Darnley; or, The Field of the Cloth of Gold

CHAPTER XX.

During this expedition of Henry and Sir Osborne, Lord Darby had acted with more prudence than might have been expected from one so light and volatile as himself. But, with all the levity of youth, he had a great fund of shrewdness and good sense, which enabled him keenly to perceive all the weaknesses of the king's character, and adapt his own behaviour exactly to the circumstance, whenever he was brought particularly in contact with the monarch.

In the present instance, seeing that the spirit of mystery had seized upon Henry, he consented to forego all more active amusement; so that, when the king and his young companion returned, they found the earl seated in the saloon wherein Sir Osborne had been armed, never having quitted it during their absence.

Henry was in high spirits. All had gone well with him: his expedition had been both successful and secret, and he was not a little pleased to find that the earl had not joined any of the gay parties of the court while he had been away.

"Ha, my lord!" cried he, as he entered; "still here! You have done well; you have done well. 'Tis a treasure you have brought me, this good knight. Snell, unlace my casque; I must thank you for him as a gift, for he is now mine own. He outdoes all expectation; nay, say not against it, Sir Osborne; I should be able to judge of these matters: I have broken spears enow, and I pronounce you equal to any knight at this court. Call some one to undo these trappings. But, Darby, you must not quit the court to-night. Dine here; 'tis time, i'faith; near one o' the clock! and take Sir Osborne Maurice with you. Make him known to the best of the court: say the king holds him highly. But stay," he added, "I had forgot;" and sending for the sub-controller of the household, he gave commands that the young knight should be furnished with apartments in the palace from that moment, and receive the appointment of a gentleman of the privy chamber. "The number is complete," he continued, turning to Sir Osborne; "but, nevertheless, you shall be rated as such, and yourself and men provided in the palace. See it be done, Sir John Harvey. Darby, return hither privately with your friend, at nine to-night. We have a masque and revel afoot; but take no heed to send to London for disguise; we will be your furnishers."

"I hope, sir," said the sub-controller, as the knight and his friend followed him from the presence, "you are aware that only three servants are allowed to a gentleman of the privy chamber."

"Three will be as much as I shall have occasion for," answered the knight; "the other shall remain in London."

"If you will follow me, then," said the officer, "I will show you to the apartment. Ho! send me a yeoman usher there," he continued, speaking to a servant who passed. "This way, sir, we shall find the rooms."

"What!" cried Lord Darby, after they had ascended a good many steps in one of the wings of the building; "are you going to put my friend in a third story? Think, Sir John Harvey, may not the king find it strange when he hears that a knight he honours with his regard has been so lodged?"

"I can assure you, my lord," answered the controller, "they are absolutely the only ones in the palace vacant which are at all equal to the knight's quality; and in truth, were it not for the height, are among the best in the place. They are large and spacious; exactly the same size as those which were appointed yesterday, by the queen's command, for Lady Constance de Grey, and which are immediately underneath."

"I was going to offer Sir Osborne the use of mine," said Lord Darby, with a laughing glance towards the knight, "till you could find him better; but if they are so very good as you say, maybe he will prefer having his own at once. Ha! Sir Osborne?"

The controller looked solemn, seeing there was some joke, and not understanding it; but, however, he was joined in a moment after by a yeoman usher, bearing a bunch of keys, from which he selected one, and opened the door at which they had been standing while the earl spoke. A little ante-chamber conducted into three others beyond, all very well furnished according to the fashion of the day, with a beautiful view of the wild park from the windows of some of the rooms, and of the river from the others; on which advantage the worthy sub-controller descanted with much the tone and manner of a lodging-house keeper at a watering-place; little knowing that one word regarding the proximity of Constance de Grey would have been a higher recommendation to the young knight than all the prospects in the world, though he loved the beautiful and varied face of earth as much as any one.

"Go to the wardrobe of beds, usher," said the officer, when he had promenaded the knight and Lord Darby through the apartment; "go to the wardrobe of beds, and tell the undermaster to come hither and garnish this apartment with all speed. As I do not know the honourable knight's face," continued he, "it is probable that he is new to this court, and is not aware of the regulations, which, therefore, I will make bold to tell him. Dinner and supper are served at the board of estate, every day, at noon and at nightfall. No rere-suppers are given, nunchions, beverages, or breakfast; but to each gentleman of the privy-chamber his grace commands a livery every night."

"A livery!" said Sir Osborne; "pray, Sir John, what is that?"

"Its value, sir," said the controller, "depends upon the station of the person to whom it is given. I have known it cost as much as ten pounds; such was sent every night to the gentlemen who came to seek the Princess Mary for the French king; but the livery given by his grace the king to the gentlemen of the privy-chamber, and others bearing the same rank, is a cast of fine manchet bread, two pots of white or red wine at choice, one pound weight of sugar, four white lights, and four yellow lights of wax, and one large staff torch, which is delivered every evening at seven of the clock."

Without proceeding further with such discourse, we shall merely say that the arrangement of Sir Osborne's apartment was soon completed, himself unarmed, his servants furnished with what modern lacqueys would call dog-holes, and with truckle-beds; and having, by intercession with a gentleman wearing black velvet and a gold chain, and calling himself the chief cook, obtained some dinner, for the board of estate had long been cleared, Lord Darby and Sir Osborne sauntered forth on the parade, where the young gallants of the court were beginning to show themselves; some taking, as it were, a furtive walk across, afraid to be seen there before the moment of fashion sanctioned their appearance, and some, who, from either ignorance or boldness, heeded no mode but their own convenience. Fashions are nine times out of ten affectations; affectations in those who lead and in those who follow; and as it is now, so was it in the days of Henry the Eighth.

