Soon after Queen Elizabeth had entered Greenwich Palace, on the occasion before described, she parted from her two favourites, Raleigh and Essex, and retired to her boudoir. In a short time, however, she again appeared in the private hall, and there looked for those personages among the assembled courtiers. Essex, observing her glance, and conjecturing its object, was by her side in a moment; but Raleigh was nowhere to be seen. Elizabeth looked displeased at his absence; and, as Essex came up, she inquired if he had seen him.

“Indeed, no, your Highness,” replied Essex. “But he will be here anon, no doubt.”

“I’faith, I fear, not,” said a voice behind him, loud enough to be heard by the Queen.

The Queen turned round; and her eye, now marked with displeasure, fell on the face of Sir Robert Cecil.

“An’ it prove so, and thou art a friend of his, thou mayst fear in right earnest, Sir Knight,” she said. “By God! an’ he be not back shortly, it shall be the worse for him.”

“Consider me not his friend, then, my gracious liege, an’ he forfeit thy good will,” replied Cecil. “Still,” he added, in a hesitating tone, which seemed to belie what he said, “I scarce can think he intends your Highness a wilful disrespect.”

The Queen coloured.

“I will give my word,” said the Earl of Essex, with much warmth, “he hath no such thought.”

Unfortunately, however, the circle immediately round the Queen, to which the conversation was confined, included none of Sir Walter’s friends, and whispers and looks were interchanged, which far from confirmed the manly and straightforward declaration of Essex. The Queen, whom the bare appearance of a slight exasperated, was easily led into the general impression, and it became evident that Sir Walter was no longer to be looked upon as one of her chief favourites.

“Thou must know where he is,” she said to Cecil, somewhat sharply, “or how couldst thou fear, as thou didst but lately profess, he would not attend us shortly?”

“Good sooth, my liege, I spoke on mere conjecture,” said Cecil. “When he betook him hence, I marked that he looked marvellously impatient; and as his step was hasty withal, I doubted not, in my own mind, that he was taken away by some grave business, which could be despatched only at leisure.”

“By my troth, thou art right prompt at conjecture,” remarked the Queen, sneeringly. “A good fellow, I warrant you, to back out a friend. But go and seek out Sir Walter Raleigh, and let us hear what this grave business is.”

Cecil, though taken somewhat aback, replied with a bow, and instantly proceeded to give the Queen’s injunctions effect. Shambling along at his quickest pace, he came to the central hall; and though, having failed to watch his route, he knew not what direction had been pursued by Sir Walter, passed straight to the park.

As he stepped into the nearest walk, he observed Sir Walter, with his hat pulled over his brow, some distance ahead, striking off towards Blackheath. Wondering what he could possibly have in view, he determined, instead of calling him back, to steal secretly after him, and, if possible, ascertain his purpose.

He pursued his intention for several minutes, when Sir Walter, suddenly turning round, became sensible that he was followed, and struck off in another direction. Still, however, Cecil kept him in view, and at length, after a diligent and arduous pursuit, fairly traced him to the avenue to Blackheath.

A few brief minutes served to discover the object of his excursion. A lady—no other, indeed, than Evaline de Neville—was standing near the end of the avenue; and on reaching that locality, Sir Walter accosted her, and made it apparent that she was waiting there for him. Sir Robert Cecil watched them for a short space, when, with a glavering smile, he turned away, and passed back to the palace.

On entering the royal presence, he found the courtiers dispersed over the hall, and the circle round the Queen, which he had left pretty full, greatly diminished. Elizabeth, though still somewhat discomposed, was talking apart with Essex; and the four or five ladies around her had fallen a few paces back, and with many smiles, and tossings of the head, and other significant gestures, discussed the scandal of the day together. Silently noting these particulars, Sir Robert Cecil, fearful of being thought an intruder, approached with great circumspection, and, while he was yet some paces distant, hemmed several times to attract the Queen’s notice. It was not till he was close at hand, however, that that personage thought fit to observe him.

“Well, Sir!” she then cried, in an abrupt tone, “where is thy marauding friend?”

