CHAPTER XXXIX.

And where was Osborne Darnley all this while?

Wait a little, dearly-beloved, and you shall hear more. It was not yet five o'clock in the morning, and a sweet morning it was; the sun had just risen, and, spreading all over the eastern sky, there was that, soft, lustrous tint of early light that surely ought to be called hope-colour, it promises so many bright moments for the coming day. It was not yet five o'clock in the morning when the western sally-port of the castle of Ardres was opened by a little page not higher than my thumb, as the old story-book goes, who looked cautiously about, first to the right and then to the left, to see if any one was abroad and stirring; but the only person who had risen was the matutinal sun, so that the page could see nothing but the blue sky, and the green fields, and the grey stone walls of the castle, whose great age, like the antiquity of a beggar's coat, had plastered them all over with patches of green and yellow lichens. Having looked to his heart's content, he next listened; but no sound could he hear save the light singing of the lark and the loud snoring of the sentinel on the neighbouring bastion, who, with head propped on his halberd, kept anything but silent watch, while the vigilant sun, looking over the wall, spied out all the weaknesses of the place; and now, having listened as well as looked, the boy withdrew once more within the walls. He left, however, the door open, and in a few minutes two horsemen rode forth, each wrapped up in a large Spanish cloak, with a chaperon, at Fleurange calls it, or, in other words, an immense hood, which covered the whole head and disguised the person completely.

As soon as they were fairly out, the page who had accompanied them so far returned and closed the sally-port, and the two travellers cantered lightly over the green to a little wood that lay before the castle. When they were fully concealed by the trees, among which they wound along, following the sinuosities of a little sandy road, wherein two, but only two, might ride abreast, they both, as by common consent, threw back their hoods, and, letting their cloaks fall upon their horses' cruppers, discovered the two powerful forms of the good knight Osborne Lord Darnley, and Francis the First King of France.

"Well, my friend and my deliverer," said the king, as they rode on, "'twill go hard but I will restore you to your king's favour; and even should he remain inexorable, which I will not believe, you must make France your country. We will try to win your fair Constance for you from that suspicious cardinal, of which fear not, for I know a certain way to gain him to anything; and then I see no cause why, in so fair a land as France, and favoured by her king, you may not be as happy as in that little seabound spot called England."

Before proceeding farther, however, it may be necessary to say a few words concerning the events which had occurred since the knight's courage and skill had saved the king's life from Shoenvelt and his adventurers. One may well imagine what anxiety had reigned amongst the monarch's followers in the forest near Lillers, when they found that Francis, after having separated from their party, did not rejoin them on the track appointed for the hunt. Such occurrences, however, having several times happened before, and the king having always returned in safety, they concluded that he and Count William of Firstenberg must have taken the other road to Aire, and that they would find him there on their arrival. When they did reach that town, their inquiries immediately discovered that the king was missing.

The news spread rapidly to the whole court, and soon reached the ears of his mother the Duchess of Angoulême, who became almost frantic on hearing it, giving him up for lost from that moment, as she had good reasons to believe that Count William entertained designs against his life. Her active spirit it was that first discovered the treachery of the Burgundian, which she had instantly communicated to the king; but the generous mind of Francis refused all credit to the news, and he continued his confidence towards Firstenberg without the slightest alteration, till at length more certain proofs of his designs were obtained, which induced the monarch to act with that fearless magnanimity which we have seen him display towards his treacherous favourite in the forest of Lillers.

Immediately that the king's absence was known, bands of horsemen were sent out in various directions to obtain news of him, but in vain. Convinced, by the account of the hunters, that he had quitted the wood, and that if he were therein they could not find him by night, they searched in every other place than that in which they were likely to be successful; so that, the whole night that Francis spent sleeping tranquilly in the charbonier's cottage, his guards were out towards Pernès, Fruges, and St. Pol, searching for him without success. When morning came, however, fresh parties were sent off to examine every part of the forest, and it was one of these that came up to the spot not long after the defeat of Shoenvelt and his companions.

The joy occasioned by the king's safe return was not a little heightened by the danger he had undergone; and every one to whom his life was precious contended who should do most honour to his gallant deliverer. Francis himself knew not what recompense to offer Sir Osborne for the signal service he had rendered him; and, with the delicacy of a truly generous mind, he exacted from him a particular account of his whole life, that he might adapt the gift or honour he wished to confer exactly to the situation of the knight. Darnley understood the motive of the noble-hearted monarch, and told him all without reserve; and Francis, now furnished with the best means of showing his gratitude, resolved not to lose the opportunity.

Thus, for the few days that preceded the meeting between Guisnes and Ardres, the king highly distinguished the knight, made him many magnificent presents, called a chapter of the order of St. Michael, and had him installed in form; but knowing the jealous nature of his own nobles, he offered him no employment in his service; and even when the constable de Bourbon, who knew and appreciated Darnley's military talents, proposed to the king to give him a company of men-at-arms, as a reward for the great service he had rendered to the whole nation, Francis negatived it at once, saying openly that the Lord Darnley was but a visiter at the court of France.

Having premised thus much, we will now take up the travellers again at the moment of their entering into the wood near Ardres, through which they passed, conversing over the various circumstances of Sir Osborne's situation.

"It is strange!" said Francis, as the knight repeated the manner of his dismissal from the English court; "I do not comprehend it. It is impossible that your going there under a feigned name, to win King Henry's favour, should be construed as a crime and made matter of such strong accusation against you." After musing for a moment, he proceeded: "Do not think I would imply, good knight, that you could be really guilty of any higher offence against your king; but be you sure something has been laid to your charge more than you imagine."

"On my honour as a knight," replied Darnley, "I have accused myself to your highness of the worst crimes upon my conscience, as if your grace were my confessor; though I will own that it appears to me also most strange and inexplicable. I have heard, indeed, that the lord cardinal never suffers any one to be too near the king's regard; and that if he sees any especial favour shown, he is sure to find some accusation against his object; but I can hardly believe that so great a man would debase himself to be a false accuser."

