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Darnley

<h4>CHAPTER IV.</h4> <div class="poem0" style="margin-left:15%"> The first, forgive my verse if too diffuse, Performed the kitchen's and the parlour's use. </div> It was quite dark when Sir Osborne Maurice arrived at the gate of the hostel or inn, which consisted of a long row of low buildings, running by the side of the road, with a straw-yard at the nearer end. Into this the traveller guided his horse by the light of a horn lantern, which was held by no other person than Dame Winny herself, while her husband, Master Thumpum, pared the hoof of a stout gelding which stood tied to the stable-door. Things were arranged differently in those days from what they are now. As soon as the good lady heard the sound of a horse's feet entering the court, she raised her melodious voice to notify to the servants of the house a traveller's arrival. "Tim Chamberlain! Tim Chamberlain!" cried she, "here's a master on horseback." The chamberlain, for by such sonorous title did he designate himself, came forth at the summons, presenting not only the appearance of an ostler, but of a bad ostler too; and after assisting the knight to dismount, he took from the saddle the leathern bags which commonly accompanied a traveller on a journey in those days, and running his hand over the exterior, with the utmost nonchalance, endeavoured to ascertain whether the contents were such as might be acceptable to any of his good friends on the road. Sir Osborne's first care was of his horse, which he ordered to be shod, for the purpose of proceeding immediately; but finding its foot somewhat tender, he at length determined upon passing the night at the inn rather than injure an animal on which his farther journey greatly depended; and leaving the chamberlain to examine his bags more at his leisure, he entered the kitchen, which was then the common room of reception. Night had by this time rendered the air chilly; and the sight of a large fire, which greeted his eye as he pushed open the door, promised him at least that sort of reception for which he was most anxious, as he did not propose to himself any great communion with those who might be within. The apartment was not very inviting in any other particular than the cheerful blazing of the large logs of wood with which the earth was strewed, for the floor was of battened mud, and the various utensils which hung round did not do great credit to the hostess's housewifery. Much was the confusion which reigned amidst pans, kettles, pots, and plates; and sundry were the positions of spits, gridirons, and ladles: in short, it seemed as if the implements of cooking had all got drunk after a hard day's work, and had tumbled over one another the best way they could in search of repose. From the large black rafters overhead, however, hung much that might gratify the eye of the hungry traveller, for the kitchen seemed to serve for larder as well as drawing-room. There might be seen the inimitable ham of York, with manifold sides of bacon, and dangling capons, and cheeses store; and there, too, was the large black turkey, in its native plumes, with endless strings of sausages, and puddings beyond account. Nor was dried salmon wanting, nor a net full of lemons, nor a bag of peas: in a word, it was a very comfortably garnished roof, and in some degree compensated for the disarray of the room that it overhung. In those days, the close of evening was generally the signal for every traveller to betake himself to the nearest place of repose; and with his circle round the fire, and his own peculiar chair placed in the most approved corner of the vast chimney, mine host of the inn seldom expected the arrival of any new guest after dark. It was then, if his company were somewhat of his own degree, that he would tell his best story, or crack his best joke; and sometimes even, after many an overflowing flagon had gone round at the acknowledged expense of his guests, he himself, too, would club his tankard of toast and ale, for which, it is probable, he found sufficient means to make himself kindly reparation in some other manner. In such course flowed by the moments at the inn, when Sir Osborne Maurice, pushing open the door of the kitchen, interrupted the landlord in the midst of an excellent good ghost story, and made the whole of the rest of the party turn their heads suddenly round, and fix their eyes upon the tall, graceful figure of the young knight, as if he had been the actual apparition under discussion. The assembly at the kitchen-fire consisted only of six persons. Mine host, as above stated, in his large arm-chair, was first in bulk and dignity. Whether it be or not a peculiar quality in beer to turn everything which contains a great quantity of it into the shape and demeanour of a tun, has often struck me as a curious question in natural philosophy; but certain it is that many innkeepers, but more peculiarly the innkeeper in question, possess, and