oe Pee fe ees a.ee — scan , ers hltharetecettrs enters cveeterarer ett terete eT TE eT ee eee : LPah is Fe eb Pula Pri eet RD PLA EET SELMER EAE Tea inte ee re Eee eee ee Ere oer are ae rs yess biabo eS uke dt diet ten tele oe be ee RL ire bityey ry wurieuy se: jiby bubs wepur rea, tne abe pe esa ee . ss oe Oth , Sa STE ihe bs * Peder ee indeed Er prpeey omeeryeph nesses rar siiifeniaete ae ; ats TUTE ET TE he beds ee igetd a eee riot ae tie se 5 = oie!) * est iere beyhep irs ty wey ont ¢ Steyn ee erasany it eres eye ees 7 1% aa tebe use Ge rpeneaeseatat sts 4 Py stierevenerties io t= a - | - » uaas ; . i Oe 3 Pane ee 1+: 7° eet ab Se BOD teak Pee Poke Pere alee eed aed ee ee a cpemes teed oe baba d oat de eee ate lek ee! . ae EER PE eT rs eee rr ere oe i LEED RR Pe ae A RE GE tr eed EP PRP RL SP SPSS I elt et ah eeu aie Serre ty poe ets nt ela pean et beta ae ee ee eee be he eR Pa RLS TS GEL RTL E TT wee UN, Auer ey WRPL PPM PEP SES LTE ED EET SIS OP OS Sa SRST MSDN Lee REDS a S hs A pal x ed eas o-* as Po os ee es poh . e+ ae . Be es ra pcre] ra * e pane = bear pris a sed ae ’ 3 7 + e 2 es ro os a. ana be Pa Bs 3 "died Se pees es ore ve ed ees) nad pe 38 es 3 aoe es Ba ET ee pt eer emer eerie SerH 1 ll | 1 i | and bag he 7 eerste yet eeseny Pe shye a 4 pees go Lek eee te a oe yeh eh er Pytre tyes i ES . ao Te bagi SS a riene 2DG re @ WS ( SIR WALTER SCOTT.ENGLISH CLASSIC SERIES—No. 139-140. SCOPRWS KENILWORTH (CONDENSED) GUWith Biography, Mutroduction and Notes BY fume Rev. &. Gruprre Assistant Master at Harrow School NEW YORK CHAKLES E. MERKKIEL Co, ne + ESUUETEFEUESE SUT VETOES ENTSETIL Oa idea i 7 - ~ 2 rd 3 oa ~ he Sea = os ~~ << ia = oe ~ a ae i Pee s : 3 Pie me) ar) or _ a8 = mr] Pe ert 9 ne mt zs osa erent water Say Wey henigon pases meneg yea shivered resebeh sidiet as telat bie bea: Poe Thee ESeht seas 3 ‘ein y eae aoe jb PaG i bs teriginatateripininhs te} Lee test gistarare t eee , eee e te bal toe os of cot ee ors eter Se ee aiaatalaleeabaeis? eS. Rivet sree ey poe es erate tp onintel sks tetntedebe bee ded i HR aie Sie EePy piper eaeer ere es had ade - Pita abet t taba >; atale ie renew opts os rare rp?) ate oad ate dete seaee eae errr rey hae heed . Prete ee ery ey we Fea A Shute ards ries and +e Lape enereay en, eee + " ae ae oa Sots eres or) eer el cen z bas PLES bs Sc aenabnmema iceman r eee rien ib a ff - Spare e tes " a rr eeide tiie o4 Oa re + —* 4 re as osx a a unr 4 — is ot a i Bra ee bes P4 re —_—" aad - 4 re rs >. ra 7 = J be co} o r' he —_- 4 4 PUBLISHERS’ NOTE. This Selection from Scott?s Novels is intended for the use of average boys and girls of from ten to twelve years old. It is hoped that it will form a pleasant in- troduction to Scott, and induce many to read his books who would otherwise be deterred by their length and the leisurely introductions. It will be seen on examination that the story is con- tinuous and entirely in the author’s own language, and that the omissions in no way interfere with the reader’s interest in the narrative.f eee os | t Bi iS 3 t + + a asi ¥ * ib deees ea tet St eee es oe ¥ i Es ig ie belpbediejeqepadit * BE ae dar ae pEpleoesnss Pepep ye seer ges - = aE rT eee ep aan eoe rsa ade $d mem Es ed ee ea ene er bees ae ee a ee ee Perth es ee bares hana mrs Se Serer pee ane aprerd rary: — eee ead) aoe la reen tebe Pe ae eee Bo ee So ESSER TST NedI SHORT LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT ALTER SCOTT was born in Edinburgh on the 15th of August, 1771. He was the ninth of twelve children, of whom the first six died young. When Walter was only eighteen months old he suffered from a fever, which left him lame all his life. He was shortly afterward sent for change of air to his grandfather’s house at Sandyknowe, where the ° shepherd would often take him out and lay him down under the rocks beside the sheep. Scott used to say in after-life, that ‘the habit of lying on the turf there among the sheep and the lambs had given his mind a peculiar tenderness for these ani- mals, which it had ever since retained.” In childhood his hair was light chestnut, turning to brown in youth. His mouth was large and good-tempered, his eyes light blue, his eyebrows bushy. In spite of his lameness, he could climb rocks with the most daring, and he soon learned to ride. He was fond of declaiming poetry, but his progress at school was not steady: he protested against the study of Greek. Out of school he was known as a leader in two different ac- complishments: he could tell his schoolfellows stories of won- derful adventures, which always held their attention; or he could lead them across the ‘‘kittle nine stanes ” under the castle to attack the boys of the town. After leaving the High School, Edinburgh, Scott was sent to att ‘ eepere reves Teserere jue seseaeyg fesenes ENtre cL PaaS a : eRaHte wy Pusei tec ase susan hi ILM EID AIAG itt stmereuertstscarceesesere ss stk, a ra au Sy rer rec a were ahs par rs tat res se4 HIE OF ASR WAL PER SCOTT: a school at Kelso, where he seems to have worked with more interest. | Scott’s father was a lawyer. As soon therefore as Walter left school he attended the law classes at the University, where he was noted for his remarkable memory. In the second year of his apprenticeship an illness compelled him to keep his bed for many weeks, and he now began to study the great cam- paigns of history, as well as to learn Italian. On his recovery, he loved nothing better than scouring the country in search of old battlefields or sieges; so that his father in anger said he was better fitted for a peddler than a lawyer. It was on such expeditions that Scott learned to know the speech and ways of the peasantry, whom he describes so well in his books. Of course, when it became known among the lawyers that Walter Scott was always reading Border legends, or studying the fights of old; that he was tramping about the Highlands when he should have been in his chambers, and that he actually wrote verses, solicitors were not very anxious to employ his services. In fact, the most he ever made in one year was £230. In 1797 he married Miss Charpentier, the daughter of a French royalist of Lyons, though his income was barely suffi- cient to keep himself. His first venture at publication was a verse translation of a German specter-ballad, which was no great success; but he had long been collecting the songs of the country-side in Liddesdale, and in 1802 he brought out the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, with notes, which showed great antiquarian learning. He also wrote ballads of his own, in imitation of the old. This was his first literary success. He was living now in a cottage at Lasswade, on the Esk, six miles from Edinburgh. Scott had made the dining-table with his own hands, and was very proud of his various exploits in py aes eed eee ae ee aes a Sar ee ee Er earedTIPE OF SIR’ WALTER SCOTT, 5 earpentering. Here he used to sit up late, and work far into the morning hours; but this gave rise to serious headaches, which induced him to change his habits in this respect. In 1804 Scott quitted Lasswade for Ashestiel, in Selkirkshire, where he lived in a pretty house belonging to his cousin. Here he began his life of sport. He would rise at five, and work steadily till breakfast; by noon he had finished his day’s work, and was ready to ride forth with dog and gun or fishing-tackle. Salmon spearing by torchlight was a favorite amusement with him. His dogs and his horses he treated as personal friends. On the death of his deerhound Camp, he refused an invitation to dinner, giving as his reason ‘‘ the death of an old friend.” In 1805 his poem the Lay of the Last Minstrel appeared, of which 44,000 copies were sold before 1830. For this work Scott received £769, a large sum in those days. But for Marmion he received 1000 guineas in 1808. In 1812 Scott obtained the Clerkship of Session, and thought he might indulge himself in his passion for land. Heboughta mountain farm five miles lower down the Tweed, at Abbots- ford, whither he transferred his family. He says, ‘‘ We had twenty-five cartloads of the veriest trash in nature, besides dogs, pigs, ponies, poultry, cows, calves, bare-headed wenches, and bare-breeched boys.” For this farm Scott gave £4000; but half of this sum he borrowed from his brother, and half he raised on the security of a poem not yet written. Theruins of Melrose Abbey could be seen from the grounds, which had, in fact, once belonged to the abbot. Abbotsford was one of the causes which helped to ruin Scott. He was not content with his mountain farm; before long he had spent £29,000 in the purchase of land alone. Another cause was his partnership with the Ballantynes. James Ballantyne had been Scott’s is a UG Eo nailed Biateleie o 2 a4 eee ye ce seaeat at at SRST EES PS RG LER Ee ey ee te Be ae, Det ise reteset ne Gouna cles be oes i Raksha eaees Tete leery WR PeMeseit restr ttere) BoE homer & cated oF aa rer 4 S| “= G4 = 9 | 5 eas <3 a a mo res ee 24 re i ce6 TIE OF SIR. WALTER SCOTT. friend at school, and this prompted Scott first to help and then to join the Ballantynes in their publishing business at Edin- burgh. In 1813 there were signs of something being wrong in the publishing house ; all through that year and the next Scott feared their bankruptcy. But in 1814 he finished a Jacobite story— Waverley, which had so enormous a sale that the crash was for a while averted. In the next fourteen years Scott wrote twenty-three novels, be- sides shorter tales. It is computed that in his lifetime he must have earned £140,000 by his literary work. But all this was_too little. In 1820 George IV. made Walter Scott a baronet, and from this time Sir Walter launched out into greater extravagances. He began to rebuild Abbotsford on a large scale, and his sons became a great expense to him. He was forced to borrow on the security of four unnamed and unwritten works of fiction. On January, 1826, the crash came, and it involved him in a debt of £117,000. About this time too his wife died, and he himself felt the first touch of the paralysis which afterward killed him. These were blows enough to daunt most men; perhaps the blow to his pride was the heaviest. He says in his diary: ‘‘I felt rather sneaking as I. came home from the Par- liament House—felt as if I were liable monstrari digito in no very pleasant way. But this must be borne cum ceteris ; and, thank God, however uncomfortable, I do not feel despondent,” No; Scott came of a line of fighting ancestors, and he was not one to sit down tamel-y under difficulties. This misfortune was the touchstone of his character, and brought out all its beauty and generosity. He might have declared himself bank- rupt, and have risen again with debts partly paid off; but ‘for this,” he says, ‘‘in a court of honor | should deserve to : s seene: as : ; Pepi yh lsrie hho ti ee OTe, ME ER Res RSE er ee een eee ERTS TP eee tL tae ee Cn SE eee nea et RENTER : PLP RrLsr enya seep eatery Surge enh Jaap arpepwiaiauegin tee hss.b ban anew e mk eE arate Enea acess bedLITE OF SiR WALLER SCOTS. 7 lose my spurs. No; if they permit me I will be their vassal for life, and dig in the mine of my imagination to find dia- monds to make good my engagements, not to enrich myself.” He did not wait long before he began work. Two days after the failure he calmly went on with the writing of Woodstock. ‘I have been rash in anticipating funds to buy land; but then I made from £5000 to £10,000 a year, and land was my temp- tation. I think nobody can lose a penny by me, that is one comfort. My children are provided for: thank God for that! I was to have gone home on Saturday to receive my friends. My dogs will wait for me in vain. It is foolish, but the thoughts of parting from these dumb creatures have moved me more than any of the painful reflections I have put down. Poor things! I must get them kind masters.” Again he writes in a more cheerful strain: ‘‘I experience a sort of de- termined pleasure in confronting the very worst aspect of this sudden reverse ; in standing, as it were, in the breach that has overthrown my future, and saying, ‘ Here I stand, at least an honest man.’ ” In the next six years he had placed £120,000, the proceeds of his writings, at the disposal of his creditors; but the strain on his mind had been too great. In 1831 Sir Walter went abroad, in the bope that change of scene might restore elastic- ity to his jaded brain. But he was brought home almost in a dying state, and passed away in the autumn of 1832 at his own loved Abbotsford, one month after completing his sixtieth year. About seven years before he had written in his diary: ‘Square the odds and good-night, Sir Walter, about sixty. I care not, if lleave my name unstained and my family property settled. Sat est vixisse.” It is interesting to note in the lives of literary men how true Leahey ATE SESE RS eae Petit ae SH] ¥ RECTENt pat pe aks eepeeuse res a 4 re = as e = Pa ee al Ee Bs re ~ bs a —e .. oF re ie pes zi Ps -* es ae As a +3 ee os a Bs wee 4 a (2 1S ed a 4 : a : , p ho be a yo yes IS ae te i bi a ze Sts aes ite poke i. nS ry tz SS oe ree! ps 44 or) a ei od pad 4 eA Bi 16 KENILWORTH. “and suppose I grant it to be so for argument’s sake, I were still good enough society for mine ancient friend Anthony 65 Fire-the-Fagot, though he be, for the present, by some indescribable title, the master of Cumnor-Place.” Foster looked at him earnestly, then turned away, and paced the room twice, then suddenly came back, and extended his hand to Michael Lambourne, saying, “‘ Be not wroth with 70 me, good Mike ; I did but try whether thou hadst parted with aught of thine honourable frankness, which your enviers and backbiters called saucy impudence. But who is this gallant, honest Mike? is he a Corinthian—a cutter like thyself?” “T prithee, know Master Tressilian, bully Foster,” replied 75 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.” “Tf such be his quality, I will pray your company in another chamber, honest Mike, for what I have to say to 80 thee is for thy private ear. Meanwhile, I pray you, sir, to abide 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 85 apartment together, in which he remained alone to await their return. 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 90 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 for other things.” A slight noise in the apartment interrupted his reverie; he 95 looked round, and in the beautiful and richly-attired female who entered at that instant by a side-door, he recognized theKENILWORTH. 17 object of his search. The first impulse arising frown 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 100 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—” 105 ‘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 110 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 115 her hands from her beautiful face, which was now covered with crimson. ‘‘ Why should I fear you, Mr. Tressilian? or wherefore have you intruded yourself into my dwelling, uninvited, sir, and unwished for? If it is my pleasure to live in seclusion, who shall gainsay me 2?” 120 ‘Your father, maiden,” answered Tressilian, “your broken- hearted father; who despatched 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.” 125 “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.” 130 B18 KENILWORTH. “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 135 —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.” “Permission? permission to visit your father on his 14¢ sick-bed, perhaps m 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 145 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.” “ Amy,” replied Tressilian calmly, “thou canst not move 150 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 #” 155 ‘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, | am armed 160 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.” As he spoke he advanced and extended his arm, as with the purpose of laying hold upon her. But she shrunk backRENILWORTH. 19 from his grasp, and uttered a scream which brought into the 165 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? 