"I know not! I know not!" answered Francis, quickly: "there is no one so jealous as a favourite; and what will not jealousy do? My diadem against a Spanish crown,"^[18] he continued laughingly, referring to his contention with the Emperor Charles, "Henry of England knows you under no other name than that of Sir Osborne Maurice. However, I will be polite, and know the whole before I speak. Do you put your honour in my hands? and will you abide by what I shall undertake for you?"

"Most willingly, your highness," replied the knight: "whatever you say for me, that will I maintain, on horseback or on foot, with sword or lance, as long as my life do hold."

Thus conversing they rode on, following the windings of the woody lane in which they were, till the forest, skirting on to the north-west of Ardres, opened out upon the plain of Guisnes. As soon as the castle and town were in sight, the French monarch put his horse into a quick pace, saying with a smile to Sir Osborne, "Your prudent Wolsey and my good brother Henry will be much surprised to see me in their castle alone, after all their grave precautions. By heaven! did kingly dignity imply suspicion of all the world like theirs, I would throw away my crown and feed my mother's sheep."

The night after the first meeting of the kings, Henry had retired to sleep in the fortress, rather than in his palace without the walls; part of which, comprising his private apartments, had been found insecure, from the hurry in which it had been built. Of this circumstance the King of France had been informed by some of his court, who had passed their evening at Guisnes, and it was therefore to the castle that he turned his rein.

Passing amidst the tents, in most of which Somnus still held undisturbed dominion, Francis and Sir Osborne galloped up to the drawbridge, on which an early party of the guard were sunning themselves in the morning light; some looking idly over into the moat, some gazing with half-closed eyes towards the sky; some playing at an antique and classical game with mutton-bones, while their captain stood by the portcullis, rubbing his hands and enjoying the sweetness of the morning.

No sooner did Francis perceive them, than, drawing his sword, he galloped in amongst them, crying, "Rendez vous, messieurs! rendez vous! La place est à moi!"

At first, the archers scattered back confused, and some had their hands on their short swords; but several, who had seen the king the day before, almost instantly recognised him, and the cry became general of "The King of France! the King of France!" In the mean time, Francis rode up to the captain, and, putting his sword's point to the officer's throat, "Yield!" cried he, "rescue or no rescue, or you are a dead man!"

"I yield, I yield, my lord!" cried the captain, entering into the king's humour, and bending his knee. "Rescue or no rescue, I yield myself your grace's prisoner."

"A castle soon taken!" cried Francis, turning to Sir Osborne. "Now," added he to the officer, "since the place is mine, lead me to the chamber of my good brother the King of England."

"His grace is at present asleep," replied the captain, hesitating. "If your highness will repose yourself in the great hall, he shall be informed instantly of your presence."

"No, no," cried the king; "show me his chamber. Nothing will serve me but that I will sound his réveillez myself. Come, Darnley!" and springing from his horse he followed the officer, who, now forced to obey, led him into the castle, and up the grand staircase towards the king's bed-chamber.

All was silence as they went. Henry and the whole court had revelled late the night before, so that few even of the serving-men had thought fit to quit their truckle-beds so early in the morning. A single page, however, was to be seen as they entered a long corridor, which took up one whole side of the large square tower in the centre of the castle. He was standing before a door at the farther extremity, and to him the captain pointed. "The king's ante-room, your highness, is where you see that page," said he; "and let me beg your gracious forgiveness if I leave you here, for indeed I dare conduct you no farther."

"Go, go!" cried the king, good-humouredly. "I will find it now myself. You, Darnley, stay here. I doubt not soon to send for you with good news."

With his sword still drawn in his hand, the king now advanced to the page, who, seeing a stranger come forward with so menacing an air, might have entertained some fears, had he not beheld the captain of the guard conduct him thither; not at all knowing the person of Francis, however, as he had not been present at the meeting of the kings, he closed the door of the ante-room, which had before been open behind him, and placing himself in the way, prepared to oppose the entrance of any one.

"Which is the chamber of my brother the King of England?" demanded Francis, as he came up; but the page, not understanding a word of French, only shook his head, keeping his back, at the same time, firmly against the door, thinking that it was some wild French lord, who knew not what was due to royalty.

"It is the King of France," said Sir Osborne, advancing, as he beheld the page's embarrassment. "Let him pass. It is the King of France."

The page stared and hesitated; but Francis, taking him by the shoulder, twisted him round as he had been a child, and, opening the door, passed in. The page immediately closed it again, putting himself before the knight, whose face he now remembered. "I must not let your worship in," said he, thinking Sir Osborne wished to follow the monarch. "The King of France, of course, I dared not stop, but it is as much as my life is worth to suffer any one else to pass."

"I seek not to enter, good Master Snell," said the knight. "Unless his grace sends for me, I shall not intrude myself on his royal presence." This said, with busy thoughts he began to walk up and down the gallery; and the page, presently after, retiring into the ante-chamber, left him for the time to his own contemplations.

Much subject had the knight for thought, though it was of that nature that profiteth not; for little signified it, as it seemed, how much soever he took counsel with himself: his fate was in the hands of others, and beyond his power to influence or determine.

He could not help musing, however, over all the turns which his fortune had taken within the brief space of the last three months; and strangely mingled were his sensations, on finding himself, at the end of the review, standing there, once more within the precincts of the court of England, from which he had been driven hardly fifteen days before. A thousand collateral ideas also presented themselves to his mind, suggesting a thousand doubts and fears for those he loved best. What had become of Constance de Grey? he asked himself; and though never had her image for one moment left his mind in his wanderings, though it had been his companion in the journey, his solace in his waking hours, his dream by night, and his object in every thought and hope, still there was something in being amongst those objects, and near those beings, amidst whom he had been accustomed to see her, that rendered his anxiety about her more impatient; and he would have given no small sum for the presence of one of the newsmongers of the court: those empty idle beings always to be found near the presence of princes, who, like scavengers' carts, make themselves the common receptacles for all the drift of the palace, and, hurrying on from one to another, at once receive and spatter forth the rakings of all kennels as they go along.