have possessed, and probably will possess, so long as such a race exists, the size, rotundity, profoundness, and abhorrence of locomotion, which are considered as peculiar attributes of the above-named receptacle, as well as the known quality of containing vast quantities of liquor. Mine host was somewhat pale withal; but sundry carbuncles illuminated his countenance, and gave an air of jollity to a face whose expression was not otherwise very amiable. Next to this dignitary sat a worthy representative of a race now, alas! long, long extinct, and indeed almost unrecorded. Oh! could old Hall or Holinshed have divined that the Portingal captain would ever become an animal as much extinct as the mammoth or the mastodon, leaving only a few scattered traces to mark the places through which he wandered, what long and elaborate descriptions should we not have had, to bear at least his memory down to coming ages! But in the days of those worthy writers, Portugal, or, as they wrote it, Portingal, was the land from which adventure and discovery issued forth over the earth, ay, and over the water, too; and they never dreamt that the flourishing kingdom whose adventurous seamen explored every corner of the known world, and brought the fruits and treasures of the burning zone to the frigid regions of the north, would ever dwindle away so as to be amongst the nations of Europe like a sprat in a shoal of herrings; or certainly they would have given us a full and particular description of a Portingal captain, from the top of his head down to the sole of his shoe. Luckily, however, the learned Vonderbrugius has supplied this defect more to my purpose than any other writer could have done, not only by describing a Portingal captain in the abstract, but the very identical Portingal captain who there, at that moment, sat by the fireside. I have already hinted that the learned Theban's Latin is somewhat obscure, and I will own that the beginning of his definition rather puzzled me:--"Capitanus Portingalensis est homo pedibus sex----" It was very easy to construe the first four words, like a boy at school: Capitanus Portingalensis, a Portugal captain; est homo, is a man. That was all very natural; but when it came to pedibus sex, with six feet, I was very much astonished, till I discovered that the professor meant thus elegantly to express that he was six feet high. But before I proceed with the particular account, it may be necessary to say a word or two upon the general history and qualifications of the Portingal captains of that day. Portugal, as has been observed, was then the cradle of adventurous merchantmen; that is to say, of men who gained an honest livelihood by buying and selling, fetching and carrying, lying and pilfering, thieving wholesale and retail, swearing a great deal, and committing a little manslaughter when it was necessary. With these qualifications, it may well be supposed that the Portingal captains were known and esteemed in every quarter of the globe except America; and as they were daring, hardy, boasting fellows, who possessed withal a certain insinuating manner of giving little presents of oranges, lemons, nutmegs, cinnamon, &c. to the good dames of the houses where they were well received, as well as of rendering every sort of unscrupulous service to the male part of the establishment, it may equally well be supposed that some few people shut them out of their houses, and called them 'thievish vagabonds,' while a great many took them in, and thought them 'nice, good-humoured gentlemen.' Freeholders of the ocean, their own country bound them by no very strict laws; and if they broke the laws of any other, they took to their ship, which was generally near, and, like the Greenwich pensioner, 'went to sea again.' Speaking a jargon of all languages, accommodating themselves to all customs, cheating and pilfering from all nations, and caring not one straw more for one country than another, they furnished the epitome, the beau-ideal of true citizens of the world. The specimen of this dignified race who occupied a seat between mine host and hostess was, as we have seen, six feet high, and what sailors would term broad over the beam. His neck was rather of the longest, and at the end of it was perched a mighty small head, whose front was ornamented with a large nose, two little, dark, twinkling eyes under a pair of heavy black brows, and a mouth of quite sufficient size to serve a moderate-minded pair. Any one who has heard of a red Indian may form some idea of his complexion, which would remind one of a black sheep marked with red ochre; and from this rich soil sprang forth and flourished a long thin pair of mustachios, something after the Tartar mode. His dress was more tolerable than his face, consisting of a dark-brown doublet slashed with light green, much resembling a garden full of cabbage stalks, with trunks and hosen to correspond; while in his belt appeared a goodly assortment of implements