170 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!” “ Away, base groom!” said Tressilian, “and you, madam, 175 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.” Tressilian, meanwhile, with hasty steps pursued the first 180 path which promised to conduct him through the wild and overgrown park in which the mansion of Foster was situated. As he approached to try some means of opening the postern- door, or climbing over it, he perceived there was a key put into the lock from the outside. It turned round, the bolt 185 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!” 190 “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? 195 Are you come to triumph over the innocence you have destroyed, or are you come to encounter the merited ven- geance of an honest man! Draw, dog, and defend thyself!”20 KENILWORTH. Tressilian drew his sword as he spoke, but Varney only 200 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. 205 Thou know’st I can fight.” “YT have heard thee say so, Varney,” replied Tressilian ; “but aow, methinks, I would fain have some better evidence than thine own word.” “That shall not be lacking, if blade and hilt be but true 210 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 215 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 220 cloak, wrapt 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 despatching him. But Tressilian was on his guard, and unsheathing his poniard, parried with the blade of that 225 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. Varney received a fall so sudden and violent that his sword flew 230 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 ofKENILWORTH. a1 thy treachery,” said Tressilian, “or take the last look of your Creator’s blessed sun !” He would have executed his threat, but that the blow 235 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. “Off, abject!” said Tressilian, striking himself free of Lambourne’s grasp; “darest thou come betwixt me and 240 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, 245 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 farther against such odds. He took his purse from his side, and taking out two gold nobles flung them to 250 Lambourne. ‘There, caitiff, is thy morning wage, thou shalt not say thou hast been my guide unhired.” So saying, he turned round and departed through the postern-door. Varney glared darkly as he disappeared, and then addressed Lambourne. “ Art thou a comrade of Foster’s, good fellow?” 955 “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 260 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 265 towards the house, SH AFT 124 fh SUSPESESESESCICACHETE Hest se sean TE ETE eae st teat hes ae spe peabas rere ee sci SARS = Bs . ws RTT LOHENEE TT HARE facie eathceet as saEnennyCHAPTER III. NTHONY FOSTER was engaged in debate with his fair guest, who treated with scorn every entreaty and request that she would retire to her own apartments, when a whistle was heard at the entrance-door of the mansion. 5 “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.” “Peace, sir,” said the lady, “and undo the gate to your master. My lord! my dear lord!” she then exclaimed, 10 hastening to the entrance of the apartment; then added, ‘with a voice expressive of disappointment, “Pooh! it is but Richard Varney.” “Ay, madam. It is but Richard Varney; but even the first gray cloud should be acceptable, when it lightens in the 15 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; ‘“Janet—Janet—come to my tiring room instantly.” Then returning to Varney, she asked if her lord sent any farther commendations to her. 20 “This letter, honoured madam,” said he, taking from his bosom a small parcel wrapt 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, and a necklace of orient pearl, the companion of a 25 perfumed billet, was 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.KENILWORTH. 23 Four apartments, which occupied the western side of the old quadrangle at Cumnor-Place, had been fitted up with 30 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 35 appearance of a dissolved monastic house, into the semblance of a royal palace. 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, 40 surveying with pleased eye 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, 45 until she took possession of them, she should have no means of knowing what was going forward in that part of the ancient building. The Countess Amy, therefore—for to that rank she was exalted by her private but solemn union with England’s 50 proudest Earl—had for a time flitted hastily from room to room, admiring each new proof of her lover and her bride- groom’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. 55 “How beautiful are these hangings! How natural these paintings! And oh, Janet!” she exclaimed repeatedly to the daughter of Anthony Foster; “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 60 this evening, this very evening, which grows darker every instant, I shall thank him more for the love that has i rt oF ~: rea rar ress ar ray id en oe + _- aa es os end yur rnd ot nos or or % a) oe uh era aoe as ne 4d os pa = rare | rsa 4 rar rare ny ree ee! eS = ry om site reer a od pert = = — | - LF eS aj 3 sent ao ward ros pers mid ord cs eed ae B3424 KENILWORTH. created such an unimaginable paradise, than for all the 65 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.” ‘Thou sayest true, Janet. But I must see your father ere 70 my lord arrives, and also Master Richard Varney, whom my lord has highly in his esteem.” 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, while 75 Anthony Foster plodded into the apartment after him. The interview however was but short, for soon 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. The Countess threw herself into the arms of the noble 80 stranger who entered, and clasping him to her bosom, ex- claimed, “‘ At length—at length thou art come!” 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 85 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.” 99 “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 scab- bard. But now, loveliest, your wish is gratified, and you 95 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,”KENILWORTH. 26 “Well, then,” said the Countess, “‘my gratified wish has, as usual, given rise to a new one; the gaiety of this rich lodging exceeds my imagination as much as it does my 100 desert. But shall not your wife, my love—at least one day soon—be surrounded with the honour 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 105 day this shall surely happen; and, believe me, thou canst not wish for that day more fondly than I. 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 110 softest tones of persuasion. ‘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. 116 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 120 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 125 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.” “Oh, I have nought to complain of,” answered the lady, 130 “so he discharges his task with fidelity to you; and his AIT Ait aioe eee ‘ARRNAE mse Tete Fe hebe hehe ieee eee eee cee a Cabal sears, fans) te tntatstede cgtaeeenen sa Sedeneeabnesesis cae ee szas, PRR Tosa tie RPE OE Te sc at heatrase te ve pe sede yy = re rar act ~ — = rm ~seiteehs eb pkpsetds deer reste i) a My eeT e: Bt Taba a ae ete: as ees | Be he tere : ee re as Se oe Eb 3 Sef e ¥ 3 S65 = 3 26 KENILWORTH. daughter Janet. is the kindest and best companion of my solitude—her little air of precision sits so well upon. her. But I had a boon to beg of thee, and a secret to tell thee, 135 my dear lord.” “Let both be for to-morrow, my love,” replied the Earl. “T 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.” 140 The banquet at which the company seated themselves, corresponded in magnificence with the splendour of the apartment in which it was served up. The Earl and his lady occupied the upper end of the table, and Varney and Foster sat beneath the salt, as was 145 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 as much of the con- versation, as, without the appearance of intrusion on his 150 part, prevented it from languishing, and maintained the good-humour of the Earl at the highest pitch. 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. 155 Early on the ensuing morning, Varney acted as the Earl’s chamberlain, as well as his master of horse. “Help me to do on a plainer riding suit, Varney,” said the Karl, as he laid aside his morning-gown, Order our horses presently. I will wear, as formerly, one of the 160 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.” He found her in a white cymar of silk lined with furs, 165 her little feet unstockinged and hastily thrust into slippers,KENILWORTH. 27 “ Now, God be with thee, my dearest and loveliest! The sun is on the verge of the blue horizon; I dare not stay. Ere this I should have been ten miles from hence.” ~ “You will not grant my request then. I urge not my 170 wish to be acknowledged as the wife 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.” 175 “ They say?” asked the Earl hastily. ‘ Whosays? Did not Varney convey to Sir Hugh all we dare at present tell him concerning your happiness and welfare? Who has dared put other thoughts into your head ?” ‘‘Oh, no one, my lord, no one,” said the Countess, some- 180 thing 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 com- munication with thy father or his house. Were it only 185 that yonder Cornish man, yonder Trevanion, or Tressilian, or whatever his name js, haunts the old knight's house, and must necessarily know whatever is communicated there.” “And why, my lord?” said the Countess, though she shuddered slightly at the tone of determination in which 190 he spoke; “let me but know why you think thus hardly of Tressilian 9” “Madam,” replied the Earl, “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 195 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 200 poetrierteeere sere a! pe vereresesesesait Sota evanenere tas {Trietototteiat eseepte cee itierrs iweb eee reset hererere sere sege eat oi at seal APF oro sehr brats at oe ae sare a ar: re: a. ars oy ak or -4 ro * ~28 KENILWORTH. Henry—a victim, and it may be a bloody one, to her offended and jealous resentment.” ‘“‘ Awful, indeed!” said the Countess, turning very pale. 205 ‘You are ill, my love,” said the Earl, supporting her in his arms; “stretch yourself on your couch again, it is but . 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 210 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 915 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. 5 Peed Peay | oa rare “333 eS Bs oes i" ‘CHAPTER IV. Vv the Earl rode at full speed to Woodstock, where he was supposed to have passed the night, Varney retraced his steps to the Black Bear, and desired to speak with Master Michael Lambourne. That respectable character was not long of appearing 5 before his new patron, but it was with downcast looks, for Tressilian had departed that night, none knew how. When satisfied of the rectitude of Lambourne’s conduct, Varney intimated that he understood from Foster he was not disinclined to enter into the household of a nobleman. 10 “Know you aught of the requisites expected from the retainer of a rising courtier ?” “T have imagined them to myself, sir,” answered Lam- bourne; “as for example, a quick eye, a close mouth, a ready and bold hand, a sharp wit, and a blunt conscience.” 15 “To thy other virtues thou canst add, no doubt,” said Varney in a jeering tone, “the kuack of seeming serious and religious, when the moment demands it +” “Tt would cost me nothing,” said Lambourne, “to say yes ; but, to speak on the square, I must needs say no. If 20 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.” 25 “Well,” replied Varney, “if thou hast no hypocrisy, hast thou not a nag here in the stable?” “ Aye, sir.” UH ' 4 rs ns bead c =| =: Ca pa a < = fea + ae § te > Wig Be ois tees ie 7% a 5 rs ta30 KENILWORTH. “Saddle him then instantly, and attend me,” said Varney. 80 “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.” The master of the horse and his new retainer mounted accordingly, leaving the landlord to conclude his ill-omened 85 farewell to himself and at leisure; and setting off together at a rapid pace, soon arrived at the Royal Park of Woodstock. It becomes necessary to return to the sudden disappearance of Tressilian from the sign of the Black Bear at Cumnor. 40 Giles Gosling had suspected that his nephew intended no’ good to Tressilian, and had himself assisted in his flight Tressilian had started before daybreak, but from his ignorance of the country found himself no further on his journey than the vale of White Horse, with his nag deprived of a shoe. 45 His enquiries for a smith were answered by a queer, sham- bling, ill-made urchin, who warned him that this smith had a bad name, and was said by some to be the devil himself. The promise of a silver groat, however, so far overcame his scruples that he consented to guide Tressilian to what he 50 called Wayland Smith’s forge door. Tressilian was instructed to put down his money on the flat rock which he saw in the midst of a circle of stones, and then to hide himself. He would presently hear the chink of a farrier’s iron at work, and when the sound ceased his horse would be shod and the 55 money gone. hese directions he fulfilled faithfully, but emerged from his hiding-place sooner than his guide had intended. He found himself confronted by a man of uncouth appearance, in a dress of untanned leather, who swung his hammer and demanded who it was who thus dared to invade 60 the Crystal Castle of Light. Nothing daunted by this pretentious language, Tressilian pursued the smith to his den, where he extracted from him the story of his chequeredKENILWORTH. 31 life. Wayland Smith related that he had been bred a blacksmith, had then learnt jugglery, and had afterwards fallen in with that prince of quacks, Dr. Doboobius, who 65 had vanished mysteriously, leaving his elaboratory to his friend and partner. In this elaboratory he had settled, but as he was fast becoming an object of suspicion, he eagerly embraced the proposal of Tressilian to accompany him as guide on his journey westward. Wayland Smith took an 76 affectionate leave of the elvish lad, whom he had nicknamed Flibbertigibbet, and having changed his savage attire, pre- pared to acccompany his new master. They had not gone far when they were startled by the shock of a terrible explosion—Flibbertigibbet had blown up 75 his friend’s dwelling. This proved no misfortune, for Wayland Smith had no longer to fear recognition, when he heard at every inn on the road how the devil had flown away with him ina flash of hghtning. With this powerful safeguard they accomplished their journey without further 80 misadventure, and arrived, on the third day, at Sir Hugh Robsart’s seat, called Lidcote Hall, on the frontiers of Devonshire. Tressilian found Sir Hugh still plunged in melancholy, his favourite sports were neglected, his memory seemed to 85 have failed, but in reality every faculty of mind and body was absorbed in one painful contemplation. The tidings which Tressilian bore were not of a nature to cheer him ; but Wayland Smith turned his art to account, and gave the good knight a sleeping draught, from which he awoke refreshed 90 and strengthened. Meanwhile a pressing letter recounting the illness of his patron, the Earl of Sussex, recalled Tressilian to London, His strange attendant seemed much interested in the con- dition of the Earl, and begged to be allowed to administer a 95 powerful remedy, of which he alone knew the secret, NET SP a Lee Pee pesca eee 3eH SED Ea hea hes es es os aa be ia Cage Ron si she tot rc sed das ce seeeten pe hudeteeegeahe sed edepesas a + Pt r= 8 ae b= ve athe hes arash ai iri ripe Conan Peee eye Sot re Peers tetera, pe Peet Tega Ronee ei*isiet CHAPTER V. ()* Tressilian’s arrival at Say’s Court, near Deptford, 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 imme- diate and violent assault from the opposite faction. In the hall, however, 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 10 as it seemed of quality and in the prime of life, was very plain and soldier-like, 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 15 of quality at the period. 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 20 promptitude of determination. The Earl’s chamberlain soon 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 25 made in his person. The Earl received him with the most friendly cordiality, and inquired into the state of his court- ship. ‘Tressilian evaded his inquiries for a moment, and turning his discourse on the Earl’s own health, he discovered,Rratit tt firiete TRIE SESE? Cane hs KENILWORTH. 