The presence of Lord Darby, however, who gradually gathered round him a little multitude as he walked, soon rendered the parade more populous. Sir Osborne was introduced to all who were worthy of his acquaintance; and the same persons who three days before might hardly have given him a courteous answer, if he had asked them a question, were now mortified at not being numbered with his acquaintance. The knight himself, however, was absent and inattentive, his eye continually seeking Lady Constance de Grey through the crowd, and his mind sometimes occupied with pleasing dreams of love, and hope, and happiness to come, and sometimes pondering over his unexpected encounter with Sir Payan Wileton, and its probable results.

So strange is the world, that this very abstractness of manner and carelessness in regard to those about him had its grace in the eyes of the court. They seemed to think that he who cared so little about anybody, must be somebody of consequence himself; and when, after a prolonged saunter, the two friends re-entered the palace, Sir Osborne's name had acquired a degree of éclât which the most attentive politeness would scarcely have obtained. Still no Constance de Grey had he seen, and he sat down in the apartments of Lord Darby, not peculiarly satisfied with their walk.

The young earl himself had also suffered a similar disappointment, for in the midst of all the nonchalant gaiety which he had displayed to the crowd, his eye had not failed to scan every group of ladies that they met for the form of Lady Katrine Bulmer, and he felt a good deal mortified at not having seen her. But very different was the manner in which his feelings acted, from the deeper and more ardent love of Darnley. He laughed, he sung, he jested his companion upon his gravity, and in the end consoled him, by assuring him that they should meet with both their lady-loves that night at the queen's, so that if he were not in a very expiring state, he might hope to live to see her once more.

The hours quickly flew, and a little before nine the knight and his companion presented themselves at the door of the king's private apartments, where they were admitted by a page. When they entered Henry was reading, and pursued the object of his study without taking any notice of their approach by word or sign. Nothing remained to be done but to stand profoundly still before him, waiting his good pleasure, which remained full a quarter of an hour unmanifested.

"Well, gentlemen both," cried the king at last, starting up and laying down the book; "I have kept ye long--ha? But now, to make amends, I will lead ye to the fair ladies. Oh, the disguises! the disguises! Bring the disguises, Minton; the three I chose but now. You, Darby, shall be a Muscovian; you, Maurice, a Polacco; and I an Almaine. Say, Darby, did you see my good lord cardinal this morning ere you came? Holds he his mind of going to York, as he stated yesterday?"

"I did not see the very reverend lord this morning," replied Lord Darby, who was Wolsey's ward, as well as the chief lord of his household. "But his master of the horse informed me that he still proposed going at ten this morning. Your grace knows that he never delays when business calls him; and in the present case he thinks that his presence may quell the murmurers of Yorkshire, as well as Lord Howard has put down the Rochester fools."

"Ah, 'twas a shrewd business that of Rochester," said the king. "Now would I give a thousand marks to know who 'twas that set that stone a-rolling. Be you sure, Darby, that the brute shipwrights would ne'er have dreamed such a thing themselves. They were set on! They were set on, man! Ha, the disguises! Quick! come into this closet, and we will robe us. 'Tis late, and our lady has promised to give, as well as to receive, a mask."

So saying, Henry led the way to a cabinet at the side of the saloon in which they were; and here the two young lords offered to assist in dressing him, but of this he would not permit, bidding them haste with their own robes, or he would be ready first. The disguise assigned to Sir Osborne was a splendid suit of gold brocade trimmed with fur, intended to represent the dress of a Pole; having a sort of pelisse with sleeves of rich gold damask and sables thrown over the back, and held by a baldrick, crossing from the right shoulder under the left arm. His head was covered with a square bonnet of cloth of gold, like his dress, with an edge of fur; and his face concealed by a satin mask with a beard of golden threads.

The dress of Lord Darby was not very dissimilar, with only this difference, that in place of the pelisse, he was furnished with a robe with short sleeves, and wore on his head a sort of turban, or toque, with a high feather. In a very different style was the king's disguise, being simply a splendid German dress of cloth of gold, trimmed with crimson velvet, but certainly not so unlike his usual garments as to afford any great degree of concealment. All being masked and prepared, Henry sent the page to see if the torchbearers were ready, and issuing out of the palace the three maskers, preceded by half-a-dozen attendants, crossed the greater quadrangle, passed out at the gate, and making a circuit round the building, came immediately under the windows of the queen's great hall, from each of which a broad blaze of light flashed forth upon the night, and cast a line of twinkling splendour across the river, that otherwise flowed on, dark and indistinct, under a clouded and moonless sky.

"Sir Osborne," said Henry, in a low voice, as they entered the open doors, and turned into a suite of apartments anterior to the room where the queen held her assembly--"Sir Osborne, your voice being unknown, you shall be our orator, and in your fine wit seek a fair compliment for our introduction."

Had his face been uncovered, perhaps the young knight might have sought to excuse himself; but there is wonderful assurance in a mask; and feeling a boldness in his disguise, which perhaps the eye of Constance de Grey might have robbed him of, had he not been concealed from its glance, he at once undertook the task, saying that he would do his best.

As he spoke, a couple of hautboys, by which Henry was preceded, paused at the entrance of the great hall, and placing themselves on each side, began a light duet, to announce that some masks were coming. The doors were thrown open, and a splendid scene burst on the view of Sir Osborne, full of bright and glittering figures, fleeting about in the blaze of innumerable lights, like the gay phastasms of a brilliant dream. The knight instinctively paused, but Henry urged him on.