for cutting and maiming, too numerous to be recited; and between his legs, as he sat and rocked himself on his chair, he held his long sword, with the point of which he ever and anon raked fresh ashes round a couple of eggs that were roasting on the hearth. Smiling on this jewel of a captain sat our landlady in the next chair, a great deal too pretty to mind the affairs of her house, and a great deal too fine to be very good. Now, the captain was a dashing man, and though he did not look tender, he looked tender things; and besides, he was an old friend of the house, and had brought mine hostess many a little sentimental present from parts beyond the sea; so that she found herself justified in flirting with so amiable a companion by smiles and glances, while her rotund husband poured forth his ale-inspired tale. On the right hand of the hostess stood the cook, skewering up a fine breast of house-lamb, destined for the rere-supper of a stout old English clothier, Jekin Groby by name, who, placed in the other seat of honour opposite mine host, leaned himself back in a delicious state of drowsiness between sleeping and waking, just hearing the buzzing of the landlord's story, with only sufficient apprehension left to catch every now and then "the ghost, the ghost," and to combine that idea with strange, misty phantasies in his sleep-embarrassed brain. The sixth person was the turnspit-dog, who, freed from his Ixionian task, sat on his rump facing his master, on whose countenance he gazed with most sagacious eyes, seeming much more attentive to the tale than any one else but the cook. As I have said, Sir Osborne threw open the door somewhat suddenly, startling all within. Every one thought it was the ghost. The landlord became motionless; the lady screamed, the cook ran the skewer into her hand; the turnspit-dog barked; Jekin Groby knocked his head against the chimney; and the Portingal captain ran one of the eggs through the body with the point of his sword. It has been said that a good countenance is a letter of recommendation, and to the taste of mine hostess it was the best that could be given. Thus, after she had finished her scream, and had time to regard the physiognomy of the ghost who threw open the kitchen-door, she liked it so much better than that of the Portingal captain, that she got up with her very best courtesy; drew a settle to the fire next to herself; bade the turnspit hold his tongue; and ordered Tim Chamberlain, who followed hard upon Sir Osborne's footsteps, to prepare for his worship the tapestry-chamber. "I seem to have scared you all," said Sir Osborne, somewhat astonished at the confusion which his entrance had caused. "What is the matter?" "Nay, marry, sir, 'twas nothing," replied the landlady, with a sweet simper, "but a foolish ghost that my husband spoke of." "The foolish ghost has broke my head, I know," said Jekin Groby, rubbing his pole, which had come in contact with the chimney. "Nay, then, the ghost was rude as well as foolish," remarked Sir Osborne, taking his seat. "Ha! ha! well said, young gentleman," cried the honest clothier. "Nay, now, I warrant thou hast a merry heart." "Thou wouldst be out," answered Sir Osborne: "my heart's a sad one;" and he added a sigh that showed there was some truth in what he said, though he said it lightly. "They sayo that thin doublets cover alway gay heart," said the Portingal captain. "Now, senhor! your doublets was not very thick, good youth." "Good youth!" said Sir Osborne, turning towards the speaker, whom he had not before remarked, and glancing his eye over his person; "good youth! what mean you by that, sir?" But as his eye fell upon the face of the Portingal, his cheek suddenly reddened very high, and the glance of the other sunk as if quelled by some powerful recollection. "Oh, ho!" continued the knight, "a word with you, sir;" and rising, he pushed away the settle, and walked towards the end of the room. "Pray don't fight, gentlemen!" cried the hostess, catching hold of the skirt of Sir Osborne's doublet. "Pray don't fight! I never could bear to see blood spilled. John Alesop! Husband! you are a constable; don't let them fight!" "Leave me, dame; you mistake me. We are not going to fight," said Sir Osborne, leading her back to the fire; "I merely want to speak one word to this fellow. Come here, sir!" The Portingal captain had by this time risen up to his full height; but as he marched doggedly after the young knight, there was a swinging stoop in his long neck that greatly derogated from the dignity of his demeanour. Sir Osborne spoke to him for some time in a low voice, to which he replied nothing but "Dios! It's nothing to I! Vary well! Not a word!" "Remember, then," said the knight, somewhat louder, "if I find you use your tongue more than your prudence, I will, slit your ears!" "Pan de Dios! you are the only man that dare to say me so," muttered the captain, following towards the fire, at which the knight now resumed his