of learned men than our own

knowledge, being, as we are, far removed by station and will from

the enlargement of experience in such idle toys of humorous

passion. For this dame's father, we can make his grief the less

by advancing his son-in-law to such station as may enable him to

give an honourable support to his bride. Thou shalt not be

forgotten thyself, Tressilian--follow our court, and thou shalt

see that a true Troilus hath some claim on our grace. Think of

what that arch-knave Shakespeare says--a plague on him, his toys

come into my head when I should think of other matters. Stay,

how goes it?

'Cressid was yours, tied with the bonds of heaven ;

These bonds of heaven are slipt, dissolved, and loosed,

And with another knot five fingers tied,

The fragments of her faith are bound to Diomed.'

You smile, my Lord of Southampton--perchance I make your player's

verse halt through my bad memory. But let it suffice let there

be no more of this mad matter."

And as Tressilian kept the posture of one who would willingly be

heard, though, at the same time, expressive of the deepest

reverence, the Queen added with some impatience, "What would the

man have? The wench cannot wed both of you? She has made her

election--not a wise one perchance--but she is Varney's wedded

wife."

"My suit should sleep there, most gracious Sovereign," said

Tressilian, "and with my suit my revenge. But I hold this

Varney's word no good warrant for the truth."

"Had that doubt been elsewhere urged," answered Varney, "my

sword--"

"THY sword!" interrupted Tressilian scornfully; "with her

Grace's leave, my sword shall show--"

"Peace, you knaves, both!" said the Queen; "know you where you

are?--This comes of your feuds, my lords," she added, looking

towards Leicester and Sussex; "your followers catch your own

humour, and must bandy and brawl in my court and in my very

presence, like so many Matamoros.--Look you, sirs, he that speaks

of drawing swords in any other quarrel than mine or England's, by

mine honour, I'll bracelet him with iron both on wrist and

ankle!" She then paused a minute, and resumed in a milder tone,

"I must do justice betwixt the bold and mutinous knaves

notwithstanding.--My Lord of Leicester, will you warrant with

your honour--that is, to the best of your belief--that your

servant speaks truth in saying he hath married this Amy Robsart?"

This was a home-thrust, and had nearly staggered Leicester. But

he had now gone too far to recede, and answered, after a moment's

hesitation, "To the best of my belief--indeed on my certain

knowledge--she is a wedded wife."

"Gracious madam," said Tressilian, "may I yet request to know,

when and under what circumstances this alleged marriage--"

"Out, sirrah," answered the Queen; "ALLEGED marriage! Have you

not the word of this illustrious Earl to warrant the truth of

what his servant says? But thou art a loser--thinkest thyself

such at least--and thou shalt have indulgence; we will look into

the matter ourself more at leisure.--My Lord of Leicester, I

trust you remember we mean to taste the good cheer of your Castle

of Kenilworth on this week ensuing. We will pray you to bid our

good and valued friend, the Earl of Sussex, to hold company with

us there."

"If the noble Earl of Sussex," said Leicester, bowing to his

rival with the easiest and with the most graceful courtesy, "will

so far honour my poor house, I will hold it an additional proof

of the amicable regard it is your Grace's desire we should

entertain towards each other."

Sussex was more embarrassed. "I should," said he, "madam, be but

a clog on your gayer hours, since my late severe illness."

"And have you been indeed so very ill?" said Elizabeth, looking

on him with more attention than before; "you are, in faith,

strangely altered, and deeply am I grieved to see it. But be of

good cheer--we will ourselves look after the health of so valued

a servant, and to whom we owe so much. Masters shall order your

diet; and that we ourselves may see that he is obeyed, you must

attend us in this progress to Kenilworth."

This was said so peremptorily, and at the same time with so much

kindness, that Sussex, however unwilling to become the guest of

his rival, had no resource but to bow low to the Queen in

obedience to her commands, and to express to Leicester, with

blunt courtesy, though mingled with embarrassment, his acceptance

of his invitation. As the Earls exchanged compliments on the

occasion, the Queen said to her High Treasurer, "Methinks, my

lord, the countenances of these our two noble peers resemble

those of the two famed classic streams, the one so dark and sad,

the other so fair and noble. My old Master Ascham would have

chid me for forgetting the author. It is Caesar, as I think.

