Tressilian, with humble deference, suggested the name of Raleigh.

“Why, ay,” said the Queen; “so God ha’ me, thou hast made a good choice.  He is a young knight besides, and to deliver a lady from prison is an appropriate first adventure.—­Cumnor Place is little better than a prison, you are to know, my lords and ladies.  Besides, there are certain faitours there whom we would willingly have in safe keeping.  You will furnish them, Master Secretary, with the warrant necessary to secure the bodies of Richard Varney and the foreign Alasco, dead or alive.  Take a sufficient force with you, gentlemen—­bring the lady here in all honour—­lose no time, and God be with you!”

They bowed, and left the presence,

Who shall describe how the rest of that day was spent at Kenilworth?  The Queen, who seemed to have remained there for the sole purpose of mortifying and taunting the Earl of Leicester, showed herself as skilful in that female art of vengeance, as she was in the science of wisely governing her people.  The train of state soon caught the signal, and as he walked among his own splendid preparations, the Lord of Kenilworth, in his own Castle, already experienced the lot of a disgraced courtier, in the slight regard and cold manners of alienated friends, and the ill-concealed triumph of avowed and open enemies.  Sussex, from his natural military frankness of disposition, Burleigh and Walsingham, from their penetrating and prospective sagacity, and some of the ladies, from the compassion of their sex, were the only persons in the crowded court who retained towards him the countenance they had borne in the morning.

So much had Leicester been accustomed to consider court favour as the principal object of his life, that all other sensations were, for the time, lost in the agony which his haughty spirit felt at the succession of petty insults and studied neglects to which he had been subjected; but when he retired to his own chamber for the night, that long, fair tress of hair which had once secured Amy’s letter fell under his observation, and, with the influence of a counter-charm, awakened his heart to nobler and more natural feelings.  He kissed it a thousand times; and while he recollected that he had it always in his power to shun the mortifications which he had that day undergone, by retiring into a dignified and even prince-like seclusion with the beautiful and beloved partner of his future life, he felt that he could rise above the revenge which Elizabeth had condescended to take.

Accordingly, on the following day the whole conduct of the Earl displayed so much dignified equanimity—­he seemed so solicitous about the accommodations and amusements of his guests, yet so indifferent to their personal demeanour towards him—­so respectfully distant to the Queen, yet so patient of her harassing displeasure—­that Elizabeth changed her manner to him, and, though cold and distant, ceased to offer him any direct affront.  She intimated