33 ese pe reve sage to his surprise, that the symptoms of his disorder corres- ponded minutely with those which Wayland had predicated 30 concerning it. He hesitated not, therefore, to communicate to Sussex the whole history of his attendant, and the pre- tensions 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 35 suddenly called to his secretary to bring him a certain casket which contained be 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.” 40 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, 45 namely , ‘‘ Pass over his trash,” said the Earl, ‘and see whether he had not been supplied with his materials by a herbalist called Demetrius.’ ‘‘Tt is even so,” answered the cee “ And he adds, 50 he has not since seen the said Demetrius.” “This accords with thy fellow’s story, Tressilian,” said the Earl. ‘Call him hither.” “‘Tt may be,” said the Karl, after hearing Wayland Smith’s story, “thou art sent by those who have begun this work, to end it for them; but bethink, if 1 miscarry under thy medicine, it may go hard with thes,” % 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 ae not lived so long under ¢9 ground to be afraid of a grave.” ‘¢ Nay, if thou be’st so confident,” said the Earl of Sussex, 0 GeaeSe TECH Vere res co) re ie a he << = ret ce ay rh z Pet * 4 2 ce wr ro me arf *—? ro 2 yee 4 hee rly - gi 3 ren to 2 aes ae re On Or32 RENILWORTH. “J will take the risk too, for the learned can Jo nothing fer me. ‘Tell me how this medicine is to be taken.” $5 «That will J 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.” 70 While Wayland obeyed the Earl’s commands, his servants, by the artist’s direction, undressed their master, and placed him in bed. “T warn you,” he said, “that the first operation of this medicine will be to produce a heavy sleep, during which 75 time the chamber must be kept undisturbed; as the consequences may otherwise be fatal. 1 myself will watch by the Earl, with any of the gentlemen of his chamber.” “Be it so, good friend,” said the Earl; ‘and now for our experiment; but first call my secretary and chamberlain.” 80 He then folded his hands, and seemed for a second or two absorbed in mental devotion, then swallowed the medicine without farther hesitation. Wayland Smith’s predictions were speedily accomplished, and a sleep fell upon the Earl, so deep and sound, that they 85 who watched his bedside began to fear that, in his weakened state, he might pass away without awakening from his lethargy. The young gallant whom we noticed in attendance on the Earl had left the room for a few minutes, to learn the cause 60 of a knocking at the ~utward gate, and brought back word that Doctor Masters, physician to her Grace in ordinary, had been sent by her especial orders to inquire after the Karl’s health. “Wa! what!” exclaimed Tracy, “that was no slight mark “5 of favour; if the Earl can but come through, he will match with Leicester yet. Is Masters with my lord at present?”KENILWORTH. 38 “Nay,” replied Walter, “he is half way back to Greer.wich by this time, and in high dudgeon.” “Thou didst not refuse him admittance?” exclaimed Tracy. 100 “Thou wert not surely so mad?” ejaculated Blount. “T refused him admittance as flatly, Blount, as you would refuse a penny to a blind beggar. Had this learned leech entered, think’st thou not there had been suck a coil betwixt him and Tressilian’s mediciner, that not the sleeper only, 105 but the very dead might have awakened? I know what larum belongs to the discord of doctors, and I, who have done the wrong, will bear the blame.” Morning was well advanced when Tressilian, fatigued and over-watched, came down to the hall with the joyful 110 intelligence, that the Earl had awakened of himself, that he found his internal complaints much mitigated, and spoke with cheerfulness. When the message of the Queen was communicated to the Earl of Sussex, he at first smiled at the repulse which 115 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 com- 120 pliment, 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, “to go to our gracious 125 Sovereign, before whom all words must be lackered over either with gilding or with sugar, is such a confectionery 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,” 130 ER ES RPE PGES Te mE TE Oe TE Be BE Re SES EAL LNG IE EPPS ESTE ee eee ae Tye Eee rerearerestscrtacreris teaser t 2 Ue sumnt reat sl iat obcscs esc ses eloeets) rors wee 4 2 CS ary 4 al a e Se on36 KENILWORTH. “Never fear, never fear,” exclaimed the youth, ‘it is I will help you through—let me but fetch my cloak.” They were soon launched on the princely bosom of the ‘broad Thames, upon which the sun now shone forth in all 135 its splendour. “Tt seems to me,” said Blount, ‘‘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. 140 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 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 145 the lowest rank of life have been truly judged a noble figure, joined to a striking and commanding physiognomy. 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 150 warders permitted, in order to avail himself of the present opportunity. 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, 155 throwing his cloak from his shoulders, laid it on the miry spot, so as to ensure her stepping over it dryshod. 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 160 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.” )Sear a) fori Pl ebetet pied SR ODSRSST Soke ts beatae 24) KENILWORTH. 37 “This cloak,” said the youth, taking it up and folding it, 165 “shall never be brushed while in my possession.” Their discourse was stayed 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, 170 sir, [ 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 ncble Earl of Sussex’s Master of Horse.” “I have nothing to say to that,” answered the messenger; 175 “my orders are directly from Her Majesty, and concern this gentleman only.” A wherry quickly brought the favoured cavalier to the Queen’s presence. The muddied cloak stil] hung upon his arm, and formed the natural topic with which the Queen 180 introduced the conversation. ‘You have this day spoiled a gay mantle in our service, 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 185 liegeman’s duty to be bold.” ““God’s pity! that was well said, my lord,” said the Queen, turning to a grave person who sate by her. “ Well, young man, your gallantry shall not go unrewarded. Go to the wardrobe keeper, and he shall have orders to supply the 190 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 195 out your bounties; but if it became me to choose, I would have 5 “Gold, I warrant me!” said the Queen. *Ueaer ere pn ot pe neat IE AEA AL aoe “ rs ns re a <— rs - ss o< re > c mn wer os me ang ane aa 4 rape +=% oe sa38 KENILWORTH. “ Nay! only permission, madam, to wear the cloak which 200 did you this trifling service.” “Permission to wear thine own cloak, thou silly boy a said the Queen. “Tt is no longer mine,” said Walter ; “when your Majesty’s foot touched it, it became a fit mantle for a 205 prince, but far too rich a one for its former owner. ’ “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 9” 210 ‘A gentleman of the household of the Earl of Sussex, so please your Grace, sent hither with his Master of Horse, upon a message to your Majesty.” “My Lord of Sussex,” she said, “has taught us how to regard his messages, by the value he places upon ours. We 915 sent but this morning the physician in ordinary of our chamber, and when he demanded admittance in our name, it was stubbornly refused. For this slight of a kindness we will receive, at present at least, no excuse ; and some such we suppose to have been the purport of my Lord of 990 Sussex’s message.” “So please your most gracious Majesty, I was charged with no apology from the Earl of Sussex.” “With what were you then charged, sir? Was it with a justification? or, God’s death, with a defiance ?” 905 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 930 reached him, and knew not of the ungracious repulse your Majesty’s royal and most comfortable message had received until after he awoke this morning.”KENILWORTH. 39 “And which of his domestics, then, in the name of neaven, presumed to reject my message %” “The offender, madam, is before you,” replied Walter, 225 bowing very low. “What! was it thou? What could occasion such boldness in one who seems devoted—that is, whose exterior bearing shows devotion—to his Sovereign ?” ‘““Madam,” said the youth, ‘‘my noble master was then 240 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 245 empiric,” said the Queen. “T know not, madam, but by the fact that he is now—this very mcerning—awakened much refreshed and strengthened from the only sleep ne hath had for many hours.” ‘“By my word I am glad he is better. But thou wert 250 over bold to deny the access of my Doctor Masters. Know’st thou not that 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 255 for the patient.” “By my faith, child, thou hast pushed me home,” said the Queen, laughing. ‘‘ But for thee, young man, what is thy name and birth?” ‘‘Raleigh is my name, most gracious Queen, the youngest 260 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 ?” ‘““T have been so fortunate as to do some service there, madam,” replied Raleigh, ‘‘scarce, however, of consequence 265 sufficient to reach your Grace’s ears.” ) 4 Siegeisihaltlitieniirs : HPs Pao sttt ato esere ot oe ota Deiat te sta raia sae Eseyt pe Tey SOIC SL obs a ha 4 “a4 tar re a rear er os er dy re40 RENILWORTH. “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.” 270 ‘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 275 must not escape your penance. So hark ye, Master Raleigh, see thou fail not to wear thy muddy cloak, in token of penitence, till our pleasure be farther known. And here,” she added, giving him a jewel of gold, in the form of a chessman, ‘‘I give thee this to wear at the collar.” 280 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. “ My lords and ladies,” said the Queen, looking around to 285 the retinue by whom she was attended, “‘ methinks, since we are upon the river, 1t were well to renounce our present purpose of going to the city, and surprise this poor Earl of Sussex with a visit. What think ye? were it not an act of charity to give him such consolation as the thanks of a 290 Queen, much bound to him for his loyal service, may perchance best minister ?” Raleigh, whose acute spirit foresaw and anticipated im- portant consequences from the most trifling events, hastened to ask the Queen’s permission to go in the skiff, and 295 announce the royal visit to his master. But the Queen 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,”KENTEWORTH. At The Earl’s utmost despatch only enabled him to meet the 300 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 305 Lord of Sussex, that it holds so many pikes and calivers? or have we by accident overshot Say’s Court, and landed at our Tower of London ?” Lord Sussex hastened to offer some apology. *“Tt needs not,” she said. ‘We are glad to see you so well 310 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 315 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 could only bow and express his acquiescence. He then entreated her to remain till refresh- 320 ment could be offered; but in this he could not prevail. And, after a few compliments, of a much colder and more common-place character than might have been expected from a step so decidedly favourable as a personal visit, the Queen took her leave of Say’s Court, having brought 325 confusion thither along with her, and leaving doubt and apprehension behind. | nas HIER E Patittrarc orevt teatreie ia tee dete : Pe : rs Mi Bs -} a rs 2 z fe “ = x: r ara +—¢ oe rs z cy a ry i . a ara Pe) = rod — < = a a ++ 8 iE no at ¢ raf rH SS + 4 es oS nr he ee i eed rer ark >t oe ors rears peer rare re os * rere rat Neary nee rer haga rare | er 3 wees hwo) es me te cere: ae coe nar ress ah mares LF” rum roa rea | os —. rh peste a ar oy + rar a rare | er ris oir eer re ve ree a rears teal rr: er: ers EEG ree here pss ara rue 4 3 eS om | eee’ eared na rered Py ber 4 9 3CHAPTER ‘VI. N the morrow Sussex and Leicester were summoned to court, and forced to join hands in the Queen’s presence ; she then proceeded to deal with the petition which Sussex had laid before her. 5 ‘My Lord of Leicester, have you a gentleman in your household called Varney ?” “Ves, 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 10 scarce so fair, I should have thought, as to have caused a maiden of honourable birth and hopes, the daughter of a good old Devonshire knight, Sir Hugh Robsart of Lidcote Hall, to fall in love and flee with him from her father’s house like a castaway. My Lord of Leicester, are you ill, 15 that you look so deadly pale? Or is there more in this than we see—or than you, my lord, wish that we should see? ‘Where is this Varney? Is it true, sirrah,” said the Queen, as he entered, with one of those searching looks which few had the audacity to resist, “that you have 20 carried off 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.” 25 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 theKENILWORTH. 43 secret marriage. But he looked at Sussex, and the idea of the triumphant smile which would clothe his cheek upon 30 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 3 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?” 40 “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.” 45 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 50 the answer made by Varney, who, after a moment's real hesitation, answered, “ Yes.” ‘Thou falsevillain!” said Leicester, bursting forth into rage. “Nay, my lord,” said the Queen, “ we will, by your leave, stand between this fellow and your anger. We have not 55 yet done with him. Knew your master of this ” “ 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, 60 and her eyes sparkling, as she addressed Varney ; “speak on —here no commands are heard but mine.” WNW Or es a ris Fl = - nd - ra i) - PS ¥ Pad ¢ a ares ood ood ~ ad P§ a *-¢ D3 3te Ld 1 Ly ie RA i} eS r is *. Sy + Se i “2 a) z; ‘ rt 36 = o- w ue oy ae eed Pa Gre it Berg Bo a 4A KENILWORTH. “Par be it from me to traduce my noble patron,” replied Varney, ‘‘yet I am compelled to own that some deep, over- 65 whelming, yet secret feeling, hath of late dwelt in my lord’s mind, and hath abstracted him from the cares of the house- hold, which he was wont to govern with such religious strictness.” ‘And in this sense, and no other, hath he been accessory 70 to thy fauit?” 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 75 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 80 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,” 85 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 9” Varney replied, “A poet, madam, might call it a thread from the golden web wrought by Minerva; but, to my 90 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 95 there ”—(she hesitated, and endeavoured to assume an air of great indifference)—“TIs there here, in this presence, anyas Whine cite KENILWORTH. 4s é lady, the colour of whose hair reminds thee of that braid ? Methinks, without prying into my Lord of Leicester's amorous secrets, 1 would fain know what kind of locks are like the thread of Minerva’s web, or the—what was it {—the 100 last rays of the Mayday 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, 105 worthy of such similes, 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 Mayday sun that dazzled my 110 weak eyes.” “Go to, go to,” said the Queen, “thou art a foolish fellow.” And turning quickly from him she walked up to Leicester. “Thou hast a prating servant of this same Varney, my lord,” she said. ‘It is lucky you trust him with 115 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 120 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 125 too deeply into her servants’ motives for their faithful duty, lest she see what might, or at least ought to, displease her.” Then turning to Tressilian she said, “Thou shalt not be forgotten thyself, Tressilian ; follow our court, and thou 130 > . nae’ a3 a en et a3 5 4 = Bis ed ot te re te = - td ? meri f ECREEET ES BSSRTER PE CRESERR OTIS 67 PSC ESR ona sie Cat see gha Re ReREDES ae SeneReReRaRSESER CERT S2RG46 KENILWORTH. shalt see that a true Troilus hath some claim in our grace. Think of what that archknave Shakspeare says—a plague on him, his toys come into my head when I should think of other matter. Stay, how goes it? 135 ““ 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—perclsince I make 140 your player’s verse halt through my bad memory ; but let it suffice ; let there be no more of this mad matter.” And as Tressihan 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 145 impatience, ‘‘What would the man have? ‘The wench cannot wed both of yout She has made her election—not a wise one perchance—but she is Varney’s wedded wife.” “My suit should s'eep there, most gracious Sovereign,” said Tressilian, “‘and with my suit my revenge. But I hold 150 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 shew e 155 “ 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 160 Matamoros. Look you, sirs, he that speaks of drawing swords in any other quarrel than mine or England’s, by mine honour I’ bracelet him with iron both on wrist and ankle!” She then paused a minute, and resumed in a milder tone,KENILWORTH. 