might call it a thread from the golden
web wrought by Minerva; but to my thinking it was paler than even the
purest gold--more like the last parting sunbeam of the softest day of
spring."

"Why, you are a poet yourself, Master Varney," said the Queen, smiling.
"But I have not genius quick enough to follow your rare metaphors. Look
round these ladies--is there"--(she hesitated, and endeavoured to assume
an air of great indifference)--"is there here, in this presence, any
lady, the colour of whose hair reminds thee of that braid? Methinks,
without prying into my Lord of Leicester's amorous secrets, I would
fain know what kind of locks are like the thread of Minerva's web, or
the--what was it?--the last rays of the May-day sun."

Varney looked round the presence-chamber, his eye travelling from one
lady to another, until at length it rested upon the Queen herself, but
with an aspect of the deepest veneration. "I see no tresses," he said,
"in this presence, worthy of such similies, unless where I dare not look
on them."

"How, sir knave?" said the Queen; "dare you intimate--"

"Nay, madam," replied Varney, shading his eyes with his hand, "it was
the beams of the May-day sun that dazzled my weak eyes."

"Go to--go to," said the Queen; "thou art a foolish fellow"--and turning
quickly from him she walked up to Leicester.

Intense curiosity, mingled with all the various hopes, fears,
and passions which influence court faction, had occupied the
presence-chamber during the Queen's conference with Varney, as if with
the strength of an Eastern talisman. Men suspended every, even the
slightest external motion, and would have ceased to breathe, had Nature
permitted such an intermission of her functions. The atmosphere was
contagious, and Leicester, who saw all around wishing or fearing his
advancement or his fall forgot all that love had previously dictated,
and saw nothing for the instant but the favour or disgrace which
depended on the nod of Elizabeth and the fidelity of Varney. He summoned
himself hastily, and prepared to play his part in the scene which was
like to ensue, when, as he judged from the glances which the Queen threw
towards him, Varney's communications, be they what they might, were
operating in his favour. Elizabeth did not long leave him in doubt; for
the more than favour with which she accosted him decided his triumph in
the eyes of his rival, and of the assembled court of England. "Thou hast
a prating ser