Here stands the victim--there the proud betrayer,E'en as the hind pull'd down by strangling dogs Lies at the hunter's feet--who courteous proffers To some high dame,the Dian of the chase,To whom he looks for guerdon,his sharp blade,To gash the sobbing throat.THE WOODSMAN.
We are now to return to Mervyn's Bower,the apartment,or rather the prison,of the unfortunate Countess of Leicester,who for some time kept within bounds her uncertainty and her impatience.
She was aware that,in the tumult of the day,there might be some delay ere her letter could be safely conveyed to the hands of Leicester,and that some time more might elapse ere he could extricate himself from the necessary attendance on Elizabeth,to come and visit her in her secret bower.I will not expect him,she said,till night;he cannot be absent from his royal guest,even to see me.He will,I know,come earlier if it be possible,but I will not expect him before night.And yet all the while she did expect him;and while she tried to argue herself into a contrary belief,each hasty noise of the hundred which she heard sounded like the hurried step of Leicester on the staircase,hasting to fold her in his arms.
The fatigue of body which Amy had lately undergone,with the agitation of mind natural to so cruel a state of uncertainty,began by degrees strongly to affect her nerves,and she almost feared her total inability to maintain the necessary self-command through the scenes which might lie before her.But although spoiled by an over-indulgent system of education,Amy had naturally a mind of great power,united with a frame which her share in her father's woodland exercises had rendered uncommonly healthy.She summoned to her aid such mental and bodily resources;and not unconscious how much the issue of her fate might depend on her own self-possession,she prayed internally for strength of body and for mental fortitude,and resolved at the same time to yield to no nervous impulse which might weaken either.
Yet when the great bell of the Castle,which was placed in Caesar's Tower,at no great distance from that called Mervyn's,began to send its pealing clamour abroad,in signal of the arrival of the royal procession,the din was so painfully acute to ears rendered nervously sensitive by anxiety,that she could hardly forbear shrieking with anguish,in answer to every stunning clash of the relentless peal.
Shortly afterwards,when the small apartment was at once enlightened by the shower of artificial fires with which the air was suddenly filled,and which crossed each other like fiery spirits,each bent on his own separate mission,or like salamanders executing a frolic dance in the region of the Sylphs,the Countess felt at first as if each rocket shot close by her eyes,and discharged its sparks and flashes so nigh that she could feel a sense of the heat.But she struggled against these fantastic terrors,and compelled herself to arise,stand by the window,look out,and gaze upon a sight which at another time would have appeared to her at once captivating and fearful.The magnificent towers of the Castle were enveloped in garlands of artificial fire,or shrouded with tiaras of pale smoke.The surface of the lake glowed like molten iron,while many fireworks (then thought extremely wonderful,though now common),whose flame continued to exist in the opposing element,dived and rose,hissed and roared,and spouted fire,like so many dragons of enchantment sporting upon a burning lake.
Even Amy was for a moment interested by what was to her so new a scene.I had thought it magical art,she said,but poor Tressilian taught me to judge of such things as they are.Great God!and may not these idle splendours resemble my own hoped-for happiness--a single spark,which is instantly swallowed up by surrounding darkness--a precarious glow,which rises but for a brief space into the air,that its fall may be the lower?OLeicester!after all--all that thou hast said--hast sworn--that Amy was thy love,thy life,can it be that thou art the magician at whose nod these enchantments arise,and that she sees them as an outcast,if not a captive?The sustained,prolonged,and repeated bursts of music,from so many different quarters,and at so many varying points of distance,which sounded as if not the Castle of Kenilworth only,but the whole country around,had been at once the scene of solemnizing some high national festival,carried the same oppressive thought still closer to her heart,while some notes would melt in distant and falling tones,as if in compassion for her sorrows,and some burst close and near upon her,as if mocking her misery,with all the insolence of unlimited mirth.
These sounds,she said,are mine--mine,because they are HIS;but I cannot say,Be still,these loud strains suit me not;and the voice of the meanest peasant that mingles in the dance would have more power to modulate the music than the command of her who is mistress of all.By degrees the sounds of revelry died away,and the Countess withdrew from the window at which she had sat listening to them.
It was night,but the moon afforded considerable light in the room,so that Amy was able to make the arrangement which she judged necessary.There was hope that Leicester might come to her apartment as soon as the revel in the Castle had subsided;but there was also risk she might be disturbed by some unauthorized intruder.She had lost confidence in the key since Tressilian had entered so easily,though the door was locked on the inside;yet all the additional security she could think of was to place the table across the door,that she might be warned by the noise should any one attempt to enter.Having taken these necessary precautions,the unfortunate lady withdrew to her couch,stretched herself down on it,mused in anxious expectation,and counted more than one hour after midnight,till exhausted nature proved too strong for love,for grief,for fear,nay,even for uncertainty,and she slept.
