In the meanwhile, as it was ordained, Cary could see and hear through the window of the hall a good deal of what was going on.

“How that Spanish crocodile ogles the Rose!” whispered he to young St. Leger.

“What wonder?  He is not the first by many a one.”

“Ay—­but—­By heaven, she is making side-shots at him with those languishing eyes of hers, the little baggage!”

“What wonder?  He is not the first, say I, and won’t be the last.  Pass the wine, man.”

“I have had enough; between sack and singing, my head is as mazed as a dizzy sheep.  Let me slip out.”

“Not yet, man; remember you are bound for one song more.”

So Cary, against his will, sat and sang another song; and in the meanwhile the party had broken up, and wandered away by twos and threes, among trim gardens and pleasaunces, and clipped yew-walks—­

     Where west-winds with musky wing
     About the cedarn alleys fling
     Nard and cassia’s balmy smells—­”

admiring the beauty of that stately place, long since passed into other hands, and fallen to decay, but then (if old Prince speaks true) one of the noblest mansions of the West.

At last Cary got away and out; sober, but just enough flushed with wine to be ready for any quarrel; and luckily for him, had not gone twenty yards along the great terrace before he met Lady Grenville.

“Has your ladyship seen Don Guzman?”

“Yes—­why, where is he?  He was with me not ten minutes ago.  You know he is going back to Spain.”

“Going!  Has his ransom come?”

“Yes, and with it a governorship in the Indies.”

“Governorship!  Much good may it do the governed.”

“Why not, then?  He is surely a most gallant gentleman.”

“Gallant enough—­yes,” said Cary, carelessly.  “I must find him, and congratulate him on his honors.”

“I will help you to find him,” said Lady Grenville, whose woman’s eye and ear had already suspected something.  “Escort me, sir.”

“It is but too great an honor to squire the Queen of Bideford,” said Cary, offering his hand.

“If I am your queen, sir, I must be obeyed,” answered she, in a meaning tone.  Cary took the hint, and went on chattering cheerfully enough.

But Don Guzman was not to be found in garden or in pleasaunce.

“Perhaps,” at last said a burgher’s wife, with a toss of her head, “your ladyship may meet with him at Hankford’s oak.”

“At Hankford’s oak! what should take him there?”

“Pleasant company, I reckon” (with another toss).  “I heard him and Mistress Salterne talking about the oak just now.”

Cary turned pale and drew in his breath.

“Very likely,” said Lady Grenville, quietly.  “Will you walk with me so far, Mr. Cary?”

“To the world’s end, if your ladyship condescends so far.”  And off they went, Lady Grenville wishing that they were going anywhere else, but afraid to let Cary go alone; and suspecting, too, that some one or other ought to go.