It was a fine clear morning in September, when, mounted on a powerful horse, and quite alone, William Seymour began his journey towards Buckinghamshire. Seldom were more joyful feelings in the heart of any one; he was going to unite for ever his fate to her he loved best on earth; nothing had occurred to interrupt his proceedings; the eyes of policy seemed blinded; the very prying spirit of courtly scandal had not penetrated his secret. All his preparations were made. The ring upon the finger, and the benediction of the Church, was all that was wanted to render Arabella his own. On, on he sped, then, with an eager spur, and with little apprehension of meeting any one who was likely to carry intelligence of his journey to the Court, which had now removed to Greenwich.
Taking the shortest way as it then lay, he crossed the Thames by the Horseferry,--which, at that time, existed about a mile beyond Sunbury,--recrossed it again some miles higher up, and then spurred on into Buckinghamshire through the deep beech woods, whose green leaves were beginning to show the bronzing hand of time. He did not now approach the house of Lord Shrewsbury from the side of the river, but passing by Burnham and Hedsor, took a circuit round towards the great gates of the park.
He was still about a mile distant, and the day had not yet reached the tenth hour, when he observed a man on horseback, apparently looking out for something in one of the neighbouring woods, about a quarter of a mile in advance. Taking it for one of the keepers watching the game, he rode on at the same quick pace; but the moment after, the person whom he had perceived put his horse into a quick trot, and advanced towards him.
The figure was familiar to his eye, and in a minute after, as they approached nearer to each other, Seymour recognised Sir Harry West. An undefined feeling of apprehension seized upon him; though he had expected to find the old knight at Malvoisie; for it had been agreed that he should be invited to act as father to the bride, as the Earl of Shrewsbury declined to take any part in the business. But then, what brought him out at that early hour, if nothing had gone wrong? and the first question William Seymour asked as they met, was, "Is anything the matter?"
"Quick, quick," cried Sir Harry, laying his hand upon his young friend's bridle rein. "Come with me as fast as possible down this lane. There is not an instant to lose;" and, turning Seymour's horse, he led him a prisoner to the mouth of a narrow green cart-road through the wood. Then freeing his bridle, he spurred on at a gallop, beckoning to the young gentleman to follow. Seymour did so in some consternation; and on they went as if they were hunting the deer, till, at the first turning to the right, where the woods concealed them from the high road, Sir Harry quitted the path he was following, and somewhat slackened his pace.
"Now, in heaven's name, tell me what is the matter!" exclaimed William Seymour, much alarmed.
"Why you have just escaped, by five minutes, the discovery of the whole," said Sir Harry West. "Late last night arrived at Malvoisie Sir Thomas Overbury and Chaloner, with the King's commands for the Lady Arabella to join the Court at Greenwich. Not knowing when you would arrive, or by what road, we have been most anxious, as you may suppose; and they, as if they had some suspicion, and were determined to detect you, have arranged, that as the lady chose to go by water in the Earl's barge, Chaloner should accompany her; while Overbury, who says his complexion is delicate, is to proceed with his men by the high road. The Countess has promised to detain him as long as possible, in order that he might not meet you at the gates; and while your own two men have been sent, one upon the river, and the other by the lower road, to give you warning, I came out here to watch for you, expecting every moment to see Overbury at my heels."
"How often disappointment meets us at the gates of expectation!" exclaimed Seymour. "What is to be done now, Sir Harry?--Do you imagine they have discovered anything?"
"In truth I cannot say," answered Sir Harry West; "I hope and trust not, for no hint has been given, even of a suspicion. But, at all events, the Countess will let us know when we see her, for she is determined to gain some intelligence from Overbury; and you may trust to her shrewd wit for arriving at the truth."
"But what is to be done now?" cried Seymour again, in a tone of despair. "What is to be done now?"
"The first thing to be done," replied Sir Harry West, "is for you to come with me to the gamekeeper's cottage, and there to lie concealed, till the Countess sends us word that these people are gone. As for the rest, William, this is but a silly business. Methinks the world is losing its wits; and that for this same idle passion of love, men are casting from them all those great considerations which are, in fact, the first in life. Here is the Earl of Devonshire breaks down the noblest name that any man in his own day has created for himself, and all for what?--A harlot!"
"Oh, name her not," exclaimed Seymour, indignantly, "name her not in the same breath with Arabella. If that woman be not worth--as she is not--the lightest thought of an honourable man, she whom I love is surely, by her virtues as well as graces, an object for which any man might sacrifice the highest fortunes of the world without a sign. What is it that we seek on earth, but happiness, Sir Harry? All other objects of ambition are but means to that great end; and it is but in estimating well that in which happiness consists, that men show the difference of their natures. Where--I ask you, my good friend--where could I find any object equal to that I should lose in her, if she be lost?--to that which I shall gain in her, if she be gained? What can one win by the unfruitful glory of the sword, but the malediction of thousands, if we make it the object of ambition? The only just cause is our country's good; and noble love has always strengthened, rather than depressed, the powers and energies of those who fight in an honest quarrel. What are the poor contentions of the cabinet, or the small and mean ambitions of a Court? The weights under which all good things are pressed out of the felon spirit. But such love as I feel for her, and she for me, will not only give happiness to both, but, founded in high and honourable passion, will strengthen and support us in every principle of right, and every worthy endeavour."
"'Tis all very true, my young friend," replied Sir Harry West, "and I never for a moment thought of comparing this sweet lady with that bad woman, Rich. Nevertheless, with the impediments that have stared you in the face from the beginning, with the danger of bringing misery upon her as well as yourself, I cannot but say it would have been wiser far to have refrained, to have nipped the growing passion in the bud, and never to have let it take such firm root that it could not be plucked up. It is a silly business, Seymour, I repeat; and God send it prove not sad as well as silly.--However, as it has gone thus far, it must needs now go on; and I must help it, I suppose; for it is never fear for myself that urges me, when I strive to dissuade a friend from a dangerous course, which may involve me with him. We can determine upon nothing yet, till we hear what news the Countess has obtained.--On my life, I know not well my way to this gamekeeper's house, but as we are out of sight of the road it does not so much matter."
They wandered near half a mile out of their way; but at length, after considerable search, came to a keeper's dwelling in the wood, where the first question of Sir Harry West was, whether any message had been sent to him from the house.
"No, sir," replied the keeper's wife, who was busily preparing her husband's dinner against his return. "There has been nobody from the house at all. Shall I send up the little boy to see?"
Sir Harry answered in the negative, and only begged leave to remain there for a while with his friend, as he expected a messenger speedily.