"Quick! quick!" whispered he; "to the lady, to the lady; you forget your task."

Sir Osborne instantly recollected himself, and seeing a lady, who, standing unmasked at the farther end of the hall, bore about her that air of royalty, and that majestic beauty, scarcely touched by time, for which the noble Catherine was famous, he advanced directly towards her, and bent one knee to the ground. Nature had given him somewhat of a poet's inspiration, which came now happily to his aid, and if his verses were not very good, they were at least ready.

"I thank you, fair sir; I thank you," replied the queen, with a pleased and gracious smile: "be most welcome, you and your company. I should know you, and yet I do not. But will you not dance? Choose your fair ladies; and, chamberlain, bid the music sound."

Sir Osborne passed on, and the king and Lord Darby followed.

"Excellent well, my knight! excellent well!" whispered Henry. "Now show your wit in choice of a fair dame. I'faith, one must be keen in these same masks to tell the foul from the fair. However, let us disperse and find the jewels, though they be hid in such strange rinds."

At the word the three maskers took different paths amongst the various figures with which the hall was now nearly filled; Lord Darby and the knight, each in search of the object of his love; while Henry, as yet unrecognised, glided through the apartment, it might be in quest of some fair one also.

For some time Sir Osborne sought in vain, bewildered amongst the crowd of quaint disguises with which he was surrounded. Now he thought he beheld the form of Lady Constance here, and after following it for a moment was called away by the sight of one that resembled her more. That again he gave up, convinced by some turn or some gesture that it was some other. Another presented itself, which perhaps he might have mistaken, but the gay flutter of her manner at once showed that it was not the person he sought. He saw that already Lord Darby had found his partner; the tuning of the musical instruments was over, and mentally cursing his own stupidity, or his own ill-fortune, he was proceeding once more towards the part of the room where stood the queen, with his heart beating between eagerness and vexation, when he beheld a lady, dressed in silver brocade, with a plain satin mask, glide into the hall, and passing by several who spoke to her, approach that spot, as if to take a seat which stood near. Sir Osborne darted forward. He felt that it was her; and, eager to prevent any one intercepting him, almost startled her with the suddenness of his address.

"Fair mask," said the knight, in a voice that trembled with delight and hope, "will you tread a measure with a stranger, for courtesy's sake?"

"I should know your voice," said the lady, in a low tone; "but I can scarce believe I see you here. But one word, to tell me who you are?"

"My motto," replied the knight, "is Constanc-y; my crest, a lady's glove."

The lady instantly put her hand into his. "Darnley!" said she, in a voice so low as to be inaudible to any one but himself, who, bending his head over her, trembled to catch every accent.

"Ah! Constance," he replied, in the same subdued tone, "what is it I have dared to say to you? what is it I have dared to hope? Friendless and fortuneless as I am, can you ever pardon my boldness?"

"Hush!" she said, "for pity's sake speak not in that way. Now I know you love me, that is enough. Friendless you are not, and fortuneless you cannot he, when all that is Constance's is yours. But see! they are going to dance; afterwards we will speak more. Do not think me bold, Darnley, or too easily won; but were I to affect that reserve which still perhaps might be right, we are so circumstanced that we might be ruined before we understood each other."

The knight poured forth a thousand thanks, and strove to explain to Lady Constance how deeply grateful he felt for that generous candour which is ever the companion of the truest modesty; and, the music now beginning, he led her through the dance with calm and graceful ease. As soon as the measure was ended, the queen's chamberlain pronounced, with a loud voice, that in the other halls the knights and ladies who had danced would find cool air and shady bowers; and, gladly taking advantage of this information, Sir Osborne led his partner into the chamber beyond, which by the queen's device had been divided into a thousand little arbours, where artificial trees and shrubs, mingled with real ones, and often ornamented with gilt fruit or flowers, formed a sort of enchanted garden, for the dancers to repose themselves; not very exquisite in its taste, indeed, but very much to the taste of the day.

Singling out the farthest of all the arbours, and the one which permitted its occupants most easily to observe the approach of any other party, Darnley led Lady Constance to one of the seats which it contained, and placing himself by her side, paused for a moment in silence, to enjoy the new delights that came thrilling upon his heart. "Oh, Constance!" said he at length, looking up to the sweet hazel eyes that gazed upon him through the meaningless mask; "never, never did I think to know such happiness on earth! Could I have dreamed of this when I left you for Flanders?"

"I do not know," replied Constance; "I have done nothing but think ever since--ever since you took my glove; and I have fancied that my dear father foresaw this, and wished it, as you tell me he was aware who you were; for never, even at that age, was I permitted to know, and converse with, and see intimately, any young cavalier but yourself. And then, do not you remember, when you used to teach me to shoot with the bow, how he would stand by and praise your shooting? Oh! I can call to mind a thousand things to make me think so."

"Could I but believe it," said Darnley, "I should be even happier than I am. But still, dear Constance, I hope, I trust, that in the end I may be enabled to seek your hand, not as an outcast wanderer. Your good cousin, Lord Darby, has brought me to the knowledge of the king, whose favour I have been happy enough to gain. He has retained me as one of the gentlemen of his privy chamber, appointed me apartments in the palace, which are just above your own; and I hope so far to win his regard by this opportunity, that he may be induced to hear my cause against the villain who has seized our inheritance, and do justice to us at last. And then, Constance, with rank, and fortune, and favour, all restored, Darnley may hope."