“Most gracious liege, an’ thou mean’st Sir Walter Raleigh,” replied Cecil, fawningly, “I give thee my word, that, were he mine own brother, he should not hold my regard when he had lost thine. God forefend I should ever lack in duty to your Highness, who hath loaded me and mine, of thine own free and unsolicited will, with thy most precious bounty.”

“Nay, nay, I question not thee, gentle Cecil,” rejoined the Queen, with more kindness. “There be few I deem so loyal, or hold in equal respect.”

“Oh, thanks! thanks, most dread sovereign!” answered Cecil, with well-feigned emotion. “An’ I could tell how thou hast moved me, I would make thy most piteous and compassionate heart to run distract. But no tongue, unless it were thine own, whose eloquence passes man’s, and ravishes while it commands, could give utterance to my most hearty sentiments. Indeed, my Lord Essex, that was a right apt conceit of thine, which likened her Grace’s voice to the song of Philomel.”

“By my word, now, ’twas beggarly,” said the Earl of Essex, earnestly. “’Twas likening the meridian sun to a mere star.”

“Go to, thou flatterer!” exclaimed the Queen, laughing. “The conceit was a right good one. But what keeps this recreant knight, gentle Cecil?”

Cecil hesitated.

“Soh!” said the Queen, with revived displeasure. And rising from her seat, she stepped a pace or two forward (so that, if they spoke in a low tone, their conversation could not be heard by those around), and whispered Cecil apart.

“What holds him away?” she said.

“Only the great duty I owe your Highness could ever make me say,” replied Cecil, falteringly. “In obedience to your Grace’s orders, I followed him to the Park; and there, in a retired spot, I beheld him in earnest converse with a lady.”

“Aha!” muttered Elizabeth. “By my father’s hand, he shall answer for ’t! Wait thee here a space!”

With this injunction, she turned away, and fell back to the Earl of Essex.

“Essex, give thee a good night!” she said, extending him her hand.

The young Earl, with the eagerness of a lover, caught up her proffered hand, and, dropping on one knee, raised it respectfully to his lips. As he did so, his graceful bearing, and manly and handsome countenance, beaming with expression, appeared to new advantage, and presented additional charms. While she glanced hastily over him, Elizabeth, though in no tender mood, deigned to smile; but, whatever were her feelings, she broke away directly.

“Ho, there!” she cried to her ladies; “we will away!”

The bevy of beauties gathered round her in a moment; the hall-door, leading to the private apartments of the palace, was thrown open; and, attended by her train, the Queen passed to her chamber.

Her retirement was the signal for the whole court to take their departure. Essex and Cecil, however, though with no common object, remained behind, and manifested no intention of immediately retiring.

Though the Queen had passed out of sight, and the door by which she had made her egress, in the manner and order described, was now closed, the eyes of Essex were still turned in the direction she had taken, and seemed to look for or behold her in the unbroken vacuity. But he did not gaze thus for any protracted period. After a short interval, he dropped his gaze, and turned to retire. He was stepping forward with this view, when, raising his eyes again, he encountered those of Sir Robert Cecil. That person, with whatever motive, had been watching him from the first, and now looked him straight in the face. But the familiarity which he seemed to assume, and which was marked very strikingly in his penetrating gaze, drew from the proud Earl no apparent response; for, instead of pausing, he dropped his glance on the instant, and passed straight on.

Cecil bit his lips; but his self-possession, if disturbed, was not seriously affected, and he recovered himself immediately.

“My Lord Essex, I would speak with thee a space,” he said, in an obsequious tone.

“Be brief, then,” answered Essex, still passing forward, though more slowly; “for I would be gone.”

“Nay, ’tis no great matter, my fair Lord,” observed Cecil, with affected indifference. “’Twas but to give thee a warning.”

Essex paused. “And what may it be?” he asked.

“I will tell thee more anon,” he said. “Now, my Lord, I would simply counsel thee to beware of Sir Walter Raleigh.”

“And wherefore of him?” demanded Essex. “I know not that I have in aught offended him.”