Time, ever long to those who wait, seemed doubly long to Sir Osborne, to whom so much was in suspense; and so little bustle and activity did there seem in the castle, that he began to fancy its denizens must have had their eyes touched with Hermes' wand to make them sleep so soundly. He walked up and down the corridor, he gazed out of the window into the court-yard, he listened for every opening door. But it was all in vain; no one came. Could Francis have forgotten him? he asked himself, at last; and then he thought how quickly from the light memories of the great pass away the sorrows or the welfare of their fellow-creatures; how hardly they can remember, and how happily they can forget. But no, he would not believe it. If ever man was renowned for that best and rarest quality of a great man, a heedful remembrance of those who served him, a thoughtful care of those he esteemed, it was Francis of France; and Darnley would not believe that in his case he had forgotten.

Still no one came. Though the various noises and the bustle he began to hear in distant parts of the building announced that the world was more awake than when he arrived, yet the corridor in which he was seemed more deserted than ever.

At first it was nearly vacant, a few listless soldiers being its only occupants; but soon there was opened on the other side a door which communicated with a sort of barrack, situated near the chapel in the inner ballium, and from this proceeded a troop of soldiers and officers at arms, with one or two persons mingled amongst them that Sir Osborne imagined to be prisoners. The height at which he was placed above them prevented his perceiving whether this was certainly the case, or seeing their faces; for all that he could discern was the foreshortened figures of the soldiers and sergeants-at-arms, distinguished from the others by their official habiliments; and passing along, surrounded by the rest, some persons in darker attire, round whom the guard appeared to keep with vigilant care. An instant brought them to the archway just beneath the spot where he stood, and they were then lost to his sight.

The castle clock struck seven; but so slowly did the hammer fall upon the bell, he thought it would never have done. He now heard a sound of much speaking not far off, and thought that surely it was Francis taking leave of the King of England; but suddenly it ceased, and all was again silence. Taking patience to his aid, he recommenced his perambulations; and for another quarter of an hour walked up and down the corridor, hearing still, as he passed the door of the anteroom, a low and indistinct murmuring, which might be either the page speaking in a subdued tone to some person therein, or some other voices conversing much more loudly in the chamber beyond. The knight's feelings were wound up to the highest pitch of impatience, when suddenly a deep groan, and then a heavy fall, met his ear. He paused, listened, and could plainly distinguish a door within open, and various voices speaking quick and high, some in French, some in English; but among them was to be heard distinctly the tongue of Henry and that of Francis, though what they said was not sufficiently audible to be comprehended. His curiosity, as may be conceived, was not a little excited; but, satisfied of the safety of the two kings, and fearful of being suspected of eaves-dropping if any one came forth, he once more crossed his arms upon his breast, and began pacing backwards and forwards as before.

A few minutes more elapsed in silence; but at length, when he was at the farther extremity of the corridor, he heard the door of the ante-chamber open, and, turning round, perceived a sergeant-at-arms, followed by four halberdiers, come forth from within and advance towards him. Sir Osborne turned and met them, when the guard drew up across the passage, and the officer stepped forward. "Sir Osborne Darnley!" said he, "commonly called Lord Darnley, I arrest you for high treason, in the name of Henry the Eighth, King of England and France and Lord of Ireland, and charge you to surrender to his warrant."

The astonishment of Sir Osborne may more easily be conceived than described. The first appearance of the halberdiers had struck him as strange, and their drawing up across his path might have been some warning, but still he was not at all prepared.

Trusting to the protection of the French king, who had virtually rendered himself responsible for his safety, he had never dreamed of danger; and for a moment or two he stood in silent surprise, till the sergeant demanded, "Do you surrender, my lord?"

"Of course, of course!" replied the knight, "though I will own that this has fallen upon me unexpectedly. Pr'ythee, good sergeant, if thou knowest, tell me how this has come about, for to me it is inexplicable."

"In truth, my lord, I Know nothing," replied the officer, "though I believe that the whole arose from something that happened this morning in his grace's bed-chamber. I was sent for by the back staircase, and received orders to attach you here. It is an unpleasant duty, my lord, but one which we are too often called to perform: I can, therefore, but beg your forgiveness, and say that you must come with me."

Sir Osborne followed in silence, meditating more than ever over his strange fate. His hopes had again been buoyed up, again to be cast down in a more cruel manner than before. There was not now a shade of doubt left: whatever he was accused of was aimed at him under his real name; and it was evident, from the unremitted persecution which he suffered, that Wolsey, or whosoever it was that thus pursued him, was resolved on accomplishing his destruction by all or any means.

That Wolsey was the originator of the whole he could not doubt; and the virulence of his jealousy was too well known to hope that justice or clemency would be shown where his enmity had been incurred. "However," thought the knight, "at last I can but die: I have fronted death a hundred times in the battle-field, and I will not shrink from him now." But to die as a traitor was bitter, he who had never been aught but loyal and true; yet still his conscious innocence, he thought, would rob the block and axe of their worst horror; the proud knowledge that he had acted well in every relationship of life: to his king, to his country, to those he loved. Then came the thought of Constance de Grey, in all her summer beauty, and all her gentle loveliness, and all her sweet smiles: was he never to see them again? To be cut off from all those kind sympathies he had felt, to go down into the cold dark grave where they could reach him never more--it was too much.

While these thoughts were busy in his bosom, the sergeant-at-arms led him down the great staircase, and across the hall on the ground-floor of the castle; then, opening a door to the right, he entered into a long narrow passage, but scantily lighted, that terminated in another spiral staircase, down which one of the soldiers, who had procured a lamp in the hall, proceeded first to light them. Sir Osborne followed in silence, though his heart somewhat burned at the idea of being committed to a dungeon. Arrived at the bottom of the steps, several doors presented themselves; and, seeing the sergeant examining a large bunch of keys, with whose various marks he did not seem very well acquainted, the knight could not refrain from demanding, if it were by the king's command that he was about to give him such a lodging.