Casting himself down on a chest in the window, Seymour gave himself up to his melancholy thoughts, while Sir Harry West stood in the door-way, watching against accident or surprise. We need not picture to the reader the state of mind of the disappointed lover as he sat there, with memory brooding over his broken hopes, and imagination darkening the future. One half hour passed by after another, and no one appeared, till at length the keeper himself came in, and instantly recognised the old knight and his young companion, both of whom he had previously seen.
"Which way did you come, Harding?" demanded Sir Harry.
"I came across the horse road from the water, sir," replied the man, "and should have been here before; but I just stopped for a minute, to give a clout on the head to one of those courtier fellows, who was teasing Lady Arabella's gentlewoman."
"Ha," cried Sir Harry West, with a look of immediate interest, "what gentlewoman was that?"
"She they call the Signora," answered the man, "and a nice young lady she is, though she do speak English with a queer outlandish twang."
"Where was this?" exclaimed the old knight, with his eyes sparkling with unwonted fire. "By Heaven! I will crop his ears for him, if he be one of the best of them."
"No need of that, sir," answered the man, "he's but a poor creature, and can't do any one much harm. I saw him run after the young lady from the lower terrace, and thought not much about it; but taking across the covert, to see after the game as I went, I came upon him a quarter of a mile up there, teasing her sadly. So I told him to let her alone; upon which he called me clown; and I gave him a touch--just a little touch,--with the flat of my hand upon the side of his head, when down he went like a ninepin. He got up again, however, and went off towards the house; so after that I said good day, ma'am, and came away--I hate those courtiers."
"So do I," replied the knight; "but this shows us, Seymour, that some of them are there still. So we must even share your pottage with you, Harding, for neither Mr. Seymour nor I will go, while they are there."
"Right welcome, sir, right welcome," replied the keeper; "this being Thursday, we always make plenty, to last till the end of the week."
As he spoke, a hand was laid upon the latch, and the next instant Ida Mara entered. As soon as she saw the old knight, who advanced to meet her, she put her hand in his with a look of deep and grateful affection, saying, "I have been stopped and troubled, sir, or I would have been here half an hour ago.--The Countess has sent me to tell you, that they are not gone. They stay over the noon meal. As soon as they are away, she will send to you."
As she spoke, she made a low inclination of the head to Seymour, but addressed herself to Sir Harry West.
"Who was this that troubled you?" asked the old knight; "the keeper has been telling me about him. Who was he, Ida? Old as I am, I am young enough to slit a coxcomb's ears."
"Mind him not, mind him not, dear Sir Harry," cried the girl, laughing. "At the Court I am obliged, very often, to give rude answers to such idle things as that. All I cared for was, that he followed me wherever I turned, and stopped me from coming hither."
"Then the Lady Arabella is not gone?" asked Seymour, somewhat impatient at this episode.
"Oh yes, sir," replied Ida Mara, "she went near two hours ago, leaving me to follow with one of the maids and her apparel."
Seymour cast down his eyes, and clasped one hand tight upon the other; and the girl, turning to the keeper, thanked him in as courteous terms and graceful language, as if she had been bred amongst the highest of the land. Then, looking to Sir Harry, she said, "I will go back now, sir, for fear they should track me here."
"You must not go alone," replied the old knight. "You may meet with insult by the way, my dear. I will go with you, till you are near the house."
"Let me go, sir," cried the keeper; "the jackanape will run fast enough if he sees me."
"That he will," replied Ida Mara; "but you struck him too hard. I thought you had killed him."
"Pooh!" answered the man, "I only gave him a touch. Those things ar'n't so easily killed,--they've got nine lives, like a cat. I'll be back again in a minute, good wife, so don't wait for me."
In about an hour and a half after Ida Mara's visit, a loud whoop was heard on the outside of the cottage, and Harding started up to open the door, crying "That's my Lord." "Come, Sir Harry, come," exclaimed the Earl of Shrewsbury, entering. "Come, Seymour, come, the land is clear of the enemy.--Bring their horses up, Harding.--How are you, William, how are you?" and he shook his young friend's hand cordially. "Nay, look not so sad," he continued, as they walked along; "all is not lost that is delayed. With such a politician behind your hand, as my good wife, you have nothing to fear. Whatever Mary Cavendish makes up her mind to have done, depend upon it will be done. If she were to set her heart upon marrying me to the prettiest lady of all the Court, I should expect that she would carry me to the altar within a week, and get an act of parliament for bigamy. It's lucky enough that what she determines is generally right, otherwise the world would soon be in confusion."
"But what has she discovered, my dear lord?" demanded Sir Harry West.
"Good faith, she must tell you all about it herself," replied the Earl. "I wish you could have been there to see how she twisted this politic boy, Overbury, round her finger; and without telling him anything but what was true, made him believe exactly what she liked. All I know is, that she is now his confidant, is aware of all his plans and purposes; and that he looks to her for help to carry them into execution, when, good life, if she does not thwart them all, I am not Shrewsbury.--Come, cheer thee up, William, cheer thee up, or my lady will call thee the melancholy man; she has had no name for poor Arabella since last night but Wheyface; and certainly the girl, what with fright at the thought of matrimony, and then fear of no matrimony, has lost half her roses. But as the Countess vows that you shall be married ere a fortnight pass, be you sure it will be so, if all the kings between this and Bagdad were to say you nay."
"That is some consolation at least, replied Seymour, with the first smile that had lighted his countenance since his arrival: and in such conversation they proceeded till they came within sight of the house, when, seeing the Countess walking upon the terrace, the young gentleman hurried his pace, and joined her before the other two came up.
"We have had a narrow escape, William," said Lady Shrewsbury, after the first salutation. "If these coxcombs had but waited a few hours, we should have had some unwelcome wedding guests."
"A most unfortunate event, indeed," replied Seymour, who could not master his disappointment. "Have you discovered how this accident befel?"