“Oh, dost thou not?” returned the crafty courtier. “Art not his rival, then? Has he not in thee, and thy good parts, which men do so worthily admire, an obstacle to her Grace’s favour? Trust me, he hates thee, my good Lord!”

“I can well believe he bears me no good will,” answered the Earl. “Howbeit, I care not for him, or any other, though, to speak sooth, I want the enmity of no man. Let that, with more right and justice, fall to time-servers and knaves.”

So speaking, the haughty young nobleman, without raising his cap, dropped him a proud nod, and passed on his way. Before he reached the lower outlet from the hall, the door at the upper end, leading to the apartments of the Queen, was thrown open, and a lady appeared on the threshold.

“Hither, Sir Robert Cecil!” she said.

Cecil, though somewhat disconcerted at the altered demeanour of Essex, quickly composed himself, and answered her call with the liveliest promptitude. On his coming up with her, the lady, with some appearance of agitation, presented him with a sealed billet, addressed to Sir Walter Raleigh; and the alert eyes of Cecil readily observed that it was in the handwriting of the Queen.

“Her Highness,” said the lady, “charged me to bring thee this billet, which thou art to convey to Sir Walter Raleigh, through a pursuivant, without loss of time. I fear me,” she added, in a tone of sympathy, “it bodes the noble gentleman no good.”

Sir Robert gave a mournful shake of his head.

“Dost know how he hath displeased her, Sir Robert?” pursued the lady.

“Faith, no, my Lady Nottingham!” answered Cecil. “It grieves me sorely. But, whatever come of it, I must even do her Grace’s errand; and so, I heartily wish your Ladyship god-den.”

“God-den to you, Sir!” replied the Countess of Nottingham.

Thus returning his valediction, she passed to the inner chamber again; and Sir Robert, without further delay, bent his steps to the lower hall. There, after a little time, which it required all his discretion to endure patiently, he procured a pursuivant; and, in obedience to the injunctions he had received, charged him with the delivery of the Queen’s letter. Having informed him that he would probably meet with Sir Walter in the park, he directed him, when he had delivered the letter, to come back to him, in the apartment called “the Hall of Virgins,” and privately let him know where Sir Walter was to be found. With these instructions, he parted from the pursuivant, and repaired to the apartment wherein, according to their arrangement, he was to await his return.

Some time elapsed before the pursuivant re-appeared. But, though the interval was a long one, he returned at last, and briefly furnished Cecil with the information he required.

“I have presented Sir Walter with the letter, your worship,” he said. “I would have returned straight; but he bade me, as a favour, to order his barge, and I could not cry him nay. He hath since gone off to London.”

Cecil, being desirous of an early interview with Sir Walter, was somewhat disappointed by this intelligence; but he did not suffer his chagrin to reveal itself. Dismissing the pursuivant, he determined, as he could not see him that night, to visit Sir Walter early in the morning; and thus resolved, he quietly took his departure.

The following morning found him an early visiter at the door of Durham House. The noble proprietor of that mansion, however, had been astir for several hours, and was now busily engaged in the various employments of his study. He sat at a long table, in the middle of the room, with his face, which rested on one of his hands, turned towards the window, and his back towards the door. On the table, within reach of his hand, were divers papers and books, and one volume lying open, which, on a close view, proved to be a collection of the plays of Shakspear. The open page presented, on one side, the faint trace of a pencil, marking some reader’s admiration of the following passage:—

The pencil-mark might have been made by Sir Walter himself; but, whether it had been, or not, that personage was not now meditating, under the prompture of his own experience, on its high and incontrovertible philosophy. Before him was spread a large chart, representing, in rude but accurate outlines, the continent of North America; and on this he seemed to bend his undivided attention.

Ever and anon, as his eye fixed itself on some more striking point of the broken shore, indicating a safe bay, or favourable commercial situation, he raised his pen, and, by a slight tick, marked it as the site of a future settlement. Gradually, breaking away from the shore, he moved his pen inland, and, after a deliberate pause, traced on the centre of the chart, in bold characters, these magic words:—

El Dorado.