"No, my lord," replied the sergeant, "the king did not direct me to place you in a dungeon; but I must secure your lordship's person till such time as the horses are ready to convey you to Calais, and every other place in the castle but that where I am going to put you is full.

"Well, sir," replied the knight, "only beware of what treatment you do show me, lest you may be sorry for it hereafter."

"Indeed, my lord," answered the man, with a good-humoured smile, rarely met with on the faces of his brethren, "I should be very sorry to make your lordship any way uncomfortable; and, if you will give me your word of honour, as a knight, neither to escape nor to make any attempt to escape while you are there, I will lock you up in the chapel of the new palace, which is empty enough, God knows, and for half-an-hour you will be as well there as anywhere else better than in a dungeon certainly."

The knight readily gave his promise, and the sergeant, after examining the keys again, without better success than before, began to try them, one after another, upon a small iron door in the wall, saying that they could get out that way to the chapel. One of them at length fitted the lock, and two enormous bolts and an iron bar being removed, the door was swung back, giving egress from the body of the fortress into a long lightsome passage, where the full sun shone through a long row of windows on each side; while the gilded pillars and the enamelled ornaments round the windows, the rich arras hangings between them, and the fine carpets spread over the floor, formed a strange and magical contrast with the place they had just quitted, with its rough, damp stone walls, its dark and gloomy passages, and the massy rudeness of all its features.

"This is the passage made for his grace, between the palace and the castle," said the sergeant-at-arms. "Let us haste on, my lord, for fear he should chance to come along it."

Proceeding onwards, catching every now and then a glance at the gay scene of tents without, as they passed the different windows, the officer conducted his prisoner to the end of the passage, where they found a door on either hand; and, opening that to the left, he ushered the knight into the beautiful little building that had been constructed as a temporary chapel for the court, while inhabiting the palace before Guisnes.

"I know, my lord," said the officer, "that I may trust to your knightly word and promise not to make any attempt to escape; for I must not even leave a guard at the door, lest his grace the king should pass, and find that I have put you here, which might move his anger. I therefore leave you for a while, reposing full confidence in your honour, and will take care to have the horses prepared, and be back again before the hour of mass." Thus saying, he ascertained that the other door was fastened, and left Sir Osborne in the chapel, taking heed, notwithstanding his professions of reliance, to turn the key upon him as he went out.

It matters little whether it be a palace or a dungeon wherein he passes the few last hours of life, to the prisoner condemned to die, unless he possesses one of those happy spirits that can, by the aid of external objects, abstract their thoughts from all that is painful in their fate. If he do, indeed, the things around may give him some relief. So, however, could not Darnley; and in point of any mental ease, he might just as well have been in the lowest dungeon of the castle as in the splendid oratory where he now was. Yet feeling how fruitless was the contemplation of his situation, how little but pain he could derive from thought, and how unnerving to all his energies was the memory of Constance de Grey, under the unhappy circumstances of the present, he strove not to think; and gazed around him to divert his mind from his wayward fortunes, by occupying it with the glittering things around.

Indeed, as far as splendour went, that chapel might have vied with anything that ever was devised. In length it was about fifty feet; and, though built of wood, its architecture was in that style which we are accustomed to call Gothic. Nothing, however, of the mere walls appeared, for from the roof to the ground it was hung with cloth of gold, over which fell various festoons of silk, breaking the straight lines of the hangings. To the right and left, Sir Osborne remarked two magnificent closets, appropriated, as he supposed, to the use of the king and queen, where the same costly stuff that lined the rest of the building was further enriched by a thick embroidery of precious stones; each also had its particular altar, loaded, besides the pix, the crucifix, and the candlesticks, with twelve large images of gold, and a crowd of other ornaments.

Sir Osborne advanced, and fixed his eyes upon all the splendid things that were there called in to give pomp and majesty to the worship of the Most High; but he felt more strongly than ever, at that moment, how it was all in vain; and that the small, calm tabernacle of the heart is that wherein man may offer up the fittest prayer to his Maker.

Kneeling, however, on the step of the altar, he addressed his petitions to heaven. He would not pray to be delivered from danger, for that he thought cowardly; but he prayed that God would establish his innocence and his honour; that God would protect and bless those that he loved; and, if it were the Almighty's will he should fall before his enemies, that God would be a support to his father and a shield to Constance de Grey. Then rising from his knee, Darnley found that his heart was lightened, and that he could look upon his future fate with far more calmness than before.

At that moment the sound of trumpets and clarions met his ear from a distance: gradually it swelled nearer and more near, with gay and martial tones, and approached close to where he was, while shouts and acclamations, and loud and laughing voices, mingled with the music, strangely at discord with all that was passing in his heart. Presently it grew fainter, and then ceased, though still he thought he could hear the roar of the distant multitude, and now and then a shout; but in a few minutes these also ceased, and, crossing his arms upon his breast, he waited till the sergeant-at-arms should come to convey him to Calais, to prison, perhaps ultimately to death.

In a few minutes some distant steps were heard; they came nearer, nearer still; the key was turned in the lock, and the door opened.

CHAPTER XL.

We must once more take our readers back, if it be but for the space of a couple of hours, and introduce them into the bedchamber of a king: a place, we believe, as yet sacred from the sacrilegious foot of any novelist.

In the castle of Guisnes, then, and in the sleeping-room of Henry the Eighth, King of England, stood, exactly opposite the window, a large square bed, covered with a rich coverlet of arras, which, hanging down on each side, swept the floor with its golden fringe. High overhead, attached to the wall, was a broad and curiously-wrought canopy, whereon the laborious needle of some British Penelope had traced, with threads of gold, the rare and curious history of that famous knight, Alexander the Great, who was there represented with lance in rest, dressed in a suit of Almaine rivet armour, overthrowing King Darius; who, for his part, being in a mighty fright, was whacking on his clumsy elephant with his sceptre, while the son of Philip, with more effect, appeared pricking him up under the ribs with the point of his spear.

