We must once more introduce the reader into that school for idle speculation, the ante-chamber of a palace, where four young men were sitting, amusing themselves at the expense of their neighbours, and of each other. One of the principal personages was he whom we have denominated Bradshaw; another was an esquire, called Graham, of about twenty years of age; another, a youth of the name of Blount, a distant relation of the celebrated Earl of Devonshire; and the fourth was the young Sir Charles Ramsay.

The day was wearing towards its close, and already the sky, which, during the whole afternoon, had been clear and bright, was becoming purple with the setting sun. The broad river, flowing on, glowed like a ruby, in the light of evening; and the white sails of the boats, as they flitted by, were tinged with the same rosy hue.

"Come, let us go out and have a sail upon the water," said Ramsay, speaking to Blount; "here are Bradshaw and Graham, quite enough for all the King's purposes, and I hate being stived up here for so many hours together."

"Wait till Overbury comes out," said Bradshaw, "and I will go with you. It is Graham's turn to wait; and after six, the old gossip requires only one."

Princes little know how ill-chosen attendants speak of them, almost within ear-shot. A king who suffers the licentious in his ante-chamber, may be certain that their libertine tongues will make free with himself.

"How long Overbury stays!" said another; "if Rochester does not mind, he will supplant him in James's favour."

"He does not seem particularly high in Carr's favour just now," rejoined Graham; "for he has been hunting him all the morning, and the noble lord favourite has avoided him vigorously and successfully."

"I saw them dodging each other through the courts this morning," said Blount, "like boys playing at hide and seek."

"Ah, Rochester was dodging somebody else," answered Bradshaw; "for there was Lady Essex, with a homely gown and servant's farthingale on, a white satin mask, and a veil over her head, stole out by the west gate, and through the water-port of the park. There was a barge waiting; and Rochester drew off from Overbury like a sly old fox breaking cover quietly, and glided down under the wall to the stairs, then into the barge with my lady and away. She thought I did not know her, but one of Essex's bright eyes is not to be mistaken, whether it shines through black velvet or white satin."

"I'll bet you an angel to a pint of Burgundy," said Blount, "that Overbury wanted to scold Rochester for the business of last night; and, to say truth, it was somewhat gross, his going on so with Mistress Essex before the Lady Arabella's eyes."

"I did not know that she was so far gone as to faint for him," said Ramsay. "By Apollo, I think I have a better leg than he has!"

"The broken one was the best leg he ever had to stand upon," answered Bradshaw. "But are you of those who fancy that beautiful Bella fainted for him? I doubt it much, I doubt it much."

"Oh, the thing was very evident," cried Blount.

"It may be so," answered Bradshaw; "but if ever I saw man, William Seymour was at the palace last night. He was wrapped up in a great cloak, with his hat flapped over his face, just coming up from the water-side when I walked down the arcade."

"You are in the luck of discovering people in disguise," said Ramsay; "the King had better send you to the mouth of the Thames to inspect all the vessels that pass, for this poor devil, Legate."

"Who is he? what of him?" asked Bradshaw.

"What! have you not seen the proclamation?" cried Blount, "commanding all the King's subjects, and especially his officers of customs and the ports, to examine strictly all outward-bound vessels, and ascertain that one Bartholomew Legate, accused of heresy, does not escape from the realm; and to bring him, and all other persons attempting unlawfully to fly the kingdom, before his Majesty, or his court of the Star Chamber."

"No," answered Bradshaw, "I have seen nothing about it. But I hope they wont catch him soon."

"Why," demanded Graham; "are you a heretic, too?"

"No," replied Bradshaw; "but still I hope they will not catch him soon; for this is too warm weather to enjoy a fire in Smithfield.--Then there is a sort of embargo established?"

"Not quite that," rejoined Blount; "a strict search, that is all. But here comes the favourite's favourite! I hear the King's door go. Let us treat him with all due respect."

The moment after, Sir Thomas Overbury passed through the ante-chamber, with a slow step and a gloomy brow. The four gentlemen drew back, two on either side, and made him a low and formal bow as he went. Overbury, knowing that they were mocking him, merely inclined his head and walked on; but the instant he was gone, the four burst into a loud laugh, and began to comment upon his character without much mercy.

In the meanwhile the Knight proceeded through the adjoining passage, little caring what they said or thought, occupied with far more unpleasant reflections. He descended a back staircase of the palace, took one or two turns up and down in the open air of the nearest court, and several times put his hand to his brow, as if it ached.

