“That was in TERTIO MARIAE,” said Master Mumblazen.

“In the name of Heaven,” continued the curate, “tell us, has your time been better spent than ours, or have you any news of that unhappy maiden, who, being for so many years the principal joy of this broken-down house, is now proved our greatest unhappiness?  Have you not at least discovered her place of residence?”

“I have,” replied Tressilian.  “Know you Cumnor Place, near Oxford?”

“Surely,” said the clergyman; “it was a house of removal for the monks of Abingdon.”

“Whose arms,” said Master Michael, “I have seen over a stone chimney in the hall,—­a cross patonce betwixt four martlets.”

“There,” said Tressilian, “this unhappy maiden resides, in company with the villain Varney.  But for a strange mishap, my sword had revenged all our injuries, as well as hers, on his worthless head.”

“Thank God, that kept thine hand from blood-guiltiness, rash young man!” answered the curate.  “Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord, and I will repay it.  It were better study to free her from the villain’s nets of infamy.”

“They are called, in heraldry, LAQUEI AMORIS, or LACS D’AMOUR,” said Mumblazen.

“It is in that I require your aid, my friends,” said Tressilian.  “I am resolved to accuse this villain, at the very foot of the throne, of falsehood, seduction, and breach of hospitable laws.  The Queen shall hear me, though the Earl of Leicester, the villain’s patron, stood at her right hand.”

“Her Grace,” said the curate, “hath set a comely example of continence to her subjects, and will doubtless do justice on this inhospitable robber.  But wert thou not better apply to the Earl of Leicester, in the first place, for justice on his servant?  If he grants it, thou dost save the risk of making thyself a powerful adversary, which will certainly chance if, in the first instance, you accuse his master of the horse and prime favourite before the Queen.”

“My mind revolts from your counsel,” said Tressilian.  “I cannot brook to plead my noble patron’s cause the unhappy Amy’s cause—­before any one save my lawful Sovereign.  Leicester, thou wilt say, is noble.  Be it so; he is but a subject like ourselves, and I will not carry my plaint to him, if I can do better.  Still, I will think on what thou hast said; but I must have your assistance to persuade the good Sir Hugh to make me his commissioner and fiduciary in this matter, for it is in his name I must speak, and not in my own.  Since she is so far changed as to dote upon this empty profligate courtier, he shall at least do her the justice which is yet in his power.”

“Better she died CAELEBS and Sine Prole,” said Mumblazen, with more animation than he usually expressed, “than part, per pale, the noble coat of Robsart with that of such a miscreant!”

“If it be your object, as I cannot question,” said the clergyman, “to save, as much as is yet possible, the credit of this unhappy young woman, I repeat, you should apply, in the first instance, to the Earl of Leicester.  He is as absolute in his household as the Queen in her kingdom, and if he expresses to Varney that such is his pleasure, her honour will not stand so publicly committed.”