In one corner of the chamber, ranged in fair and goodly order, were to be seen several golden lavers and ewers, together with fine diapers and other implements for washing; while hard by was an open closet filled with linen and plate of various kinds, with several Venice glasses, a mirror, and a bottle of scented waters. In addition to these pieces of furniture appeared four wooden settles of carved oak, which, with two large rich chairs of ivory and gold, made up, at that day, the furniture of a king's bed-chamber.

The square lattice window was half-open, letting in the sweet breath of the summer morning upon Henry himself, who, with his head half-covered with a black velvet nightcap, embroidered with gold, still lay in bed, supporting himself on his elbow, and listening to a long detail of grievances poured forth from the rotund mouth of honest Jekin Groby, who, by the king's command, encumbered with his weighty bulk one of the ivory chairs by the royal bedside.

Somewhat proud of having had a lord for the companion of his perils, the worthy clothier enlarged mightily upon the seizure of himself and Lord Darnley by Sir Payan Wileton, seasoning his discourse pretty thickly with "My lord did," and "My lord said," but omitting altogether to mention him by the name of Sir Osborne, thinking it would be a degradation to his high companionship so to do; though, had he done so but once, it would have saved many of the misfortunes that afterwards befel.

Henry heard him calmly, till he related the threats which Sir Payan held out to his prisoner, in that interview of which Jekin had been an unperceived witness; then starting up, "Mother of God!" cried the king, "what has become of the young gallant? Where is he? ha, man? Now, heaven defend us! the base traitor has not murdered him! ha?"

"Lord 'a mercy! you've kicked all the clothes off your grace's worship," cried Jekin: "let me kiver you up! you'll catch a malplexy, you will!"

"God's life! answer me, man!" cried Henry. "What has become of the young lord, Osborne Darnley?--ha?"

"Bless your grace! that's just what I cannot tell you," replied Jekin; "for I never saw him after we got out."

"Send for the traitor! have him brought instantly!" exclaimed the king. "See who knocks! Let no one in! Who dares knock so loud at my chamber-door?"

Proceeding round the king's bed, Jekin opened the door, against which some one had been thumping with very little ceremony; but in a moment the valiant clothier started back, exclaiming, "Lord 'a mercy! it's a great man with a drawn sword!"

"A drawn sword!" cried Henry, starting up, and snatching his own weapon, which lay beside him. But at that moment Francis ran in, and, holding his blade over the king, commanded him to surrender.

"I yield! I yield!" exclaimed Henry, delighted with the jest. "Now, by my life, my good brother of France, thou has shown me the best turn ever prince showed another. I yield me your prisoner; and, as sign of my faith, I beg you to accept this jewel." So saying, he took from his pillow, where it had been laid the night before, a rich bracelet of emeralds, and clasped it on the French king's arm.

"I receive it willingly," answered Francis; "but for my love and amity, and also as my prisoner, you must wear this chain;" and, unclasping a jewelled collar from his neck, he laid it down beside the English monarch.

Many were the civilities and reciprocations of friendly speeches that now ensued; and Henry, about to rise, would fain have called an attendant to assist him, but Francis took the office on himself. "Come, I will be your valet for this morning," said he; "no one but I shall give you your shirt; for I have come over alone to beg some boons of you."

"They are granted from this moment," replied Henry. "But do you say you came alone? Do you mean unattended?"

"With but one faithful friend," answered the French king; "one who not a week ago saved my life by the valour of his arm. 'Tis the best knight that ever charged a lance, and the noblest heart: he is your subject, too."

"Mine!" cried Henry, with some surprise. "How is he called? What is his name? Say, France, and we will love him for his service to you."

"First, hear how he did serve me," replied Francis; and, while the English monarch threaded the intricate mazes of the toilet, he narrated the whole of his adventure with Shoenvelt, which not a little interested Henry, the knight-errantry of whose disposition took fire at the vivid recital of the French king, and almost made him fancy himself on the spot.

"A gallant knight!" cried he at length, as the King of France detailed the exploits of Sir Osborne; "a most gallant knight, on my life! But say, my brother, what is his name? 'Slife, man! let us hear it. I long to know him."

"His name," replied Francis, with an indifferent tone, but at the same time fixing his eyes on Henry's face, to see what effect his answer would produce; "his name is Sir Osborne Maurice."

A cloud came over the countenance of the English king. "Ha!" said he, thoughtfully, jealous perhaps in some degree that the splendid chivalrous qualities of the young knight should be transferred to the court of France. "It is like him. It is very like him. For courage and for feats of arms, I, who have seen many good knights, have rarely seen his equal. Pity it is that he should be a traitor."

"Nay, nay, my good brother of England," answered Francis; "I will avouch him no traitor, but of unimpeachable loyalty. All I regret is, that his love for your noble person, and for the court of England, should make him wish to quit me. But to the point. My first boon regards him. He seeks not to return to your royal favour with honour stained and faith doubtful, but he claims your gracious permission to defy his enemies, and to prove their falsehood with his arm. If they be men, let them meet him in fair field; if they be women or churchmen, lame, or in any way incompetent according to the law of arms, let them have a champion, the best in France or England. To regain your favour and to prove his innocence, he will defy them be they who they may; and here at your feet I lay down his gage of battle, so confident in his faith and worth, that I myself will be his godfather in the fight. He waits here in the corridor to know your royal pleasure."

