About nine o’clock on the following morning, Hildebrand, covered with dust, and mounted on a jaded and travel-worn horse, having ridden all night, drew up at the gate of the palace of Westminster. Announcing himself as a messenger from the Lord Admiral, he was forthwith conducted to Sir Ferdinand Georges; and by that personage, who officiated as Lord Chamberlain, marshalled to the presence of the Queen.

“An officer from my Lord Admiral, your Highness!” said Sir Ferdinand, on their entry.

The Queen started to her feet.

“What news, friend?” she cried to Hildebrand.

“God save your Highness!” replied Hildebrand, dropping on one knee at her feet. “The Spanish armada is overcome!”

There was a pause for a moment, when a half-suppressed buzz, in which the Queen herself joined, broke from every one present.

“Now, God be thanked!” the Queen then cried, in a fervent tone. “Where is my Lord Admiral’s report?”

“His Lordship was so eager to advertise your Highness of the victory,” answered Hildebrand, “that he deferred writing thereon, and sends his report by word of mouth. Sixteen ships of the enemy have been captured, eight blown into the air, and five, after a hard struggle, dismasted and sunk. The remainder have been dispersed.”

“’Tis a victory without parallel!” said the Queen. “What is thy name?”

“Hildebrand Clifford, my liege.”

“Ah!” cried the Queen. “We have had a good report of thee afore, and owe thee a meed. Give us thy sword, Sir!”

Hildebrand, still kneeling, drew forth his sword, and, with a low bow, placed it in the Queen’s hand. As she caught its hilt, the Queen raised it in the air, and slapped it lustily on his shoulder.

“In the name of God, rise up, Sir Hildebrand Clifford, knight!” she exclaimed.

Hildebrand, though without being elated—for he had now no savour of earthly distinctions—received back his sword, and sprang to his feet.

“I thank your Highness?” he said.

“Let us see thee here often,” replied the Queen, with a smile, “and before long, too. But, for the present, get thee hence, and betake thee to rest; for we must straight pen a proclamation of thy news to our loving subjects.”

With these words, she extended him her small hand; and, again bending his knee, he raised it to his lips. Then, with a low bow, he rose to his feet, and made his egress.

His flattering reception at court, so much beyond what he could have expected, had affected his spirits but very slightly, and, though he was far from looking dejected, his countenance presented no trace of that fine, healthful buoyancy, which had once been its characteristic. The complexion of his mind was no less grave and rigid. The oppressive sense of remorse, indeed, which had arisen out of his connexion with Inez, had now subsided, but it had left behind it a deep and settled impression, very painful to endure. He looked at the issue of his suit with Evaline, on which he had built his every hope, with a sort of passionless sorrow—fixed and rooted, although free from despair! He was not sunk in despair! His fine sense of enjoyment, his elasticity of spirit, and his lightness of heart, it cannot be denied, were lost; but his mind retained its vigour, and never thought of bending before its bitter affliction.

On mounting his horse, he determined, as he knew no place nearer, to repair to the inn he had formerly lodged at, at Aldgate; and there take some repose. He rode along slowly, and was not ignorant that, as he progressed, he became an object of curiosity to the various passers-by, probably from his grave and travel-worn aspect. But, however he might look in their eyes, the several wayfarers, certainly, looked no way cheerful in his; for every individual face seemed full of anxiety and concern.

Though the hour was now advanced, the princely city, usually so lively and bustling, was hardly astir, and, in the terror of the expected invasion, all business was at a standstill. The unnatural repose became perfectly distressing as Hildebrand entered the Strand. Anxious to escape the view of it, he was about to spur on quicker, when, to his surprise, some one in his rear called to him by name, and brought him to a stand. It was Bernard Gray.

A thrill of pleasure, such as he had not felt for some time, shot through Hildebrand’s bosom, as he discerned his well-approved friend; and, quickly alighting, he caught him eagerly by the hand.

“What news from the fleet?” cried Bernard, before he could address him.

“The armada is overcome!” answered Hildebrand.

“Go to! Blessed be the Lord!” ejaculated Bernard. “But why lookest thou so mournful, Hildebrand?”

Hildebrand averted his head.

“Ah! is it even so?” cried Bernard. “Well, be of good heart! Shedlock and his wife are dead; I have approved thy mother’s marriage; and thy birthright, which thou fear’dst was lost, is restored to thee. Thou art now the possessor of Clifford Place.”

