"My wife, sir, hath played the devil ere now, in a Mystery, in Queen
Mary's time; but me shall want a trifle for properties."
"Here is a crown for thee," said the Earl,--"make me rid of thee--the
great bell rings."
Master Robert Laneham stared a moment at the agitation which he had
excited, and then said to himself, as he stooped to pick up his staff
of office, "The noble Earl runs wild humours to-day. But they who give
crowns expect us witty fellows to wink at their unsettled starts; and,
by my faith, if they paid not for mercy, we would finger them tightly!"
[See Note 6. Robert Laneham.] Leicester moved hastily on, neglecting the courtesies he had hitherto
dispensed so liberally, and hurrying through the courtly crowd, until
he paused in a small withdrawing-room, into which he plunged to draw a
moment's breath unobserved, and in seclusion.
"What am I now," he said to himself, "that am thus jaded by the words
of a mean, weather-beaten, goose-brained gull! Conscience, thou art a
bloodhound, whose growl wakes us readily at the paltry stir of a rat
or mouse as at the step of a lion. Can I not quit myself, by one
bold stroke, of a state so irksome, so unhonoured? What if I kneel to
Elizabeth, and, owning the whole, throw myself on her mercy?"
As he pursued this train of thought, the door of the apartment opened,
and Varney rushed in.
"Thank God, my lord, that I have found you!" was his exclamation.
"Thank the devil, whose agent thou art," was the Earl's reply.
"Thank whom you will, my lord," replied Varney; "but hasten to the
water-side. The Queen is on board, and asks for you."
"Go, say I am taken suddenly ill," replied Leicester; "for, by Heaven,
my brain can sustain this no longer!"
"I may well say so," said Varney, with bitterness of expression, "for
your place, ay, and mine, who, as your master of the horse, was to have
attended your lordship, is already filled up in the Queen's barge. The
new minion, Walter Raleigh, and our old acquaintance Tressilian were
called for to fill our places just as I hastened away to seek you."
"Thou art a devil, Varney," said Leicester hastily; "but thou hast the
mastery for the present--I follow thee."
Varney replied not, but led the way out of the palace, and towards the
river, while his master followed him, as if mechanically; until, looking
back, he said in a tone which savoured of familiarity at least, if not
of authority, "How is this, my lord? Your cloak hangs on one side--your
hose are unbraced--permit me--"