seat, and where mine host was expatiating to Jekin Groby, the hostess, the cook, and the turnspit-dog, upon the propriety of every constable letting gentlemen settle their differences their own way. "For," said he, "what is the law made for? Why, to punish the offender. Now, if there is no offence committed, there is no offender. Then would the law be of no use; therefore, to make the law useful, one ought to let the offence be committed without intermeddling, which would be rendering the law of no avail." "Very true," said his wife. "Why, there's something in it," said Jekin Groby; "for when I was at court, the king himself ordered two gentlemen to fight. Lord a' mercy! it seemed to me cruel strange!" "Nay, when wert thou at court, Master Jekin?" demanded the landlord. "Why, have I ate lamb and drank ale at thy house twice every year," demanded the indignant clothier, "and knowest thou not, John Alesop, that I am clothier, otherwise cloth merchant, to his most Gracious Grace King Henry? And that twice he has admitted me into his dignified presence? And once that I staid six weeks at the Palace at Westminster? Oh! it is a prince of a king! Lord a' mercy! you never saw his like!" "Nay, nay, I heard not of it," replied the landlord. "But come, Master Jekin, as these gentlemen don't seem inclined to fight, tell us all about the court, and those whom you saw there, while the lamb is roasting." The honest clothier was willing enough to tell his story, and, including even the knight, every one seemed inclined to hear him, except indeed the Portingal captain, who was anxious to recommence his flirtation with Master Alesop's dame. But she, having by chance heard a word or two about slitting of ears, turned up her nose at her foreign innamorato, and prepared herself to look at Sir Osborne Maurice, and to listen to Jekin Groby. "Oh! it is a prodigious place, the court!" said the clothier, "a very prodigious place, indeed. But, to my mind, the finest thing about it is the king himself. Never was such a king; so fine a man, or so noble in his apparel! I have seen him wear as many as three fresh suits a day. Then for the broidery, and the cloth of gold, and the cloth of silver, and the coat of goldsmiths' work: there was a world of riches! And amongst the nobles, too, there was more wealth on their backs than in their hearts or their heads, I'll warrant. The nobility of the land is quite cast away, since the youngsters went to fetch back the Lady Mary from France, after her old husband the French king died. None but French silks worn; and good English cloth, forsooth, is too coarse for their fine backs! And then the French fashions, too, not only touch the doublet, but affect the vest and the nether end; so that, with chamfreed edging, and short French breeches, they make such a comely figure, that except it were a dog in a doublet, you shall not see any so disguised as our young nobility."[2] While the good clothier proceeded, the Portingal had more than once fidgeted on his seat, as if with some willingness to evade the apartment; and at length had risen and was quietly proceeding towards the door, when the eye of Sir Osborne Maurice fixed upon him, with a sort of stern authority in its glance, which he seemed well to understand; for, without more ado, he returned to his settle, and showed as if he had merely risen to stretch the unwieldy length of his legs by a turn upon the floor. In the mean time, Jekin Groby went on. "It is a lewd age and a bad, I wot, and the next will be a worse, seeing that all our young gallants are so full of strange phantasies; that is, not to say all, for there is the young Earl of Derby, God bless his noble heart! He is an honest one and a merry, and right English to the core. One day he meets me in the ante-chamber, where I had always leave to stand to see all the world go in and out, and he says to me, 'Honest Jekin Groby,' says he, 'dost thou stand here in the ante-room waiting for my Lord Cardinal's place, if he should chance to die?' 'Nay, my good lord,' I was bold to answer, 'I know that here I am out of place, yet my Lord Cardinal's would not suit me.' So then he laughed. 'Why not?' says he, 'for certainly thou art of the cloth.' But hark! they are crying in the court." The honest clothier was right, for sundry sounds began to make themselves heard in the court-yard, announcing the arrival of no inconsiderable party, which, if one might judge by the vociferation of the servants, consisted of people that made some noise in the world. Up started mine host as well as his rotundity would let him; up started mine hostess, and out rushed the cook; while, at the same moment, a bustling lacquey with riding-whip in hand, pushed into the kitchen, exclaiming, "What's this! what's this! But one tapestried room, and that engaged? Nonsense! it must be had, and shall be had, for my young lady and her woman!" "A torch! a torch!" cried a voice without. "This way, lady. The rain is coming on very hard; we