As he thus fixed the site of his imagined Canaan, a smile rose to the lips of the philosopher, and seemed, on a cursory glance, to shed a sort of light over his every feature. There was, however, whether from intense thought, or secret anxiety, still a touch of melancholy on his brow; and it shortly spread itself further, and became, what it was in the first instance, the dominant expression of his countenance. Nevertheless, he continued to bend over the chart, and would, perhaps, ultimately have resumed the employment he had been engaged in; but, while he yet paused, a slight knock on the chamber-door brought his meditation to a close.

“Enter!” he cried, turning towards the door.

He had hardly turned round, when the door was pushed open, and a servant, attired in a plain but tasteful livery, the colours of his household, entered the chamber.

“Sir Robert Cecil would speak a while with your worship,” said the lackey.

It is often imagined, that, in the hour of adversity, a visit from one whom we consider a friend, unsolicited by ourselves, is among the most welcome things that we would aspire to. But let the cold hand of misfortune only seize us; and, in this conceived relief, the proud heart, which sorrow could not subdue, will be most effectually humbled. It has to own its fair prospects blighted; it has to acknowledge, in its own degradation, the superiority of its consoler; it has to smart under his inquiries, and writhe under his expressions of pity. What torture!—what excruciating torment! To be recommended, in our low estate, to take another path, to confess that we have failed—that our best efforts, our mightiest energies, our long suffering, our glorious and surpassing struggles, which embraced our every thought, hope, and wish, and the bare memory of which makes us even to commiserate our own selves—to confess that all these have been thrown away, that we have been poor, lost, thoughtless dreamers—oh! this is the very bound and extreme of human anguish!

Yet Sir Walter could endure the trial. He knew that, in his course upward, the man who seeks an uncommon fortune, must meet and surmount uncommon difficulties; and though acutely sensible to the bitter influences referred to, he was manned for the ordeal. Keenly as he felt every mortification, how utterly pointless and contemptible, on reflection, did the disdainful slights and opinions of the world appear to him! The galling sneer of envy, the cutting look of pride, or the thoughtless inquisitiveness of pity, itself an affront, might affect him at the moment; but how soon did his heart recover its dignity, and his mind its evenness! He felt the pang, but he did not shrink from its minister; and in the nobleness of his own feelings, and the purity of his motives, he found a most soothing consolation.

On the present occasion, he paused a space before he replied to the servant’s announcement. His hesitation, however, was but momentary, and he then directed him to bring Sir Robert Cecil to his presence.

The servant, with a dutiful bow, proceeded to obey him, and shortly introduced Sir Robert to the study. He thereupon retired, and left the two courtiers, whose characters were so widely different, and so opposed to each other, to themselves.

There was a thoughtful melancholy on Cecil’s brow, whether real or assumed, that at once informed Sir Walter that his fall in the royal favour was known to that person. This was a relief; and though Sir Robert, on the whole, had no great hold of his esteem, he was rather cheered than otherwise by the sympathy expressed in his countenance. A mere glance served him to survey Sir Robert’s aspect; and by the time that the servant, on his way out, had closed the door behind him, and left them to themselves, he was prepared to accost him.

“Give thee a fair morning, Sir Robert!” he cried. “Thou art with me betimes; and yet, by my lady’s hand, I scarce looked for any visiters to-day!”

“An’ that were thy thought, thou didst wrong to me, at the least, Sir Walter Raleigh,” answered Cecil, with much earnestness. “’Tis not in thy reverses that I would forsake thee.”

“Kind! kind! more than I looked for, worthy Sir Robert,” answered Raleigh; “for, I see, by thy sad face, thou art advertised of my downfall!”

“Nay, call it not that!” rejoined Cecil. “Albeit thou art accused of a grave excess, I heartily hope, when the Queen’s anger abates, she will overlook it.”

“Grave excess!” exclaimed Sir Walter. “Dost know what I am charged withal, then?”