"Nay, call it not unfortunate, foolish fellow," replied the lady. "You young men, the moment they cannot have all their own way, look at nothing but the evil, though it be no bigger than a grain of seed, and forget to thank God for the good, though there be a mountain of it. We have more need to rejoice at our luck, than cry out upon fortune, even if it were but that we have escaped detection. But there's a great deal more than that; and it is altogether the luckiest turn that matters could have taken. I wish to heaven you could have seen this upstart Overbury, this minion's minion, with his wit and his wisdom, and how he helped to take himself in, both last night and this morning. 'Twas a rare sight, I can assure you. Here's my lord will tell you how I played the youth, as a skilful angler does a mighty trout; and how he floundered and spent his strength, till he was fain to let me land him on the bank, completely at my mercy. We spoke of all things, Arabella and you, and his own plans and purposes; and I explained to him in good set terms what I should expect for my niece, if ever she condescended to give her hand to Robert Carr. First, he must make her a duchess. There he was ready to meet me; he was sure the King would consent to that. Did he not make Philip Herbert knight, baron, viscount, and earl, in one day? and what could he refuse to Carr? Then I declared that I must have three thousand pounds per annum settled on the lady. This staggered him a little, the treasury being empty; but he ended by saying, that my Lord of Rochester's estates might well bear that; whereat I smiled upon him most graciously, fell into thought, and smiled again; after which he asked the meaning of my looks. I answered that he brought to my mind a bold ambassador, who, once suing to a king for something on which his master had set his heart, made no scruple to promise everything required as an equivalent. First, it was the hand of his sovereign's daughter; then an enormous dowry; then a province of the kingdom; and, when the other party asked in jest an island in the Indian Ocean, belonging to heaven knows whom, he replied, it too should be given--if it could be procured. Thereat he laughed, and said that he could assure me all he promised he could perform."
"What answered you to that, lady?" asked Seymour.
"I said--now for the island in the Indian Ocean," answered the Countess; "there is one thing more, good Sir Thomas Overbury, before I suffer my niece to be moved in this suit: I must see her freed entirely from the shackles with which the King has been pleased to fetter her. I must have in my hand the King's consent to her marrying a subject; otherwise she may be trifled with, her expectations raised, her affections gained, and then a flat refusal come at length, and all her hopes be blighted."
"But, dear lady," exclaimed Seymour; "methinks you were but showing him the road to travel to his object."
"Hush, silly youth," cried the Countess. "Do you recollect the story of that Grecian wench, who threw golden apples in the way of those with whom she ran a race? What did she want but time? and so did I. But the scheme answered better than my hopes. He replied, that I should have that too; to which I answered in a mocking tone, 'if it can be procured.' He hesitated a little, thought deeply, and then said, 'Madam, it has been procured.' This startled me; but I rejoined, 'For my own justification, sir, before I take one step, I must have it in my hand. Lord Rochester must send it to me.' Then came a longer fit of hesitation still, at the end of which, he answered, 'Lord Rochester has not got it, madam; but I have.' I felt so angry that I was afraid of myself, knowing right well that a look, or a word, might betray me; but I mastered it all, and ere he could see how frightened I was to find the matter had gone so far, I had got a look of sudden satisfaction on my face, which would have cheated the wicked One himself if he had been there. 'Indeed,' I cried; 'well, then, you have the game in your own hand; whenever you like to play that card, you may. But recollect, sir,' I added, in a lower tone, so that my good husband might not hear, for he might have spoiled all--'but recollect, sir, if I do give my consent, and bring this thing about--I do not say I will, remember--but if I do, I shall expect something for my Lord of Shrewsbury.' Could you have seen his face, William--he thought he had the whole secret now, as clearly as if I had laid my heart in his hand. He fancied Mary Cavendish one of his own greedy and exacting tribe, who would sell their soul's salvation for a rose noble; and he answered that what I wished would be easily accomplished. 'The Earl's rank and station,' he said, 'would ensure him anything he thought fit to ask,' and he added, 'if my playing that card, lady, be all that is required to win the game, here is the ace of trumps;' and thereupon, out of a silken book kept snugly in his pouch, he took a paper, and held it forth between his finger and thumb. Good faith, if I had known what it was, I would have clutched it in an instant; but I thought to see the name of Robert Carr staring me full in the face; and I cast about in my own mind what I should say to parry that, without undeceiving him; so I answered, 'We have not settled yet what the Earl is to receive; when you let me know what the King's bounty may be pleased to confer, it will be time for me to take the paper;' and I put it away with the back of my hand, as Cæsar did the crown. My very unwillingness deceived him more: had I longed for it, he would not have given it; but now he thrust it on me, 'Take it, madam, take it,' he said, 'and within a week you shall hear what can be done. I am sure your Ladyship will be moderate in your views, recollecting what a claim the union of your niece with a gentleman standing so high in the King's favour may establish for the future, even though you do not obtain all that you can desire at once.' I answered, proudly, that neither the House of Cavendish nor Talbot had ever showed themselves greedy or exacting. But that, of course, we should consult our own dignity; and so I took the paper--thinking that by accident it might fall into the fire. I did not look at it till he was gone. Luckily I did not, for I think I should have screamed with joy."
"What did you find?" cried Seymour, "what did you find?"
"His Majesty's full and despotic consent," exclaimed the Countess, "to Arabella's marriage with any subject she may choose in the realm. I clapped my hands till Shrewsbury thought me mad; and I have it safe, good youth, I have it safe."[6]
The first expression on Seymour's countenance was joy, but the second was doubt and apprehension. "That is indeed something gained," he said, "yet I cannot but fear that you have pledged yourself, dear Countess, to aid in bringing about Arabella's marriage with this upstart minion of the King."
"And so I will," cried Lady Shrewsbury; "so I will, if she do not first give her hand to some one else. I know all you would say, so hold your tongue, for 'tis but folly. Granted that, with the encouragement he has received, this deputy love-maker may hurry on the affair; cannot I refuse whatever he offers? Leave woman's wit to frustrate man's policy. Believe me, you are no match for us in that. 'Tis only force we fear. Come hither, my good lord," she continued, raising her voice to the Earl, who stood talking with Sir Harry West upon the terrace below, "come hither, and give us your counsel; and you, good knight, come too."
The Earl mounted the steps with a good-humoured, but determined look, replying, as he came up, "I tell thee, housewife, I will have nought to do with it. Though you think you have gained a step, I see no great advantage; and all I say is, if the matter must go forward, the sooner it is done the better."
"It must go forward now, my Lord, I believe," said Sir Harry West; "I could have wished it had never been begun; but, as the lady's heart is fully engaged, as Seymour is mad upon this theme, and as--if I understand you right--she must either marry him, or that pitiful creature Carr, there is no choice. On my life! I would rather wed her myself than she should give her hand to that poor minion."
"Out, misanthrope!" exclaimed the Countess; "we will call him the woman-hater. He talks of wedding the sweetest lady in the land, as if it were giving himself over to purgatory."