shall be much better here." All eyes turned towards the door with that anxious curiosity which every small body of human beings feels when another person is about to be added to the little world of the moment. But fastidious, indeed, must have been the taste that could have found anything unpleasing in the form that entered. It was that of a sweet, fair girl, in the spring of womanhood: every feature was delicate and feminine, every limb was small and graceful: yet with that rounded fulness which is indispensable to perfect beauty. Her colour was not high, but it was fine; and when she found herself before so many strangers, it grew deeper and deeper, till it might have made the rose look pale. I hate long descriptions. She was lovely, and I have said enough. By this time the hostess had advanced, and a venerable old man in a clerical robe had followed into the room, while mine host himself rolled forward to see what best could be done for the accommodation of the large party that seemed willing to honour his inn with their presence. "I heard something about the best chamber being engaged," said the young lady, in a voice that sweetly corresponded with her person, at the same time turning half towards the hostess, half towards the clergyman. "I beg that I may disturb no one. Any chamber will do for me and my woman, if you think we cannot reach the manor to-night." "Ay! but if we can have the best chamber, I don't see why not, lady," said the lady's-maid, who by this time had followed. Sir Osborne Maurice advanced. "If it is to me," said he, "that the best chamber has been assigned, I shall feel myself honoured in resigning it to a lady, but infinitely more, if my memory serves me right, and that lady be Lady Constance de Grey." "Good heaven, Master Osborne Maurice!" said the lady, colouring again with evidently no very unpleasant feelings. "I thought you were in Flanders. When did----?" But she had no time to finish her phrase, for the old clergyman cast himself upon Sir Osborne's neck, and wept like a child. "My dear Osborne!" cried he, "how? when? where? But I am a fool; how like you have grown to your dear lady mother! Pardon me, my lord--I mean, sir--I don't know what I'm talking of. But you know you were my first pupil, and like my child; and I never thought to see you again before my old eyes were covered with the dust. Alack! alack! what a fine man thou art grown! 'Tis just five years, come May, since you came to take leave of me at the house of this my honoured lady's father; and mind you how you taught her to shoot with the bow, and how pleased my good lord her father was to see you?" "I have not forgotten one circumstance of the kind hospitality I then received," said Sir Osborne, "and never shall, so long as I have memory of anything." "Ay, but she has lost the archery," said the old clergyman. "She has lost it entirely." "But I have not lost the bow, Master Osborne," said the lady, with a smile: "I have it still, and shall some day relearn to draw it." There was a strange difference between the manner of the clergyman and that of the lady, when addressing the young knight. Lady Constance evidently saw him with pleasure; but she seemed to feel, or to suppose, that there existed between them a difference of rank, which made some reserve on her part necessary, while, on the contrary, the old man gave way to unlimited joy at meeting with his former pupil, though qualified by an air of respect and deference which mingled strangely with the expressions of fondness that he poured forth. By this time, the host and hostess having removed from the fire, and the Portingal captain having quietly slipped away in the bustle, no one remained near it but Jekin Groby; and, he not being very terrific of aspect, Lady Constance placed herself in one of the vacant seats till such time as her chamber should be prepared. Sir Osborne wrung the old tutor's hand affectionately, and whispered, while he followed to the side of Lady Constance, "I have a word to say to you, and much upon which to consult you." "Good, good!" replied the old man, in the same subdued tone, "when the lady has retired." Having seated themselves round the fire, the conversation was soon renewed, especially between the tutor and Sir Osborne: Lady Constance sometimes joining in with her sweet musical voice, and her gentle, engaging manner, and sometimes falling into deep reveries, which seemed not of the happiest nature, if one might judge by the grave, and even sad cast that her countenance took, as she fixed her eyes upon the embers, and appeared to study deeply the various forms they offered to her view. In the mean time, the clergyman gradually engaged Sir Osborne to detail some of the adventures which he had met with during the five years that he had served in the Imperial army then combating in Flanders; and then he spoke of "moving accidents by flood and field, of hair-breadth 'scapes in th' imminent deadly breach," and of much that he had