“I’faith, I have heard, though I vouch not how truly, thou art accused of leaving thy duties at the palace, as captain of her Highness’s guard, to loiter with some dame in the park,” answered Cecil. “Nay, I know not an’ it be so, but I am thus advised.”

“’Tis most like,” returned Sir Walter; “for, of a surety, I did visit the park last even, after her Highness had retired, purposely to meet a fair lady.”

Cecil bit his lips, and meditated a moment.

“Wilt thou own this to her Highness?” he said, at length.

“Will I?” cried Sir Walter: “without question, I will!”

“Then is thy case hopeless!” said Cecil, turning away.

“Hold!” exclaimed Sir Walter. “Hast thou a mind to serve me in the matter?”

“By my faith, I have!” answered Cecil, solemnly.

“Then, at thy speediest convenience, get me leave from her Highness to see her privily,” returned Sir Walter. “An’ she refuse thine urgent entreaty, do thou”—here he thrust his hand into his vest, and drew forth a sealed letter—“then give her this billet, and say, with my humble prayers, and reverend love, I lay it at her feet.”

“That will I,” answered Sir Robert, accepting the letter. “Her Highness, if I be advised truly, hath by this time returned to Westminster, and I will seek her ear straightway. I would have had more heart for the business, though, an’ thou hadst not given such offence to my Lord Essex.”

“I offended him?” cried Raleigh. “What mean’st thou?”

“Hast thou, in plain verity, done him no wrong, then?” inquired Cecil. “This is most strange! But I have thy word for secrecy?”

“Without question!” answered Sir Walter.

“Then, believe me, worthy Sir Walter,” pursued Cecil, “Essex is thine enemy.”

Sir Walter turned pale. “Now, afore God!” he exclaimed, “I have never given his Lordship a shade of cause! I have ever held him in good report, and thought him, above most men, noble, honest, and true.”

“Well, he hates thee!” resumed Cecil. “But look cheerful on’t, nevertheless. I will seek her Highness out of hand.”

Sir Walter expressed his acknowledgments of his kindness, and, at the same time, revealed his love for the Queen, to whom his mission was addressed, in many flattering and dutiful expressions. Cecil readily caught at these, though seemingly inattentive, as calculated to win him the Queen’s favour, and after a while, having heard Sir Walter out, took his leave, and set forth for the palace.

He was really earnest in the interest he professed in Sir Walter’s behalf. He saw now, after a trial, that he would be unable to play upon Essex as he had imagined; and that, in fact, Essex was more likely to play upon him. Under these circumstances, he conceived that it would be advisable to attract the Queen’s favour to Raleigh again; and if he could any way compass this, he would be able, in building his own fortune, to counteract the overbearing pride of the one, in the friendly aid of the other. The seeds of dissension which he had sown between them, by reporting them to each other as enemies, would prevent their ever coming to an explanation; and in the division of their interests, he would find means and opportunity to advance himself.

Full of these speculations, the crafty double-dealer reached the palace. The Queen, he found, had already arrived thither, and was now in one of the private chambers of the palace. Having sent to her to desire an interview, she ordered him to be admitted, and he was thereupon conducted to her presence.

The Queen was alone; and, to judge from the expression of her countenance, in a humour not unfavourable to the design he had in hand. She even smiled as he bent his knee before her, and, in a gentle tone, ordered him to rise.

“Still must I kneel, most gracious liege,” answered Cecil; “for I come as a suppliant from one who, could he but see thee, would kneel here for ever, unless thou wouldst grant him thy royal pardon.”

“Ah!” cried the Queen. “What offence hath thy client committed?”

“He hath sworn by thy hand, which he holds an inviolable oath, that he hath done none wilfully, my liege,” replied Cecil. “In good sooth, he swore to ’t so movingly, ’twas quite piteous to hear him.”

“Prithee, who may he be?” inquired the Queen.

“Sir Walter Raleigh, your Highness,” said Cecil, hesitatingly.

“How now, sirrah?” cried the Queen, rising, with her eyes flashing with anger. “What assurance hast thou of my forbearance, that thus thou darest to plead for him?”

