Nevertheless, Edmund was by no means satisfied.  There was only the distance now of a few yards which separated him from his persecutor, and he feared, in spite of his disguise, lest he should be discovered.  He upbraided himself a thousand times for his foolhardiness in exposing himself to the perils which he knew beforehand would beset him in the capital; and in the extremity of his fear he absolutely shook with terror.  Fortunately, however, for him, his companion was too engrossed in watching the new arrivals, as they rapidly flocked in, to notice his agitation, and for some time he was left to his own uncomfortable reflections.  In vain he wished himself safe within the walls of Nottingham Castle.  Even Haddon would have been preferable, but even that sorry refuge was denied him too.  However much he wished it, he could not break away from the fact that he was at London, almost within arm’s length of his persecutor, and he already began to look upon himself as lost.

CHAPTER X.

In dire Straits.

  And if the worst had fall’n which could befall,
  He stood, a stranger in this breathing world,
  An erring spirit from another hurled;
  A thing of dark imaginings, that shaped
  By choice the perils he by chance escaped;
  But ’scaped in vain.

Edmund Wynne was rudely awakened from the train of thought into which he had fallen by the rough hand of the ostler, which alighted upon his shoulders with a smack which was re-echoed in the farthest corner of the yard.

“Now, James,” said his companion, whose ready familiarity was becoming exceedingly distasteful, “they are about to begin, see!”

The courtyard was, in fact, already more than comfortably filled.  Those of the audience who formed the pit squatted unceremoniously down in groups upon the ground, and having brought with them a plentiful supply of fruit and provisions, they were already busily engaged in discussing them; whilst the more select company, which paid a higher price and represented the modern gallery, occupied the reserved part on the other side of the rope, and was amusing itself in a general way, by looking down with supercilious contempt upon the common folk below.

Edmund stretched himself slightly forward, and peering out of the darkness of his retreat, was just in time to witness the appearance of the musicians, who, after making their bow to the audience, passed along the stage and made their exit through a doorway at the other end.  A profound silence fell upon the company, and as the music of the violins floated gently on the breeze, the players made their appearance on the stage.

“What grotesque figures,” he exclaimed, as an involuntary smile stole across his face; “why, they are covered with ivy leaves.”

“See how Lord Burleigh cheers,” interrupted the delighted ostler, as the play commenced, “and Sir Henry, too; see!  Hang him, that’s old Boniface rooting about; what can he want, I wonder?  I believe he is looking for me.”