"And what if not restored, Darnley?" said Lady Constance. "Do you think that rank, or fortune, or favour, will make any difference in the regard of Constance de Grey? No, Darnley: if--but I won't say if---you love me, the cardinal may do what he will, but I will never wed another. He may find means, as they hint, to forfeit my English lands, yet he cannot take my French ones; and even if he did, I would rather be beggar and free than married to a man I do not love. Not that I do not love Darby as my cousin; he is kind, and generous, and frank; but oh!! it is very, very different. But you say that he introduced you to the king; I did not know you were even acquainted."

"It is a long story, dear Constance," replied the knight; "I will give it you some other time; but now tell me, while we are yet uninterrupted, how may I see you? To watch for you, even to catch a word during the day, certainly were delight; but still 'tis hard, situated as we are, not to be able to communicate together more freely. May not I come to see you?"

"Certainly," replied Lady Constance; "but you know that I can hardly have any private conversation with you even when you do; for good Dr. Wilbraham is with me the greater part of the morning, and one of my women always." She paused for a moment in thought, and, raising her eyes to his, "Darnley," she said, "I never could love a man in whose honour I could not entirely confide; therefore I do not think it shows me either weak or wrong when I say that I will be entirely guided by you. We are not situated as people in general, and therefore we cannot act as people in general do. Tell me, then, what you think right, and I will do it. But here are two of the maskers coming directly towards us. Say what must I do?"

"It is necessary, Constance," said the knight quickly, "absolutely necessary, that I should sometimes be allowed half-an-hour's conversation alone, especially at the present moment. I will come to-morrow early, very early, if it can be then. May I?"

"Yes," said Lady Constance, "I will see. But who are these? They are coming to us."

"It is Lord Darby," said the knight, "and, if I mistake not, Lady Katrine Bulmer."

"Dear Polacco!" cried Lord Darby, approaching with a lady, who, to use an old writer's description, was wondrous gay in her apparel, with a marvellous strange and rich tire on her head: "dear Polacco, I am but now aware of how much I have to thank you for. What! you were near tilting at the Rochester host, and broaching me half-a-dozen plank-shavers on your spear in defence of a fair lady, and also took my part even before you knew me? Now, will I guess who is this silver fair one by your side? she's blushing through her mask as if I were going to pronounce her name with the voice of a trumpet. Well, sweet cousin! will you own that you have a wild and rattle-pated relation in the good town of Westminster? and if so, though you cannot love him, will you love a very loveable creature for his sake?"

"Hush, mad-cap! let me speak!" said the voice of Lady Katrine Bulmer. "Lady," she continued, placing herself by the side of Lady Constance, "will you hate one that would fain love you very much, and have your love again?"

"Heaven forbid!" replied Lady Constance. "'Tis so sweet to be loved ourselves, that feeling it, we can scarce refuse it again to those that love us: with a reservation, though," she added.

"Granted the reservation, that there is still a one must be loved best," said Lady Katrine; "we all four know it," and she glanced her merry eyes round the circle. "Oh, what a happy thing is a mask! Here one may confess one's love, or laugh at one's friends, or abuse one's relations, without a blush; and surely, if they were worn always, they would save a world of false smiles and a world of false tears. Oh, strange economy! What an ocean of grimaces might be spared if man were but to wear a pasteboard face!"

"I am afraid that he does so more than you think, lady," replied Sir Osborne. "You will own that his countenance is hollow, and that its smiles are painted: in short, that it is all a picture, though a moving one."

"Listen to him!" cried Lady Katrine, raising her look to Lord Darby; "think of his having the impudence to moralise in the presence of two women! Would you have believed it?"

"Nay, fair lady! it was you who led the way," replied Sir Osborne. "But what means that trumpet in these peaceful halls?"

"'Tis either a sound to supper," replied Lord Darby, "or the entrance of one of those pageants of which our gracious king is so fond. At all events, let us go and see."

Thus speaking, he led away Lady Katrine gaily to the door, towards which all the other parties from the enchanted garden were now proceeding. Sir Osborne and Lady Constance followed more slowly. "Darnley," said the fair girl, as she leaned on his arm, "I know not what sort of presentiment led me hither to-night, for I have been so vexed and so distressed with much that has happened since my arrival in London, that I can hardly call myself well. I am now much fatigued, and if I can escape, I will hie me to my bed. When you come to-morrow, you shall answer me a thousand questions that I have to ask. Oh! I see I can pass round by that other door. Farewell for this night!"

"Oh, that I dared hope it had been a happy one to you, as it has been to me!" said the knight, still holding her hand with a fond and lingering pressure.

"It has, Darnley; it has!" replied Lady Constance; "it has been one that I shall never forget. Farewell!" and turning away, she passed out of the door at the side, which led to the apartments in that wing of the building: not, however, without one look more into the room where her lover stood gazing still, to catch the last glance of that graceful figure ere it left his sight.

When she was gone, the young knight, with a high-beating heart, turned to the door of the great hall, and entered with some of the last lingerers, who were now changing their slowness into speed, in order to get a place before the pageant entered. The thoughts of Sir Osborne, however, were employed on so much more engrossing subjects, that he took no pains to hasten his steps till he was fairly within the chamber, when, seeing the whole of the guests arranged on the farther side of the hall, with the queen in the centre, under her canopy or cloth of estate, he felt the impropriety of standing there alone, and hastened to seek a place.