“The frown of your Highness bows me to the earth,” answered Cecil, dropping his gaze to the floor, and really feeling very great terror. “Indeed, indeed, my liege, I had determined to cast him utterly from me, but when I heard his right eloquent tongue, which certainly hath few peers, discourse of your Highness’s captivating charms—of your admirable learning, politics, piety, and matchless goodness, my heart warmed to him in despite of me, and, from being his enemy, I became his friend.”

“Well, well, I pardon thee for once,” said the Queen; “but speak of him no more. Certes, he hath as winning a discourse as I have ever heard.”

“To hear him,” observed Cecil, with more confidence, “likening your Highness in authority to Semiramis, in resolution to Zenobia, in piety to Helena, and in beauty to Cleopatra. In good faith, ’twas moving!”

“Did he do this?” asked the Queen, in a low voice.

“With more earnestness than I can speak of, my liege,” replied Cecil. “But when he did enlarge on your Highness’s bountiful disposition, and, with piteous sighs, set forth how many great things your Highness had done for his poor self—saying, ’twas she gained me this, or ’twas her raised me to that, and ’twas her royal hand (and thereat he would look so grievously sorrowful) that presented me with such a thing; and, withal, delivering himself with such admirable tenderness—i’faith, mine eyes were almost moved to tears.”

The Queen made no reply for a brief space. “By my troth,” she said, at length, “I can well believe thee. But I will not pardon him. No—not a jot! Still, an’ thou likest, on thine own conjecture, to tell him not to be of desperate mind, thou mayst.”

“Knowing the royal nature of your Highness, I will even advise him so,” answered Cecil. “But if thou wouldst suffer me, as ’twere without thy privity, to place him behind some screen, where, unseen by thee, he might behold thee pass by, and so once more view thy face, ’twould be more comfortable to his poor heart than aught that can be said by me.”

“By my troth, thou movest me!” returned the Queen. “But I will not pardon him! He knoweth a mode may persuade me, though. Counsel him to think on’t.”

“I will, my liege,” replied Cecil; “but before I go, I would humbly sue your Highness, in your great goodness, to accept this poor billet, which he charged me, with many protestations of love, to lay at your Highness’s feet.”

The Queen, though evidently no way displeased, hesitated a moment, and then accepted the proffered letter. Her eyes brightened, as, with a careful hand, she drew it open, and found within a small gold ring.

“What request did he bid thee make of me?” she asked, looking up.

“That thou wouldst be pleased to see him privily, my liege,” answered Cecil.

“Let him attend me out of hand,” returned the Queen. “No more now; but hie to him at once!”

Sir Robert, pleased beyond measure, did not linger on his errand, but took a hasty leave of the Queen, and departed. Walking at a quick pace, he soon arrived at Durham House, and, on gaining admittance, was immediately conducted to the presence of Raleigh.

That personage received him with an unaffected welcome. His account of his interview with the Queen, and its result, which was so much more favourable than he had anticipated, afforded Sir Walter the highest gratification; and he prepared to embrace the advantage it held out without delay.

Nevertheless, nearly half an hour elapsed before he was fully equipped for his meditated visit to the court. When he had once fulfilled his toilet, however, he made no pause; but, accompanied by Cecil, set out for the palace.

On their arrival at that structure, they found that the Queen was on the point of attending a council; but, though the moment seemed unfavourable, Sir Walter determined, for all this, to seek an audience on the instant. His pursuit of that object was successful; and, leaving Cecil in the hall, he was shortly ushered to the royal presence.

The Queen was still alone; but her brow, under the shadow of a light gold crown, which she had donned to attend the council, no longer looked kindly, but rather cold and severe. Sir Walter approached her in silence, and, on drawing nigh her chair, threw himself at her feet.

Nearly a minute elapsed before the Queen spoke; but, in the mean time, her eyes, which were remarkably penetrating, ran over the cavalier with a glance of displeasure. Sir Walter, however, kept his eyes on the floor, and never looked up once.

