and took his
place on the steps. No one heard, but every one knew the word he spoke
was "Bessie," for Elizabeth Pierrepoint had long been the object of his
affections. No doubt he hoped that he should obtain some encouragement
from the water, even while he gave a little laugh of affected
incredulity as though only complying with a form to amuse the Queen.
Down he went on his knees, bending over the pool, when behold he could
not reach it! The streams that fed it were no longer issuing from the
rock, the water was subsiding rapidly. The farther he stooped, the
more it retreated, till he had almost fallen over, and the guide
screamed out a note of warning, "Have a care, sir! If the water flees
you, flee it will, and ye'll not mend matters by drowning yourself."

How he was to be drowned by water that fled from him was not clear, but
with a muttered malediction he arose and glanced round as if he thought
the mortification a trick on the part of the higher powers, since the
Earl did not think him a match for the Countess's grandchild, and the
Queen had made it known to him that she considered Bess Pierrepoint to
have too much of her grandmother's conditions to be likely to be a good
wife. There was a laugh too, scarce controlled by some of the less
well-mannered of the suite, especially as the Earl, wishing to punish
his presumption, loudly set the example.

There was a pause, as the discomfited secretary came back, and the
guide exclaimed, "Come, my masters, be not daunted! Will none of you
come on? Hath none of you faith in your love? Oh, fie!"

"We are married men, good women," said Richard, hoping to put an end to
the scene, "and thus can laugh at your well."

"But will not these pretty ladies try it? It speaks as sooth to lass
as to lad."

"I am ready," said Barbara Mowbray, as Curll gave her his hand to bound
lightly down the steps. And to the general amazement, no sooner had
"Gilbert" echoed from her lips than the fountains again burst forth,
the water rose, and she had no difficulty in reaching it, while no one
could help bursting forth in applause. Her Gilbert fervently kissed
the hand she gave him to aid her steps up the slope, and Dame Emmott,
in triumphant congratulation, scanned them over and exclaimed, "Ay,
trust the well for knowing true sweetheart and true maid. Come you
next, fair mistress?" Poor Mary Seaton shook her head, with a look
that the kindly woman understood, and she turned tow