"I should have said," replied Sir Harry; "it were better for her to marry me than Carr; for although, up to this present time, he has demeaned himself somewhat moderately, yet I see the seeds of strong, bad passions in him just shooting, and also that weakness of nature, which is, perhaps, more dangerous in a man placed at the height of power, than the worst qualities in one who has vigorous sense to guide or to restrain them. Miserable indeed will the woman be who links her fate with his."
"Arabella shall neither marry you nor him," replied the Countess, laughing. "Here stands the worshipful bridegroom elect; and the thing for us now to consider is, what is next to be done? It is now two of the clock; the good youth has ridden five-and-thirty miles; he must have some rest, and some food; but yet I would give a great deal, that he could show himself in Hertford to-night."
"That is easily done," replied William Seymour; "my horse will carry me well. 'Tis not more than forty miles, I think. But what is the object?"
"Nay," answered the Countess, "you can pause at Hatfield, then write me a short letter to my Lord of Salisbury, requesting permission to attend the Court. Send it off the instant you arrive: so will your visit here this day be concealed; and what I have said to Overbury will banish all fear."
"I rather fancy, fair dame," said the Earl, "your own plots and conspiracies make you think that the people suspect more than they do. When I was at the Court on Thursday last, the rumour of that business before the Council had blown by. Nobody thought of it any more; or if they did, 'twas but to laugh at it. Cecil said that the King seemed as jealous of the Lady Arabella as an Italian of his mistress, fancying people in love with her who never thought of her."
"Well, well," cried the Countess, impatiently, "we cannot be too secure. The lad shall have some dinner, and then set off. You must mount one of his servants, Shrewsbury; and if he follow my directions, ere four days be over Arabella shall be his. Come hither, come hither with me, William. You give orders about the horses, my Lord,--that is no part of the plot, you know;" and leaning upon Seymour's arm, she walked with him into the hall, where preparations for a meal were already made.
"There, sit down and refresh yourself," said Lady Shrewsbury, "and listen to me while you eat and drink. You need not stay in the room, Jonah."
The servant to whom she spoke withdrew, closing the door behind him, and the Countess then remained in thought for a moment, after which she exclaimed, "All we shall want is a parson; the banns have been duly published; I will bring up a certificate to that effect, and meet you at Greenwich to-morrow, or the next day. You must find some good serviceable priest, who will not scruple to join your hand and Arabella's in her own chamber or mine. Sir Harry West shall give her away; and you must provide yourself with another witness whom you can trust; for the dear girl's fair name must not suffer."
"Oh, Rodney, Rodney is the man," replied Seymour; "he is full of all excesses of love and honour; and there is no chance of his betraying our secret, if it be not in a sonnet addressed to my fair grandmother."
The Countess laughed, and her young friend proceeded: "He, too, I doubt not, can find me a clergyman, who will do all that is needful. Will you, dear lady, prepare Arabella? for it may so happen, that I have no opportunity of speaking to her alone."
"All that shall be done," answered the Countess; "and I, too, will take care to fix upon some day when the Court shall have business on its hands; so that our proceedings be unwatched. However, you must both get out of the country as fast as possible. Are you prepared with means?'
"All is done," answered Seymour. "Lord Hertford gave me a thousand pounds to pay our first expenses; the ship is in the mouth of the river, only waiting for us to sail. Now, lady, I am ready," he continued, rising.
"Nay, take another cup of wine," said the Countess; "have the priest, with a friend, prepared at Greenwich, and leave all the rest to me."
Seymour promised, with right good will, to fail in nothing that depended on him; and then, taking his leave of Lady Shrewsbury, he bade farewell to the Earl and Sir Harry West, mounted on his horse, and, followed by one servant, rode away across the country. So far the scheme proved successful: he reached Hertford in time to despatch a note to Lord Salisbury that night; and no one in the Court suspected that he had been in Buckinghamshire for many a month. Even Arabella herself heard on the following morning that he had been seen during the preceding evening, at a great distance from the spot where she had fancied he must be, and concluded that he must have obtained intelligence of Overbury's visit to Malvoisie.
There was a grand pageant at the Court, on some one of those many occasions which, in that day, afforded the excuse for revelling and merriment, not of the most refined and intellectual kind. The morning had passed in tilting; there was a masque and dancing in the evening; and all the state rooms of the old palace at Greenwich had been thrown open, for the reception of guests invited from London and the neighbourhood, and for the multitude of noble persons, who usually thronged the royal residence.
There was music and dancing going on in the great hall; and beyond, through a vista of rooms and corridors, groups were seen moving about, glittering in all the splendid costume of that day; while the faces of servants and attendants might be caught peeping in at doorways and open windows, or hurrying about, either carrying refreshments to those who needed them, or to prepare for a grand banquet in the farthest hall of the suite, with which the pleasures of the night were to close.
Arabella Stuart, who had been dancing, in order not to seem unlike the rest, now stood in the group near the Queen; and to say the truth, although William Seymour was not present, she looked gayer and more cheerful than she had done for several days. Nor was the brightness of her aspect assumed, as had been too frequently the case in her short life; but it had a cause in the conduct of others. It was not that any particular attention or kindness had been shown to her, but rather the reverse; for she was well inclined to be as little noticed as possible. The truth is, however, that a scene was taking place before her eyes, which, however much it might offend the pure delicacy of her feelings, relieved her from a great apprehension.
Twice since she had been at the palace, Sir Thomas Overbury had found occasion to hint at Lord Rochester's suit; and although she had been but once seen by that personage himself, she had dreaded, when she entered the hall, that she might be the object of painful attentions. He was now before her, however, and seemed scarcely to know that she was in the room. His whole thoughts, his whole feelings, his looks, his conversation were absorbed by the bright and beautiful Countess of Essex; and never, perhaps, on any occasion was such a wild and shameless display of illicit love offered to the eyes of a multitude, as was now afforded by those two unhappy people.
The King looked on and laughed; but the Queen, even light as she was, felt pained and indignant; and Sir Thomas Overbury from time to time grasped his sword belt with an involuntary movement, nearly tearing it from his side.
His irritation was not particularly allayed by some words of the Countess of Shrewsbury, who, in passing near him, paused for a moment, and said, "You see, Sir Thomas! What must the Lady Arabella think of this?"
She waited for no answer, but walked on: and the young Knight turned to one of the windows, which were open to admit the air, for the night was hot and sultry.
Scarcely had the Countess quitted him, when a gentleman of two or three-and-thirty years of age, tall, graceful, and dressed in splendid but somewhat fantastic habiliments of sky-blue silk and gold, approached her, and asked if she would dance a measure.