Henry thought for a moment. He was not at all willing that the court of Francis, already renowned for its chivalry, should possess still another knight of so much prowess and skill as he could not but admit in Sir Osborne. Yet the accusations that had been laid against him, and which nobody who considers them--the letter of the Duke of Buckingham, and the evidence of Wilson the bailiff--can deny were plausible, still rankled in the king's mind, notwithstanding the partial explanation which Lady Katrine Bulmer had afforded respecting the knight's influence with the Rochester rioters. Remembering, however, that the whole or greater part of the information which Wolsey had laid before him had been obtained, either directly or indirectly, from Sir Payan Wileton, he at length replied, "By my faith, I know not what to say: it is not wise to take the sword from the hand of the law, and trust to private valour to maintain public justice, more than we can avoid. But you, my royal brother, shall in the present case decide. The accusations against this Sir Osborne Maurice are many and heavy, but principally resting on the testimonies produced by a certain wealthy and powerful knight, one Sir Payan Wileton, who, though in other respects most assuredly a base and disloyal villain, can have no enmity against Sir Osborne, and no interest in seeking his ruin. Last night, by my order, this Sir Payan was brought hither from Calais, on the accusations of that good fool (pointing to Jekin Groby). You comprehend enough of our hard English tongue to hear him examined yourself, and thus you shall judge. If you find that there is cause to suspect Sir Payan and his witnesses, though it be but in having given the slightest colour of falsehood to their testimony, let Sir Osborne's arm decide his quarrel against the other knight; but if their evidence be clear and indubitable, you shall yield him to be judged by the English law. What say you? Is it not just?"

The King of France at once agreed to the proposal, and Henry turned to Jekin, who had stood by, listening with his mouth open, wonderfully edified at hearing the two kings converse, though he understood not a word of the language in which they spoke. "Fly to the page, man!" cried the king; "tell him to bid those who have Sir Payan Wileton in custody bring him hither instantly by the back-staircase; but first send to the reverend lord cardinal, requiring his counsel in the king's chamber. Haste! dally not, I say; I would have them here directly."

Jekin hurried to obey; and after he had delivered the order, returned to the king's chamber, where Henry, while he completed the adjustment of his apparel, related to Francis the nature of the accusation against Sir Osborne, and the proofs that had been adduced of it. The King of France, however, with a mind less susceptible of suspicion, would not believe a word of it, maintaining that the witnesses were suborned and that the letter was a forgery; and contended it would most certainly appear that Sir Payan had some deep interest in the ruin of the knight.

The sound of many steps in the ante-chamber soon announced that some one had arrived. "Quick!" cried Henry to Jekin Groby; "get behind the arras, good Jekin. After we have despatched this first business, I would ask the traitor some questions before he sees thee. Ensconce thee, man! ensconce thee quick!"

At the king's command, poor Jekin lifted up the corner of the arras by the side of the bed, and hid himself behind; but though a considerable space existed between the hangings and the wall, the worthy clothier having, as we have hinted, several very protuberant contours in his person, his figure was somewhat discernible still, swelling out the stomach of King Solomon and the hip of the Queen of Sheba, who were represented in the tapestry as if one was crooked and the other had the dropsy.

Scarcely was he concealed when the page threw open the door, and Cardinal Wolsey entered in haste, somewhat surprised at being called to the king's chamber at so early an hour; but the sight of the French king sufficiently explained the summons, and he advanced, bending low with a proud affectation of humility.

"God bless and shield your graces both!" said he. "I feared some evil by this early call; but now that I find the occasion was one of joy, I do not regret the haste that apprehension gave me."

"Still we have business, my good Wolsey," replied Henry, "and of some moment. My brother of France here espouses much the cause of the Sir Osborne Maurice who lately sojourned at the court, and won the good-will of all, both by his feats of arms and his high-born and noble demeanour; who, on the accusations given against him to you, lord cardinal, by Sir Payan Wileton, was banished from the court; nay, judged worthy of attachment for treason."

The king, in addressing Wolsey, instead of speaking in French, which had been the language used between him and Francis, had returned to his native tongue; and good Jekin Groby, hearing what passed concerning Sir Osborne Maurice, was seized with an intolerable desire to have his say too.

"Lord 'a mercy!" cried he, popping his head from behind the tapestry, "your grace's worship don't know----"

"Silence!" cried Henry, in a voice that made poor Jekin shrink into nothing: "said I not to stay there--ha?"

The worthy clothier drew back his head behind the arras, like a frightened tortoise retracting its noddle within the shelter of its shell; and Henry proceeded to explain to Wolsey, in French, what had passed between himself and Francis.

The cardinal was, at that moment, striving hard for the King of France's favour; nor was his resentment towards Sir Payan at all abated, though the arrangements of the first meeting between the kings had hitherto delayed its effects. Thus all at first seemed favourable to Sir Osborne, and the minister himself began to soften the evidence against him, when Sir Payan, escorted by a party of archers and a sergeant-at-arms, was conducted into the king's chamber. The guard drew up across the door of the anteroom; and the knight, with a pale but determined countenance, and a firm heavy step, advanced into the centre of the room, and made his obeisance to the kings. Henry, now dressed, drew forward one of the ivory chairs for Francis, and the sergeant hastened to place the other by its side for the British monarch; when, both being seated, with Wolsey by their side, the whole group would have formed as strange but powerful a picture as ever employed the pencil of an artist. The two magnificent monarchs in the pride of their youth and greatness, somewhat shadowed by the eastern wall of the room; the grand and dignified form of the cardinal, with his countenance full of thought and mind; the stern, determined aspect of Sir Payan, his whole figure possessing that sort of rigidity indicative of a violent and continued mental effort, with the full light streaming harshly through the open casement upon his pale cheek and haggard eye, and passing on to the king's bed, and the dressing-robe he had cast off upon it, showing the strange scene in which Henry's impetuosity had caused such a conclave to be held: these objects formed the foreground; while the sergeant-at-arms standing behind the prisoner, and the guard drawn up across the doorway, completed the picture; till, gliding in between the arches, the strange figure of Sir Cesar the astrologer, with his cheeks sunken and livid, and his eye lighted up by a kind of wild maniacal fire, entered the room, and, taking a place close on the right hand of Henry, added a new and curious feature to the already extraordinary scene.

"Sir Payan Wileton," said Henry, "many and grievous are the crimes laid to your charge, and of which your own conscience must accuse you as loudly as the living voices of your fellow-subjects; at least, so by the evidence brought forward against you, it appears to us at this moment. Most of these charges we shall leave to be investigated by the common course of law; but there are some points touching which, as they involve our own personal conduct and direction, we shall question you ourself: to which questions we charge you, on your allegiance, to answer truly and without concealment."