47 “T must do justice betwixt the bold and mutinous knaves notwithstanding. My Lord of Leicester, will you warrant 165 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 170 a moment’s hesitation, ‘‘'To the best of my belief—indeed on my certain knowledge—she is a wedded wife.” “Gracious madam,” said Tresillian, “may I yet request to know when and under what circumstances this alleged marriage ? 175 ‘“Qut, 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— think’st thyself such at least—and thou shalt have indulgence —we will look into the matter ourself more at leisure. 180 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 Karl of Sussex, to hold company with us there ; and, Varney, thy wife must be at Kenilworth, and forth- 185 coming at my order. My Lord of Leicester, we expect you will look to this.” 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 190 morning sealed his own fate. It was impossible for him now, he thought, to draw back from the course of deceit he had entered upon, but Elizabeth’s request that Amy should appear at Kenilworth presented an insurmountable difficulty. Varney, however, was ready with an expedient. Dr. Alasco, 195 now in Lord Leicester’s service, was despatched to Cumnor with orders to prepare a draught for the Countess, which48 KENILWORTH. would render her presence at Kenilworth impossible. But Tressilian had suspicions of his foul dealing, and Wayland 200 Smith was already on his way to circumvent the alchemisi‘s devices, knowing what to expect from the man whom he had recognized as his old master, Dr. Doboobius. In his anxiety to obey the Earl’s repeated charges of secrecy, as well as from his own unsocial and miserly 205 habits, Anthony Foster was more desirous, by his mode of housekeeping, to escape observation than to resist intrusive curiosity ; so that, unless when there were followers of the Earl or of Varney in the mansion, one old male domestic and two aged crones, who assisted in keeping the Countess’s 210 apartments in order, were the only servants of the family. It was one of these cold women who opened the door when Wayland knocked, and answered his petition to be admitted to exhibit his wares to the ladies of the family, intimating the present of some stuff for a coif, if the lady would buy of 215 his wares. “God ield thee, for mine is aw in littocks—Slocket with thy pack into gharn, mon—Her walks in gharn.” ‘She has left me to come off as I may,” thought Wayland, as he heard the hag shut the garden-door behind him. ‘“I 220 see two females in the old garden-house yonder—but how to address them? Stay, Will Shakspeare, be my friend in need. I will give them a taste of Autolycus.” He then sung, with a good voice, and becoming audacity, the popular playhouse ditty— 225 ‘‘Lawn as white as driven snow, Cyprus black as e’er was crow, Gloves as sweet as damask roses, Masks for faces and for noses.” 939 ‘f What hath fortune sent us here for an unwonted sight, Janet?” said the lady.KENILWORTH. 49 “One of those merchants of vanity, called pedlars,” auswered Janet demurely, while the lady called to the pedlar, ‘‘Good fellow, step forward—undo thy pack; if thou hast good wares, chance has sent thee hither for my 235 convenience, and thy profit.” ‘What may your ladyship please to lack?” said Wayland, unstrapping his pack, and displaying its contents with as much dexterity as if he had been bred to the trade. ‘What do I please to lack?” said the lady. ‘‘ Why, the 240 better question is, What hast thou got to sell? Lay aside for me that cambric partlet and pair of sleeves, and those roundells of gold fringe, drawn out with cyprus, and that short cloak of cherry-coloured fine cloth garnished with gold buttons and loops—is it not of an absolute fancy, 245 Janet? And stay, hast thou no perfumes and sweet bags, or any handsome casting bottles, of the newest mode? And what is this paste, so carefully put up in the silver box t” “Tt is a remedy, madam, for a disorder of which I trust 250 your ladyship will never have reason to complain. ‘The amount of a small turkey-bean, swallowed daily for a week, fortifies the heart against those black vapours, which arise from solitude, melancholy, unrequited affection, disappoited hope ms 255 “Are you a fool, friend?” said the Countess sharply. ‘Who ever heard that affections of the heart were cured by medicines given to the body ?” “Under your honourable favour,” said Wayland, “I am an honest man. As to this most precious medicine, when I 260 told its qualities, I asked you not to purchase it, so why should I lie to you? I have relieved many with it, both in court and city, and of late one Master Edmund Tressilian, a worshipful gentleman in Cornwall, who, on some slight received, i¢ was told me, where he had set his affections, was 265 D wHITLATLFITLE 4 ee oo ore re > ee os See ber zi a $ z270 275 280 290 295 50 KENILWORTH. brought into that state of melancholy which made his friends alarmed for his life.” He paused, and the lady remained silent for some time, and then asked, with a voice which she strove in vain to render firm and indifferent in its tone, “Is the gentleman you have mentioned perfectly recovered ?” ‘‘Passably, madam,” answered Wayland; “he hath at least no bodily complaint.” “JT will take some of the medicine, Janet,” said the Countess, “I too have sometimes that dark melancholy which overclouds the brain.” The lady then piled the purchases she had made together, flung her purse to Janet, and desired her to compute the amount, and to pay the pedlar; while she herself walked carelessly into the house, thus depriving Wayland of every opportunity to speak with her in private. He hastened, however, to attempt an explanation with Janet. “Maiden,” he said, “thou hast the face of one who should love her mistress. She hath much need of faithful service. This evening, or to-morrow, will an old man come hither with thy father, who has the stealthy step of the cat, the shrewd and vindictive eye of the rat. Of him beware, for your own sake and that of your mistress. What precise mischief he meditates towards you I cannot guess, but death and disease have ever dogged his footsteps. Say nought of this to thy mistress. But see that she take my specific, for” —he lowered his voice, and spoke low but impressively in her ear—‘‘it is an antidote against poison. Hark, they enter the garden!” In effect, a sound of noisy mirth and loud talking approached the garden door, alarmed by which Wayland Smith sprung into the midst of a thicket of overgrown shrubs, while Janet withdrew to the garden-house. Her father, his old attendant, Lord Leicester’s domestic,KENILWORTH. 51 and the astrologer, entered the garden in tumult and in 300 extreme perplexity, endeavouring to quiet Lambourne, whose brain had become completely fired with liquor, and who began to drop hints of the wicked purpose for which they had sought the house. In the general confusion Janet regained her lady’s chamber 305 unobserved, trembling like an aspen leaf, but determined to keep secret from the Countess the dreadful surmises which she could not help entertaining from the drunken ravings of Lambourne. Neither had these intimations escaped the ears of Wayland, 310 who knew much better how to interpret them. PET Es pegperereristhtserase pect iepene yf Sete ws rd a oa co a = oe a =“ CS 4 br a ape “= “> 4 = = aes a) oe) it or al eeCHAPTER Vil. S soon as Lambourne was quieted Varney sought the Countess. His brow bore an anxious and hurried expression, and the Countess’s anxious eye at once caught the alarm, as she exclaimed, ‘‘ You bring news from my lord, 6 Master Varney. Gracious Heaven! is he ill ?” “No, madam, thank Heaven! But we are not alone, and my lord’s message was for your ear only.” ‘“Teave us, Janet, and Master Foster,” said the lady ; ‘‘but remain in the next apartment, and within call.” 10 Foster and his daughter retired, agreeably to the Lady Leicester’s commands, into the next apartment; and the voices of those who spoke in the inner chamber were, 1f they spoke at all, carefully subdued to a tone which could not be heard in the next. At once, however, they were 15 heard to speak fast, thick, and hastily ; and presently after the voice of the Countess was heard exclaiming, at the highest pitch to which indignation could raise it, ‘‘Undo the door, sir, I command you! Undo the door! I will have no other reply! What ho! without there!” she 20 persisted, accompanying her words with shrieks, “Janet, alarm the house. Foster, break open the door.” The door was unlocked and thrown open, and Janet and her father rushed in, anxious to learn the cause of these reiterated exclamations. 25 When they entered the apartment, Varney stood by the door grinding his teeth, with an expression in which rage, and shame, and fear had each their share. The CountessKENILWORTH. 53 stood in the midst of her apartment like a juvenile Pythoness, under the influence of the prophetic fury. “Look at him, Janet,” said the Countess. “He is fairly 30 dressed, hath the outside of a gentleman, and hither he came to persuade me it was my lord’s pleasure—nay, more, my wedded lord’s commands, that I should go with him to Kenilworth, and before the Queen and nobles, and in presence of my own wedded lord, that I should acknowledge 35 him—him there—that very cloak-brushing, shoe-cleaning fellow—him there, my lord’s lackey, for my liege lord and husband.” So saying, she tore in pieces Leicester’s letter, and stamped, in the extremity of impatience, as if she would 40 have annihilated the minute fragments into which she had rent it. ‘Bear witness,” said Varney, collecting himself, “she hath torn my lord’s letter in order to burden me with the scheme of his devising; and although it promises nought 45 but danger and trouble to me, she would lay it to my charge as if | had any purpose of mine own in it.” ‘Thou liest, thou treacherous slave!” said the Countess. “Go, begone, sir. I scorn thee so much, that I am ashamed to have been angry with thes.”> > 50 Varney left the room with’e’mute expression of rage, and was followed by Foster. “Tony,” he said, with his usual sneering laugh, “yon termagant looked so tempting, and had the art to preserve her countenance so naturally, while I communicated my 55 lord’s message, that, by my faith, I thought I might say some little thing for myself. Where is Dr. Alasco? Lead the way to his pandemonium.” In the meanwhile the Countess traversed the apartment, with shame and anger contending on her lovely cheek. 55 “The villain,” she said, “the cold-blooded, calculating SGP SRS REG ha 5 Ce Se GPR ea by btpyieiet eres EEUsG eae! Ss Sigel titer Sir ur erates ESTER CITES ERE SRUTN EET epevasniuceuacatctae Ses ct cse ey 5 3E UE IRE ARCS, ' arte be eS Cha aT Saab an hatnereapecee set st he oa Cotes, Roos lilsciuru sisted suatetsenoe sqxeaeea seer Css esta64 KENILWORTH. slave! But I unmasked him, Janet. I made the snake uncoil all his folds before me, and crawl abroad in his naked deformity. But it is impossible; the villain has lied in all. 60 Janet, I will not remain here longer. I fear him; I fear thy father. I will escape from Cumnor.” “ Alas! madam, whither would you fly, or by what means will you escape from these walls %” At this moment Anthony Foster entered the apartment, 65 bearing in his hand a glass cup and a small flask. His hand trembled, his voice faltered, and his whole outward behaviour exhibited so much that was suspicious that his daughter Janet, after she had stood looking at him in astonishment for some seconds, seemed at once to collect 70 herself to execute some hardy resolution, and said in a low, but marked and decided tone, ‘‘Give me that flask, father ;” and she took it from his reluctant hand, while he resigned it as if conscience-struck. ‘‘And now,” she said, “father, that which shall benefit my mistress cannot do me prejudice. 75 Father, I drink to you.” Foster, without speaking a word, rushed on his daughter, and wrested the flask from her hand; then, as if embarrassed by what he had done, and totally unable to resolve what he should do next, he stood: wth, it in his hand, one foot ad- 80 vanced and the other dram back, glaring on his daughter with a countenance in which rage, fear, and convicted villainy formed a hideous combination. “This is strange, my father. Will you neither let me serve my lady, nor drink to her myself ?” 85 The courage of the Countess sustained her through this dreadful scene. ‘Will you taste this rare cordial, Master Foster? Perhaps you will not yourself refuse to pledge us, though you permit not Janet to do so. Drink, sir, I pray you.” 909 “I will not,” answered Foster.KENILWORTH. 5 “And for whom, then, is the precious beverage reserved, sir?” said the Countess. ‘For the devil, who brewed it!” answered Foster; and, turning on his heel, he left the chamber. “Do not weep for me, Janet,” said the Countess kindly. 95 “No, madam,” replied her attendant, in a voice broken by sobs, “it is not for you I weep. There is a way of escape. I have prayed night and day for light, that I might see how to act betwixt my duty to yonder unhappy man, and that which I owe to you. Ask me no more. I will 100 return in brief space.” , So speaking, she wrapped herself in her mantle, and saying to the old woman whom she passed in the outer room that she was going to evening prayer, she left the house. 105 The summer evening was closed, and Janet, just when her longer stay might have occasioned suspicion and inquiry in that jealous household, returned to Cumnor Place, and hastened to the apartment in which she had left her lady. She found her with her head resting on her arms, and these 110 crossed upon a table which stood before her. The unhappy lady raised her head, and looking on her attendant with a ghastly eye, and cheek as pale as clay, “Janet,” she said, *T have drunk it.” “God be praised!” said Janet hastily. ‘I mean, God be 115 praised that it is no worse; the potion will not harm you. Rise, shake this lethargy from your limbs, and this despair from your mind.” “Janet,” repeated the Countess again, “disturb me not, leave me at peace ; let life pass quietly, I am poisoned.” 120 “You are not, my dearest lady,” answered the maiden eagerly. ‘‘ What you have swallowed cannot injure you, for the antidote has been taken before it, and I hastened hither to tell you that the means of escape are open to you. One, te ' if oe ny Shy ae = aie ae rite re 23 reef OTST Ey ESOC CE Ly The ES EE ET PS a hae eee epee aed poe ie ae ae abt eee set eye Se teSE eee tas Sal A dh Rear Sst ee es ee Sea ac tr ye ae ee e4: MOTE ees e eras eee seeeaeceeea ea es ce ASTER e SERPS Teese eee ee ee ee te pes severe a sb ae ee hie a ePEOCA SE eT PT ey PROG TA EGE AG Fe ARSE LEY AS TEE Me hes aS ete heh alee fe ah eh Thre Tees eer Ee Booch ke tatsc see ger ce neaes Pe SEM AE RE SERS C IED CAE Re az aM AE RAE IRA Se ACHETER TE pee AGT See AETE rep peae de ve tere CT SESE pie thet Re SEA eta Stalls aT ell4 ‘ | 4 eal Bs * 3 mn ‘S a i c 4 4 = 7 he 38 ae 3 ar ae Ste bs ar ae Pes EE nr oe erg 3 72: 56 KENILWORTH. 