"If Arabella," he muttered to himself, "be but as infatuated with him as the King, the matter may still go forward; but it will need infatuation indeed to keep up his favour with either of them. The man has gone mad, that is clear. I have often heard of the power of a bad woman, but never knew it went to such an extent. Heaven and earth, what a world this is!--I will go sail upon the Thames, and see whether the cool air will take the fire out of my brain; the sun is just down, and the moon will soon be up. I like the moonlight on the water; it puts me in mind of my father's house.--I often wish I were a boy again, and in my quiet home. Not all the glitter of courtly life, nor the joy of successful ambition, is worth one hour of holiday boyhood's pure, unalloyed happiness after all."

As he thus thought, he bent his steps towards the river, and at the little stairs below those of the palace called a boat, which soon bore him down the stream towards Woolwich. He felt refreshed and calmed, and went sailing slowly on for near an hour. At the end of that time, he told the boatmen to turn; and the wind being now against them, and the tide in their favour, they pulled down the sail and took to their oars.

The moon had by this time risen, nearly at the full, and was pouring a flood of light over all things, tranquil and soft, like that which seems to shine from another sphere upon a spirit weaned from this earth's affections. The objects of the world around were all distinct and clear to the eye, though without the warmth and brightness of the day; and as the boat approached the stairs, another shot past it, rowed by two stout watermen, with a gentleman sitting in the stern, wrapped in a large cloak, and having his hat flapped over his eyes. There was something in the figure, however, which caught the attention of Sir Thomas Overbury, and he bade his rowers ply their oars. The other gentleman reached the landing first, and had just stepped on shore, when the knight's boat glided up; and he himself, resolving to see who the stranger was, sprang up the steps, exclaiming, "My Lord, my Lord, I would fain speak with you."

"You are mistaken, sir," replied a voice, in what he thought an assumed tone; and the other gentleman walked on at a rapid pace.

Sir Thomas was about to follow as quickly; but one of the boatmen caught him by the sleeve, demanding his fare. The Knight paid him immediately, and then walked forward as fast as possible upon the only road that led to the palace; but some minutes were lost, and by this time the stranger had disappeared, apparently through the great gates, into the outer court.

Overbury hurried on, and thought he caught a glimpse of the other's cloak turning the corner, towards that part of the building which, for some reason, was called the Ladies' lodging. In each floor of that mass of brick-work were several suites of apartments, occupied by different ladies of the Court, and amongst others, the Lady Arabella Stuart. Below ran a low arcade, with a number of different doors, and staircases, and passages through the building, like those which are still to be seen at Hampton Court; and, as Overbury passed through the little archway leading from the outer court, he distinctly saw the figure of the stranger moving quickly along under the arcade.

It seemed to pause at the entrance of the staircase, which led first to a suite of apartments occupied by Lady Walsingham, and then to those of Arabella Stuart and the Countess of Shrewsbury, the latter of whom had accepted the royal invitation for a week, on the occasion of the festival of the preceding night. Overbury thought that the person he pursued entered that doorway, which, as was then customary, stood open. At all events, he did not see the figure proceed any farther; and exclaiming, "Ha!" he advanced at once, entered the doorway, mounted the stairs, and knocked at the door of the Lady Arabella's chamber. It was opened almost immediately by Ida Mara, with a light.

"Can I speak for a few moments with the Lady Arabella?" said the knight.

"This is her bedchamber, sir," answered the pretty Italian, standing in the deep doorway, and only partially opening the door. "No one comes in by this door. You must go round by the passage to Lady Shrewsbury's. The Lady Arabella is with the Countess.--That way, sir;" and she pointed with her hand along a passage before him.

Without a moment's delay, Sir Thomas sped onward, and knocked at Lady Shrewsbury's door, making the same inquiry. He was instantly admitted, and somewhat to his surprise,--for a strong suspicion had taken possession of his mind,--he found Arabella calmly seated by the Countess, at an embroidery frame. Lady Shrewsbury rose with a cold and haughty air, saying, "Sir Thomas, after several things that have passed, I can suffer no such conversation as that which has lately taken place between you and me to be held in my niece's presence. Arabella, my love, you had better retire to your own apartments."

The lady rose, and bowing slightly to the Knight, without speaking, quitted the room.

