“And may he that tires first fiddle the witches’ jig,” said the sapient king.

A burst of harsh music followed, and Sir John’s feebly tinkling strings were thrown aside.  Never had he wished so anxiously for one short hour of quietness; and right fain he was when the king retired to his chamber.  His duties for that day were over, and he strolled out from the hot and oppressive atmosphere into a calm quiet moonlight.  The cool breeze came like a healing balm upon his spirit, the soft dew fell upon his cheek,—­but the fire in his veins burnt fiercely.  His mistress’s form, her face, the sweet influence of her smile, were fixed indelibly on his heart.  Away from the bustle and cares of office,—­which, like waves on the surface, for a while effaced their image,—­the whole beauteous impression was revealed before him in all its loveliness and truth.  His heart bounded at the thought:—­it was but for a moment.  Again he stood, hopeless and desolate, gazing upon the soft mist-wreath in the valley, as though expecting it would render up the form of his beloved.

Suddenly the short swift steps of a steed were heard hurrying up the avenue.  A horseman approached the gateway:  it was his friend, the soi-disant knight of the silver mantle!

“How now, Weldon![36]—­whither have thy unlucky familiars carried thee?  Hast thou bestridden the enchanted horse, or wert thou bidden to a witch-feast?”

“I have been to Myerscough with your message,—­and the pains I have had for my labour.”

“My message!” said Sir John, with amazement:  “I sent thee on no other errand than to guard the lady, whom thou hast either made away with or she hath slipped from thine hold.”

“You are pleasant, Sir John.  Your tricks are well enough in court-hours.  Come, be serious, and tell me thou hast had a fool’s errand out of me.”

“I never was more serious in my life, Weldon, I do vouch, as my head shall swing safely on its pivot.  But who gave thee a message—­and to whom?”

“To our fair hostess at Myerscough.  Thy page thrust a scrap of writing into my hand after prayers.  The request was, that I should see the accompanying billet safely delivered, and with mine own hand, without loss of time.  It was one of your curiously-folded fantastic love-billets, as I thought.  Knowing I could well be spared hence, I immediately took horse, and came in a bath of foam to the lady; but when she opened her pretty token, she drew herself erect with great majesty.  ‘Tell Sir John Finett,’ said she, ’that when he next sends thee forth on his fooleries, to choose another butt; to shoot his arrows where they will stick, or his goose-feathers may fly back again.’”

Horror almost deprived Sir John of utterance.  That some foul play had been meditated, and in all probability accomplished, was but too plain; but how, or by whom, was inscrutable as ever.

The page was straitly questioned; but he merely said that his message was given him by some person he did not recognise in the crowd at the chapel-doors, who said he was to seek Weldon forthwith, and deliver him the papers from his master.  What course to adopt, or where to begin their search, were questions alike embarrassing and impossible to answer.  In the end they determined to lay the matter before the king on the morrow.