At that moment he observed Henry, who, still disguised, was seated amongst the rest, and who made him a sign to take a place beside him. Notwithstanding his mask, however, it was very evident that the king was known; for, on his sign to Sir Osborne, all around made way for the young knight to approach the monarch. Scarcely had he taken his seat when, through the great doors of the hall, a huge machine was rolled in, before which extended a double cloth of arras, so arranged as to hide every part of the gewgaw within, only leaving a twinkling light here and there, seen through the crevices, like the lamps that, through the cracks of the last scene in a pantomime, announce the brilliant change that is soon to take place to the temple of Love or Venus, or some other such sweet power, that deals in pasteboard and spangles.

But such a thing can never be so well described as in the words of those who saw it, and whose old stiff style harmonises admirably well with the quaint and graceless show that they detail. We shall therefore only so far modify the account which Hall, the chronicler, gives of this very pageant, as to render him generally intelligible.

"Then," says he, "there was a device or pageant brought in, out of which pageant issued a gentleman richly apparelled, that showed how, in a garden of pleasure, there was an arbour of gold, wherein were lords and ladies, much desirous to show pleasure and pastime to the queen and ladies, if they might be licensed so to do; who was answered by the queen, how sire and all other there were very desirous to see them and their pastime, when a great cloth of arras, that did hang before the same pageant, was taken away, and the pageant brought more near. It was curiously made and pleasant to behold; it was solemn and rich, for every post or pillar thereof was covered with frieze gold. Therein were trees of hawthorn, eglantines, roses, vines, and other pleasant flowers of divers colours, with gillofers and other herbs, all made of satin, damask, silk, silver and gold, accordingly as the natural trees, herbs, or flowers ought to be. In which arbour were six ladies, all apparelled in white satin and green, set and embroidered full of H. and K. of gold, knit together with laces of gold of damask, and all their garments were replenished with glittering spangles gilt over; and on their heads were bonnets all opened at the four quarters, overfriezed with flat gold of damask. In this garden also were six lords, apparelled in garments of purple satin, all of cuts with H. and K. Every edge garnished with friezed gold, and every garment full of posies, made in letters of fine gold in bullion, as thick as might be; and every person had his name in like letters of massy gold. The first, Cœur Loyal; the second, Bonne Volure; the third, Bon Espoir; the fourth, Valiant Désire; the fifth, Bonne Foi; the sixth, Amour Loyal. Their hose, caps, and coats, were full of posies and H. K.'s of fine gold in bullion, so the ground could scarce appear, and yet in every void place were spangles of gold. When time was come, the said pageant was brought forward into presence, and then descended a lord and lady by couples, and then the minstrels, which were disguised, also danced, and the lords and ladies danced, that it was a pleasure to behold."

Such is old Hall's description of the pageant which now entered: and it may easily be imagined that Sir Osborne, accustomed to a less luxurious court, was somewhat astonished at the splendour of the scene, if he was not much gratified by the good taste of the device.

When the eye of Henry, pampered with such gaudy food from day to day, had taken in enough of the pageant, he rose from his seat, and waving his hand for the musicians to cease, "Thanks, gentle lords and ladies; thanks!" he cried; and taking off his own mask, added, "Let us ease our faces of their vizards."

As he spoke, every one rose and unmasked; and Henry, taking Sir Osborne by the hand, led him forward to the queen, while all eyes naturally fixed upon him.

"Fair lady mine," said the king, "I bring you a good knight, Sir Osborne Maurice, who, as you see, has wit at will, and who, I can vouch, is as keen a champion in the saddle as he is a graceful dancer in the hall. In short, he is a very gentle perfect knight, whom you must cherish and receive for my love."

While Sir Osborne knelt and kissed the hand that she extended to him, Katherine replied, "Indeed, my lord, you have brought me one that I have longed to see. This is the good knight who, on his journey towards London, took charge of my giddy girl and namesake, Katrine Bulmer, and defended her from the Rochester rioters. Come hither, Kate, and in our presence thank the knight for all the trouble I am sure he had with thee upon the road."

"Nay, your grace," said Lady Katrine, advancing, "I have thanked him once already, and men are all too saucy and conceited to thank them twice."

"'Tis thou art saucy, my fair mistress," said the king, laughing; and then bending down his head to the queen, who was still seated, he whispered something to her which made her smile and raise her eyes to the knight and Lady Katrine. "A handsome pair, indeed!" said she, in reply to what the king had whispered. "But the banquet is ready."

"Lords and ladies," said Henry, raising his voice, "our royal mistress will not let us part without our supper. All, then, come in pairs, for in the White Hall is prepared a banquet. Sir Osborne, lead in Lady Katrine there; you shall be coupled for an hour at least."

Sir Osborne glanced his eye to Lord Darby; but the earl was perfectly master of his countenance, and looking as indifferent as if nothing had happened, led in some other lady, while the knight endeavoured to entertain Lady Katrine as well as he might, labouring under the comfortable assurance that she would very much have preferred another by her side.

CHAPTER XXI.

We must now pass over a brief space of time with but little commemoration.

It was a bright and beautiful morning in the beginning of the month of May, when the sky was of that soft, tender blue which it possesses in the early year, ere the ardent rays of summer have dyed it with a deeper tint; and yet there was nothing of that misty faintness of hue which foretels that the blue eye of heaven may be filled with tears before nightfall. It was clear, though it was soft; and the light white clouds that, winged by the breeze, sped quickly over the wide expanse, gave to the earth no trace of their passing, except the fleeting shadows that followed them, which, hurrying rapidly over the distant fields and woods, made each spot as they left it look brighter than before. Every object that met the eye spoke of spring. The bright green of the trees, and the fields, and the woods, clearly told that they had not known the burning touch of summer, which, like manhood and the world's experience, coming o'er the fresh dreams of youth, withers while it ripens, and with its very first approach steals somewhat of the refreshing hue of early nature. The wild singing of the birds, rejoicing in the return of brightness to the earth, and making the whole air vocal with the bursting happiness of their renewed enjoyment; the busy hum of animated being rising up from hill, and dale, and wood, and joining with their song upon the breeze; all spoke of refreshed existence. Flowers painted the fields, and blossoms hung upon the trees, and perfume shook its light wings in the morning air and sprinkled it with balm.