We must now return, however, to the door of her chamber, at the top of the staircase. Scarcely had Sir Thomas Overbury been admitted to Lady Shrewsbury, when down the dark and winding steps leading to the chambers above, came the person whom the Knight had pursued from the bank of the river. He knocked thrice, separately and distinctly, at the door, which was instantly opened, and without a word he went in. In another moment, Arabella was in the arms of her husband. She held up her finger to him, however, saying, "Hush, love, hush! Speak low, Sir Thomas Overbury is with my aunt."

"Oh! he cannot hear, my beloved," replied William Seymour; "there is the ante-room between us and him. Did he come in this moment? for some one seemed to chase me from the water side, so that I concealed myself upon the stairs above. He knocked at the door too,--did he not, Ida?"

The Italian answered in the affirmative, and then withdrew to another room; and, after a few of the tender words of love, Seymour went on to speak of their future prospects.

"I fear, dear one," he said; "that we must delay our projected flight. A proclamation was issued this morning, ordering strict search at all ports, for some less happy fugitives than ourselves; and, I understand, it is already rigorously in force. But turn not pale, my Arabella, there is no danger. Our marriage can be concealed easily for some weeks, till these impediments have been removed."

"I shall never feel at ease," replied Arabella, "in these stolen interviews. Every time you are with me, Seymour, I shall expect to see you seized and dragged away--perhaps to a prison. At the first moment that it is possible, let us go. I would rather do anything, bear anything, than live in constant apprehension."

"And I would bear much," answered Seymour, "to call my Arabella mine in open day, to be with her every hour, to be never separated from her. But still, my beloved, it is very, very seldom that fate allows man to know moments of unmixed happiness. Let us take that which fortune gives us, without clouding our little hour of sunshine with needless fears. If there be not one care, there is always another; and surely the sweet moments that I can pass with you are enough, for me at least, to compensate for all the rest of the dull day. The stars look the brightest, dear one, when the sky is darkest round them; and so may our nights of happiness be all the more delightful for the heaviness of the time while we are parted."

With such words of tenderness and hope, William Seymour soothed her apprehensions: and as several more days passed without any new cause for fear, Arabella became accustomed to their secret meetings, and looked for the hour of Seymour's coming with all the joy of expectant love; while he forgot the little incident of his meeting with Overbury, and gave himself up to a feeling of security.

At length, one morning, when he was sitting alone in his father's house in London, Sir Harry West was ushered in, with an expression of satisfaction in his countenance which spoke him the bearer of good tidings.

"You seem joyful, Sir Harry," said Seymour; "and I am sure, by your bringing your gladness here, that it has some reference to me. What is it, my good and noble friend?"

"I must not rejoice," replied Sir Harry West, "at the capture of an unfortunate wretch, whom the bigotry of an unfeeling monarch will certainly doom to the stake, I fear. But Legate is taken; and this searching of the ships suspended. Now follow my advice, William; lose not a moment; but bear your fair lady to another land. Time, the discoverer of all things, will tear away the veil from your connexion, make it as thick as you will. Sooner or later it must be avowed; put yourself beyond the reach of tyranny, and then proclaim it openly."

"I will not lose a day," replied Seymour; "it will take to-morrow to get everything into a state of preparation again, but surely the next day we can effect our escape."

"In whatever I can assist you, I will most gladly," said Sir Harry West, "I have got a purse at my lodgings, my dear young friend, which I need not, and you do; and if you will undertake to get everything ready in London, and prepare your fair lady, I will go down the river at once, and see that the ship be put in order, well furnished with men, and an ostensible cargo, and ready to sail whenever you join her."

All such matters were easily arranged; and when Seymour entered the boat that night to go down the Thames to Greenwich, it was with the bright hope of carrying Arabella, during the succeeding night, to a place of security, where all apprehensions of separation would be at an end. He reached the landing-place, walked up to the palace, and knocked as usual at Arabella's chamber, without anything causing him to suspect that he was watched.

Ida Mara came to give him admission as usual with a light; but just at that moment somebody came down vehemently from above, and, as if by accident, ran against him dexterously--for it was done on purpose--knocking his hat off, and exposing his face to the light.

The man was a famous sword-player, who had come down from London to Greenwich, to amuse the Prince and the Court; and catching Seymour by both arms, as if to steady himself, and avoid falling headlong down the narrow stair-case, he begged him a thousand pardons, assuring him that he knew not any one was there.

Seymour was upon his guard, however; and after saying in a calm tone that there was no need of apology, he turned, and with an air of indifference told Ida Mara to inform the Lady Arabella that Sir Harry West would have the honour of waiting upon her the next day at noon.