“By my father’s head,” cried the Queen, at length, “I have a right good mind to drive thee hence again! What can palliate thy gross perjury? Knowest thou aught, in the conception of mortal wit, that can afford thee a reasonable excuse?”

Sir Walter was silent.

“Ay, think it over and over,” resumed the Queen, angrily; “and mark if thy subtlety frame a sufficient plea! Yet do I not blame thee, after all, so much as the hussey by whom thou wast decoyed. By the Lord, ’twere better for her, in this instance, that she had never seen a man. Which of my women was it?”

“My gracious liege,” said Raleigh, in a soft voice, “I were a traitor to profess, as I might, that I know not whereof I am charged withal; for Sir Robert Cecil hath advised me on’t at full. Nevertheless, I do solemnly protest, by thy fair hand, and mine own honour, ’tis utterly without ground.”

“How?” cried the Queen, starting up. “Wilt thou dare to tell me a lie?”

“Now, God forefend, dread sovereign!” said Sir Walter, his cheeks mantling with a deep flush. “’Tis true, I met a lady in the park last even; but, by all I regard sacred, she was no mistress of mine, nor any lady of the court. She was simply a poor friend—a poor, defenceless maid, who sought me with a suit to your Highness.”

“Ah!” exclaimed the Queen.

“’Twas even so, your Highness,” answered Raleigh: “a maid (let me speak in pure sooth) whom I would perish rather than wrong.”

“Rise, Sir!” said the Queen; “we pardon thee! Let us hear this maiden’s suit.”

Sir Walter, re-assured by the Queen’s tone, entered on the task enjoined him with hearty good will; and, without concealing one particular, set forth how he had first become acquainted with Evaline de Neville, how her father had been arrested on a charge of murder, how Hildebrand Clifford, the captain of his expedition to America, had convinced him of Sir Edgar’s innocence, and how that person was now confined in Newgate. As he proceeded with his narrative, he expatiated at length, and in terms of the highest commendation, on the beauty, virtue, and modesty of Evaline, and showed how her affection for her father had induced her to share his prison at Exeter, and had since brought her to London. In conclusion, he implored the Queen, in consideration of her rare merits, to interfere personally in her behalf, and take her under her special protection.

“We will see to ’t,” answered the Queen, in a gracious tone. “The council will be sitting anon; and I will then, if occasion serve, have the matter diligently investigated. Now, see who waits without!”

Sir Walter, with a dutiful bow, turned quickly to the chamber-door, and drew it open. An officer was waiting without, with two ushers; and, supposing the Queen would speak with them, Sir Walter beckoned them forward.

“Sir Ferdinand Georges is here, your Highness,” he said, turning to the Queen.

Sir Ferdinand, who was the officer referred to, entered at this moment.

“The council awaits your Highness,” he said.

“We will attend it,” replied the Queen. “Ho, Sir Knight!” she added to Raleigh, “give me thine arm!”

Thus speaking, she placed her arm on that of Raleigh; and, followed by Sir Ferdinand and the two ushers, passed to the council-chamber.

On arriving at the door of that apartment, she paused, and withdrew her arm from that of Raleigh.

“Wait thou here a while,” she said. “Thou mayst be called for anon.”

Raleigh, catching her hand as it fell, dropped on one knee, and, bowing his head, raised her hand to his lips. The Queen smiled, and, without more ado, passed into the council-chamber.

Like Raleigh, Sir Ferdinand Georges and the two ushers, by whom she had been escorted thither, remained without, waiting her return. On her entry into the chamber, however, the two ushers fell back a few paces, and only Sir Walter and Sir Ferdinand stood near the door. Thus left to themselves, those two cavaliers, who evidently were no way ill-disposed to each other, were able to enter into discourse, and they availed themselves of the opportunity forthwith.

Nearly an hour elapsed before their conversation sustained any interruption. At the end of that time, however, the door behind them was pushed open, and Raleigh was summoned to appear before the council.

