Here stands the victim--there the proud betrayer,
E'en as the hind pull'd down by strangling dogs
Lies at the hunter's feet--who courteous proffers
To some high dame, the Dian of the chase,
To whom he looks for guerdon, his sharp blade,
To gash the sobbing throat.
--THE WOODSMAN.
We are now to return to Mervyn's Bower, the apartment, or rather the
prison, of the unfortunate Countess of Leicester, who for some time kept
within bounds her uncertainty and her impatience. She was aware that, in
the tumult of the day, there might be some delay ere her letter could be
safely conveyed to the hands of Leicester, and that some time more might
elapse ere he could extricate himself from the necessary attendance on
Elizabeth, to come and visit her in her secret bower. "I will not expect
him," she said, "till night; he cannot be absent from his royal guest,
even to see me. He will, I know, come earlier if it be possible, but I
will not expect him before night." And yet all the while she did expect
him; and while she tried to argue herself into a contrary belief, each
hasty noise of the hundred which she heard sounded like the hurried step
of Leicester on the staircase, hasting to fold her in his arms.
The fatigue of body which Amy had lately undergone, with the agitation
of mind natural to so cruel a state of uncertainty, began by degrees
strongly to affect her nerves, and she almost feared her total inability
to maintain the necessary self-command through the scenes which might
lie before her. But although spoiled by an over-indulgent system of
education, Amy had naturally a mind of great power, united with a
frame which her share in her father's woodland exercises had rendered
uncommonly healthy. She summoned to her aid such mental and bodily
resources; and not unconscious how much the issue of her fate might
depend on her own self-possession, she prayed internally for strength of
body and for mental fortitude, and resolved at the same time to yield to
no nervous impulse which might weaken either.
Yet when the great bell of the Castle, which was placed in Caesar's
Tower, at no great distance from that called Mervyn's, began to send
its pealing clamour abroad, in signal of the arrival of the royal
procession, the din was so painfully acute to ears rendered nervously
sensitive by anxiety, that she could hardly forbear shrieking with
anguish, in answer to every stunning clash of the relentless peal.
Shortly afterwards, when the small apartment was at once enlightened by
the shower of artificial fires with which the air was suddenly filled,
and which crossed each other like fiery spirits, each bent on his own
separate mission, or like salamanders executing a frolic dance in the
region of the Sylphs, the Countess felt at first as if each rocket shot
close by her eyes, and discharged its sparks and flashes so nigh that
she could feel a sense of the heat. But she struggled against these
fantastic terrors, and compelled herself to arise, stand by the window,
look out, and gaze upon a sight which at another time would have
appeared to her at once captivating and fearful. The magnificent towers
of the Castle were enveloped in garlands of artificial fire, or shrouded
with tiaras of pale smoke. The surface of the lake glowed like molten
iron, while many fireworks (then thought extremely wonderful, though now
common), whose flame continued to exist in the opposing element, dived
and rose, hissed and roared, and spouted fire, like so many dragons of
enchantment sporting upon a burning lake.