It was one of those mornings when the heart opens, and when every vein thrills with glad existence; when we feel, as it were, the Deity on the morning's breath; when we hear Him in the voice of creation; when we worship Him in his works, and adore Him in the temple He himself has raised. The scene, too, was lovely. It was in a wide open park, where the rich thick grass spread like velvet over every slope and lawn; so rich, so thick, its elasticity almost raised the foot that trod it. On its luxuriant bosom the wide old trees, scattered in clumps, or gathered together in broad sweeping woods, cast a deep shadow, defined and clear, making the glossy softness and the vivid green shine out more strongly for the contrast. It was the elm and the oak that principally tenanted that park, though occasionally a hawthorn or a beech would interpose; and wherever they congregated in a wood there was to be found every sort of shrub and brushwood clinging round their roots. Many a glade, however, appeared, and many a lawn between; and where the trees broke away, there a wide extended view presented itself, showing a rich and fertile country beyond, full of green hedgerows and fields, broken and diversified by the lines of hamlets and villages, mingling an air of wealth, prosperity, and living gladness, with the bright sweetness of the morning and the calm tranquillity of the park itself.

At the foot, then, of one of the old oaks in Richmond Park sat Lady Constance de Grey, while her woman Margaret stood at a little distance with a page, and Sir Osborne Maurice leaned by her side. They had met by chance--really by chance--at that early hour in that remote part of the park; though it is more than probable that the same thoughts, acting on hearts so nearly allied, had led them both forth to meditate on their fate. And even after they had met, the stillness of the scene seemed to have found its way to their souls, for they remained almost in silence watching the clouds and gazing at the view, content to feel that they enjoyed together the same sweet morning and the same lovely scene.

It may be as well, however, before proceeding further, to give some slight sketch of what had occurred since the close of the last chapter; though were we to account for every day, it would be but detail of just after just, tourney after tourney, revel upon revel, wearisome from their repetition, and sickening from their vain splendour. Suffice it that Sir Osborne still maintained his place in the king's favour. His lance was always held by the judges of the field as next to the king's: his grace in the hall, or at the court, his dexterity in martial exercises, his clerkly learning, and his lighter accomplishments, won him much admiration; while a sort of unassumingness, which seemed to hold his own high qualities as light, silenced much envy. In short, it became the fashion to praise him; and it is so easy for courtiers to applaud or to decry, as the veering breath of favour changes, that to believe the outward semblance, Sir Osborne Maurice, next to the king himself, and Charles Brandon Duke of Suffolk, was the god of the court's idolatry.

There was, however, many a curious whisper of--Who was he? Whence did he come? What was his family? And some of the knights who had served abroad, and had been with the king at Terouenne and Tournay, conferred together, and shook the wise head; but still it was remarked that they were amongst those who most praised and sought the young knight. Sir Osborne marked with a keen and observing eye all that passed about him; and seeing that he was recognised by more than one, he felt that he must hasten to prevent his secret being communicated to the king by any lips but his own; and now high in favour, he only waited a fitting opportunity to hazard all by the avowal of his name and rank.

Wolsey had been absent for nearly a month in his diocese at York, and, removed from the influence of his presence, Lord Darby and Lady Katrine Bulmer, Sir Osborne and Constance de Grey, seemed to have forgot his stern authority, and given course to the feelings of their hearts. The knight had seen Lady Constance almost every day; and good Mistress Margaret, her woman, with whom Sir Osborne was no small favourite, took care not to exercise towards him that strict etiquette which she practised upon all other visitors, leaving them full opportunity to say all that the heart sought to communicate, as she very well perceived what feelings were busy in their breasts.

Thus everything between them was explained, everything was known: there was no coldness, there was no reserve, there was none of that idle and base coquetry which delights in teasing a heart that loves. Constance de Grey loved sincerely, openly, and she had too high an esteem for the man she had chosen, to suppose that the acknowledgment of that love could make it less worthy in his eyes. Happy indeed it was for them both that the most perfect confidence did exist between them, for Henry had conceived the project of marrying the young knight to Lady Katrine; and though the queen, with the instinctive perception of a woman in those matters, soon saw that such a plan would very ill accord with the feelings of either party, and quickly discouraged it, yet Henry, giving way to all his own impetuosity, hurried it on with precipitation, took every occasion to force them together, and declared that he would have them married as soon as the court returned from the meeting with the French king at Guisnes.

The situation of Sir Osborne was not a little embarrassing, the more especially as Lady Katrine, in her merry malice, often seemed to give in entirely to the king's schemes, having a threefold object in so doing, if object can be attributed to such heedless gaiety; namely, to coquet a little with Sir Osborne, which she did not dislike with anybody, to enjoy his embarrassment, and, at the same time, to tease Lord Darby.