seen, mingled with some small portions of what he himself had done; and yet, when he told any of his own deeds that had met with great success, he took care to attribute all to his good fortune and a happy chance. It was thus, he said, that, by a most lucky coincidence, he happened to take two standards of the enemy before the eyes of the late Emperor Maximilian, who, as a recompense, honoured him with knighthood from his own sword. "Indeed!" exclaimed Lady Constance, waking from her reverie; "then I do congratulate you most sincerely. The road to fortune and to fame is now open to you, Sir Osborne, and I feel sure, I know, that you will reach the goal." "A thousand thanks, lady, for your good augury!" replied the knight; "nor do I lack hope, though there are so many competitors in the field of fame that the difficulty of winning renown is increased. In the army of Flanders there is many an aspirant with whom it is hard to contend." "True," replied Lady Constance; "but even that makes the contention more honourable. Oh! we have heard of that army, and its feats of arms, even here. We cannot be supposed to have received the names of all those who have done high deeds; but they say that the young Lord Darnley, the son of the unhappy Earl Fitzbernard, is realizing the tales of the knights of old. You must have met him, Sir Osborne Maurice. Do you know him?" "I cannot say that I know him well," replied the knight, "though we have served long in the same army. He has gained some renown, it is true, but there are many men-at-arms as good as he." "I know not well why," said Lady Constance after a pause; "but I have always been much interested in that young gentleman's history. The unexpected, and seemingly undeserved, train of misfortunes that fell upon his house, and the accounts that all men give of his gallantry and daring, his courtesy and accomplishments, have made him quite one of my heroes of romance." Whether it, be true that very high praises of another will frequently excite some small degree of envy, even in the most amiable minds, matters not; but Sir Osborne did not seem very easy in his chair while Lady Constance recited the high qualities of his companion in arms. "I have heard," replied he at length, "that the fame which Lord Darnley has acquired, either justly or unjustly, has even reached the ears of our sovereign lord the king, and has worked much in favour of those claims which his family make to their forfeited estates. It is well known that his grace is the flower of this world's chivalry; and as the young lord is somewhat skilful in the tournois, and at the barriers, the king has, I hear, expressed a wish to see him, which, if he should come over, may turn favourably to his cause." "God grant it may!" said Lady Constance, "although I have never seen the young gentleman, and though the person who now holds his estates is cousin to my deceased father----" "Good God! is it possible?" exclaimed Sir Osborne, "that my lord your father is dead? But I might have divined it from seeing you here alone." Lady Constance sighed. "I am indeed alone in all the world," said she. "My father has been dead these three years. My Lord Cardinal Wolsey claims me as ward of the crown; and as I am now in my one-and-twentieth year, he calls me to a place I hate: the court. Knowing no one there, loved of no one there, I shall feel like an inexperienced being in a sad, strange world. But when the time comes that I may command my own actions, if they will ever let me do so, I will return to my father's halls, and live amongst my own tenantry. But to change a painful subject, my good father," she continued, turning to the clergyman, "were it not well to send a messenger to Sir Payan Wileton, to let him know that we shall not arrive at his house to-night, though we will take our forenoon meal with him to-morrow?" The old clergyman seemed somewhat embarrassed. "I know not what to do," said he. "'Twould be better not to go at all, yet what can be done? You promised to go as you went to London, and one ought always to keep one's promise. So what can the lady do?" And he turned abruptly to Sir Osborne, not so much as if he asked his advice as if he made him an apology. "Why, the lady had certainly better keep her word," answered Sir Osborne, with a smile; "but you know, my good old friend, that I cannot judge of the circumstances." "Ay, true; I forgot," answered the other. "She must go, I am afraid, though she knows what the man is, and dislikes him as much as any one----" At this moment the chamberlain entered, with Lady Constance's woman, announcing that the tapestry chamber was now warmed and lighted; and the young lady left them, with many apologies to Sir Osborne for depriving him of his apartment. "I warrant you, madam," said Tim Chamberlain, "his worship will be well lodged; for 'tis but the next room to that he had, and 'tis all as good, bating the tapestry." "I am a soldier, lady," said Sir Osborne, "and not much