125 whom I deem an assured friend of yours, has shewn himself to me in various disguises, and sought speech of me, which —for my mind was not clear on the matter until this even- ing—I have ever declined. He waits even now at’ the postern-gate of the park with means for your flight. But 130 have you strength of body? Have you courage of mind? Can you undertake the enterprise ?” “She that flies from death,” said the lady, ‘‘finds strength of body; she that would escape from shame, lacks no strength of mind.” 135 With eager haste they collected the few necessaries which it was thought proper the Countess should take with her, and after a hasty flight through the garden and park, they reached the postern-door, where \Wayland Smith stood at some distance, shrouding himself behind a hedge which 140 bordered the high-road. “Ts all safe?” said Janet to him anxiously, as he ap- proached them with caution. All,” he replied. ‘There will be no pursuit, if you, pretty Mistress Janet, forget not thy lesson.” 145 “No more than the wise widow of Tekoa forgot the words which Joab put into her mouth,” answered Janet. “To-morrow I say that my lady is unable to rise.” “Ay, and that she hath aching and heaviness of the head, a throbbing at the heart, and lists not te be disturbed. 150 Fear not; they will take the hint, and trouble thee with few questions—they understand the disease.” The Countess was now placed by Wayland upon his horse, around the saddle of which he had placed his cloak, so folded as to make her a commodious seat. 155 ‘‘ Adieu, and may the blessing of God wend with you!” said Janet, again kissing her mistress’s hand, who returned her benediction with a mute caress. They then tore them- selves asunder, and Janet, addressing Wayland, exclaimed,hauiid it KENILWORTH. By “May Heaven deal with you at your need, as you are true or false to this most injured and most helpless lady !” 160 ‘Amen! dearest Janet,” replied Wayland; ‘‘and, believe me, I will so acquit myself of my trust, as may tempt even your pretty eyes, saint-like as they are, to look less scornfully on me when we next meet.” She re-entered the postern-door, and locked it behind her, 165 while, Wayland taking the horse’s bridle in his hand, and walking close by its head, they began in silence their dubious and moonlight journey. filial pr wi Pa Pd roe ne oe < oeCHAPTER VIII. HEN the Countess formed the bold resolution of throwing herself upon her husband’s mercy at Kenil- worth, she had not foreseen the difficulty there would be in gaining admission to the Castle at such a time. It was a 5 mere accident which gained her an entrance to the outward court, and here Wayland halted his horse, and looked upon the lady, as if waiting her commands what was next to be done, since they had safely reached the place of destination. She raised her hand to her forehead, as if in the act of 10 collecting her thoughts and resolution, while she answered him in a low and suppressed voice, like the murmurs of one who speaks in a dream—“ Commands? I may indeed claim right to command, but who is there will obey me?” Then suddenly raising her head, like one who has formed 15 a decisive resolution, she addressed a gaily-dressed domestic, who was crossing the court. ‘Stop, sir,” she said. “TI desire to speak with the Earl of Leicester.” “With whom, an it please you?” said the man, surprised 20 at the demand; and then looking upon the mean equipage of her who used towards him such a tone of authority, he added, with insolence, “‘ Why, what Bess of Bedlam is this would ask to see my lord on such a day as the present ?” Iwo or three persons stopped, attracted by the fleering 25 way in which the serving-man expressed himself ; and Wayland, alarmed both for himself and the lady, hastily addressed himself to one who appeared the most civil, andKENILWORTH. 59 thrusting a piece of money into his hand, held a moment's counsel with him, on the subject of finding a place of tem- porary retreat for the lady. 30 The deputy-usher took them, as it chanced, to Tressilian’s chamber, where the lady wrote a hasty letter to the Earl, and begved Wayland to see it delivered. But he resolved before delivering the letter to Leicester, that he would seek out Tressilian, and communicate to him the arrival of the 35 lady at Kenilworth. “He will be a better judge than I am,” said Wayland, “whether she is to be gratified in this humour of appeal to my Lord of Leicester, which seems like an act of insanity.” Amid the universal bustle which filled the Castle and its 40 environs, it was no easy matter to find out any individual; and Wayland was still less likely to light upon Tressilian, whom he sought so anxiously, because he dared not make general inquiries among the retainers or domestics of Leicester. That he might not lose an opportunity of meeting his 45 patron, Wayland placed himself in the base-court of the Castle, and watched every one who went or came by the bridge. Tressilian, whom he was thus anxiously expecting in one direction, had returned to Kenilworth by another access. On going to his chamber he saw a female form 50 seated in the apartment, and recognized that form to be Amy Robsart. She had started up on his first entrance, and now stood facing him, the paleness of her cheeks having given way to a deep blush. “Tressilian,” she said at length, “why come you here?” 55 “Nay, why come you here, Amy,” returned Tressilian, “unless it be at leneth to claim that aid, which, as far as one man’s heart and arm can extend, shall instantly be rendered to you?” She was silent a moment, and then answered in a sorrow- 60 ful rather than an angry tone, “I require no aid, Tressilian. + - = os =) rey ror Ps + a ha Cs 2 see <4 — a: — rar 6 oa ors60 KENILWORTH. Believe me, I am near one whom law and love oblige to protect me.” “The villain, then, hath done you the poor justice which 65 remained in his power,” said Tressilian; ‘‘and I behold before me the wife of Varney !” “The wife of Varney !” she replied, with all the emphasis of scorn. ‘‘ With what base name, sir, does your boldness stigmatize the—the—the—the Countess of Leicester,” were 70 the words that had naturally suggested themselves; “ but, never,” she thought, “will I break my promised silence. I will submit to every suspicion rather than that.” The tears rose to her eyes as she stood silent before Tressilian ; while, looking on her with mingled grief and 75 pity, he said, “Alas! Amy, your eyes contradict your tongue. That speaks of a protector, willing and able to watch over you; but these tell me you are ruined and deserted by the wretch to whom you have attached yourself. For were he ought better, why are you here, and alone in my apartment? 80 Why was not fitting provision made for your honourable reception ?” ‘“‘In your apartment?” repeated Amy; “in your apartment 4 It shall instantly be relieved of my presence.” She hastened towards the door, but the sad recollection of her deserted 85 state at once pressed on her mind, and, pausing on the threshold, she added, in a tone unutterably pathetic, ‘ Alas! I had forgot; I know not where to go zo “IT see; I see it all,” said Tressilian, springing to her side, and leading her back to the seat, on which she sunk £0 down. ‘“ You do need aid, you do need protection, though you will not own it; and you shall not need it long.” “Oh, no!” she exclaimed, sinking on one knee before him. “Wait but four-and-twenty hours, and it may be that the poor Amy may have the means to shew that she values, and 95 can reward, your disinterested friendship ; that she is happyKENILWORTH. 61 herself, and has the means to make you so. It is surely worth your patience for so short a space.” “Amy,” he said, ‘‘I have ever remarked, that when others called thee girlish and wilful, there lay under that external semblance of youthful and self-willed folly, deep 100 feeling and strong sense. In this I will confide, trusting your own fate in your own hands for the space of twenty- four hours, without my interference by word or act. Is there nought besides which I can do for you?” “ Nothing,” said she, “save to leave me; that is, if—I 105 blush to acknowledge my helplessness by asking it—if you can spare me the use of this apartment for the next twenty- four hours.” Tressilian walked into the outer yard of the Castle, scarce knowing what to think of his late strange and most unex- 110 pected interview with Amy Robsart. While he was balancing the advantages and perils which attended her unexpected presence in Kenilworth, Tressilian was hastily and anxiously accosted by Wayland, who, after ejaculating, “Thank God, your worship is found at last!” 115 proceeded with breathless caution to pour into his ear the intelligence, that the lady had escaped from Cumnor Place, and had written a letter to Leicester, “which waits but your commands to find its way to him. See, here it is—but no— a plague on it—I must have left it in my dog-hole, in the 120 hay-loft yonder, where I am to sleep.” ‘Death and fury!” said Tressilian, transported beyond his usual patience; “thou hast not lost that on which may Jepend a stake more important than a thousand such lives as thine 2” 125 “Tost it!” answered Wayland readily; “that were a jest indeed! No, sir, I will fetch it in an instant.” Wayland bowed, and took his leave with seeming con- fidence and alacrity; but in fact filled with the utmost62 KENILWORTH. 180 dread and confusion. The letter was lost, that was certain. It was lost—it might fall into wrong hands—it would then, certainly, occasion a discovery of the whole intrigue in which he had been engaged ; nor, indeed, did Wayland see much prospect of its remaining concealed in any event. He felt 135 much hurt, besides, at Tressilian’s burst of impatience. “T care not a groat for Master Tressilian,” he said; “I have done more than bargain by him, and I have brought his errant-damozel within his reach, so that he may look after her himself; but I fear the poor thing is in much 140 danger amongst these stormy spirits. I will to her chamber, and tell her the fate which has befailen her letter, that she may write another if she list.” With the stealthy step and jealous eye of the cat that steals on her prey, Wayland resumed the way to the 145 Countess’s chamber, sliding along by the side of the courts and passages, alike observant of all around him, and studious himself to escape observation. the artist congratulated himself on having escaped the various perils of his journey, when he was met by Lambourne 150 and turned ignominzously out of the Castle,CHAPTER IX. LF was the twilight of a summer night (9th July, 1575), the sun having for some time set, and all were in anxious expectation of the Queen’s immediate approach; when, all of a sudden, a single rocket was seen to shoot into the atmosphere, and, at the instant, far-heard over flood and £ lield, the great bell of the Castle tolled. Immediately there was a pause of dead silence, succeeded - by a deep hum of expectation, the united voice of many thousands, none of whom spoke above their breath ; or, to use a singular expression, the whisper of an immense 10 multitude; then came a shout of applause, so tremendously vociferous that the country echoed for miles round. As the noise began to abate, the word was passed along the line, “The Queen! the Queen! Silence, and stand fast!” Onward came the cavalcade, illuminated by two 15 hundred thick waxen torches, in the hands of as many horsemen, which cast a light like that of broad day all around the procession, but especially on the principal group, of which the Queen herself, arrayed in the most splendid manner, and blazing with jewels, formed the central figure. 20 She was mounted on a milk-white horse, which she reined with peculiar grace and dignity ; and in the whole of her stately and noble carriage you saw the daughter of an hundred kings. It is by no means our purpose to detail minutely all the 25 princely festivities of Kenilworth. It is sufficient to say, that under discharge of splendid fireworks, the Queen entered the base-court of Kenilworth, through Mortimer’s Tower, and ebeasseeet acre aegerene tre ipep seas ee ese se Se tat se seae seat besitos dalglsleietedl Sores on a4 rae me ins ae i ae pen sd pay 2-4 = 3 oj64 KENILWORTH. moving on through pageants of heathen gods and heroes of 30 antiquity, who offered gifts and compliments on the bended knee, at length found her way to the great hall of the Castle. Elizabeth received Leicester with great complacency. ‘““'We have one piece of royal justice,” she said, ‘‘to attend to. It is a piece of justice too which interests us as a 85 woman, as well in the character of mother and guardian of the English people. It is of the matter of Varney and Tressilian we speak. Is the lady here, my lord?” His answer was ready: “ Gracious madam, ‘he is not.” Hlizabeth bent her brows and compressed her lips. ‘Our 40 orders were strict and positive, my lord,” was her answer. ‘““And should have been obeyed, good my liege,” replied Leicester, “had they been expressed in the form of the lightest wish. But—vVarney, step forward—this gentleman will inform your Grace of the cause why the lady” (he 45 could not force his rebellious tongue to utter the words— his wife) ‘cannot attend on your royal presence.” Varney advanced, and pleaded the absolute incapacity of the party (for neither did he dare, in Leicester’s presence, term her his wife) to wait on her Grace. 50 ‘‘Here are the testimonials of the physician who hath her under his charge, and the gentleman in whose house she resides, so setting forth.” “Under your Majesty’s favour,” said Tressilian hastily, and, in his alarm for the consequences of the imposition 55 practised on the Queen, forgetting, in part at least, his own promise to Amy, ‘‘these certificates speak not the truth.” “How, sir!” said the Queen. ‘‘Impeach my Lord ot Leicester’s veracity! But you shall have a fair hearing. Take these certificates in your own hand; look at them 60 carefully, and say manfully if you impugn the truth of them, and upon what evidence.” As the Queen spoke, his promise and all its consequencesKENILWORTH. 65 rushed on the mind of the unfortunate Tressilian, and the few words he was able to command were so wild and in- coherent that the Queen dismissed him, merely saying she wished she could have seen the beauty which could make such havoc in a wise man’s brain. It chanced upon the following morning, that one of the earliest of the huntress train, who appeared froxa her chamber in full array for the chase, was the Queen. I know 7 not if it were by chance, or out of the befitting courtesy due to a mistress by whom he was so much honoured, that she had scarcely made one step beyond the threshold of her chamber, ere Leicester was by her side, and proposed to her, until the preparations for the chase had been completed, 7 to view the Pleasance, and the gardens which it connected with the Castle-yard. The conversation of Elizabeth and the favourite Karl has not reached us in detail. The Queen had probably listened with more than usual favour to that mixture of romantic gallantry with which she always loved-to be addressed ; and the Earl had, in vanity, in ambition, or in both, thrown in more and more of that delicious ingredient, until his importunity became the language of love itself. “No, Dudley,” said Elizabeth, yet it was with broken accents, “‘no, | must be the mother of my people. Other ties, that make the lowly maiden happy, are denied to her Sovereign. No, Leicester, urge it no more. Were I as cthers, free to seek my own happiness—then, indeed—but it cannot—cannot be. Delay the chase—delay it for halt- an-hour—and leave me, my lord.” “How, leave you, madam!” said Leicester, “Has my madness offended you?” “No, Leicester, not so!” answered the Queen hastily; “ but it is madness, and must not be repeated. Go, but go not far from hence, and meantime let no one intrude on my privacy.” ° EH 6d ~ oO = On 80 85 90 95 ~ — os --e = he s 1 e & % 5 2 4 er “= = * =i Ps Es ane os ie haha ent SESETERE tact te Shan 7.) + A LT3tih!prehy Pers F eg-n es? it ; er et p Saat ; i a r aa il = = aoe Ot Se aed Poo ie oe Ra Ke lanl a ws Moe} Res a ro 66 KENILWORTH. While she spoke thus, Dudley bowed deeply, and retired with a slow and melancholy air. The Queen stood gazing after him, and murmured to herself: ‘Were it possible, 100 were it but possible! But no—no, Elizabeth must be the wife and mother of England alone.” As she spoke thus, and in order to avoid some one whose step she heard approaching, the Queen turned into a grotto in which Amy at that moment lay concealed. 