"I am an old woman, Sir George," replied Lady Shrewsbury, looking round to several persons who stood near, "and though your taste may run in that way, I cannot favour you. Give me your arm, however; I will walk down the hall with you to get some breath, for here I am stifled."
They walked on beyond the dancers; and, as soon as they were somewhat clear of the numbers which thronged the hall, the Countess gave her companion an inquiring look.
"Now or never, beautiful lady," said Sir George Rodney; "the priest and Seymour are in the little antechamber, between the Lady Arabella's apartments and your own. Sir Harry West and the dark-eyed Italian girl are watching them, lest, like two lions, they should devour each other."
"But it is before the time," replied Lady Shrewsbury, "and I determined that I would not tell her a word, till the last moment. I have not an instant to do so."
"Nay, it is the time to a minute," answered Sir George Rodney; "they were long ere they began the dance. Seize the opportunity, lady, seize the opportunity. The happy moment always has swallow's wings. So catch it while you can."
"I will try and speak with her now," said the Countess, "and bring her away if possible; but we must have a little time. Come with me; I know you will be ready to play your part, whatever it may be;" and moving slowly back to the spot where Arabella stood, she placed herself next to her niece, while Sir George Rodney contrived to insinuate himself on the other side, between her and the Earl of Montgomery, who stood near.
"This gay gallant, Arabella," said the Countess, aloud, "wishes me to make myself ridiculous by dancing with him. Will you take compassion on him, fair niece?"
"It is too warm and close to be compassionate," replied Arabella, with a smile; "I will wait a little, Sir George, by your good leave."
At that moment, Lord Montgomery turned to answer some question of the Queen; and the Countess, approaching her lips close to Arabella's ear, whispered a few words in a hurried manner.
She had not calculated the degree of her niece's firmness well. A sudden paleness spread itself over Arabella's face; and after gasping a moment for breath, she sank down upon one of the low stools, while Lady Shrewsbury had just time to catch her drooping head upon her arm.
An immediate bustle took place around the spot; but Sir George Rodney exclaimed, "'Tis nothing but a swoon from the heat! She will be better in an instant, your Majesty. I will carry her into the ante-chamber for air;" and raising her, stool and all, he bore her through a door behind the throne, while the Countess supported her head.
Several persons followed, but returned one by one, saying that the lady was somewhat better; and some of the light wits began to laugh, and say that it was more the warmth of Lord Rochester's manner to the Countess of Essex, than the warmth of the room, that had affected the Lady Arabella. In a minute or two Lady Shrewsbury reappeared, and in a low tone told the Queen that her niece had somewhat recovered, but she feared would not be able to rejoin the royal party.
"We will take her to her own room," she said, "and, by your Majesty's gracious permission, I will sit with her for half-an-hour."
She then rejoined Arabella, who was seated in the antechamber, with Sir George Rodney still beside her, together with a young lady belonging to the Court.
"She will do well now, Lady Lucy," said the Countess; "pray go back to the Queen. Rodney and I will take care of her. Repeat her some of your verses, Sir George, and make her laugh.--Nay, indeed, I will not have you stay, sweet girl," she continued, taking her young friend by the hand, and leading her back to the door of the ball-room; "I will bring you a good account of her in half-an-hour.--Now Arabella," she added, in a low voice, when the door was closed, "be firm, my dear. Remember for what a stake we all play."
Arabella turned her eyes with a look of timid apprehension from the face of her aunt to that of Sir George Rodney.
"He knows all, my sweet niece," said the Countess; "he is to be one of the witnesses. Be resolute, my love, be resolute."
"I will, I will, dear aunt," replied Arabella, faintly; "but I was not prepared."
"The less preparation the better," answered the Countess. "Give her your arm, Sir George. Take mine on this side, Arabel.--Can you go?"
"One moment, one moment!" said Arabella, putting her hand before her eyes, while her lips moved in silence for an instant, as if the heart uttered some prayer unheard.
"Now I am ready," she added; and rising with their assistance, she suffered them to lead her slowly to her room. They entered by the door from the staircase; and she looked round anxiously, while the colour mounted into her cheek. Then seeing no one there but Ida Mara, who ran towards her and kissed her hand, she sank into a seat and bent down her fair head.
"Now lock that door," said the Countess, pointing to the one by which they had just come in.
Ida Mara hastened to obey; and Lady Shrewsbury continued, for a minute or two, to whisper words of comfort and support. She then made a sign to Ida Mara, who therefore opened the other door at the farther side of the chamber, and spoke for an instant to some persons behind. The moment after, there were steps heard in the room; but Arabella raised not her head, and remained with her cheek pale, and her eyes bent down upon the ground.
"Will you not speak to me, my beloved?" asked William Seymour, taking her hand.
"She has been ill, Seymour--she fainted," said the Countess of Shrewsbury. "I told her of the matter too abruptly."
"But have you any doubt or hesitation?" inquired William Seymour, still addressing Arabella; "if you have, speak, my beloved. I will never exact the fulfilment of a promise, from which you may wish yourself released. Have you any doubt or hesitation?"
"Oh, no, no, William," replied Arabella, with the colour mounting in her cheek: "none, none, whatsoever. Agitated I must be--apprehensive I cannot help being, but doubt or hesitation, I have none. With the same free heart wherewith I promised you my hand, I will give it now; and it is all I have to give. I wish it were a jewel worth an Emperor's crown, for your sake."
"It is worth more to me," answered Seymour, "than the brightest crown that ever graced this earth. Come, Arabella, all is ready, dear one."
"But tell me," asked Arabella, anxiously, "are we to fly to-night,--I fear I have scarcely strength."
"Oh, no," replied William Seymour, "'tis but that the indissoluble bond may bind us to each other, Arabella. We must choose the moment for flight afterwards, when opportunity serves."
Arabella still paused in thought, but the Countess took her hand, saying, "Come, dear girl, come! You must recollect that if I and Sir George Rodney are much longer away from the Court, it may be remarked."
The lady looked round; and seeing good Sir Harry West standing near, she held out her hand to him, saying, "Thank you, Sir Harry, this is very kind of you. You have indeed been a father to me often."
At that moment some one tried the door, which had been locked, and then knocked for admission; and, at a sign from the Countess, the whole party of gentlemen retired into the ante-room, between that chamber and her own apartments, while Ida Mara went slowly to the door, and asked who was there.
"It is I," answered the voice of one of Anne of Denmark's ladies.
"Open the door, girl, open the door," cried the Countess, aloud; and the moment after, a young and pretty woman entered, and, approaching Arabella, said, "Her Majesty has sent me to ask how you fare, dear lady."