"To your grace's questions," replied Sir Payan, boldly, "I will answer for your pleasure, though I recognise here no established court of law; but first, I will say that the crimes charged against me ought to be heavier than I, in my innocence believe them, to justify the rigour with which I have been treated."

An ominous frown gathered on the king's brow. "Ha!" cried he, forgetting the calm dignity with which he had at first addressed the knight. "No established court of law! Thou sayest well: we have not the power to question thee! Ha! who then is the king? Who is the head of all magistrates? Who holds in his hand the power of all the law? By our crown! we have a mind to assemble such a court of law as within this half-hour shall have thy head struck off upon the green!"

Sir Payan was silent, and Wolsey replied to the latter part of what he had said with somewhat more calmness than Henry had done to the former. "You have been treated, sir," said he, "with not more rigour than you merited; nor with more than is justified by the usual current of the law. It is on affidavit before me, as chancellor of this kingdom, that you both instigated and aided the Lady Constance de Grey, a ward of court, to fly from the protection and government of the law; and, therefore, attachment issued against your person, and you stand committed for contempt. You had better, sir, sue for grace and pardon than aggravate your offence by such unbecoming demeanour."

"Thou hast said well and wisely, my good Wolsey," joined in the king, whose heat had somewhat subsided. "Standing thus reproved, Sir Payan Wileton, answer touching the charges you have brought against one Sir Osborne Maurice; and if you speak truly, to our satisfaction, you shall have favour and lenity at our hands. Say, sir, do you still hold to that accusation?"

"All I have to reply to your grace," answered the knight, resolved, even if he fell himself, to work out his hatred against Sir Osborne, with that vindictive rancour that the injurer always feels towards the injured; "all that I have to reply is, that what I said was true; and that if I had stated all that I suspected, as well as what I knew, I should have made his treason look much blacker than it does even now."

"Do you understand, France?" demanded Henry, turning to Francis: "shall I translate his answers, to show you his true meaning?"

The King of France, however, signified that he comprehended perfectly; and Sir Payan, after a moment's thought, proceeded.

"I should suppose your grace could have no doubt left upon that traitor's guilt; for the charge against him rests, not on my testimony, but upon the witness of various indifferent persons, and upon papers in the handwriting of his friends and abettors."

"Villain!" muttered Sir Cesar, between his teeth; "hypocritical, snake-like villain!" Both the king and Sir Payan heard him; but Henry merely raised his hand, as if commanding silence, while the eyes of the traitorous knight flashed a momentary fire, as they met the glance of the old man, and he proceeded. "I had no interest, your grace, in disclosing the plot I did; though, had I done wisely, I would have held my peace, for it will make many my enemies, even many more than I dreamed of then. I have since discovered that I then only knew one half of those that are implicated. I know them all now," he continued, fixing his eye on Sir Cesar; "but as I find what reward follows honesty, I shall bury the whole within my own breast."

"On these points, sir, we will leave our law to deal with you," replied Henry: "there are punishments for those that conceal treason; and, by my halidame, no favour shall you find in us, unless you make a free and full confession! Then our grace may touch you, but not else. But to the present question, my bold sir. Did you ever see Sir Osborne Maurice before the day that he was arrested by your order, on the charge of having excited the Cornishmen to revolt? And, before God, we enjoin you--say, are you excited against him by feelings of interest, hatred, or revenge?"

"On my life," replied Sir Payan, boldly, "I never saw him but on that one day; and as I hope for salvation in heaven"--and here he made a hypocritical grimace of piety--"I have no one reason, but pure honesty, to accuse him of these crimes."

A low groan burst from behind the tapestry at this reply, and Henry gave an angry glance towards the worthy clothier's place of concealment; but Francis, calling back his attention, begged him to ask the knight in English whether he had ever known Sir Osborne Maurice by any other name, or in any other character.

Sir Cesar's eyes sparkled, and Sir Payan's cheek turned pale, as Henry put the question; but he boldly replied, "Never, so help me heaven! I never saw him, or heard of him, or knew him, by any other name than Osborne Maurice."

"Oh, you villanous great liar! Oh, you hypocritical thief!" shouted Jekin Groby, darting out from behind the tapestry, unable to contain himself any longer. "I don't care, I don't care a groat for any one; but I won't hear you tell his grace's worship such a string of lies, all as fat and as well tacked together as Christmas sausages. Lord 'a mercy! I'll tell your graces, both of you, how it was; for you don't know, that's clear. This here Sir Osborne Maurice, that you are asking about, is neither more nor less than that Lord Darnley that I was telling your grace of this morning. Lord! now, didn't I hear him tell that sweet young lady, Mistress Constance de Grey, all about it; how he could not bear to live any longer abroad in these foreign parts, and how he had come back under the name of Sir Osborne Maurice, all for to get your grace's love as an adventurous knight? And then didn't that Sir Payan--yes, you great thief! you did, for I heard you--didn't he come and crow over him, and say that now he had got him in his power? And then didn't he offer to let him go if he would sign some papers? And then, when he would not, didn't he swear a great oath that he would murther him, saying, 'he would make his tenure good by the extinction of the race of Darnley?' You did, you great rogue! you know you did! And, Lord 'a mercy! to think of your going about to tell his grace such lies! your own king, too, who should never hear anything but the truth! God forgive you, for you're a great sinner, and the devils will never keep company with you when you go to purgatory, but will kick you out into the other place, which is worse still, folks say. And now, I humbly beg your grace's pardon, and will go back again, if you like, behind the hangings; but I couldn't abear to hear him cheat you like that."

The sudden appearance of Jekin Groby, and the light he cast upon the subject, threw the whole party into momentary confusion. Sir Payan's resolution abandoned him; his knees shook, and his very lips grew pale. Sir Cesar gazed upon him with triumphant eyes, exclaiming, "Die, die! what hast thou left but to die?" At the same time Wolsey questioned Jekin Groby, who told the same straightforward tale; and Henry explained the whole to Francis, whose comprehension of the English tongue did not quite comprise the jargon of the worthy clothier.