105 From her dress, and the casket which she instinctively held in her hand, Elizabeth naturally conjectured that the beautiful but mute figure which she beheld was a performer in one of the various theatrical pageants which had been placed in different situations to surprise her with their 110 homage. It was natural and courteous to give her some encouragement ; and Elizabeth accordingly said, in a tone of condescending kindness. “ How now, fair Nymph of this lovely grotto, art thou spell-bound and struck with dumbness by the wicked enchanter whom men term fear? We are 115 his sworn enemy, maiden, and can reverse his charm. Speak, we command thee.” Instead of answering her by speech, the unfortunate Coun- tess dropped on her knee before the Queen, let her casket fall from her hand, and clasping her palms together, looked 120 up in the Queen’s face with such a mixed agony of fear and supplication, that “lizabeth was considerably affected, “What may this mean?” she said oo hae ois: a stronger passion than befits the occasion. Stand up, damsel. What wouldst thou have with us ?” 125 ‘Your protection, madam,” faltered forth the unhappy petitioner. “Each daughter of England has it while she is worthy of it,” replied the Queen ; ‘but your distress seems to have a deeper root than a forgotten task. Why, and in what, do 180 you crave our protection 3”KENILWORTH. 67 “T request—lI implore,” stammered forth the unfortunate Countess—“TI beseech your gracious protection—against— against one Varney.” She choked well-nigh as she uttered the fatal word, which was instantly caught up by the Queen. “What, Varney—Sir Richard Varney—the servant of 135 Lord Leicester! What, damsel, are you to him, or he to you?” ‘‘—I—was his prisoner—and he practised on my life— and I broke forth to—to———” “To throw thyself on my protection, doubtless,” said Elizabeth. “Thou shalt have it—that is, if thou art 140 worthy ; for we will sift this matter to the uttermost. Thou art,” she said, bending on the Countess an eye which seemed designed to pierce her very inmost soul—“ thou art Amy, daughter of Sir Hugh Robsart of Lidcote Hall? Well, I see I must wring the story from thee by inches. 145 Thou didst deceive thine old and honoured father—thy look confesses it—cheated Master Tressilian—thy blush avouches it—and married this same Varney.” Amy sprung on her feet, and interrupted the Queen eagerly with, ‘‘ No, madam, no; as there is a God above us, 150 I am not the sordid wretch you would make me! I am not the wife of that contemptible slave—of that most deliberate villain! I am not the wife of Varney! I would rather be the bride of Destruction! The Earl of Leicester knows it all.” “The Earl of Leicester!” said Elizabeth, in utter astonish- 155 ment. ‘‘ Woman, thou art set on to this, thou dost belie him; he takes no keep of such things as thou art. But were he the right hand of our trust, or something yet dearer to us, thou shalt have thy hearing, and that in his presence. Come with me, come with me instantly !” 160 Leicester was at this moment the centre of a splendid group of lords and ladies, assembled together under an arcade, or portic>, which closed the alley. ‘Where is mv J.ord of Leicester?” she said, in a tone ve rae Stree init pe ana 7 pa + Bo’ oi x 5 " r68 KENILWORTH. 165 that thrilled with astonishment all the courtiers who stood around. ‘Stand forth, my Lord of Leicester !” If, in the midst of the most serene day of summer, when all is light and laughing around, a thunderbolt were to fall from the clear blue vault of heaven, and rend the earth at 170 the very feet of some careless traveller, he could not gaze upon the smouldering chasm, which so unexpectedly yawned before him, with half the astonishment and fear which Leicester felt at the sight that so suddenly presented itself. He had that instant been receiving, with a politic affectation 175 of disavowing and misunderstanding their meaning, the half uttered, half intimated congratulations of the courtiers upon the favour of the Queen, carried apparently to its highest pitch during the interview of that morning; from which most of them seemed to augur, that he might soon 180 arise from their equal in rank to become their master. And now, while the subdued yet proud smile with which he disclaimed those inferences was yet curling his cheek, the Queen shot into the circle, her passions excited to the utter- most; and, supporting with one hand, and apparently 185 without an effort, the pale and sinking form of his almost expiring wife, and pointing with the finger of the other to her half-dead features, demanded in a voice that sounded to the ears of the astounded statesman like the last dread trumpet-call, that is to summon body and spirit to the 190 judgment-seat, ‘ Knowest thou this woman? ‘‘ Leicester,” said Elizabeth, in a voice which trembled with passion, ‘“‘could I think thou hast practised on me— on me thy Sovereign—on me thy confiding, thy too partial mistress, the base and ungrateful deception which thy present 195 confusion surmises—by all that is holy, false lord, that head of thine were in as great peril as ever was thy father’s !” Leicester had not conscious innocence, but he had pride to support him. He raised slowly his brow and features, whichKENILWORTH. 69 were black and swoln with contending emotions, and only replied, “‘ My head cannot fall but by the sentence of my 200 peers—to them I will plead, and not to a princess who thus requites my faithful service.” ‘““ What! my lords,” said Elizabeth, looking around, “ we are defied, I think—defied in the Castle we have ourselves bestowed on this proud man? My Lord Shrewsbury, you 205 are marshal of England, attach him of high treason.” ‘“Whom does your Grace mean?” said Shrewsbury, much surprised, for he had that instant joined the astonished circle. ‘Whom should I mean, but that traitor Dudley, Earl ef Leicester! Cousin of Hunsdon, order out your band of 210 gentlemen pensioners, and take him into instant custody. I say, Villain, make haste !” Hunsdon, a rough old noble, who, from his relationship to the Boleyns, was accustomed to use more freedom with the @ueen than almost any other dared to do, replied bluntly, 215 “ And it is ike your Grace might order me to the Tower to- morrow, for making too much haste. I do beseech you to be patient.” ‘“ Patient—God’s life!” exclaimed the Queen—“name not the word to me—thou know’st not of what he is guilty!” 220 Amy, who had by this time in some degree recovered herself, and who saw her husband, as she conceived, in the utmost danger from the rage of an offended Sovereign, instantly (and alas, how many women have done the same !) forgot her own wrongs, and her own danger, in her appre- 225 hensions for him, and throwing herself before the Queen, embraced her knees, while she exclaimed, ‘‘ He is guiltless, madam, he is guiltless—no one can lay aught to the charge of the noble Leicester.” ‘“Why, minion,” answered the Queen, “didst not thou, 230 thyself, say that the Earl of Leicester was privy to thy whole history ?” Ec ie rees st here rete pe tae dea MMB Bei eh ase ares eer os bs Hints = a bs ar s rs Fs e rear 4 oF oe ae o> oe < z"0 KENILWORTH. “Did I say so?” repeated the unhappy Amy, laying aside every consideration of consistency, and of self-interest. “Oh, 235 if I did, I foully belied him! May God so judge me, as I be- lieve he was never privy to a thought that would harm me.” “Woman!” said Elizabeth, “I will know who has moved thee to this; or my wrath—and the wrath of kings is a flaming tire—shall wither and consume thee like a weed in 240 the furnace.” As the Queen uttered this threat, Leicester’s better angel called his pride to his aid, and reproached him with the utter extremity of meanness which would overwhelm him for ever, if he stooped to take shelter under the generous 245 interposition of his wife, and abandoned her in return for her kindness, to the resentment of the Queen. He had already raised his head with the dignity of a man of honour to avow his marriage, and proclaim himself the protector of his Countess, when Varney, born, as it appeared, to be his 250 master’s evil genius, rushed into the presence, with every mark of disorder on his face and apparel, exclaiming, ‘Pardon, my Liege, pardon! or at least let your justice avenge itself on me, where it is due; but spare my noble, my generous, my innocent patron and master !” 255 Amy, who was yet kneeling, started up as she saw the man whom she deemed most odious place himself so near her, and besought of her Majesty to cause her to be im- prisoned in the lowest dungeon of the Castle, to deal with her as the worst of criminals; “but spare,” she exclaimed, 260 ‘‘my sight and hearing, what will destroy the little judgment I have left—the sight of that unutterable and most shameless villain !” “ Beshrew me, but I think thou art distraught already,” answered the Queen. ‘‘ My Lord Hunsdon, leok to this 265 poor distressed young woman, and let her be safely bestowed, and in honest keeping, till we require her to be forthcoming.”CHARTER 3 - was not till after a long and successful morning’s sport, and a prolonged repast which followed the return of the Queen to the Castle, that Leicester at length found himself with Amy. “Dudley !” she exclaimed, ‘Dudley! and art thou come 5 at last?” And with the speed of lightning she flew to her husband, clung around his neck, and overwhelmed him with caresses, while she bathed his face in a flood of tears. He received and repaid her caresses with fondness, mingled with melancholy, the last of which she seemed scarcely to 10 observe, until the first transport of her own JOy was over; when, looking anxiously in his face, she asked if he was ill. ‘Alas, Amy,” said Leicester, “thou hast undone me!” “I, my lord?” said Amy, her cheek at once losing its 15 transient flush of joy, “how could I injure that which I love better than myself?” ‘I would not upbraid you, Amy,” replied the Earl ; “but are you not here contrary to my express commands—and does not your presence here endanger both yourself and 20 me ?” ‘Does it, does it indeed!” she exclaimed eagerly; “then why am I here a moment longer? Oh, if you knew by what fears I was urged to quit Cumnor Place !—but I will say nothing of myself—only that if it might be otherwise, I 25 would not willingly return thither ,—yet if it concern your safety e “We will think, Amy, of some other retreat,” said rs a 1 * a ree 4 ree ne nary aa art —— ors ra may or}ataty ae Poe toa eo BR ieee sh babes ashok dL ikl 72 KENILWORTH. Leicester, ‘and you shall go to one of my northern castles, 30 under the personage—it will be but needful, I trust, for a very few days—of Varney’s wife.” “How, my Lord of Leicester!” said the lady, disengaging herself from his embraces; “is it to your wife you give the dishonourable counsel to acknowledge herself the bride of 35 another—and of all men, the bride of that Varney ?” “Madam, I speak it in earnest—Varney is my true and faithful servant, trusted in my deepest secrets. I had better lose my right hand than his service at this moment. You have no cause to scorn him as you do.” 40 There was a dead pause. Leicester stood displeased, yet undetermined, and too concious of the weakness of his cause. It was then that the Countess Amy displayed, in the midst of distress and difficulty, the natural energy of character, which would have rendered her, had fate allowed, a dis- 45 tinguished ornament of the rank which she held. ‘Take your ill-fated wife,” she said, “by the hand, lead her to the footstool of Elizabeth’s throne. Say that, ‘in a moment of infatuation, moved by supposed beauty, of which none perhaps can now trace even the remains, I gave my hand to 50 this Amy Robsart.’ You will then have done justice to me, my lord, and to your own honour ; and should law or power require you to part from me, I will oppose no ob) ection—since I may then with honour hide a grieved and broken heart in those shades from which your love withdrew me. Then— 55 have but a little patience, and Amy’s life will not long darken your brighter prospects.” There was so much of dignity, so much of tenderness, in the Countess’s remonstrance, that it moved all that was noble and generous in the soul of her husband. The scales seemed 60 to fall from his eyes, and the duplicity and tergiversation of which he had been guilty stung him at once with remorse and shame, 8KENILWORTH. 73 “T am not worthy of you, Amy,” he said. “ But it is impossible. You know not the Queen. Farewell, Amy, whom I am to vindicate as mine own, at an expense and risk 65 of which thou alone couldst be worthy. You shall soon hear farther from me.” In the Earl’s cabinet, Varney made a last effort to turn his master from the course which would have ruined his own hopes. With seeming reluctance he told the Karl of / Tressilian’s visit to Cumnor, of Amy’s flight under his protection, and of his finding her in Tressilian’s room ; and so did he twist these, “ trifies light as air” that Leicester was firmly convinced of her guilt, and swore that she should die the death of a traitress. 75 “T must crave your signet-ring,” said Varney gravely, “in token to those of your servants whom I must employ, that I possess your full authority in commanding their aid.” Leicester drew off the signet-ring which he commonly used, and gave it to Varney with a haggard and stern 80 expression of countenance, adding only, in a low, half- whispered tone, but with terrific emphasis, the words, ‘© What thou dost, do quickly.” Some anxiety and wonder took place, meanwhile, in the Presence-hall, at the prolonged absence of the noble lord of 85 the Castle, and great was the delight of his friends, when they saw him enter as a man from whose bosom, to all human seeming, a weight of care had been just removed. The music had sounded when Leicester felt himself pulled by the cloak, while a voice whispered in his ear, 90 “My lord, I do desire some instant conference with you.” “Who are you, or what do you want with me?” said Leicester, not without betraying, by his accents, the hurried state of his spirits. ‘‘Edmund Tressilian of Cornwall,” answered the mask. 95 “My tongue has been bound by a promise for four-and- ~ oO Ne teearer coeeeegpatasa pact — os on. = 7 es ee ot + os — ee. os rr ‘= = —s . t =oe we aa = eS ¥, ee a A a 7A KENILWORTH. twenty hours. The space is passed—I now speak, and do your lordship the justice to address myself first to you. May I wait on you in your chamber?” 100 =“ No,” answered Leicester sternly, “not under a roof, and that roof mine own. Meet me in the Pleasance, when the Queen has retired to her chamber.” When the testivities of the day were over, Leicester’s direction to the valet who attended him was to send 105 Varney instantly to his apartment. The messenger returned after some delay, and informed him that an hour had elapsed since Sir Richard Varney had left the Castle, by the postern- gate, with three other persons, one of whom was transported in a horse-litter.” 110 ‘*How came he to leave the Castle after the watch was set?” said Leicester. “I thought he went not till daybreak.” “He gave satisfactory reasons, as I understand,” said the domestic, “to the guard, and, as I hear, shewed your lordship’s signet $3 115 ‘ True—true,” said the Earl; ‘yet he has been hasty, Do any of his attendants remain behind?” “Michael Lambourne, my lord,” said the valet, “was not to be found when Sir Richard Varney departed, and his master was much incensed at his absence. I saw him but 120 now saddling his horse to gallop after his master.” ‘Bid him come hither instantly,” said Leicester, “I have a message to his master.” Lhe servant left the apartment, and Leicester traversed it for some time in deep meditation. 125 He then seized upon writing materials, and hastily traced these words :—‘‘Sir Richard Varney, we have resolved to defer the matter intrusted to your care, and strictly com- mand you to proceed no farther in relation to our Countess, 139 until our farther order. We also command your instant return to Kenilworth, as soon as you have safely bestowedKENILWORTH. 