The girl understood his object in an instant, and saying, "Very well, sir, I will tell her," shut the door. Seymour then followed the sword-player down the stairs, and proceeded to call at the lodging of one of the young lords of the Court with whom he was acquainted; but after having ascertained the spy had quitted that part of the building, he returned to the apartment of his wife, and was instantly admitted.

In the meanwhile the sword-player hurried on; and passing through various passages and courts, directed his course straight to the lodgings of Sir Thomas Overbury, who was waiting impatiently for his arrival.

"Now," cried the Knight; "now, have you discovered him?"

"I have discovered him," replied the sword-player, who dabbled in the conceits of the day; "for I knocked his hat off, while a pretty waiting gentlewoman from within held a light."

"And who was it, who was it?" demanded Overbury, with the rapid iteration of impatience.

"It was and is," answered the sword-player, "the second son of a noble Lord, the grandson of a noble Earl. His family is Hertford; his name is William Seymour."

"That is enough, that is enough," cried Overbury; "you can swear that it was he?"

"As surely as I can swear that I am myself," said the sword-player. "But mark ye, most worshipful knight, my evidence will do you little good, for the gentleman did but deliver a simple message, and came away; after which he went to my Lord Ancram's."

"A trick, a trick," exclaimed Sir Thomas Overbury; "stay--tell me. Was it before or after you knocked his hat of, that he gave this message?"

"After, most worshipful," replied his informant.

"A trick, a trick," repeated Overbury. "He was wrapped in a great cloak, was he not?--with a broad slouched hat over his face?"

"To a point," answered the sword-player; "exactly as you have described him to me."

"He comes every night," said Sir Thomas, thoughtfully; "and has been appointed, I think, common courier between London and Greenwich.--I'll to the King at once."

"Excuse me, fair knight," rejoined the sword-player, as his companion was about to quit the room; "but you did promise me ten pieces of gold, commonly called nobles; and my necessities are triumphant."

"There, there they lie, above the chimney," answered the Knight. "Now, Master Wingfield, void the room; for I must to the King."

The man reached the money from the mantel-piece, and then, with a low bow, passed the door, through which Sir Thomas followed him, locking it behind him. He was disappointed in his purpose, however, for James was busy in the composition of some recondite treatise, and refused to admit him, appointing him, however, to come on the following morning at nine o'clock. The Knight shut himself up in his chamber for the rest of the evening; but early the next day he busied himself in collecting farther information, and then hurried with it to the King.

James, with whom Lord Rochester's favourite and adviser stood very high at this time, condescended to inform him why he had not received him on the preceding occasion, and even did him the honour of reading to him all that part of the treatise which he had composed the night before. Overbury bore it with the patience of a martyr, and praised and wondered so judiciously, that he rose considerably in the King's opinion.

"Now, sir, what is it you want?" asked James; "if it be not a petition, or remonstrance--an account, or a demand, we will hear you graciously."

"It is neither of these things, sire," replied Overbury; "it is only some information which, having accidentally obtained, I feel myself bound, as your Majesty's most dutiful subject, to communicate to you without delay, although it may give your Majesty pain. But as you condescended to explain to me the wise and profound views which you entertain regarding the marriage of your fair cousin, I should hold it little short of treason to be silent;" and he proceeded to relate to James all the facts he had discovered regarding Seymour's nightly visits to Lady Arabella.

The King swore three or four most horrible oaths. "We'll soon stop their love passages," he cried, "the undutiful rebel, the traitor; after the solemn admonition that we gave him, he is no better than Fawkes or Digby; nor is the lassie a whit less blameless. Call one of the secretaries, sir, call one of the secretaries! The Privy Council must be summoned without loss of time."

"It meets at noon, sire, by your Majesty's own order," replied Overbury.

"Ay, truth, so it does," answered the King. "In the meantime have warrants drawn up for apprehending this rebel boy and this headstrong lassie.--Lose not a minute, sir; for by chance they may flee. Away with you, away with you! Let the warrants be brought to ourself for signature."

Sir Thomas Overbury bowed humbly, and withdrew; and the King, rising from his seat, began to perambulate his closet, uttering many a strange oath and exclamation, and walking with that shuffling gait which he always assumed when suffering under any great agitation. To see him, one would have supposed that the news he had just received referred, at least, to the loss of a province, or a rebellion in his kingdom, and not to the love of two persons, who sought nothing but domestic peace.