With these three laudable motives she might have contrived to make Sir Osborne and Lady Constance unhappy, had not that mutual confidence existed between them which set all doubts at defiance. Nor, indeed, was it Lady Katrine's wish to do harm: whimsical, gay, and thoughtless, she gave way to the impulse of the moment. If she was in good humour, she was all liveliness and spirit, running as close to the borders of direct flirtation as possible with whomsoever happened to be near; but, on the contrary, if anything went wrong with her, she would be petulant and irritable, showing forth a thousand little airs of affected dignity and reserve which were not natural to her. No one's good regard did she seek more than that of Lady Constance de Grey; and yet she seemed to take every way to lose it. But Constance, though so different herself, understood her character, appreciated the good, made allowance for the faults, and secure in Darnley's affection, forgave her little coquetry with her lover.

In regard to Lord Darby, he knew Lady Katrine too; and if ever he gave himself a moment's uneasiness about her waywardness, he did not let it appear. If she flirted, he flirted too; if she was gay, he took care not to be a whit behind; if she was affectionate, he was gentle; and if she was cross, he laughed at her. She never could put him out of humour, though, to do her all manner of justice, she tried hard; and thus finding her attempts to tease ineffectual, she gradually relaxed in the endeavour.

In the mean time, the days of Sir Osborne and Lady Constance flew by in a sweet calm, that had something ominous in its tranquillity. He had almost forgotten Sir Payan Wileton; and in the mild flow of her happiness, Constance scarcely remembered the schemes with which the avaricious and haughty Wolsey threatened to trouble the stream of her existence. But, nevertheless, it was to be expected that if the dispensation had not yet arrived from Rome, it could not be delayed more than a few days; and that, at the return of the minister from York, the command would be renewed for her to bestow her hand upon Lord Darby. Such thoughts would sometimes come across Constance's mind with a painful sensation of dread; and then, with a spirit which so fair and tender an exterior hardly seemed to announce, she would revolve in her mind a plan for baffling the imperious prelate at all risks, and yet not implicate her lover at the very moment that his "fortunes were a-making."

Then, again, she would often hope that the extraordinary preparations that were going forward for the speedy meeting of the two courts of France and England, all the ceremonies that were to be arranged, and the many important questions that were to be discussed, would divert the mind of the cardinal from herself, at least till after that meeting had taken place; during which interval chance might produce many circumstances more favourable to her hopes. At all events, her resolution was taken: she felt, too, that no power on earth was adequate to combat that determination; and thus, with fixed purpose, she turned her mind from the contemplation of future dangers to the enjoyment of her present happiness.

The scene in Richmond Park, to which the court had now removed from Greenwich, as well as the bright gentleness of the May morning in which she met Sir Osborne there, was well calculated to nurse the most pleasing children of hope; and yet there was something melancholy even in the magnificent aspect of the day. I know not how, but often in those grand shining mornings the soul seems to swell too powerfully for the body; the spirit to feel galled, as it were, by the chain that binds it to mortality. Whatever be the cause, there is still, in such a scene, a pensiveness that steals upon the heart; a solemnity that makes itself felt in those innermost recesses of the mind where thought and sensation blend so intimately as to be hardly separable from each other. Constance and Darnley both felt it; but still it was not sorrow that it produced; for, mingling with their fervent love and their youthful hope, it gave their feelings something of divine.

"This is very, very lovely, Darnley," said Lady Constance, after they had long gazed in silence. "Oh, why are not all days like this! Why must we have the storm, and the tempest, and the cloud!"

"Perhaps," replied the knight, "if all days were so fair, we might not esteem them so much: we should be like those, Constance, who in the world have gone on in a long course of uninterrupted prosperity, and who have enjoyed so much that they can no longer enjoy."

"Oh, no, no!" cried she; "there are some pleasures that never cloy, and amongst them are those that we derive from contemplating the loveliness of nature. I cannot think that I should ever weary of scenes like these. No! let me have a fairy sky, where the sunshine scarcely knows a cloud, and where the air is always soft and sweet like this."

At this moment Mistress Margaret approached, with some consternation in her aspect. "Good now, lady!" cried she; "look! who is that coming? Such a strange-looking little man, no bigger than an atomy! Oh! I am glad the knight is with us; for it is something singular, I am sure."

"You are very right, Mistress Margaret," said Sir Osborne; "this is, indeed, a most singular being that approaches. Constance, you have heard the queen and her ladies speak of Sir Cesar, the famous alchymist and astrologer. He is well known to good Dr. Wilbraham, and seems, for some reason, to take a strange interest in all my proceedings. Depend on it, he comes to warn us of something that is about to happen, and his warning must not be slighted; for, from wheresoever his knowledge comes, it is very strange."

Lady Constance and the knight watched the old man as he came slowly over the green towards them, showing little of that vivacity of demeanour by which he was generally characterised. On approaching near, he bowed to Lady Constance with courtly ease, saluted the knight in a manner which might be called affectionate; and, without apology for his intrusion, seated himself at the lady's feet, and began a gay and easy conversation upon the justs of the day before.

"There is no court in the world," said he, after a little--"and there are few courts I have not seen--where such sports are carried to the height of luxury that they are here. I never saw the tournaments, the justs, the pageants of Henry the Eighth, King of England, excelled but once."

"And when was that, may I ask?" demanded Lady Constance, whose feelings towards the old man were strangely mingled of awe and curiosity, so much had she heard of him and his strange powers during her residence at the court.

"It was in Germany," replied Sir Cesar, "at the city of Ratisbon; and it was conducted as all such displays should ever be conducted. Each knight wore over his armour a motley suit, and on his casque a cap and bells; the hilt of his sword was ornamented with a bauble, and as they made procession to the lists, the court fools of all the electors in the empire followed behind the knights, and whipped them on with blown bladders."

