It is a strange and terrible ordination that the vices and passions, the follies and prejudices, the wickedness and the iniquity of man, which run in threads through the whole web of society, spoiling a fair and otherwise beautiful fabric, should chequer the fate of the most virtuous and good with the dark lines of sorrow and misfortune, and that in this strangely constituted world, the best feelings of the best hearts, operated upon by the baseness of others, should be very frequently the causes of disaster and distress to those who, if this earth were the soul's abiding-place, might claim the brightest lot that falls to the portion of humanity.

After leaving the mouth of the river, and rounding the North Foreland, the Lady Arabella, somewhat recovered from the first effects of disappointment, came upon deck, and stood for a few minutes gazing over the world of waters. The wind, which had not been very favourable for their course down the river, was now all that could be desired; but Arabella, anxious for Seymour's safety, first expressed a wish, and then entreated eagerly, that the captain would lay-to for a short time, to afford a chance of the arrival of her husband.

The master, now free from the river, was willing to accede to her wishes; and even her attendants, who had recovered from their apprehensions, did not offer any opposition. Towards evening, however, as the expected boat did not appear, it was determined once more to sail on towards Calais; and the execution of this resolution was carried on more eagerly, as a ship, then called a pinnace, but which would now be called a sloop, was seen drawing towards them, with the royal flag displayed. Scarcely were they under sail, however, when the pinnace fired a shot across their bows, as a signal to bring-to.

"Ay, I thought so," cried the Captain, with a loud oath, in his native tongue; "this comes of losing time. Go down below, lady--go down below; your presence only cumbers us here. We shall reach Calais before them yet."

"Oh, for Heaven's sake, make all sail," replied Arabella.

"Be you sure I will do that," replied the man; "she shall stick out every inch of canvas she can carry. But go you down, and don't be afraid;" and he turned to give orders to his crew.

The ship sailed on with all the speed that she could command; but, though by no means a slow vessel, the pinnace gained perceptibly upon her, and the only hope was, that they might be enabled to reach the French coast before the English vessel actually came up with them.

In the meantime, Arabella went down into the cabin, and leaning her head upon her hand, gave herself up to every sort of melancholy anticipation. The women-servants, who had been sent to accompany her, were well nigh strangers to her; and she had no one to whom she could venture to display all the sorrowful feelings of her heart. The only comfort that she felt was the rippling sound of the waves, as the ship passed through them; but the hope of escape was faint, even though she felt that they were going with tremendous speed. Her spirit was one that had never through life indulged in sanguine expectations; and with her brightest and most cheerful feelings there had always mingled a shade of melancholy, as if she were forewarned by some internal voice of the sad fate before her.

The rapid rate at which the vessel went, the eager cries of the persons in command, the plunging of the ship, as she passed wave after wave, for several minutes did, indeed, afford to the unfortunate lady some hope of reaching the coast which she had seen in the faint distance from the deck. But she was not permitted long to indulge in such anticipations.

The report of a cannon soon reached her ear; another and another followed. Still, however, the ship sailed on, and no sounds from above, but the mere word of command, gave notice that the danger was increased. A pause ensued; and then again the cannon were heard, she thought, more distinctly. Still no unusual bustle displayed itself on deck; and one of her women, looking through the small window in the stern, remarked, in a low voice, that the pinnace seemed more distant.

A moment after a single gun was fired, and though there had been some noise above previously, deep silence instantly succeeded. Immediately after a rattling sound and a heavy fall upon the deck were heard, followed by cries, and shouts, and exclamations, but the ship continued on her course, and one of the servants coming in, informed Arabella that a shot from the pinnace had struck the boat upon the deck, but had done no farther mischief.

"It would be better for them to strike," she murmured. "What should I feel if any of them were killed on my account? Better linger out my life in prison, than be the cause of bloodshed."

"The captain says we shall get to Calais yet, lady," replied the man.

"God send it," she answered; and as she spoke, the guns of the pinnace were again heard.

The next instant the little vessel shook, as something struck her; and, tearing through the wood-work of the cabin, and casting splinters far and wide, came a ball, which passed within a few feet of the lady, and entered a beam beyond her. Arabella did not start or shrink, for she had no fears for herself; but it seemed evident that the pursuers were drawing nearer, and she was terrified for her companions. Rapid steps now came down the ladder, and the captain of the ship ran in and gazed around.

"Go forward, lady," he said; "go forward into that little room; you will be safer there. Come, every one lend a hand, and pile up some hammocks round the side."

"Do you think you can outsail them?" asked Arabella.

"I hope so, lady," he replied. "At all events, I will try."

"Strike when you like," said Arabella, "without considering me. I would not have you risk yourself and your men on my account."

"Thank you, lady, thank you," answered the seaman. "We will risk ourselves none the less for what you say, and strike I will not till I am compelled. They have no right to fire at a ship of a friendly country, and our King will have vengeance for such conduct."

