Tressilian crossed accordingly by the passage betwixt the immense range

of kitchens and the great hall, and ascended to the third story of

Mervyn's Tower, and applying himself to the door of the small apartment

which had been allotted to him, was surprised to find it was locked. He

then recollected that the deputy-chamberlain had given him a master-key,

advising him, in the present confused state of the Castle, to keep his

door as much shut as possible. He applied this key to the lock, the bolt

revolved, he entered, and in the same instant saw a female form seated

in the apartment, and recognized that form to be, Amy Robsart. His first

idea was that a heated imagination had raised the image on which it

doted into visible existence; his second, that he beheld an apparition;

the third and abiding conviction, that it was Amy herself, paler,

indeed, and thinner, than in the days of heedless happiness, when

she possessed the form and hue of a wood-nymph, with the beauty of a

sylph--but still Amy, unequalled in loveliness by aught which had ever

visited his eyes.

The astonishment of the Countess was scarce less than that of

Tressilian, although it was of shorter duration, because she had heard

from Wayland that he was in the Castle. She had started up at his first

entrance, and now stood facing him, the paleness of her cheeks having

given way to a deep blush.

"Tressilian," she said, at length, "why come you here?"

"Nay, why come you here, Amy," returned Tressilian, "unless it be at

length to claim that aid, which, as far as one man's heart and arm can

extend, shall instantly be rendered to you?"

She was silent a moment, and then answered in a sorrowful rather than an

angry tone, "I require no aid, Tressilian, and would rather be injured

than benefited by any which your kindness can offer me. Believe me, I am

near one whom law and love oblige to protect me."

"The villain, then, hath done you the poor justice which remained in his

power," said Tressilian, "and I behold before me the wife of Varney!"

"The wife of Varney!" she replied, with all the emphasis of scorn. "With

what base name, sir, does your boldness stigmatize the--the--the--" She

hesitated, dropped her tone of scorn, looked down, and was confused and

silent; for she recollected what fatal consequences might attend her

completing the sentence with "the Countess of Leicester," which were

the words that had naturally suggested themselves. It would have been

a betrayal of the secret, on which her husband had assured her that his

fortunes depended, to Tressilian, to Sussex, to the Queen, and to the

whole assembled court. "Never," she thought, "will I break my promised

silence. I will submit to every suspicion rather than that."




readonlinefreebook.com Copyright 2016 - 2024