75 that with which you are intrusted. But if the safe-placing of your present charge shall detain you longer than we think for, we command you, in that case, to send back our signet-ring by a trusty and speedy messenger, we having 135 present need of the same. And requiring your strict obedience in these things, and commending you to God’s keeping, we rest your assured good friend and master, “RR. LEICESTER. “Given at our Castle of Kenilworth, the tenth of July, 140 in the year of Salvation one thousand five hundred and seventy-five.” When Leicester had finished and sealed this mandate, he entered the superb precincts of the Pleasance, then illumined by the full moon, when, turning to look back towards the 145 entrance, he saw a human form advancing slowly from the portico. “Shall I strike ere I again hear his detested voice?” was Leicester’s thought, as he grasped the hilt of his sword. ‘But no! I will see which way his vile practice tends. I 150 will watch, disgusting as it is, the coils and mazes of the loathsome snake, ere I put forth my strength and crush him.” ‘Tressilian made a profound reverence, to which the Earl replied with a haughty inclination of the head, and the 155 words, “You sought secret conference with me, sir; I am here and attentive.” ‘“‘T will speak, then, without farther prelude, my lord. I have to request an account from your lordship of the un- happy Amy Robsart, whose history is too well known to 160 you. “The unhappy young woman is withdrawn from my knowledge, and sequestered in some secret place of this Castle ; if she be not transferred to some place of seclusion better fitted for bad designs. 165 PR PR TERE ee Pee TERE te eee Ea Oe eae aoe tate ge ee aes se Medco SSL op Gporks hoe fa pt Pe OROOTE TRAM EGT bale er okra 8: rors coat —- ard Ped “4 oo a ra as S — ae v ot a 2 ae J aes as - +4 C Lg =76 KENILWORTH. “This must be reformed, my lord—I speak it as a ized by her father—and this ill-fated marriage mus avouched and proved in the Queen’s presence, and the .*ly placed without restraint, and at her own free disposal. And, 170 permit me to say, it concerns no one’s honour that these most just demands of mine should be complied with, so much as it does that of your lordship.” The Earl stood as if he had been petrified, at the extreme coolness with which the man, whom he considered as having 175 injured him so deeply, pleaded the cause of his Countess. “T have heard you, Master Tressilian,” said he, “ without interruption, and I bless God that my ears were never before made to tingle by the words of so frontless a villain. The task of chastising you is fitter for the hangman’s 180 scourge than the sword of a nobleman, but yet, ‘Villain, draw and defend thyself!” He had withdrawn his arm for the purpose of striking the fatal blow, when it was suddenly seized from behind. The Earl turned in wrath to shake off the unexpected 185 obstacle, but was surprised to find that a strange-looking boy had hold of his sword-arm, and clung to it with such tenacity of grasp, that he could not shake him off without a considerable struggle. “Let me go,” said Leicester, “or, by heaven, I will pierce 190 thee with my rapier! What hast thou to do to bar’my way to revenge 4” “Much, much!” exclaimed the undaunted boy; “since my folly has been the cause of these bloody quarrels between you, and perchance of worse evils.” 195 While he spoke in this eager and earnest manner he held up to Leicester a packet, secured with a long tress of woman’s hair, of a beautiful light-brown colour. Ths Earl snatched the letter from his hand, changed colour as he looked on the superscription, undid with faltering fi beKENILWORTH. 4 hand the knot which secured it, glanced over the contents, 200 and, staggering back, would have fallen had he not rested against the trunk of a tree. The letter dropped from Leicester’s hand when he had perused it. ‘Take my sword,” he said, “Tressilian, and pierce my heart, as I would but now have pierced yours!” 205 ‘“My lord,” said Tressilian, “‘you have done me great wrong; but something within my breast ever whispered that it was by egregious error.” ‘“Eyror, indeed,” said Leicester, and handed him the letter. ‘I have been made to believe a man of honour a 210 villain, and the best and purest of creatures a false profligate. Wretched boy, why comes this letter now, and where has the bearer lingered ?” “T dare not tell you, my lord,” said the boy, withdrawing, as if to keep beyond his reach; “but here comes one who 215 was the messenger.” Wayland at the same moment came up; and, interrogated by Leicester, hastily detailed all the circumstances of his escape with Amy, the fatal practices which had driven her to flight, and her anxious desire to throw herself under the 220 instant protection of her husband, pointing out the evidence of the domestics of Kenilworth, “who could not,” he observed, “but remember her eager inquiries after the Earl of Leicester on her first arrival.” “The villains!” exclaimed Leicester; “but oh, that 225 worst of villains, Varney! and she is even now in his power!” “But not, I trust in God,” said Tressilian, “with any commands of fatal import?” “No, no, no!” exclaimed the Earl hastily. “I said 230 something in madness; but it was recalled, fully recalled, by a hasty messenger; and she is now—she must now be safe,” ey a \ ea ns oe red “= — ran C4 os ~~ ot 1 os ef rt a os = ae <> a ed te4 : re « +ee xe oo ba F a 2; i | Fo S 78 KENILWORTH. “Yes,” said Tressilian, ‘‘she must be safe, and I must be 235 assured of her safety. My own quarrel with you is ended, my lord; but there is another to begin with the deceiver of Amy Robsart, who has screened his guilt under the cloak of the infamous Varney.” “The deceiver of Amy!” replied Leicester, with a voice 240 like thunder; “say her husband! her misguided, blinded, most unworthy husband! She is as surely Countess of Leicester as I am belted Earl. To Elizabeth herself will | tell it, and then for Cumnor Place with the speed of life and death !” 245 So saying, he unbound his horse from the tree, threw himself into the saddle, and rode at full gallop towards the Castle. “Take me before you, Master Tressilian,” said the boy. seeing Tressilian mount in the same haste. “ My tale is not 250 all told out, and I need your protection.” Tressilian complied, and followed the Earl, though at a less furious rate,RS I IF LE Te TT TTT CHAPTER XI. A® Tressilian rode along the bridge lately the scene of so : much riotous sport, he could not but observe that men’s countenances had singularly changed during the space of his brief absence. ‘““Why, what is the matter?” said Tressilian. 5 “Why, no one knows the matter,” replied Blount. “Only my Lord of Leicester has galloped along the bridge, as if he would have rode over all in his passage, demanded an audience of the Queen, and is closeted even now with her, and Burleigh, and Walsingham, and you are called for; but 10 whether the matter be treason, or worse, no one knows.” On hearing this Tressilian followed Raleigh hastily, leaving honest Blount with the bridle of his horse in one hand, and the boy in the other. Blount gave a long look after him. ‘“Nobody,” he said, “calls me to these mysteries. And 15 he leaves me here to play horse-keeper and child-keeper at once. I could excuse the one, for I love a good horse naturally; but to be plagued with a bratchet whelp. Whence come ye, my fair-favoured little gossip?” “From the Fens,” answered the boy. 20 ‘And what didst thou learn there, forward imp 2” “To catch gulls, with their webbed feet and yellow stock- ings,” said the boy. “Umph !” said Blount, looking down on his own immense roses. ‘‘ Nay, then the devil take him asks thee more 25 questions.” Upon entrance Tressilian found himself, not without a strong palpitation of heart, in the presence of Elizabeth, HeaEH Ohaeee? Saabs Pgserece vt nevevens test ge NeKEN) tei eivnele Paretars Manse toto pt geanass cs + Es ~ pee 4 er ceed as 3 pie Bs 3 :Ls * 4 | hs : 3 a = e = pe B RS + i ns mm * i £ te io i 3 a J £: 7 be Re 2 Pa te oe = be a fr»: se ae a6 he ae pe a oe sae a rs Ro=d ap 7 pos 80 KENILWORTH. who was walking to and fro in a violent agitation, which 30 she seemed to scorn to conceal. “Ho, sir!” said the Queen, coming close up to Tressilian, and stamping on the floor with the action and manner of Henry himself; “you knew of this fair work—you are an accomplice in this deception which has been practised on 35 us—you have been a main cause of our doing injustice ?” Tressiiian dropped on his knee before the Queen, his sense showing him the risk of attempting any defence at that moment of irritation. “Art dumb, sirrah!” she continued , “thou knowest of this affair, dost thou not?” 40 ‘Not, gracious madam, that this poor lady was Countess of Leicester.” “Nor shall anyone know her for such,” said Elizabeth. “Death of my life! Countess of Leicester! I say Dame Amy Dudley—and well if she hath not cause to write 45 herself widow of the traitor Robert Dudley.” Burleigh here ventured to interpose. “Madam,” he said, “remember that you are a Queen— Queen of England—mother of your people. Give not way to this wild storm of passion.” 50 Elizabeth turned round to him, while a tear actually twinkled in her proud and angry eye. “Burleigh,” she said, “thou art a statesman—thou dost not, thou canst not, comprehend half the scorn—half the misery, that man has poured on me!” 5z With the utmost caution—with the deepest reverence, Burleigh took her hand at the moment he saw her heart was at the fullest, and led her aside to an oriel window, apart from the others. “Madam,” he said, ‘I am a statesman, but I am also a GO man—a man already grown old in your councils, who have not and cannot have a wish on earth but your glory and happiness—I pray you to be composed.”3 “star Leg! . “ , q Pe retates Ctrtrs i tank 35. KENILWORTH. 81 **Ah, Burleigh,” said Elizabeth, “thou little knowest ”— here her tears fell over her cheeks in despite of her. ‘““T do—I do know, my honoured sovereign. Oh, beware 65 that you lead not others to guess that which they know not !” “What, my lord?” said Elizabeth haughtily, ‘would you too insinuate that the favour in which I held yonder proud traitor, derived its source from aught—” But here she could 70 no longer sustain the proud tone which she had assumed, and again softened as she said, ‘‘ But why should I strive to deceive even thee, my good and wise servant?” Burleigh stooped to kiss her hand with affection, and— rare in the annals of courts—a tear of true sympathy 75 dropped from the eye of the minister on the hand of his Sovereign. She turned from Burleigh, and sternly paced the hall till her features had recovered their usual dignity, and her mien its wonted stateliness of regular motion. She then seated 80 herself in her chair, and said, ““You, Tressilian, step forward, and say what you know.” She paused when he had finished his tale. “We will take that Wayland,” she said, ‘into our own service, and place the boy in our Secretary-office for in- 85 struction, that he may in future use discretion towards letters. My Lord of Leicester, it is now your turn to tell us the truth, an exercise to which you seem of late to have been too much a stranger.” Accordingly, she extorted, by successive questions, the 90 whole history of his first acquaintance with Amy Robsart— their marriage—his jealousy—the causes on which it was founded, and many particulars besides. Leicester’s confession, for such it might be called, was wrenched from him piecemeal, yet was upon the whole 95 accurate, excepting that he totally omitted to mention that F ~ 3 ot es a te! ome ig eee s eet ae | er: pest er a pes 4 3 r4 ans rs 4 re wart. te i os rs a eet 5 34 eo ks 0 oe >a ps os 82 KENILWORTH. he had, by implication or otherwise, assented to Varncy’s designs upon the life of his Countess. Yet the conscious- ness of this was what at that moment lay nearest to his 100 heart; and although he trusted in great measure to the very positive counter-orders which he had sent by Lambourne, it was his purpose to set out for Cumnor Place, in person, as soon as he should be dismissed from the presence of the Queen, who, he concluded, would presently leave Kenilworth. 105 But the Earl reckoned without his host. It is true, his presence and his communications were gall and wormwood to his once partial mistress. But, barred from every other and more direct mode of revenge, the Queen perceived that she gave her false suitor torture by these inquiries, and 110 dwelt on them for that reason, no more regarding the pain which she herself experienced, than the savage cares for the searing of his own hands by grasping the hot pincers with which he tears the flesh of his captive enemy. At length, however, the haughty lord, like a deer that 115 turns to bay, gave intimation that his patience was failing. “Madam,” he said, “I have been much to blame; more than even your just resentment has expressed. Yet, madam, let me say, that my guilt, if it be unpardonable, was not unprovoked ; and that, if beauty and condescending dignity 120 could seduce the frail heart of a human being, I might plead both as the causes of my concealing this secret from your Majesty.” The Queen was so much struck by this reply, which Leicester took care should be heard by no one but herself, 125 that she was for the moment silenced, and the Earl had the temerity to pursue his advantage. ‘Your Grace, who has pardoned so much, will excuse my throwing myself on your royal mercy for those expressions, which were yester-morning accounted but a light offence.” 180 The Queen fixed her eyes on him while she replied,KENILWORTH. 83 “Now, by Heaven, my lord, thy effrontery passes the bounds of belief, as well as patience! But it shall avail thee nothing. What, ho! my lords, come all and hear the news. My Lord of Leicester's stolen marriage has cost me a nuspand, and England a King. His lordship is patriarchal in his tastes; one wife at a time was insufficient, and he dergned us the honour of his left hand. Now, is not this too insolent, that I could not grace him with a few marks of court-favour, but he must presume to think my hand and crown at his disposal? You, however, think better of me; and I can pity this ambitious man, as | could a child, whose bubble of soap has burst between his hands. We go to the presence-chamber. My Lord of Leicester, we command your close attendance on us.” All was eager expectation in the hall, and what was the universal astonishment when the Queen said to those next her. “The revels of Kenilworth are not yet exhausted, my lords and ladies—we are to solemnize the noble owner's marriage.” There was a universal expression of surprise. “Tt is true, on our royal word,” said the Queen, “he hath kept this a secret even from us, that he might surprise us with it at this very place and time. I see you are dying of curiosity to know the happy bride. It is Amy Robsart, the same who, to make up the May-game yesterday, figured in the pageant as the wife of his servant Varney.” “For God’s sake, madam,” said the Earl, approaching her with a mixture of humility, vexation, and shame in his countenance, and speaking so low as to be heard by no one else, “take my head, as you threatened in your anger, and spare me these taunts! Urge nota falling man—tread not on a crushed worm.” “A worm, my lord?” said the Queen, in the same tone, “nay, a snake is the nobler reptile, and the more exact 135 14C 150 155 16Caa ra ae 3 $ ee 4 aa cues 0c5 LD LARD EIPaE SPSS Se eS REESE 84 KENILWORTH. 165 similitude—the frozen snake you wot of, which was warmed in a certain bosom 2 ‘For your own sake—for mine, madam,” said the Earl, ‘while there is yet some reason left in me - ‘Speak aloud, my lord,” said Elizabeth, “and at farther 170 distance, so please you—your breath thaws our ruff. What have you to ask of us?” “Permission,” said the unfortunate Earl humbly, “to travel to Cumnoi Place.” “To fetch home your bride belike? Why, ay, that is 175 but right; for, as we have heard, she is indifferently cared for there. But, my lord, you go not im person. Tressilian shall go to Cumnor Place instead of you, and with him some gentleinan who hath been sworn of our chamber, lest my Lord of Leicester should be again jealous of his old 180 rival. Whom wouldst thou have to be in commission with thee, Tressilian 4” Tressilian, with humble deference, suggested’ the name of Raleigh. “Why, ay,” said the Queen; “so God ha’ me, thou hast . 