Thus saying, he left her; and though the guns of the pinnace were fired from time to time, no other event occurred for near a quarter of an hour, when a tremendous crash was heard. The little vessel heeled suddenly; and a rattling sound of falling timber and cordage showed that some of the masts or yards had been carried away. Three or four minutes elapsed, while all eyes in the cabin were fixed anxiously upon the door, and the rate of the ship visibly diminished.

At length the captain of the vessel entered, with a sad and gloomy countenance: "It is no use, lady, to try it any longer," he said; "they have carried away our topmast; and we have no chance now. I have done the best for you that I could, but it is vain. Have I your consent to heave-to?"

"At once," answered Arabella; "do not let them fire at you again. Make them some signal, my good friend. Now for my prison again," she murmured, as the captain left her. "I have never yet known hope, but to be disappointed;" and, bending down her head, she pressed her handkerchief upon her eyes, while a low struggling sob or two told that she was weeping, but strove to restrain her tears.

In a few minutes she had overcome her emotion, and, wiping her eyes, sat calmly, till the sound of many voices speaking on the deck, and at the side of the vessel, showed her that a boat from the pinnace was alongside. After a short pause, steps were again heard coming down, and an English gentleman appeared, completely armed, as was the custom of that age.

"The Lady Arabella Stuart?" he said, advancing into the cabin, and gazing around.

"My name is Arabella Seymour, sir," answered the lady; "but I suppose you mean myself."

"I do, madam," he replied; "and I regret to say, that my orders are to land you and convey you to London, as a prisoner. But before I do so, I must beg you to answer me truly, whether Mr. Seymour be on board?"

Arabella started, and looked up, with an expression of joy.

"He has escaped, then!" she cried; "he has escaped. Thank God, thank God! Pardon me, Lord, for murmuring at thy will! He has escaped, and I am happy."

"Then I am to conclude, madam," said the officer, "that he is not on board this ship?"

"Most assuredly he is not," replied Arabella; "of that I pledge you my word. I trust that by this time he is safe in France."

"No one can tell, madam," was the answer; "he had escaped from the Tower; but to escape from the country is another affair."

The only bitter thing that Arabella probably ever said in her life, now rose to her lips. "I know it is," she replied; "it seems as if England had become one great prison." And the chill which the officer's words cast upon the hopes that she had entertained of her husband's escape, depressed her more even than her own re-capture.

The ship was immediately taken into port, but all things seemed now indifferent to her. Her mind, agitated by the past, uncertain at the present, apprehensive of the future, became bewildered and confused. She suffered those who were around her to do with her what they would; and, during that evening and the following day, she appeared to be in a dream, painful and terrible, but indistinct and misty. Nor was it till she found herself passing the gloomy portals of the Tower, that she awakened to all the stern reality of her fate. Then she burst into tears again, and a cold shudder passed over her frame, as she gazed around upon the grey walls which had witnessed the sorrows and the death of so many of her race.

The next morning early, she was hurried before the Council, and subjected to all the anguish of public examination and reproof, which not even her gentleness could mitigate. But as she left the council-chamber, to return to her sad captivity in the Tower, some friendly heart afforded her the greatest alleviation that her grief could receive. In passing through the mixed crowd that filled the corridor, one of the persons present, she could not distinguish whom, whispered in haste, "Mr. Seymour has arrived safe in France!"

Arabella started, and turned round; but, hurried on by those who guarded her, she was unable to see any familiar face among the crowd; and, uttering the words "Thank God!" she proceeded on her way.

On that one thought she pondered during the rest of the day, speaking little to any one, and taking little nourishment, but often repeating to herself, "He is safe!--Thank God, he is safe!"

Towards nightfall she was visited by the Lieutenant of the Tower, who came to inform her that the two servants who had been captured with her were to be removed--three others, a gentlewoman, a chambermaid, and a man, having been sent to attend upon her by the King.

Arabella smiled sadly. "He need not envy me, Lieutenant," she said, "the poor comfort of seeing faces that I know. I shall have few consolations within these walls--but one, indeed; and that he cannot take from me."

"And what is that, lady, may I ask?" said the Lieutenant.

"My trust in God, sir," replied Arabella; "there are justice and mercy above, if not below. But pray let me see these people whom the King has sent; I must welcome my fellow-prisoners."

"The man, madam," answered the Lieutenant, "tells me that he was in your service at Highgate; but as it has been proved that he had no hand in your escape, the King has restored him to you."

"Oh, poor Cobham!" exclaimed Arabella; "I shall be glad to see him, though it is selfish, too, for he will have a dull life here."

"I trust, lady," replied the Lieutenant, "that neither he nor you will be long within these walls. The King will, I hope, be satisfied with submission, and set you at liberty ere long."

