“If the dungeon-grate once clashes behind me,” thought Wayland, “I am a gone man.”  He therefore answered submissively, “He was the poor juggler whom his honour had met yesterday in Weatherly Bottom.”

“And what juggling trick art thou playing in this tower?  Thy gang,” said Lambourne, “lie over against Clinton’s buildings.”

“I came here to see my sister,” said the juggler, “who is in Master Tressilian’s chamber, just above.”

“Aha!” said Lambourne, smiling, “here be truths!  Upon my honour, for a stranger, this same Master Tressilian makes himself at home among us, and furnishes out his cell handsomely, with all sorts of commodities.  This will be a precious tale of the sainted Master Tressilian, and will be welcome to some folks, as a purse of broad pieces to me.—­Hark ye, fellow,” he continued, addressing Wayland, “thou shalt not give Puss a hint to steal away we must catch her in her form.  So, back with that pitiful sheep-biting visage of thine, or I will fling thee from the window of the tower, and try if your juggling skill can save your bones.”

“Your worship will not be so hardhearted, I trust,” said Wayland; “poor folk must live.  I trust your honour will allow me to speak with my sister?”

“Sister on Adam’s side, I warrant,” said Lambourne; “or, if otherwise, the more knave thou.  But sister or no sister, thou diest on point of fox, if thou comest a-prying to this tower once more.  And now I think of it—­uds daggers and death!—­I will see thee out of the Castle, for this is a more main concern than thy jugglery.”

“But, please your worship,” said Wayland, “I am to enact Arion in the pageant upon the lake this very evening.”

“I will act it myself by Saint Christopher!” said Lambourne.  “Orion, callest thou him?—­I will act Orion, his belt and his seven stars to boot.  Come along, for a rascal knave as thou art—­follow me!  Or stay—­Lawrence, do thou bring him along.”

Lawrence seized by the collar of the cloak the unresisting juggler; while Lambourne, with hasty steps, led the way to that same sallyport, or secret postern, by which Tressilian had returned to the Castle, and which opened in the western wall at no great distance from Mervyn’s Tower.

While traversing with a rapid foot the space betwixt the tower and the sallyport, Wayland in vain racked his brain for some device which might avail the poor lady, for whom, notwithstanding his own imminent danger, he felt deep interest.  But when he was thrust out of the Castle, and informed by Lambourne, with a tremendous oath, that instant death would be the consequence of his again approaching it, he cast up his hands and eyes to heaven, as if to call God to witness he had stood to the uttermost in defence of the oppressed; then turned his back on the proud towers of Kenilworth, and went his way to seek a humbler and safer place of refuge.

Lawrence and Lambourne gazed a little while after Wayland, and then turned to go back to their tower, when the former thus addressed his companion:  “Never credit me, Master Lambourne, if I can guess why thou hast driven this poor caitiff from the Castle, just when he was to bear a part in the show that was beginning, and all this about a wench.”