Sir Payan Wileton, however, resolved to make one last despairing effort both to save himself and to ruin his enemies; for the diabolical spirit of revenge was as deeply implanted in his bosom as that of self-preservation. He thought then for a moment, glanced rapidly over his situation, and cast himself on his knee before the king. "Great and noble monarch!" said he, in a slow, impressive voice, "I own my fault--I acknowledge my crime; but it is not such as you think it. Hear me but out, and you yourself shall judge whether you will grant me mercy or show me rigour. I confess, then, that I had entered as deeply as others into the treasonable plot I have betrayed against your throne and life; nay, more--that I would never have divulged it, had I not found that the Lord Darnley had, under the name of Sir Osborne Maurice, become the Duke of Buckingham's chief agent, and was to be rewarded by the restitution of Chilham Castle, for which some vague indemnity was proposed to me hereafter. On bearing it, I dissembled my resentment; and pretending to enter more heartily than ever into the scheme, I found that the ambitious duke reckoned as his chief hope, in case of war, on the skill and chivalry of this Lord Darnley, who promised by his hand to seat him on the throne. I learned, moreover, the names of all the conspirators, amongst whom that old man is one;" and he pointed to Sir Cesar, who gazed upon him with a smile of contempt and scorn, whose intensity had something of sublime. "Thirsting for revenge," proceeded Sir Payan, "and with my heart full of rage, I commanded four of my servants to stop the private courier of the duke, when I knew he was charged with letters concerning this Sir Osborne Maurice, and thus I obtained those papers I placed in the hands of my lord cardinal----"

"But how shall we know they are not forgeries?" cried Henry. "Your honour, sir, is so gone, and your testimony so suspicious, that we may well suppose those letters cunning imitations of the good duke's hand. We have heard of such things--ay, marry have we."

"Herein, happily, your grace can satisfy yourself and prove my truth," replied Sir Payan; "send for the servants whose names I will give, examine them, put them to the torture if 'you will; and if you wring not from them that, on the twenty-ninth of March, they stopped, by my command, the courier of the Duke of Buckingham, and took from him his bag of letters, condemn me to the stake. But mark me, King of England! I kneel before you pleading for life; grant it to me, with but my own hereditary property, and Buckingham, with all the many traitors that are now aiming at your life and striving for your crown, shall fall into your hand, and you shall have full evidence against them. I will instantly disclose all their names, and give you proof against their chief, that to-morrow you can reward his treason with the axe, nor fear to be called unjust. But if you refuse me your royal promise, sacredly given here before your brother king--to yield me life, and liberty, and lands, as soon as I have fulfilled my word--I will go to my death in silence, like the wolf, and never will you be able to prove anything against them; for that letter is nothing without my testimony to point it aright."

"You are bold!" said Henry; "you are very bold! but our subjects' good and the peace of our country may weigh with us. What think you, Wolsey?" And for a moment or two he consulted in a low tone with the cardinal and the King of France. "I believe, my liege," said Wolsey, whose hatred towards Buckingham was of the blindest virulence; "I believe that your grace will never be able to prove his treasons on the duke without this man's help. Perhaps you had better promise."

Francis bit his lip and was silent; but Henry, turning to Sir Payan, replied, "The tranquillity of our realm and the happiness of our people overcome our hatred of your crimes; and therefore we promise, that if by your evidence treason worthy of death be proved upon Edward Duke of Buckingham, you shall be free in life, in person, and in lands."

"Never!" cried the voice of Sir Cesar, mounting into a tone of thunder; "never!" And springing forward, he caught Sir Payan by the throat, grappled with him but for an instant, with a maniacal vigour, and drawing the small dagger he always carried, plunged it into the heart of the knight, with such force that one might have heard the blow of the hilt against his ribs. The whole was done in a moment, before any one was aware; and the red blood and the dark spirit rushing forth together, with a loud groan the traitor fell prone upon the ground; while Sir Cesar, without a moment's pause, turned the dagger against his own bosom, and drove it in up to the very haft.

Wolsey drew back in horror and affright. Francis and Henry started up, laying their hands upon their swords; Jekin Groby crept behind the arras; and the guards rushed in to seize the slayer; but Sir Cesar waved them back with the proud and dignified air of one who feels that earthly power has over him no further sway. "What fear ye?" said he, turning to the kings, and still holding the poniard tight against his bosom, as if to restrain the spirit from breathing forth through the wound. "There is no offence in the dead or in the dying. Hear me, King of England! and hear the truth, which thou wouldst never have heard from that false caitiff. Yet I have little time; the last moments of existence speed with fast wings towards another shore: give me a seat, for I am faint."

They instantly placed for him one of the settles; and after gazing around for a moment with that sort of painful vacancy of eye that speaks how the brain reels, he made an effort, and went on, though less coherently. "All he has said is false. I am on the brink of another world, and I say it is false as the hell to which he is gone. Osborne Darnley, the good, the noble, and the true--the son of my best and oldest friend--knew of no plot, heard of no treason. He was in England but two days when he fell into that traitor's hands. He never saw Buckingham but once. The Osborne Maurice named in the duke's letter is not he; one far less worthy."

"Who then is he?" cried the king impatiently. "Give me to know him, if you would have me believe. Never did I hear of such a name but in years long past, an abettor of Perkyn Warbeck. Who then is this Sir Osborne Maurice--ha? Mother of God! name him!"

"I--I--I--King of England!" cried the old man. "I, who, had he been guided by me, would have taught Richard King of England, whom you style Perkyn Warbeck, to wrench the sceptre from the hand of your usurping father; I, whose child was murdered by that dead traitor, in cold blood, after the rout at Taunton; I--I it was who predicted to Edward Bohun that his head should be highest in the realm of England: I it is who predict it still!" As he spoke the last words, the old man suddenly drew forth the blade of the dagger from his breast, upon which a full stream of blood instantly gushed forth and deluged the ground. Still struggling with the departing spirit, he started on his feet--put his hand to his brow. "I come! I come!" cried he--reeled--shuddered--and fell dead beside his enemy.