Leicester was confounded, but the danger was urgent, and a reply absolutely necessary.  “The ladies,” he said, “think too lightly of one of their own sex, in supposing she could deserve such a fate; or too ill of ours, to think it could be inflicted upon an innocent female.”

“Hear him, my ladies,” said Elizabeth; “like all his sex, he would excuse their cruelty by imputing fickleness to us.”

“Say not us, madam,” replied the Earl.  “We say that meaner women, like the lesser lights of heaven, have revolutions and phases; but who shall impute mutability to the sun, or to Elizabeth?”

The discourse presently afterwards assumed a less perilous tendency, and Leicester continued to support his part in it with spirit, at whatever expense of mental agony.  So pleasing did it seem to Elizabeth, that the Castle bell had sounded midnight ere she retired from the company, a circumstance unusual in her quiet and regular habits of disposing of time.  Her departure was, of course, the signal for breaking up the company, who dispersed to their several places of repose, to dream over the pastimes of the day, or to anticipate those of the morrow.

The unfortunate Lord of the Castle, and founder of the proud festival, retired to far different thoughts.  His direction to the valet who attended him was to send Varney instantly to his apartment.  The messenger returned after some delay, and informed him that an hour had elapsed since Sir Richard Varney had left the Castle by the postern gate with three other persons, one of whom was transported in a horse-litter.

“How came he to leave the Castle after the watch was set?” said Leicester.  “I thought he went not till daybreak.”

“He gave satisfactory reasons, as I understand,” said the domestic, “to the guard, and, as I hear, showed your lordship’s signet—­”

“True—­true,” said the Earl; “yet he has been hasty.  Do any of his attendants remain behind?”

“Michael Lambourne, my lord,” said the valet, “was not to be found when Sir Richard Varney departed, and his master was much incensed at his absence.  I saw him but now saddling his horse to gallop after his master.”

“Bid him come hither instantly,” said Leicester; “I have a message to his master.”

The servant left the apartment, and Leicester traversed it for some time in deep meditation.  “Varney is over-zealous,” he said, “over-pressing.  He loves me, I think; but he hath his own ends to serve, and he is inexorable in pursuit of them.  If I rise, he rises; and he hath shown himself already but too, eager to rid me of this obstacle which seems to stand betwixt me and sovereignty.  Yet I will not stoop to bear this disgrace.  She shall be punished, but it shall be more advisedly.  I already feel, even in anticipation, that over-haste would light the flames of hell in my bosom.  No—­one victim is enough at once, and that victim already waits me.”