“Ah, my good Bernard! what avail is it now?” answered Hildebrand. “These toys can please me no more.”

“Be of better heart!” rejoined Bernard. “The Spaniard, Don Felix, who was here of late, hath betook him to Spain, being advised by me that I would otherwise attach him as a spy.”

Hildebrand made no reply.

“Further,” resumed Bernard, “I have read the letter thou didst write me to Sir Edgar de Neville, and, I promise thee, his worship’s bearing thereat was exceeding kind.”

“But what said Evaline?” asked Hildebrand.

“I saw not her,” answered Bernard, “but only the knight. As I read thy letter to him, he would seize me, now and anon, eagerly by the hand, and cry me—‘My poor boy! my brave Hildebrand!’ and, in conclusion, he said, ‘’t was well done—excellent well done;’ and he would unfold it to his fair daughter, so he would.”

“And did he?” asked Hildebrand, anxiously.

“That know I not,” replied Bernard. “But let us forward! I have some business in the Temple here, with one Master Gilbert, a lawyer; and, afterwards, thou shalt command me. Let us thither together!”

Hildebrand offered no objection to his proposal; and, remounting his horse, they set forward, and proceeded towards the Temple. They shortly arrived thither; and Hildebrand, by Bernard’s direction, then gave his horse in care of one of the porters, and alighted.

The lodgings of Master Gilbert, Bernard’s lawyer, were just within the Temple-gate, on an upper floor, looking out on Temple-bar. They soon gained access to the lower floor, the door of which was open. Within, on their entry, they found three individuals—one of whom was Master Gilbert’s scrivener, or clerk; and the remaining two, who were no other than Abigail and Zedekiah, have already appeared on the stage of our history.

The two servants, who had been sitting down just before, started up on the appearance of Bernard, and advanced to accost him.

“Who are these?” inquired Hildebrand.

“The servants of the Lord,” answered Abigail.

Bernard smiled. “They are poor, honest clowns,” he said to Hildebrand, “whom I would, with thy leave, provide for in thy household.”

“Have it so!” returned Hildebrand. “But where didst thou pick them up?”

“They were the servants of Shedlock,” replied Bernard.

“’Twas a goodly sight—a night-burying!” remarked Zedekiah.

“Ay, ay, but be of good cheer!” said Bernard. “You hear, you have both a provision! Now, Master Hildebrand, let us on!”

Without more words, he led the way up a contiguous staircase, followed by Hildebrand. On reaching the summit, he paused before a neighbouring door, leading to Master Gilbert’s chamber, which, without tarrying to solicit admittance, he immediately threw open.

As the door was thus thrown back, Hildebrand’s glance fell, not on the hard countenance of the lawyer, but on the faces of Sir Edgar and Evaline. It required but that one glance, brief as it was, to assure him that he was forgiven—that the height of earthly fruition was still his; and, with a heart overflowing with joy, he darted into the chamber, and caught Evaline in his arms.

“Mine!—my own true love!” he exclaimed, as he pressed the blushing girl to his bosom.

“And with my free consent,” smiled Sir Edgar, in broken accents.

Hildebrand could not speak for a moment.

“When?” he said, at length.

“To-morrow, an’ it so like thee,” answered Sir Edgar.

Hildebrand, still holding Evaline to his bosom, bent down to her ear.

“Shall it be so, sweet Evaline?” he whispered.

The fair girl, whether overcome with her emotion, or restrained by those delicate scruples of her sex, which constitute the charm of modesty, rendered him no oral reply, but gently pressed his trembling hand. As she did so, a loud flourish of trumpets, that made the ear ring again, was heard without.

“What have we here?” cried Bernard.

Thus speaking, he rushed forwards to the chamber-casement, and threw it open.

A concourse of citizens were assembled below; and at Temple-bar, under the archway of the gate, were a troop of mounted heralds, sounding trumpets. As Bernard appeared at the window, the music ceased, and one of the heralds, holding a written paper in his hand, spurred to the front, and, amidst a profound silence, delivered the following

As the herald ceased speaking, the roar of the Tower guns, firing a feu de joie, burst on the ear; and the voices of the populace rose in one heart-thrilling shout of

GOD SAVE THE QUEEN!

THE END.

London: Henry Richards, Brydges street, Covent-garden.