“This house is mine,” said Amy, “mine while I choose to inhabit it.  If it is my pleasure to live in seclusion, who shall gainsay me?”

“Your father, maiden,” answered Tressilian, “your broken-hearted father, who dispatched me in quest of you with that authority which he cannot exert in person.”

“Tressilian,” said 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.  Tell him I am well—­I am happy.  Go, carry him the news.  I come as sure as there is light in heaven—­that is, when I obtain permission.”

“Permission?  Permission to visit your father on his sick-bed, perhaps on his death-bed?” repeated Tressilian impatiently.  “And permission from whom?  Amy, in the name of thy broken-hearted father, I command thee to follow me!”

As he spoke, he advanced and extended his arm, as with the purpose of laying hold upon her.  But she shrunk back from his grasp, and uttered a scream which brought into the apartment Lambourne and Foster.

“Madam, fare you well!” said Tressilian.  “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 pursued the first path through the wild and overgrown park in which the mansion of Foster was situated.  At the postern, a cavalier, muffled in his riding cloak, entered, and stood at once within four yards of him who was desirous of going out.  They exclaimed, in tons of resentment and surprise, the one “Varney!” the other, “Tressilian!”

“What takes you here?” said Tressilian.  “Are you come to triumph over the innocence you have destroyed?  Draw, dog, and defend thyself!”

Tressilian drew his sword as he spoke, but Varney only replied: 

“Thou art mad, Tressilian!  I own appearances are against me, but by every oath Mistress Amy Robsart hath no injury from me!”

Tressilian forced him to draw, and Varney received a fall so sudden and violent that his sword flew several paces from his hand.  Lambourne came up just in time to save the life of Varney, and Tressilian perceived it was madness to press the quarrel further against such odds.

“Varney, we shall meet where there are none to come betwixt us!”

So saying, he turned round, and departed through the postern door.

Varney, left alone, gave vent to his meditations in broken words.  “She loves me not—­I would it were as true that I loved not her!  But she must not leave this retreat until I am assured on what terms we are to stand.  My lord’s interest—­and so far it is mine own, for if he sinks I fall in his train—­demands concealment of this obscure marriage.”

II.—­The Earl and the Countess