"Nay, nay, you are a satirist," said Lady Constance; "such a thing, surely, could never happen in reality."

"In truth it did, lady," answered Sir Cesar; "it was called the Tournament of Fools, though I wot not to distinguish it from other tournaments, which are all foolish enough. Osborne," he continued, turning abruptly to the young knight, "you will ride no more at this court."

"How mean you?" demanded Sir Osborne: "why should I not?"

"I mean," replied the old man, "that I come to forewarn you of approaching evil. Perhaps you may turn it aside, but there is much that threatens you. Are you not losing time? The king's regard is gained; wherefore, then, do you delay? While Wolsey is absent--mark me! while Wolsey is absent--or you are lost for the moment."

"Oh! say not so," cried Lady Constance, clasping her hands; "oh! say not so, for I hear that he returns to-morrow."

"Fear not, lady," said Sir Cesar, who had now risen; "the danger will last but for a time, and then pass away. So that, whatever happens to either of you, let not your hearts sink; but be firm, steadfast, and true. All the advice I can give you is but the advice of an ordinary mortal like yourselves. Men judge rashly when they think that even those who see clearest can yet see clear. All that I know, all that I behold, is but a dim shadowing forth of what will be, like the indistinct memory of long gone years; a circumstance without a form. I see in both your fates an evil and a sorrowful hour approaching, and yet I cannot tell you how to avoid it; but I can descry that 'twill be but for a while, and that must console you."

"Good Sir Cesar," said the young knight, "I will ask you no questions, for I have now learned that you were a dear friend of my father, and I feel sure that you will give all knowledge that may be useful to me; and if you will tell me what is good to do in this conjuncture, I will follow it."

"Good, now!" said Sir Cesar, with a gratified look: "good! I see you are overcoming your old fault, though you have been a long while about it. Three thousand years! three thousand years to my remembrance."

Constance turned an inquiring look to her lover, who, however, was not capable of giving her any explanation. "Think you," demanded he, addressing Sir Cesar, "that it would be best to inform his grace of everything at once?"

"I think it would," said the old man; "I think it would, but I scarcely dare advise you. Osborne, there is a conviction pressing on my mind, which I have perhaps learned too late. Can it be that those who are permitted to read certain facts in the book of fate are blinded to the right interpretation of that which they discover? Perhaps it may be--I have reason to believe it. Nought that I have ever calculated has proved false; but often, often it has been verified in a sense so opposite to my expectations, yet so evident when it did appear, that it seems as if heaven held the search presumptuous, and baffled the searcher even with the knowledge he acquired. Never more will I presume to expound aught that I may learn. The fact I tell you: an evil and a bitter hour is coming for you both, but it shall not last, and then you shall be happy--when I am no more." And turning away without other farewell, he left them, and took the way to the palace.

Lady Constance gazed on the face of her lover with a look of apprehensive tenderness that banished all thought of himself. "Oh, my Constance!" said he, "to think of your having to undergo so much for me is too, too painful! But fear not, dear Constance; we are still in a land where laws are above all power, and they cannot, they dare not ill-treat you!"

"For myself, Darnley," replied Constance, "I have no fear. They may threaten, they may wrong me, they may do what they will, but they can never make me marry another. It is for you I fear. However, he said that we should be happy at last, though he hinted that you would be driven from the court. Oh, Darnley! if that be the case--if you find there be the least danger--fly without loss of time----"

"And leave behind me," said Darnley, "all I love in the world! Oh, Constance! would not the block and axe itself be preferable? It would, it would, a thousand times preferable to leaving you for ever!"

"It might," said Constance; "I myself feel it might, if you feel as I feel. But, Darnley, I tell you at once I boldly promise to follow."

"But still, Constance, dear, excellent girl!" said the knight, "would it be right, would it be honourable, in me to accept such a sacrifice?"

"Darnley," said Lady Constance, firmly, "my happiness is in your hands, and what is right and honourable is not to throw that happiness away. Now that my love is yours, now that my hand is promised to you, you have no right to think of rank, or fortune, or aught else. If I were obliged to fly, would you not follow me? and wheresoever you go, there will I find means to join you. All I ask, all I pray in return is, that if there be the least danger, you will instantly fly. Will you promise me? If you love me you will."

"I will," said Sir Osborne. "What would I not do to prove that love! But I trust, dear Constance, there may be no need of hasty flight. All they can do will be to banish me the court, for I have committed no crime but coming here under a feigned name."

"I know not; I know not," said the lady; "'tis easy, where no crime is, to forge an accusation; and, if report speak truth, such has been Wolsey's frequent policy, when any one became loved of our gracious king; so that even the favour you have gained may prove your ruin. But you have promised to fly upon the first threatening of danger, and I hold as a part of that promise that you will stay for no leave-taking."

"Well, well, Constance," replied the knight, "time will show us more. But, at all events, I will try to anticipate Wolsey's return, and, by telling Henry all, secure my fate."

"Do so, do so!" said Lady Constance; "and, oh! lose no time. Fly to him, Darnley; he must be risen by this time. Farewell! farewell!"

Sir Osborne would fain have lingered still, but Constance would not be satisfied till he went. At last then he left her, and proceeded with quick steps to the palace; while she, with a slower pace, pursued another path through the park, having been rejoined by Mistress Margaret, who, not liking the appearance of old Sir Cesar, had removed to a secure distance on his approach, and who now poured forth no inconsiderable vituperation on his face, his figure, and his apparel.