accustomed to tapestry to my chamber, without it be the blue hangings of the sky, spangled with the starry broidery of heaven; but in truth I wish they had given me but a tramper's garret, that I might at least have had some merit in giving up the room." As the honest clothier, Jekin Groby, who was little heedful of ceremony, still sat by the fire, though apparently dipped deeply in the Lethean stream of an afternoon's doze, the conversation of Sir Osborne Maurice with his old tutor could not be so private as they could have wished, especially as the cook and the chamberlain were bustling about laying forth a table for the rere-supper, and two or three lacqueys who had accompanied the litter of Lady Constance were running in and out, endeavouring to make as much noise as possible about nothing. However, they found an opportunity to appoint a place of meeting in London, to which both were journeying, and it was agreed that the first arrived should there wait for the other. Many questions concerning the state of England did Sir Osborne ask of the old man, for whom he seemed to entertain both reverence and love, and deeply did he ponder all the answers he received. Often also did the tutor look anxiously in the face of the young knight, and often did Sir Osborne return it with the same kind of hesitating glance, as if there were some subject on which they both wished to speak, yet doubted whether to begin. At length Sir Osborne spoke out, more to the clergyman's thoughts than his words. "We will talk of all that hereafter in London," said he; "'twere too long to expose now. But, tell me one thing: know you, my good father, a celebrated man called in Italy Cesario il dotto? Is he to be trusted? For I met with him to-day, when he much astonished me, and much won upon my opinion; but I knew not how far I might confide in him, though he is certainly a most extraordinary man." "Trust your life in his hands!" exclaimed the tutor. "He is your father's best and dearest friend, and never has he ceased his efforts to serve him. We used much to dispute, for I am bound by my calling to hold his studies as evil; but certainly his knowledge was wonderful, and his intentions were good. God forgive him if he err in his opinions! as in truth he does, holding strange phantasies of many sorts of spirits, more than the church allows, with various things altogether heretical and vain. But, as I have said, trust him with your life, if it be necessary; for he is a true friend and a good man, although his knowledge and his art be altogether damnable and profane." "'Tis strange I never heard my father name him," said Sir Osborne. "Oh! he bore another name once," replied the tutor, "which he changed when he first gave himself to those dangerous studies that have since rendered him so famous. It is a custom among such men to abjure their name; but he had another reason, being joined in a famous conspiracy some thirty years ago." "Why," said Sir Osborne, "he does not seem a very old man now!" "He is full eighty," replied the clergyman; "and there is the wonder, for he seems never to change. For twenty years he was absent from England, except when he came to be present at your birth. At length everybody had forgotten him but your father, and he is now only known by the name of Sir Cesar. Yet, strange as it may seem, he is received and courted by the great; he knows the secrets and affairs of every one, and possesses much influence even in the court. It is true I know his former name, but under so strict a vow to conceal it that it can never pass my lips." "But how came he present at my birth?" demanded Sir Osborne, whose curiosity was now highly excited. "He came to calculate your nativity," replied the tutor, "which he did upon a scroll of parchment----" "Fifty-six yards long by three yards broad," said Jekin Groby, waking, "which makes just one hundred and sixty-eight: yaw---- Bless me, I forgot! Is supper ready? Host, host! Cook, serve quick, and these gentles will take a bit of my lamb, I am sure." "I thank you, good sir," said the knight, "but I must to bed, for I ride betimes to-morrow." "So do I, faith," said the clothier; "and by your leave, sir knight, I'll ride with you, if you go toward Lunnun; for my bags are well lined, and company's a blessing in these days of plunder and robbery." "With all my heart," replied Sir Osborne; "so that you have your horse saddled by half-past five, we will to Canterbury together." "Well, I'll be ready, I'll be ready," said the clothier; "but sure you'll stay and taste the lamb and ale? See how it hisses and crackles! Oh! 'tis a rare morsel, a neck of lamb! Stay stay!" "I thank you, 'tis not possible," replied the knight. "Good night, my excellent old friend!" he continued, pressing the tutor's hand. "We shall soon meet, then, at the house of your relation, Doctor Butts: till then, farewell!" <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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