"Present my humble duty to her," replied Arabella, whose frame trembled with agitation and alarm, "and pray tell her I am somewhat better. My aunt will stay with me a little while, I hope; but I fear I shall not be able to come down again to-night."
"She does not expect you," said the lady; "but I may tell her Majesty you are really better, may I not?"
"Oh, yes! much, much," answered Arabella; and with a kind nod and look, the girl hastened back to the gay scene, in which her young light heart found its pleasure, the door was once more locked, and the rest of the marriage party recalled to the room.
"I will not keep you any longer," said Arabella Stuart, rising, "it might be dangerous to you, Seymour.--I am quite ready," she added, raising her eyes to his face, while a warm blush covered her cheek. "This marriage is legal, sir, I suppose?" she continued, turning her eyes to the clergyman, who had come in with her lover and Sir Harry West.
"Quite, madam," he replied; "once celebrated, no power on earth can dissolve it, so long as the marriage-vow be kept."
Arabella bowed her head; and the parties being arranged in order, the ceremony proceeded, and concluded uninterrupted. Arabella answered firmly and confidently, and pledged herself for ever to William Seymour, with the fullest assurance of happiness, so far as it was in his power to bestow it.
"Now, Rodney, away," cried the Countess of Shrewsbury; "go round by the passages below, and in by the other door. Say, if any one asks, that you left the lady much better; and that I will be down in a few minutes. Away! away! Sir George!"
Sir George Rodney advanced a step, took Arabella's hand, and bending gracefully, pressed his lips upon it, and then retired by the Countess of Shrewsbury's apartments.
He was followed in a moment or two by the clergyman, and Sir Harry West; and in about half an hour, Lady Shrewsbury reappeared in the hall of the palace, and mingled with the gay crowd below.
Many were the inquiries after the Lady Arabella, from those who could love and appreciate virtue and excellence, though they might tolerate vice and folly. But Lady Shrewsbury answered, with her usual self-possession, that her niece was better, indeed quite well, but that she feared to encounter the heat again; and the subject soon dropped and was forgotten.
We must once more introduce the reader into that school for idle speculation, the ante-chamber of a palace, where four young men were sitting, amusing themselves at the expense of their neighbours, and of each other. One of the principal personages was he whom we have denominated Bradshaw; another was an esquire, called Graham, of about twenty years of age; another, a youth of the name of Blount, a distant relation of the celebrated Earl of Devonshire; and the fourth was the young Sir Charles Ramsay.
The day was wearing towards its close, and already the sky, which, during the whole afternoon, had been clear and bright, was becoming purple with the setting sun. The broad river, flowing on, glowed like a ruby, in the light of evening; and the white sails of the boats, as they flitted by, were tinged with the same rosy hue.
"Come, let us go out and have a sail upon the water," said Ramsay, speaking to Blount; "here are Bradshaw and Graham, quite enough for all the King's purposes, and I hate being stived up here for so many hours together."
"Wait till Overbury comes out," said Bradshaw, "and I will go with you. It is Graham's turn to wait; and after six, the old gossip requires only one."
Princes little know how ill-chosen attendants speak of them, almost within ear-shot. A king who suffers the licentious in his ante-chamber, may be certain that their libertine tongues will make free with himself.
"How long Overbury stays!" said another; "if Rochester does not mind, he will supplant him in James's favour."
"He does not seem particularly high in Carr's favour just now," rejoined Graham; "for he has been hunting him all the morning, and the noble lord favourite has avoided him vigorously and successfully."
"I saw them dodging each other through the courts this morning," said Blount, "like boys playing at hide and seek."
"Ah, Rochester was dodging somebody else," answered Bradshaw; "for there was Lady Essex, with a homely gown and servant's farthingale on, a white satin mask, and a veil over her head, stole out by the west gate, and through the water-port of the park. There was a barge waiting; and Rochester drew off from Overbury like a sly old fox breaking cover quietly, and glided down under the wall to the stairs, then into the barge with my lady and away. She thought I did not know her, but one of Essex's bright eyes is not to be mistaken, whether it shines through black velvet or white satin."
"I'll bet you an angel to a pint of Burgundy," said Blount, "that Overbury wanted to scold Rochester for the business of last night; and, to say truth, it was somewhat gross, his going on so with Mistress Essex before the Lady Arabella's eyes."
"I did not know that she was so far gone as to faint for him," said Ramsay. "By Apollo, I think I have a better leg than he has!"
"The broken one was the best leg he ever had to stand upon," answered Bradshaw. "But are you of those who fancy that beautiful Bella fainted for him? I doubt it much, I doubt it much."
"Oh, the thing was very evident," cried Blount.
"It may be so," answered Bradshaw; "but if ever I saw man, William Seymour was at the palace last night. He was wrapped up in a great cloak, with his hat flapped over his face, just coming up from the water-side when I walked down the arcade."
"You are in the luck of discovering people in disguise," said Ramsay; "the King had better send you to the mouth of the Thames to inspect all the vessels that pass, for this poor devil, Legate."
"Who is he? what of him?" asked Bradshaw.
"What! have you not seen the proclamation?" cried Blount, "commanding all the King's subjects, and especially his officers of customs and the ports, to examine strictly all outward-bound vessels, and ascertain that one Bartholomew Legate, accused of heresy, does not escape from the realm; and to bring him, and all other persons attempting unlawfully to fly the kingdom, before his Majesty, or his court of the Star Chamber."
"No," answered Bradshaw, "I have seen nothing about it. But I hope they wont catch him soon."
"Why," demanded Graham; "are you a heretic, too?"
"No," replied Bradshaw; "but still I hope they will not catch him soon; for this is too warm weather to enjoy a fire in Smithfield.--Then there is a sort of embargo established?"
"Not quite that," rejoined Blount; "a strict search, that is all. But here comes the favourite's favourite! I hear the King's door go. Let us treat him with all due respect."
The moment after, Sir Thomas Overbury passed through the ante-chamber, with a slow step and a gloomy brow. The four gentlemen drew back, two on either side, and made him a low and formal bow as he went. Overbury, knowing that they were mocking him, merely inclined his head and walked on; but the instant he was gone, the four burst into a loud laugh, and began to comment upon his character without much mercy.
In the meanwhile the Knight proceeded through the adjoining passage, little caring what they said or thought, occupied with far more unpleasant reflections. He descended a back staircase of the palace, took one or two turns up and down in the open air of the nearest court, and several times put his hand to his brow, as if it ached.
