there would come a time that I should be glad of having done so. I think
it is come now."

"I bought you some books, madam," said Janet, "from a lame fellow who
sold them in the Market-place--and who stared something boldly, at me, I
promise you."

"Let me see them, Janet," said the Countess; "but let them not be of
your own precise cast,--How is this, most righteous damsel?--'A PAIR OF
SNUFFERS FOR THE GOLDEN CANDLESTICK'--'HANDFULL OF MYRRH AND HYSSOP TO
PUT A SICK SOUL TO PURGATION'--'A DRAUGHT OF WATER FROM THE VALLEY OF
BACA'--'FOXES AND FIREBRANDS'--what gear call you this, maiden?"

"Nay, madam," said Janet, "it was but fitting and seemly to put grace in
your ladyship's way; but an you will none of it, there are play-books,
and poet-books, I trow."

The Countess proceeded carelessly in her examination, turning over such
rare volumes as would now make the fortune of twenty retail booksellers.
Here was a "BOKE OF COOKERY, IMPRINTED BY RICHARD LANT," and "SKELTON'S
BOOKS"--"THE PASSTIME OF THE PEOPLE"--"THE CASTLE OF KNOWLEDGE," etc.
But neither to this lore did the Countess's heart incline, and joyfully
did she start up from the listless task of turning over the leaves of
the pamphlets, and hastily did she scatter them through the floor, when
the hasty clatter of horses' feet, heard in the courtyard, called her to
the window, exclaiming, "It is Leicester!--it is my noble Earl!--it
is my Dudley!--every stroke of his horse's hoof sounds like a note of
lordly music!"

There was a brief bustle in the mansion, and Foster, with his downward
look and sullen manner, entered the apartment to say, "That Master
Richard Varney was arrived from my lord, having ridden all night, and
craved to speak with her ladyship instantly."

"Varney?" said the disappointed Countess; "and to speak with me?--pshaw!
But he comes with news from Leicester, so admit him instantly."

Varney entered her dressing apartment, where she sat arrayed in her
native loveliness, adorned with all that Janet's art and a rich and
tasteful undress could bestow. But the most beautiful part of her attire
was her profuse and luxuriant light-brown locks, which floated in such
rich abundance around a neck that resembled a swan's, and over a bosom
heaving with anxious expectation, which communicated a hurried tinge of
red to her whole countenance.

Varney entered the room in the dress in which he had waited on his
master that morning to court, the splendour