185 made a good choice. Take a sufficient force with you, gentlemen—bring the lady here in all honour—lose no time, and God be with you!” They bowed and left the presence.CHAPTER, XAT. E are now to return to that part of our story where we intimated that Varney, possessed of the authority of the Earl of Leicester, and of the Queen’s permission to the same effect, hastened to secure himself against discovery of his perfidy, by removing the Countess from Kenilworth 5 Castle. The horror of Amy may be conceived, when, starting from a broken slumber, she saw at her bedside Varney, the man on earth she most feared and hated. It was even a consolation to see that he was not alone, though she had 10 so much reason to dread his sullen companion, Anthony Foster. “ Madam,” said Varney, “there is no time for ceremony. My Lord of Leicester, having fully considered the exigencies of the time, sends you his orders i::smediately to accompany 15 us on our return to Cumnor Place. See, here is his signet, in token of his instant and pressing commande ” ‘Tt is false!” said the Countess; “thou kast stolen the warrant—thou, who art capable of every villainy, from the blackest to the basest !” 20 “Tt is TRUE, madam,” replied Varney; “so true, that if you do not instantly arise and prepare to attend us, we must compel you to obey our orders.” Weeping, trembling, and praying, the unfortunate lady dressed herself, with sensations how different from the days 25 in which she was wont to decorate herself in all the pride of conscious beauty! She endeavoured to delay the completing her dress as long as she could, until, terrifiedea ie ‘< F r e; : fs 2, a a 2 Ea ei 12 Les Pe 23 ae, nee crs fone shy TA KENILWORTH, by tks impatience of Varney, she was obliged to declare 80 herself ready to attend them. But ten miles of their journey had been measured ere Varney heard the hasty clatter of horses’ hoofs behind him, and was overtaken by Michael Lambourne. Fretted as he was with his absence, Varney received his 85 profligate servant with a rebuke of unusual_ bitterness. “Drunken villain,” he said, “thy idleness and debauched folly will stretch a halter ere it be long; and, for me, I care not how soon !” ‘Look you, Sir Richard, and so forth,” said Michael, “I 40 know my lord’s mind on this matter better than thou, for he hath trusted me fully in the matter, Here are his mandates, and his last words were ‘ Michael Lambourne’?— for his lordship speaks to me as a gentleman of the sword. and useth not the words ‘drunken villain,’ or such-lil 45 phrases of those who know not how to bear new dignities— ‘Varney,’ says he, ‘must pay the utmost respect to my Countess—I trust you for looking to it, Lambourne,’ says Ce K his lordship, ‘and you must bring back my signet from him peremptorily.’” bo | Ay,” replied Varney, “said he so, indeed? You know all, then 2” “* All—ali—and_ you were as wise to make a friend of me while the weather is fair betwixt us,” ‘And was there no one present,” said Varney, “w 55 lord so spoke ?” “Not a breathing creature,” replied Lambourne, “ Think you my lord would trust any one with such matters, save approved man of action like myself ?” “Most true,” said Varney. hen my an “And will you turn upon 60 your master, who has introduced you to this career of court- like favour, whose apprentice you have been, Michael, who has taught you the depths and shallows of court intrigue ?”KENILWORTH, 87 ‘Michael not me!” said Lambourne, “I have a name will brook a master before it as well as another ; and as to the rest, if 1 have been an apprentice, my indenture is out, and 65 1 am resolute to set up for myself.” “Take thy quittance first, thou fool!” said Varney; and with a pistol, which he had for some time held in his hand, shot Lambourne through the body. The remainder of the journey was made with a degree of 70 speed, which shewed the little care they had for the health of the unhappy Countess. When they had arrived at Cumnor Place, the Countess asked eagerly for Janet, and showed much alarm when informed that she was no longer to have the attendance of 75 that amiable girl. But being much fatigued and greatly terrified by the circumstances of her journey, she silenced her terrors, and mildly expressed a wish to retire to her chamber. “Ay, ay,” muttered Foster, “’tis but reasonable; but, 80 under favour, you go not to your gew-gaw toy-house yonder —you will sleep to-night in better security.” ‘I would it were in my grave,” said the Countess + “but that mortal feelings shiver at the idea of soul and body parting.” 85 “You, I guess, have no chance to shiver at that,” replied Foster. ‘My lord comes hither to-morrow, and doubtless you will make your own ways good with him.” “But does he come hither? does he indeed, good Foster?” “Oh, ay,” replied the other. ‘But will you taste any 90 refreshment ?” “Qh no, no—my chamber, my chamber, I trust,” she said, apprehensively, “I may secure it on the inside?” “With all my heart,” answered F oster, “so I may secure it on the outside ;” and taking a light, he led the way to 9 a part of the building where Amy had never been, andA Fa = rue be “se ra = 5 i eS ol 2; += ‘ a o> Pa ae ee ar bra t pe arn ee - mee b ran & er =; fete r 24 +. +--+ a 88 KENILWORTH. conducted her up a stair of great height, preceded by one of the old women with a lamp. At the head of the stair, which seemed of almost immeasurable height, they crossed 100 a short wooden gallery, formed of black oak, and very narrow, at the farther end of which was a strong oaken door, which opened and admitted them into the miser’s apartment. Varney, meanwhile, had lurked behind on the stairs; but 105 hearing the door barred, he now came up on tiptoe, and Foster, winking to him, pointed with self-complacence to a piece of concealed machinery in the wall, which, playing with much ease and little noise, dropped a part of the wooden gallery, after the manner of a drawbridge, so as to 110 cut off all communication between the door of the bedroom, which he usually inhabited, and the landing-place of the high winding-stair which ascended to it. The rope by which this machinery was wrought was generally carried within the bedchamber, it being Foster’s object to provide against 115 invasion :from without; but now that it was intended to secure the prisoner within the cord had been brought over to the landing-place, and was there made fast, when Foster, with much complacency, had dropped the un- sus}ected trap-door. 120 Varney looked with great attention at the machinery, and peeped more than once down the abyss which was opened by the fall of the trap-door. It was dark as pitch, and seemed profoundly deep, going, as l’oster informed his confederate in a whisper, nigh to the lowest vault of the ‘25 castle. Varney cast once more a fixed and long look down into this sable gulf, and then followed Foster to the part of the manor-house most usually inhabited. When they. arrived in the parlour, he said, ‘I will teach thee a springe, Tony, to catch a pewit. Yonder trap- 130 door, yonder gimcrack of thine, will remain secure inKENILWORTH. 89 appearance, will it not, though the supports are withdrawn beneath ¢” ““Ay, marry, will it,” said Foster, ‘so long as it is not trodden on.” ‘““But were the lady to attempt an escape over it,” replied 135 Varney, “her weight would carry it down.” “‘ A mouse’s weight would do it,” said Foster. ‘““ Why, then, she dies in attempting her escape, and what could you or I help it, honest Tony? Let us to bed, we will adjust our project to-morrow.” 140 On the next day, when evening approached, Varney summoned Foster to the execution of their plan. Tider and Foster’s old man-servant were sent on a feigned errand down to the village, and Anthony himself, as if anxious to see that the Countess suffered no want of accommodation, visited 145 her place of confinement. He was so much staggered at the mildness and patience with which she seemed to endure her confinement, that he could not help earnestly recom- mending to her not to cross the threshold of her room on any account whatever, until Lord Leicester should come, 150 “Which,” he added, “I trust in God, will be very soon.” He left, therefore, the Countess’s door unsecured on the outside, and, under the eye of Varney, withdrew the supports which sustained the falling trap, which, therefore, kept its level position merely by a slight adhesion. They 155 withdrew to await the issue on the ground-floor adjoining, but they waited long in vain. “Perhaps she is resolved,” said Foster, “to await her husband’s return.” “True! most true,” said Varney, rushing out, “TI had not 160 thought of that before.” In less than two minutes, Foster, who remained behind. heard the tread of a horse in the courtyard, and then a whistle similar to that which was the Karl’s usual signal ; Py, ae eee ee a BETE PEC ECoG te abe: Pa be Get Cet sure rises ost sue l soe ee re 4 z ee re we) o—} ey | a § > os rea 4 mer os © < .“3 sesls53 012 40¢) GPSESIESSRS DOPE SOUS EO ARSE OSE go KENILWORTH. 165 the instant after the door of the Countess’s chamber opened, and in the same moment the trap-door gave way. There was a rushing sound, a heavy fall, a faint groan, and all was over. At the same instant, Varney called in at the window, in 170 an accent and tone which was an indescribable mixture betwixt horror and raillery, “Is the bird caught? is the deed done ¢” “O God, forgive us!” replied Anthony Foster. “Why, thou fool,” so’ Varney, “thy toil is ended, and 175 thy reward secure. Look down into the vault—what seest thou?” “T see only a heap of white clothes, like a snow-drift,” said Foster. ‘‘O God, she moves her arm!” “Hurl something down on her. Thy gold chest, Tony, it 180 is a heavy one.” “Varney, thou art an incarnate fiend!” replied Foster. ‘There needs nothing more; she is gone!” But their wickedness was to be permitted no longer; for, even while they were at this consultation, Tressilian and 185 Raleigh broke in upon them, having obtained admittance by means of Tider and Fostcr’s servant, whom they ‘had secured at the village. Anthony Foster fled on their entrance; and, knowing each corner and pass of the intricate old house, escaped all 190 search. But Varney was teken on the spot; and, instead of expressing compunction for what he had done, seemed to take a fiendish pleasure in pointing out to them the remains of the murdered Countess, while at the same time he defied them to show that he had any share in her death. 195 Twas not born,” he said, “to drag on the remainder of life a degraded outcast—nor will I so die, that my fate shall make a holiday to the vulgar herd.” From these words it was apprehended he had some designKENILWORTH. or upon himself, and he was carefully deprived of all means by which such could be carried into execution. But, like 200 some of the heroes of antiquity, he carried about his person a, small quantity of strong poison. Having swallowed this potion over-night, he was found next morning dead in his cell; nor did he appear to have suffered much agony, his countenance presenting, even in death, the habitual expres- 205 sion of sneering sarcasm, which was predominant while he lived. ‘‘The wicked man,” saith Scripture, “hath no bonds in his death.” The fate of his colleague in wickedness was long unknown. Cumnor Place was deserted immediately after the murder ; 210 for, in the vicinity of what was called the Lady Dudley’s Chamber, the domestics pretended to hear groans, and screams, and other supernatural noises. After a certain length of time, Janet, hearing no tidings of her father, became the uncontrolled mistress of his property, and con- 215 ferred it with her hand upon Wayland, now a man of settled character, and holding a place in Elizabeth’s house- hold. But it was after they had been both dead for some years, that their eldest son and heir, in making some re- searches about Cumnor Hall, discovered a secret passage, 220 closed by an iron door, which descended to a sort of cell, in which they found an iron chest containing a quantity of gold, and a human skeleton stretched above it. Unquestion- ably the groans and screams heard by the domestics were not entirely imaginary, but were those of this wretch, who, 225 in his agony, was crying for relief and succour. The news of the Countess’s dreadful fate put a sudden period to the pleasures of Kenilworth. Leicester retired from court, and for a considerable time abandoned himself to his remorse. The Queen at length recalled him to court ; 23¢@ he was once more distinguished as a statesman and favourite, and the rest of his career is well known to history. But% 3 S & 3h be ed 4 , A & ie ap ae os hy a 92 KENILWORTH. there was something retributive in his death, if, according to an account very generally received, it took place from his 235 swallowing a draught of poison which was designed by him for another person. Sir Hugh Robsart died very soon after his daughter, having settled his estate on Tressilian. But neither the prospect of rural independence, nor the promises of favour 240 which Elizabeth held out to induce him to follow the court, could remove his profound melancholy. Wherever he went he seemed to see before him the disfigured corpse of the early and only object of his affection. At length, having made provision for the maintenance of the old friends and 245 old servants who formed Sir Hugh’s family at Lidcote Hall, he himself embarked with his friend Raleigh for the Virginia expedition, and, young in years but old in grief, died before his day in that foreign land. Of inferior persons it is only necessary to say, that 250 Blount’s wit grew brighter as his yellow roses faded; that, doing his part as a brave commander in the wars, he was much more in his element than during the short period of his following the court; and that Flibbertigibbet’s acute genius raised him to favour and distinction, in the employ- 255 ment both of Burleigh and Walsingham.NOTES CHAPTER I. Tue story opens in the year 1575. The Black Bear still exists at Cumnor; and the “large low chamber,” with its panelled walls, still answers to Scott’s description. 22 ‘Sack. Any dry wine, as sherry sack, Madeira sack, Canary sack, &c. A corruption of the Fr. sec, dry. 26 ‘Eldorado.’ A land of unbounded wealth. Orellana, lieutenant of Pizarro, pretended he had discovered a land of gold (e/ dorado) between the Orinoco and Amazon. 29 ‘Pantiles.’ Tiles witha curved surface. 35 ‘Pays his shot.’ Pays his bill. Scot—= payment, as in scot-free. 85 ‘Reeve.’ Steward, bailiff. The word still exists in sher7ff= shire-reeve. 86 ‘Precisian.’ A contemptuous name for the precise Puritans. 106 ‘Coil,’ Bustle=make suck a fuss about. 132 ‘Hollands.’ Linen, so called because it was sent to Holland to be bleached. ‘Angels.’ Gold coins worth I0s.; 80 called because they bore the figure of Michael slaying the dragon. CuaPTeErR II. 47 ‘Ingle.’ The ingle-nook is the chimney-corner; hence ingle means a familiar friend. Connected with the Latin %gvis, fire. 56 ‘Voto a Dios,’ I swear to God. A Spanish oath. 61 Criminals were hanged at Tyburn, on the then outskirts of London. 73 ‘A Corinthian.” A dissolute fellow. Cf. 1 Henry IV. ii. 4, “1 am no proud Jack, like Falstaff, but a Corinthian.” 173 ‘Costard.” An apple. Cf. costard- or coster-monger, a seller of apples. When used contemptuously, as here, it means the head. Pe rt Pe ee ea a Yr Cl Ne ee er reed ae ee ee eae ee wl eh Oe tar TEE Ee at a Pil TL Oe SSL SS ee ee a ea tO RIPE ee et Pel PEL RET ETP LES ET et94 KENILWORTH. CHAPTER III. 164 ‘Cymar.’ A long, loose robe. From Ital. stmarra, a nightdress, CHAPTER IV. I ‘Woodstock.’ In Oxfordshire. An ancient possession of the crown of England. It was given to Marlborough for his victory over the French at Blenheim, 1704. 50 “Wayland Smith.’ Sir W. Scott’s note is as follows: “ The great defeat given by Alfred to the Danish invaders is said to have taken place near Ashdown, in Berkshire, ‘The burial-place of Baereg the Danish chief, who was slain in this fight, is distinguished by a parcel of stones, set on edge, enclosing a piece of ground somewhat raised. On the east side of the southern extremity stand three squarish flat stones, of about 4 or 5 ft. over either way, supporting a fourth, and now called by the vulgar Wayland Smith, from an idle tradition about an invisible smith replacing lost horse-shoes there,’ ” CHAPTER V. 3 ‘Sussex,’ the rival of Lord Leicester, married a sister of Sir Henry Sidney (father of Sir Philip), who founded Sidney Sussex College, Cambridge. 35 ‘Demetrius Alasco’ is the Dr. Julio whom Leicester is supposed to have brought from ae to instruct him in the art of poisoning. His victims appeared to die of natural diseases. 24€ ‘Leech.’