"If Arabella," he muttered to himself, "be but as infatuated with him as the King, the matter may still go forward; but it will need infatuation indeed to keep up his favour with either of them. The man has gone mad, that is clear. I have often heard of the power of a bad woman, but never knew it went to such an extent. Heaven and earth, what a world this is!--I will go sail upon the Thames, and see whether the cool air will take the fire out of my brain; the sun is just down, and the moon will soon be up. I like the moonlight on the water; it puts me in mind of my father's house.--I often wish I were a boy again, and in my quiet home. Not all the glitter of courtly life, nor the joy of successful ambition, is worth one hour of holiday boyhood's pure, unalloyed happiness after all."
As he thus thought, he bent his steps towards the river, and at the little stairs below those of the palace called a boat, which soon bore him down the stream towards Woolwich. He felt refreshed and calmed, and went sailing slowly on for near an hour. At the end of that time, he told the boatmen to turn; and the wind being now against them, and the tide in their favour, they pulled down the sail and took to their oars.
The moon had by this time risen, nearly at the full, and was pouring a flood of light over all things, tranquil and soft, like that which seems to shine from another sphere upon a spirit weaned from this earth's affections. The objects of the world around were all distinct and clear to the eye, though without the warmth and brightness of the day; and as the boat approached the stairs, another shot past it, rowed by two stout watermen, with a gentleman sitting in the stern, wrapped in a large cloak, and having his hat flapped over his eyes. There was something in the figure, however, which caught the attention of Sir Thomas Overbury, and he bade his rowers ply their oars. The other gentleman reached the landing first, and had just stepped on shore, when the knight's boat glided up; and he himself, resolving to see who the stranger was, sprang up the steps, exclaiming, "My Lord, my Lord, I would fain speak with you."
"You are mistaken, sir," replied a voice, in what he thought an assumed tone; and the other gentleman walked on at a rapid pace.
Sir Thomas was about to follow as quickly; but one of the boatmen caught him by the sleeve, demanding his fare. The Knight paid him immediately, and then walked forward as fast as possible upon the only road that led to the palace; but some minutes were lost, and by this time the stranger had disappeared, apparently through the great gates, into the outer court.
Overbury hurried on, and thought he caught a glimpse of the other's cloak turning the corner, towards that part of the building which, for some reason, was called the Ladies' lodging. In each floor of that mass of brick-work were several suites of apartments, occupied by different ladies of the Court, and amongst others, the Lady Arabella Stuart. Below ran a low arcade, with a number of different doors, and staircases, and passages through the building, like those which are still to be seen at Hampton Court; and, as Overbury passed through the little archway leading from the outer court, he distinctly saw the figure of the stranger moving quickly along under the arcade.
It seemed to pause at the entrance of the staircase, which led first to a suite of apartments occupied by Lady Walsingham, and then to those of Arabella Stuart and the Countess of Shrewsbury, the latter of whom had accepted the royal invitation for a week, on the occasion of the festival of the preceding night. Overbury thought that the person he pursued entered that doorway, which, as was then customary, stood open. At all events, he did not see the figure proceed any farther; and exclaiming, "Ha!" he advanced at once, entered the doorway, mounted the stairs, and knocked at the door of the Lady Arabella's chamber. It was opened almost immediately by Ida Mara, with a light.
"Can I speak for a few moments with the Lady Arabella?" said the knight.
"This is her bedchamber, sir," answered the pretty Italian, standing in the deep doorway, and only partially opening the door. "No one comes in by this door. You must go round by the passage to Lady Shrewsbury's. The Lady Arabella is with the Countess.--That way, sir;" and she pointed with her hand along a passage before him.
Without a moment's delay, Sir Thomas sped onward, and knocked at Lady Shrewsbury's door, making the same inquiry. He was instantly admitted, and somewhat to his surprise,--for a strong suspicion had taken possession of his mind,--he found Arabella calmly seated by the Countess, at an embroidery frame. Lady Shrewsbury rose with a cold and haughty air, saying, "Sir Thomas, after several things that have passed, I can suffer no such conversation as that which has lately taken place between you and me to be held in my niece's presence. Arabella, my love, you had better retire to your own apartments."
The lady rose, and bowing slightly to the Knight, without speaking, quitted the room.
We must now return, however, to the door of her chamber, at the top of the staircase. Scarcely had Sir Thomas Overbury been admitted to Lady Shrewsbury, when down the dark and winding steps leading to the chambers above, came the person whom the Knight had pursued from the bank of the river. He knocked thrice, separately and distinctly, at the door, which was instantly opened, and without a word he went in. In another moment, Arabella was in the arms of her husband. She held up her finger to him, however, saying, "Hush, love, hush! Speak low, Sir Thomas Overbury is with my aunt."
"Oh! he cannot hear, my beloved," replied William Seymour; "there is the ante-room between us and him. Did he come in this moment? for some one seemed to chase me from the water side, so that I concealed myself upon the stairs above. He knocked at the door too,--did he not, Ida?"
The Italian answered in the affirmative, and then withdrew to another room; and, after a few of the tender words of love, Seymour went on to speak of their future prospects.
"I fear, dear one," he said; "that we must delay our projected flight. A proclamation was issued this morning, ordering strict search at all ports, for some less happy fugitives than ourselves; and, I understand, it is already rigorously in force. But turn not pale, my Arabella, there is no danger. Our marriage can be concealed easily for some weeks, till these impediments have been removed."
"I shall never feel at ease," replied Arabella, "in these stolen interviews. Every time you are with me, Seymour, I shall expect to see you seized and dragged away--perhaps to a prison. At the first moment that it is possible, let us go. I would rather do anything, bear anything, than live in constant apprehension."
"And I would bear much," answered Seymour, "to call my Arabella mine in open day, to be with her every hour, to be never separated from her. But still, my beloved, it is very, very seldom that fate allows man to know moments of unmixed happiness. Let us take that which fortune gives us, without clouding our little hour of sunshine with needless fears. If there be not one care, there is always another; and surely the sweet moments that I can pass with you are enough, for me at least, to compensate for all the rest of the dull day. The stars look the brightest, dear one, when the sky is darkest round them; and so may our nights of happiness be all the more delightful for the heaviness of the time while we are parted."
With such words of tenderness and hope, William Seymour soothed her apprehensions: and as several more days passed without any new cause for fear, Arabella became accustomed to their secret meetings, and looked for the hour of Seymour's coming with all the joy of expectant love; while he forgot the little incident of his meeting with Overbury, and gave himself up to a feeling of security.
At length, one morning, when he was sitting alone in his father's house in London, Sir Harry West was ushered in, with an expression of satisfaction in his countenance which spoke him the bearer of good tidings.
