ck, see to
the sports:--the pageant hath suffered greatly from thine absence. I do
think the Queen of Beauty hath played thee false."

Buckingham took his usual station by the king; and Sir John Finett, in
great dolour, went forth in search of his mistress. He questioned the
guests diligently, but could gain no further tidings, save that she had
been seen by many in company with the Silver Knight. Every minute added
to his uneasiness: thoughts of a wild and terrible import haunted him.
In vain he tried to shake off these intruders--they came like shadows,
horrible and indistinct. His naturally sensitive and sanguine
temperament, as prone to the anticipation of evil as of delight, was a
curse, and not a blessing. Departed hopes may fling a deeper shadow even
on the brow of Despair!--and rayless was the night which visited his
spirit. It was now too evident--for he was no novice in the
science--that his admiration had awakened one dormant but hallowed
affection, long lulled in the soft lap of pleasure. The maiden, with
whom it was his sole aim to pass a few hours of pleasantry and
amusement, had enthralled him by so sudden a spell, that he was more
than half inclined to believe in the boasted skill and exploits of the
sex, which has rendered Lancashire so famous. Her unaccountable absence
impressed itself strangely upon his thoughts. He was in love!--and he
writhed at the discovery; but he would have given worlds just then to
have proclaimed it at his mistress's feet.

Scarcely conscious how the night wore on, he was obliged to act his
part. Supper was announced; and he took his station where he could see
the guests unmask as they entered to the banquet.

The tables were nearly filled, but the Silver Knight and his fair lady
were still absent. Grace Gerard is doubtless in her own chamber, was the
host's reply to some inquiry from Sir John:--she had craved excuse from
some slight indisposition. But this did not satisfy him to whom it was
addressed: he suspected her chamber would be found unoccupied;--his
heart felt wasted and desolate;--it was as if the whole fair face of
nature were blotted out,--the light being gone which rendered it
visible.

"What ho!" said the king, "bring my Sienna knight a cup of hot sack and
a merry-thought, for he seems melancholic and watchful--a wary eye, but
a silent tongue. Sir John, are your wits a wool-gathering with your
queen?"

"I am in my widowhood, most gracious prince,--my queen