It was a bar that might have daunted even a more resolute mind; but Raleigh presented himself before it, in obedience to its summons, with a countenance and heart perfectly undisturbed. There were, notwithstanding, several sitting round, on the right of the Queen, whom he knew to be his enemies, and several whom he believed to bear him no great good will. Among the first, the Earl of Leicester, sitting on the Queen’s right hand, was the principal; and in the latter class he included Burleigh and Walsingham. To counterbalance the enmity or ill will of these, however, the venerable faces of Knollys, Egerton, Sussex, and the Lord Justice Popham, with the not unkindly brow of Secretary Herbert, assured him of favour and support. Moreover, the Queen herself, as if to inspire him with confidence, smiled on him as he entered; and, in that one smile, he had a tower of strength and hope.

A slight pause followed his entry, when the Earl of Leicester, turning towards the Queen, broke the silence.

“Your Highness,” he said, “hath been pleased to order Sir Walter Raleigh hither, in order that he may himself deliver, in his own words, what he hath already reported to you. I do profess, as the matter hath been said to involve a new Popish plot, that I hold it should be inquired into with the utmost diligence.”

“I am so minded myself,” answered the Queen. “Advise us what thou know’st of the business, Sir Walter.”

Thus addressed, Raleigh proceeded, in a low but distinct tone, to narrate the several particulars exculpatory of Sir Edgar de Neville, in reference to the charge he had been arrested on, which he had already made known to the Queen. As his narrative progressed, he remarked that Lord Burleigh paid especial attention, above that awarded by the other councillors, to its various details; and he was at a loss to conjecture what his marked notice might lead to. Nevertheless, he was no way embarrassed, and he brought his account to a close without once hesitating.

“A passing strange tale, by my faith!” said Lord Leicester, sneeringly, when his narrative was finished. “I marvel, Sir Walter Raleigh, ’twould ever win an advocate in thee.”

“’Tis anent all reason,” said Sir Francis Walsingham.

“Methinks, fair gentlemen, these argue more for its thorough investigation,” remarked the Earl of Sussex. “I will even avow, on my part, that, if it win credit from Sir Walter Raleigh, it will be credited by me.”

“Certes, the word of so loyal a gentleman deserves a fair inquiry,” observed the Queen, with a frown. “What sayst thou to it, my Lord Burleigh?”

“That the statement of Sir Walter Raleigh is true, my liege,” answered Burleigh.

The Queen looked surprised, and the councillors, on either side of the table, and Sir Walter Raleigh, also, turned a glance of inquiry on his venerable face.

“It is even so, my liege,” resumed Burleigh, after a pause. “A similar account, wherein fair mention was made of Sir Walter, was rendered me yesterday, by a person of high trust; and I had purposed to have reported it to your Highness to-day. Howbeit, when Sir Walter was summoned hither, methought I would first hear his testimony, and then leave it for the judgment of your Highness.”

“Enough, my Lord,” answered the Queen. “Let the prisoner be released incontinently. And my Lord Leicester,” she added, with a frown, “I may ask thee, in the words of Master Shakspear, ‘where be your gibes now?’ Go to! Thy counsel grows dull.”

With these cutting words, the Queen arose, and, bowing to the council, extended her arm to Sir Walter Raleigh. That personage, ever on the alert, attended her promptly, and, with her arm drawn through his, conducted her from the chamber.

Leicester sat still for a while, as if he were perfectly stupified. Then, resuming all his natural haughtiness, he abruptly rose, and passed out of the chamber. He never entered it again!

The council seemed to be taken by surprise at the final fall of the once powerful favourite. Their surprise, however, was but momentary; and when he was no longer in view, all thought of him or his fate appeared to have subsided.

“Hast thou made out the warrant, Sir Francis, for Sir Edgar de Neville’s release?” asked Burleigh of Walsingham, at this juncture.

“I have, my Lord,” answered Walsingham.

“Trust its delivery to me, then, worthy Sir Francis,” returned Burleigh. “I will see to it myself.”

Sir Francis, facetiously bidding him to make good speed, handed him the warrant; and the gouty premier then arose. His rising was the signal for the council to break up.