tameness and restlessness in his gaze, that spoke his mirth to be hollow, and his ease and lightness of heart merely affected. As he passed along, no few eyes regarded him with scorn and contempt; and it was evident that, though he might yet enjoy the favour of the Queen, the wretch who had murdered one wife, and attempted the life of a second,—who had submitted to be abused by Arundel, and cuffed by Norfolk,—no longer swayed at will the destinies of the court.

“Methinks, my Lord of Leicester looks somewhat grim at thee, my fair Lord,” whispered Sir Robert Cecil to Essex.

“I marked it not,” replied Essex. “An’ thou art sure he did, I will presently make him say wherefore.”

“Hist, my dear Lord!” returned Cecil. “Her Highness approaches!”

While he was yet speaking, the doors at the end of the saloon, where Leicester and his party had posted themselves, were thrown open, and the ladies of the Queen’s household made their appearance at the aperture. Following them, a few paces in their wake, came the Queen herself, walking under a canopy, borne by the four ladies of her chambers, and attended, in the rearward, by four more ladies, who probably were maids of honour.

The ladies were all dressed, according to the practice of the royal household, with great simplicity; but this did not contract or reduce the effect of their beauty, but rather served, by its freedom from meretricious attractions, to exhibit their personal charms to advantage. Their simplicity of attire, however, had not been adopted by the Queen; and, whether that she wished to be singular, or had really a love for finery, she was dressed with extravagant splendour. Her ruff, or frill, of the most costly lace, was raised almost to the level of her mouth; but its excessive height, it must be acknowledged, was not unsuited to her aspect, and it lent the commanding tone of her features a visible support. Her stomacher of white satin, sprinkled with diamonds, was enclosed by a robe of blue velvet, descending into a long train; and, as if the rich velvet were not itself costly enough, this robe, or gown, was loaded with pieces of gold, wrought into the shape of various animals.

Though she was now long past her fiftieth year, Elizabeth, on the whole, did not misbecome her magnificent apparel. Her form, though impaired, was still graceful, and, as much from her habits as from nature, full of dignity; and her face presented very many traces of its former charms.

A murmur of “God save your Highness!” not loud, but deep, ran through the assembly as she entered, but she rendered no acknowledgment of the salutation, if such it may be called, till she had passed to a high seat, raised a step or two from the floor, near the middle of the saloon. Then, sitting down, she bowed gracefully round, and, as her eye fell on the Earl of Leicester, accompanied her bow with a kind smile.

There was a pause for a moment, when the Queen broke the silence.

“Is my Lord of Sussex in presence?” she asked.

“At your Highness’s command,” answered Sussex.

“We have a charge for thee, then,” pursued the Queen. “The captain of our guard, after urgent importunity, obtained our licence to be absent for a week, which expired on the morn of yesterday. As he did not then return, we direct thee, in our name, to have him diligently sought for, and, when found, attached as a deserter.”

“That will I do straightway, my liege,” answered Sussex, smiling. And, turning round, he laid his hand on Sir Walter Raleigh, who was standing directly behind him, and added:—“Sir Walter Raleigh, I attach thee, in the name of our Sovereign Lady, as a false knight, and a deserter.”

“I appeal from thee to the clemency of her Highness!” cried Sir Walter Raleigh.

And pushing past the Earl, who seemed willingly to give way to him, he sprang towards the Queen’s chair, and threw himself on one knee at her feet.

“A boon! a boon, dread Sovereign!” he exclaimed.

“By my father’s hand, no!” answered Elizabeth. “No! no! Thou shalt be punished, deserter, to the very stretch of my prerogative. Henceforth thou shalt forfeit thy liberty altogether. To prove that I speak earnestly, I now charge thee, first, to attend me to the Globe playhouse; thence to Greenwich; afterwards—”

“Oh, thanks! thanks, my gracious Queen!” cried Sir Walter.

“By my faith, the knave takes his sentence as a great boon!” exclaimed the Queen, with a look of gratification. “I would be sworn, now, instead of putting on him a heavy punishment, I have even dealt him a guerdon.”