See what majestic calmness sits on the brow of the noble

Leicester, while Sussex seems to greet him as if he did our will

indeed, but not willingly."

"The doubt of your Majesty's favour," answered the Lord

Treasurer, "may perchance occasion the difference, which does

not--as what does?--escape your Grace's eye."

"Such doubt were injurious to us, my lord," replied the Queen.

"We hold both to be near and dear to us, and will with

impartiality employ both in honourable service for the weal of

our kingdom. But we will break their further conference at

present.--My Lords of Sussex and Leicester, we have a word more

with you. 'Tressilian and Varney are near your persons--you will

see that they attend you at Kenilworth. And as we shall then

have both Paris and Menelaus within our call, so we will have the

same fair Helen also, whose fickleness has caused this broil.--

Varney, thy wife must be at Kenilworth, and forthcoming at my

order.--My Lord of Leicester, we expect you will look to this."

The Earl and his follower bowed low and raised their heads,

without daring to look at the Queen, or at each other, for both

felt at the instant as if the nets and toils which their own

falsehood had woven were in the act of closing around them. The

Queen, however, observed not their confusion, but proceeded to

say, "My Lords of Sussex and Leicester, we require your presence

at the privy-council to be presently held, where matters of

importance are to be debated. We will then take the water for

our divertisement, and you, my lords, will attend us.--And that

reminds us of a circumstance.--Do you, Sir Squire of the Soiled

Cassock" (distinguishing Raleigh by a smile), "fail not to

observe that you are to attend us on our progress. You shall be

supplied with suitable means to reform your wardrobe."

And so terminated this celebrated audience, in which, as

throughout her life, Elizabeth united the occasional caprice of

her sex with that sense and sound policy in which neither man nor

woman ever excelled her.

CHAPTER XVII.

Well, then--our course is chosen--spread the sail--

Heave oft the lead, and mark the soundings well--

Look to the helm, good master--many a shoal

Marks this stern coast, and rocks, where sits the Siren,

Who, like ambition, lures men to their ruin. THE SHIPWRECK.

During the brief interval that took place betwixt the dismissal

of the audience and the sitting of the privy-council, Leicester

had time to reflect that he had that morning sealed his own fate.

"It was impossible for him now," he thought, "after having, in

the face of all that was honourable in England, pledged his truth

(though in an ambiguous phrase) for the statement of Varney, to

contradict or disavow it, without exposing himself, not merely to

the loss of court-favour, but to the highest displeasure of the

Queen, his deceived mistress, and to the scorn and contempt at

once of his rival and of all his compeers." This certainty

rushed at once on his mind, together with all the difficulties

which he would necessarily be exposed to in preserving a secret

which seemed now equally essential to his safety, to his power,

and to his honour. He was situated like one who walks upon ice

ready to give way around him, and whose only safety consists in

moving onwards, by firm and unvacillating steps. The Queen's

favour, to preserve which he had made such sacrifices, must now

be secured by all means and at all hazards; it was the only plank

which he could cling to in the tempest. He must settle himself,

therefore, to the task of not only preserving, but augmenting the

Queen's partiality--he must be the favourite of Elizabeth, or a

man utterly shipwrecked in fortune and in honour. All other

considerations must be laid aside for the moment, and he repelled

the intrusive thoughts which forced on his mind the image of,

Amy, by saying to himself there would be time to think hereafter

how he was to escape from the labyrinth ultimately, since the

pilot who sees a Scylla under his bows must not for the time

think of the more distant dangers of Charybdis.

In this mood the Earl of Leicester that day assumed his chair at

the council table of Elizabeth; and when the hours of business

were over, in this same mood did he occupy an honoured place near

her during her pleasure excursion on the Thames. And never did

he display to more advantage his powers as a politician of the

first rank, or his parts as an accomplished courtier.

