s rich court-mantle for a furred night-robe, and when this
officer signified that Master Varney desired to speak with his lordship,
he replied only by a sullen nod. Varney, however, entered, accepting
this signal as a permission, and the chamberlain withdrew.

The Earl remained silent and almost motionless in his chair, his head
reclined on his hand, and his elbow resting upon the table which stood
beside him, without seeming to be conscious of the entrance or of the
presence of his confidant. Varney waited for some minutes until he
should speak, desirous to know what was the finally predominant mood of
a mind through which so many powerful emotions had that day taken their
course. But he waited in vain, for Leicester continued still silent,
and the confidant saw himself under the necessity of being the first
to speak. "May I congratulate your lordship," he said, "on the deserved
superiority you have this day attained over your most formidable rival?"

Leicester raised his head, and answered sadly, but without anger, "Thou,
Varney, whose ready invention has involved me in a web of most mean
and perilous falsehood, knowest best what small reason there is for
gratulation on the subject."

"Do you blame me, my lord," said Varney, "for not betraying, on the
first push, the secret on which your fortunes depended, and which
you have so oft and so earnestly recommended to my safe keeping? Your
lordship was present in person, and might have contradicted me and
ruined yourself by an avowal of the truth; but surely it was no part of
a faithful servant to have done so without your commands."

"I cannot deny it, Varney," said the Earl, rising and walking across the
room; "my own ambition has been traitor to my love."

"Say rather, my lord, that your love has been traitor to your greatness,
and barred you from such a prospect of honour and power as the world
cannot offer to any other. To make my honoured lady a countess, you have
missed the chance of being yourself--"

He paused, and seemed unwilling to complete the sentence.

"Of being myself what?" demanded Leicester; "speak out thy meaning,
Varney."

"Of being yourself a KING, my lord," replied Varney; "and King of
England to boot! It is no treason to our Queen to say so. It would have
chanced by her obtaining that which all true subjects wish her--a lusty,
noble, and gallant husband."

"Thou ravest, Varney," answered Leicester. "Besides, our times have
seen enough to m