"I must not doubt it, Lieutenant," said Arabella; "for that were to accuse him of injustice. I will try to make myself as cheerful under the infliction as may be. I have heard that you are kind to your prisoners, Lieutenant, and have to thank you for your treatment of one whom I love better than myself."

"I owe a large debt of gratitude to that gentleman's house," answered the officer; "and would gladly repay it, madam, by any courtesy to you, but I shall not have the opportunity, I fear. To-morrow I am to be removed from my office, to make way for another; but he is a gentleman of good repute, and will, I trust, deal kindly with all under his care. I will now send these people to you, lady, and take my leave, wishing you happier with all my heart."

Thus saying, he quitted the room; and, in a few minutes, the door again opened. Arabella raised her eyes, with as well-contented a smile as she could assume, to welcome her old servant Cobham; but by the faint light that streamed through the high window, she saw another well-known form; and, starting up, with a look of joy she cast herself upon Ida Mara's neck; and then, overwhelmed with various emotions, burst into tears.

"Oh, Ida, Ida," she cried; "this is relief indeed."

"Hush, dear lady," whispered Ida Mara; "do not seem too glad to see me. Speak to Cobham and the girl. I will explain all when they are gone."

Arabella raised her head, and then saw that two of the King's officers had followed the rest of the party.

"Ah, Cobham," she said, turning to her old servant; "I am right glad to see you all once more;" and she held out her hand to him.

The man took and kissed it respectfully, saying aloud, "I would gladly see you anywhere but here, madam; and if you had told me what you were going to do, I would have taken care you should not be here at all."

"No rebellious words, sirrah," said one of the officers; "I will report them to the King."

"You may report what you like," replied the man, bluntly.

But Arabella interposed, exclaiming, "Hush! hush! I beseech you, sir, refrain; if you have any of the feelings of a gentleman, you will not think of repeating, where it may do harm, the expression of a faithful servant's attachment to his unhappy mistress. Jane, I am glad to see you."

The girl replied with a discontented look, merely saying that she hoped her mistress was well, and then retired with Cobham and the King's officers to the rooms appropriated to the servants of the Lady Arabella, which were contiguous to her own.

"Alas! dear lady," said Ida Mara, as soon as they were gone. "Alas! to find you here! How eagerly did I watch and inquire for any tidings respecting you; and then, when I heard that you were taken, I trembled lest they should debar me from seeing you."

"But how came they to send you?" asked Arabella; "it is indeed an act of favour which I did not expect."

"Why, lady, the King has deceived himself entirely respecting me," replied the fair Italian. "It is his own doing; for I said not one word to mislead him, though I took good care not to contradict him."

"You were wise," said Arabella; "he is not one to bear opposition. But how came it about, my Ida?"

Ida then related to the lady all that the reader already knows, concerning the events which happened to her after quitting Mr. Conyers' house at Highgate.

"What was their object," she said, "in taking me away I have no precise means of knowing; but I am sore I saw that dreadful man's face for a moment; and having once vowed revenge against me, I am certain that he will not fail to seek it whenever the opportunity occurs. I believed he was dead, till within the last week; for I had not seen him before for several years. But I do not think I can deceive myself now, and though the hair and beard are black instead of grey, the features are the same. But I will not dwell upon that, dear lady; the King cheated himself, as I have told you. He thought I had been carried away by order of your friends, because you could not place confidence in me; and to-day he sent for me, to ask if I would return to attend upon you while you are a prisoner in the Tower. I took care not to seem too ready, saying that I did not like imprisonment, nor the Tower for a residence; but that if it were his majesty's wish, I was ready to obey him implicitly. Thereupon he praised my submission, and assured me that I should have as much liberty as possible while here. He knew not how gladly my heart beat to have permission to come. If he had, I think he would have forbidden it."

"And can you really find joy, Ida?" asked the lady, "in sharing a prison with me?--Who can tell, my poor girl, how long it may last? Who can tell that I may not here end my days?"

"Oh, Heaven forbid," cried Ida Mara; "we will soften these stones first with our tears."

"Alas!" replied Arabella, "I fear that we shall not ever be able to soften the heart of the King by any tears that we may shed. But at all events, your being with me will be an alleviation of my sorrow."

"Perhaps you may be able to escape, lady," rejoined Ida Mara.

"No, Ida, no;" answered Arabella; "I will not try. The net is around me, and it is of no use to flap my wings. On the contrary, I will make a voluntary promise not to escape, if they will give me the full range of my cage; and then, like many another poor bird, I will sit and sing my life away between the bars. I only grieve to think that, for my sake, you should be doomed to the same hard fate."

Ida Mara kissed the lady's hand, and gazed in her face, with a look of deep sadness; but she only replied, "You forget, madam, that imprisonment to me is not what it is to you. I have nothing in the world without to sigh for. Oh, that they would but keep me and let you go!"

Arabella answered her by tears.