It chanced that in that day's council matters were agitated

touching the affairs of the unfortunate Mary, the seventh year of

whose captivity in England was now in doleful currency. There

had been opinions in favour of this unhappy princess laid before

Elizabeth's council, and supported with much strength of argument

by Sussex and others, who dwelt more upon the law of nations and

the breach of hospitality than, however softened or qualified,

was agreeable to the Queen's ear. Leicester adopted the contrary

opinion with great animation and eloquence, and described the

necessity of continuing the severe restraint of the Queen of

Scots, as a measure essential to the safety of the kingdom, and

particularly of Elizabeth's sacred person, the lightest hair of

whose head, he maintained, ought, in their lordships' estimation,

to be matter of more deep and anxious concern than the life and

fortunes of a rival, who, after setting up a vain and unjust

pretence to the throne of England, was now, even while in the

bosom of her country, the constant hope and theme of

encouragement to all enemies to Elizabeth, whether at home or

abroad. He ended by craving pardon of their lordships, if in the

zeal of speech he had given any offence, but the Queen's safety

was a theme which hurried him beyond his usual moderation of

debate.

Elizabeth chid him, but not severely, for the weight which he

attached unduly to her personal interests; yet she owned that,

since it had been the pleasure of Heaven to combine those

interests with the weal of her subjects, she did only her duty

when she adopted such measures of self-preservation as

circumstances forced upon her; and if the council in their wisdom

should be of opinion that it was needful to continue some

restraint on the person of her unhappy sister of Scotland, she

trusted they would not blame her if she requested of the Countess

of Shrewsbury to use her with as much kindness as might be

consistent with her safe keeping. And with this intimation of

her pleasure the council was dismissed.

Never was more anxious and ready way made for "my Lord of

Leicester," than as he passed through the crowded anterooms to go

towards the river-side, in order to attend her Majesty to her

barge--never was the voice of the ushers louder, to "make room,

make room for the noble Earl"--never were these signals more

promptly and reverently obeyed--never were more anxious eyes

turned on him to obtain a glance of favour, or even of mere

recognition, while the heart of many a humble follower throbbed

betwixt the desire to offer his congratulations, and the fear of

intruding himself on the notice of one so infinitely above him.

The whole court considered the issue of this day's audience,

expected with so much doubt and anxiety, as a decisive triumph on

the part of Leicester, and felt assured that the orb of his rival

satellite, if not altogether obscured by his lustre, must revolve

hereafter in a dimmer and more distant sphere. So thought the

court and courtiers, from high to low; and they acted

accordingly.

On the other hand, never did Leicester return the general

greeting with such ready and condescending courtesy, or endeavour

more successfully to gather (in the words of one who at that

moment stood at no great distance from him) "golden opinions from

all sorts of men."

For all the favourite Earl had a bow a smile at least, and often

a kind word. Most of these were addressed to courtiers, whose

names have long gone down the tide of oblivion; but some, to such

as sound strangely in our ears, when connected with the ordinary

matters of human life, above which the gratitude of posterity has

long elevated them. A few of Leicester's interlocutory sentences

ran as follows:--

"Poynings, good morrow; and how does your wife and fair daughter?

Why come they not to court?--Adams, your suit is naught; the

Queen will grant no more monopolies. But I may serve you in

another matter.--My good Alderman Aylford, the suit of the City,

affecting Queenhithe, shall be forwarded as far as my poor

interest can serve.--Master Edmund Spenser, touching your Irish

petition, I would willingly aid you, from my love to the Muses;

but thou hast nettled the Lord Treasurer."

"My lord, " said the poet, "were I permitted to explain--"

"Come to my lodging, Edmund," answered the Earl "not to-morrow,

or next day, but soon.--Ha, Will Shakespeare--wild Will!--thou

hast given my nephew Philip Sidney, love-powder; he cannot sleep

without thy Venus and Adonis under his pillow! We will have thee

hanged for the veriest wizard in Europe. Hark thee, mad wag, I

have not forgotten thy matter of the patent, and of the bears."

The PLAYER bowed, and the Earl nodded and passed on--so that age

would have told the tale; in ours, perhaps, we might say the

immortal had done homage to the mortal. The next whom the

favourite accosted was one of his own zealous dependants.