"You seem joyful, Sir Harry," said Seymour; "and I am sure, by your bringing your gladness here, that it has some reference to me. What is it, my good and noble friend?"
"I must not rejoice," replied Sir Harry West, "at the capture of an unfortunate wretch, whom the bigotry of an unfeeling monarch will certainly doom to the stake, I fear. But Legate is taken; and this searching of the ships suspended. Now follow my advice, William; lose not a moment; but bear your fair lady to another land. Time, the discoverer of all things, will tear away the veil from your connexion, make it as thick as you will. Sooner or later it must be avowed; put yourself beyond the reach of tyranny, and then proclaim it openly."
"I will not lose a day," replied Seymour; "it will take to-morrow to get everything into a state of preparation again, but surely the next day we can effect our escape."
"In whatever I can assist you, I will most gladly," said Sir Harry West, "I have got a purse at my lodgings, my dear young friend, which I need not, and you do; and if you will undertake to get everything ready in London, and prepare your fair lady, I will go down the river at once, and see that the ship be put in order, well furnished with men, and an ostensible cargo, and ready to sail whenever you join her."
All such matters were easily arranged; and when Seymour entered the boat that night to go down the Thames to Greenwich, it was with the bright hope of carrying Arabella, during the succeeding night, to a place of security, where all apprehensions of separation would be at an end. He reached the landing-place, walked up to the palace, and knocked as usual at Arabella's chamber, without anything causing him to suspect that he was watched.
Ida Mara came to give him admission as usual with a light; but just at that moment somebody came down vehemently from above, and, as if by accident, ran against him dexterously--for it was done on purpose--knocking his hat off, and exposing his face to the light.
The man was a famous sword-player, who had come down from London to Greenwich, to amuse the Prince and the Court; and catching Seymour by both arms, as if to steady himself, and avoid falling headlong down the narrow stair-case, he begged him a thousand pardons, assuring him that he knew not any one was there.
Seymour was upon his guard, however; and after saying in a calm tone that there was no need of apology, he turned, and with an air of indifference told Ida Mara to inform the Lady Arabella that Sir Harry West would have the honour of waiting upon her the next day at noon.
The girl understood his object in an instant, and saying, "Very well, sir, I will tell her," shut the door. Seymour then followed the sword-player down the stairs, and proceeded to call at the lodging of one of the young lords of the Court with whom he was acquainted; but after having ascertained the spy had quitted that part of the building, he returned to the apartment of his wife, and was instantly admitted.
In the meanwhile the sword-player hurried on; and passing through various passages and courts, directed his course straight to the lodgings of Sir Thomas Overbury, who was waiting impatiently for his arrival.
"Now," cried the Knight; "now, have you discovered him?"
"I have discovered him," replied the sword-player, who dabbled in the conceits of the day; "for I knocked his hat off, while a pretty waiting gentlewoman from within held a light."
"And who was it, who was it?" demanded Overbury, with the rapid iteration of impatience.
"It was and is," answered the sword-player, "the second son of a noble Lord, the grandson of a noble Earl. His family is Hertford; his name is William Seymour."
"That is enough, that is enough," cried Overbury; "you can swear that it was he?"
"As surely as I can swear that I am myself," said the sword-player. "But mark ye, most worshipful knight, my evidence will do you little good, for the gentleman did but deliver a simple message, and came away; after which he went to my Lord Ancram's."
"A trick, a trick," exclaimed Sir Thomas Overbury; "stay--tell me. Was it before or after you knocked his hat of, that he gave this message?"
"After, most worshipful," replied his informant.
"A trick, a trick," repeated Overbury. "He was wrapped in a great cloak, was he not?--with a broad slouched hat over his face?"
"To a point," answered the sword-player; "exactly as you have described him to me."
"He comes every night," said Sir Thomas, thoughtfully; "and has been appointed, I think, common courier between London and Greenwich.--I'll to the King at once."
"Excuse me, fair knight," rejoined the sword-player, as his companion was about to quit the room; "but you did promise me ten pieces of gold, commonly called nobles; and my necessities are triumphant."
"There, there they lie, above the chimney," answered the Knight. "Now, Master Wingfield, void the room; for I must to the King."
The man reached the money from the mantel-piece, and then, with a low bow, passed the door, through which Sir Thomas followed him, locking it behind him. He was disappointed in his purpose, however, for James was busy in the composition of some recondite treatise, and refused to admit him, appointing him, however, to come on the following morning at nine o'clock. The Knight shut himself up in his chamber for the rest of the evening; but early the next day he busied himself in collecting farther information, and then hurried with it to the King.
James, with whom Lord Rochester's favourite and adviser stood very high at this time, condescended to inform him why he had not received him on the preceding occasion, and even did him the honour of reading to him all that part of the treatise which he had composed the night before. Overbury bore it with the patience of a martyr, and praised and wondered so judiciously, that he rose considerably in the King's opinion.
"Now, sir, what is it you want?" asked James; "if it be not a petition, or remonstrance--an account, or a demand, we will hear you graciously."
"It is neither of these things, sire," replied Overbury; "it is only some information which, having accidentally obtained, I feel myself bound, as your Majesty's most dutiful subject, to communicate to you without delay, although it may give your Majesty pain. But as you condescended to explain to me the wise and profound views which you entertain regarding the marriage of your fair cousin, I should hold it little short of treason to be silent;" and he proceeded to relate to James all the facts he had discovered regarding Seymour's nightly visits to Lady Arabella.
The King swore three or four most horrible oaths. "We'll soon stop their love passages," he cried, "the undutiful rebel, the traitor; after the solemn admonition that we gave him, he is no better than Fawkes or Digby; nor is the lassie a whit less blameless. Call one of the secretaries, sir, call one of the secretaries! The Privy Council must be summoned without loss of time."
"It meets at noon, sire, by your Majesty's own order," replied Overbury.
"Ay, truth, so it does," answered the King. "In the meantime have warrants drawn up for apprehending this rebel boy and this headstrong lassie.--Lose not a minute, sir; for by chance they may flee. Away with you, away with you! Let the warrants be brought to ourself for signature."
Sir Thomas Overbury bowed humbly, and withdrew; and the King, rising from his seat, began to perambulate his closet, uttering many a strange oath and exclamation, and walking with that shuffling gait which he always assumed when suffering under any great agitation. To see him, one would have supposed that the news he had just received referred, at least, to the loss of a province, or a rebellion in his kingdom, and not to the love of two persons, who sought nothing but domestic peace.