"How now, Sir Francis Denning," he whispered, in answer to his

exulting salutation, "that smile hath made thy face shorter by

one-third than when I first saw it this morning.--What, Master

Bowyer, stand you back, and think you I bear malice? You did but

your duty this morning; and if I remember aught of the passage

betwixt us, it shall be in thy favour."

Then the Earl was approached, with several fantastic congees, by

a person quaintly dressed in a doublet of black velvet, curiously

slashed and pinked with crimson satin. A long cock's feather in

the velvet bonnet, which he held in his hand, and an enormous

ruff; stiffened to the extremity of the absurd taste of the

times, joined with a sharp, lively, conceited expression of

countenance, seemed to body forth a vain, harebrained coxcomb,

and small wit; while the rod he held, and an assumption of formal

authority, appeared to express some sense of official

consequence, which qualified the natural pertness of his manner.

A perpetual blush, which occupied rather the sharp nose than the

thin cheek of this personage, seemed to speak more of "good

life," as it was called, than of modesty; and the manner in which

he approached to the Earl confirmed that suspicion.

"Good even to you, Master Robert Laneham," said Leicester, and

seemed desirous to pass forward, without further speech.

"I have a suit to your noble lordship," said the figure, boldly

following him.

"And what is it, good master keeper of the council-chamber door?"

"CLERK of the council-chamber door," said Master Robert Laneham,

with emphasis, by way of reply, and of correction.

"Well, qualify thine office as thou wilt, man," replied the Earl;

"what wouldst thou have with me?"

"Simply," answered Laneham, "that your lordship would be, as

heretofore, my good lord, and procure me license to attend the

Summer Progress unto your lordship's most beautiful and all-to-

be-unmatched Castle of Kenilworth."

"To what purpose, good Master Laneham?" replied the Earl;

"bethink you, my guests must needs be many."

"Not so many," replied the petitioner, "but that your nobleness

will willingly spare your old servitor his crib and his mess.

Bethink you, my lord, how necessary is this rod of mine to fright

away all those listeners, who else would play at bo-peep with the

honourable council, and be searching for keyholes and crannies in

the door of the chamber, so as to render my staff as needful as a

fly-flap in a butcher's shop."

"Methinks you have found out a fly-blown comparison for the

honourable council, Master Laneham," said the Earl; "but seek not

about to justify it. Come to Kenilworth, if you list; there will

be store of fools there besides, and so you will be fitted."

"Nay, an there be fools, my lord," replied Laneham, with much

glee, "I warrant I will make sport among them, for no greyhound

loves to cote a hare as I to turn and course a fool. But I have

another singular favour to beseech of your honour."

"Speak it, and let me go," said the Earl; "I think the Queen

comes forth instantly."

"My very good lord, I would fain bring a bed-fellow with me."

"How, you irreverent rascal!" said Leicester.

"Nay, my lord, my meaning is within the canons," answered his

unblushing, or rather his ever-blushing petitioner. "I have a

wife as curious as her grandmother who ate the apple. Now, take

her with me I may not, her Highness's orders being so strict

against the officers bringing with them their wives in a

progress, and so lumbering the court with womankind. But what I

would crave of your lordship is to find room for her in some

mummery, or pretty pageant, in disguise, as it were; so that, not

being known for my wife, there may be no offence."

"The foul fiend seize ye both!" said Leicester, stung into

uncontrollable passion by the recollections which this speech

excited--"why stop you me with such follies?"

The terrified clerk of the chamber-door, astonished at the burst

of resentment he had so unconsciously produced, dropped his staff

of office from his hand, and gazed on the incensed Earl with a

foolish face of wonder and terror, which instantly recalled

Leicester to himself.

"I meant but to try if thou hadst the audacity which befits thine

office," said he hastily. "Come to Kenilworth, and bring the

devil with thee, if thou wilt."

"My wife, sir, hath played the devil ere now, in a Mystery, in

Queen Mary's time; but me shall want a trifle for properties."

"Here is a crown for thee," said the Earl,--"make me rid of thee

--the great bell rings."

Master Robert Laneham stared a moment at the agitation which he

had excited, and then said to himself, as he stooped to pick up

his staff of office, "The noble Earl runs wild humours to-day.

But they who give crowns expect us witty fellows to wink at their

unsettled starts; and, by my faith, if they paid not for mercy,

we would finger them tightly!" [See Note 6. Robert Laneham.]

Leicester moved hastily on, neglecting the courtesies he had

hitherto dispensed so liberally, and hurrying through the courtly

crowd, until he paused in a small withdrawing-room, into which he

plunged to draw a moment's breath unobserved, and in seclusion.

"What am I now," he said to himself, "that am thus jaded by the

words of a mean, weather-beaten, goose-brained gull! Conscience,

thou art a bloodhound, whose growl wakes us readily at the paltry

stir of a rat or mouse as at the step of a lion. Can I not quit

myself, by one bold stroke, of a state so irksome, so unhonoured?

What if I kneel to Elizabeth, and, owning the whole, throw myself

on her mercy?"

As he pursued this train of thought, the door of the apartment

opened, and Varney rushed in.

"Thank God, my lord, that I have found you!" was his

exclamation.

"Thank the devil, whose agent thou art," was the Earl's reply.

"Thank whom you will, my lord," replied Varney; "but hasten to

the water-side. The Queen is on board, and asks for you."

"Go, say I am taken suddenly ill," replied Leicester; "for, by

Heaven, my brain can sustain this no longer!"

"I may well say so," said Varney, with bitterness of expression,

"for your place, ay, and mine, who, as your master of the horse,

was to have attended your lordship, is already filled up in the

Queen's barge. The new minion, Walter Raleigh, and our old

acquaintance Tressilian were called for to fill our places just

as I hastened away to seek you."

"Thou art a devil, Varney," said Leicester hastily; "but thou

hast the mastery for the present--I follow thee."

Varney replied not, but led the way out of the palace, and

towards the river, while his master followed him, as if

mechanically; until, looking back, he said in a tone which

savoured of familiarity at least, if not of authority, "How is

this, my lord? Your cloak hangs on one side--your hose are

unbraced--permit me--"

"Thou art a fool, Varney, as well as a knave," said Leicester,

shaking him off, and rejecting his officious assistance. "We are

best thus, sir; when we require you to order our person, it is

well, but now we want you not."

So saying, the Earl resumed at once his air of command, and with

it his self-possession--shook his dress into yet wilder disorder

--passed before Varney with the air of a superior and master, and

in his turn led the way to the river-side.

The Queen's barge was on the very point of putting off, the seat

allotted to Leicester in the stern, and that to his master of the

horse on the bow of the boat, being already filled up. But on

Leicester's approach there was a pause, as if the bargemen

anticipated some alteration in their company. The angry spot

was, however, on the Queen's cheek, as, in that cold tone with

which superiors endeavour to veil their internal agitation, while

speaking to those before whom it would be derogation to express

it, she pronounced the chilling words, "We have waited, my Lord

of Leicester."

"Madam, and most gracious Princess," said Leicester, "you, who

can pardon so many weaknesses which your own heart never knows,

can best bestow your commiseration on the agitations of the

bosom, which, for a moment, affect both head and limbs. I came

to your presence a doubting and an accused subject; your goodness

penetrated the clouds of defamation, and restored me to my

honour, and, what is yet dearer, to your favour--is it wonderful,

though for me it is most unhappy, that my master of the horse

should have found me in a state which scarce permitted me to make

the exertion necessary to follow him to this place, when one

glance of your Highness, although, alas! an angry one, has had

power to do that for me in which Esculapius might have failed?"

"How is this?" said Elizabeth hastily, looking at Varney; "hath

your lord been ill?"

"Something of a fainting fit," answered the ready-witted Varney,

"as your Grace may observe from his present condition. My lord's

haste would not permit me leisure even to bring his dress into

order."

"It matters not," said Elizabeth, as she gazed on the noble face

and form of Leicester, to which even the strange mixture of

passions by whi