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26, 1862.] chivalry should be mindful of what it has in its charge. The whole life of chivalry is a choice between objects, with honour or perdition for reward of a right or wrong choice. Passing over the lower considerations of honour or perdition to the individual, let us admit that if there is an interesting and unhappy cause—”

“An incomparable woman!” Felton observed.

“Well! an incomparable princess on the one hand, there is—omitting all estimate of our Queen—the peace and prosperity and freedom of England on the other. I do not wish to say more,” concluded the host. “My words are doubtless thrown away even thus far.”

“Not so,” said Stansbury. “I agree with you; and I trust my comrade will remember your words as well as I shall.”

“No doubt of it,” said Felton.

“Not the less are they thrown away,” persisted the Wise Man.

This persistence was remarked upon, and dwelt upon by the comrades during their walk back through the forest. They said it was unavoidable that a man who lived like an oracle in a shrine should be peremptory in his utterances: but not the less were they impressed by the Wise Man’s conclusion.

As they came out of the wood a bowshot from the river, they stopped at the same moment. They were looking up at the Castle, as every one does at that spot; and they saw figures relieved against the pale yellow evening sky. They were moving figures.

“Is that a terrace walk?” asked Stansbury.

“Yes; and where you see those tree-tops over the wall there is a garden. That terrace is where her Grace will take her walking exercise. O yes! she will ride in the forest, and out to the chase; but her walking exercise will be daily on yonder terrace. See her now!”

“Which—which? They are but black forms against the sky. Ah! now they disappear against the dim building! But which was she?”

“Which?” replied Felton, impatiently. “If eyes cannot tell that form from all others Is it possible to mistake Lady Janet Hamilton for her, or Grisel Douglass?”

“My dear fellow! consider the distance!”

“But you saw forms:—you saw them move. Is there any bearing, any movement that could be mistaken for hers? Yet you have seen her.”

“Once. I must bow before you who have seen her twice.”

Felton did not smile. He was astonished to discover that he had not had his mind wholly filled with her all his life.

the spring advanced it was everybody’s remark that so many strangers had never before visited Tutbury,—far famed as was the Castle with Needwood Forest for its chase. It seemed as if all the Earl of Shrewsbury’s abodes had become suddenly celebrated; for, wherever he and his establishment went, there was presently a throng of strangers. The Countess had put in execution her plan of removing her royal guest from place to place; and therein she had shown great determination; for she was resisting the wishes of two queens. Her Grace of Scotland could not always repress her disgust at her mode of life, under such a guardian as Dame Bess; and, by a very natural peevishness, she dissented from the praises of Tutbury with which her hostess tried her patience. She had suffered much at Tutbury, she said; and she could not be expected to praise it. This was laid hold of as the occasion for a series of removals as the days lengthened. But, ill as Mary of Scotland liked Tutbury, she liked still less to leave it. At first, she declared her will to abide. She resented the indignity of being pressed for reasons: but it was necessary to assign some; and she complained of her health, and of the fatigues of travelling. This brought on a recommendation to try the Buxton waters; and afterwards the fine air of Sheffield Park. After a month’s resistance, the captive found that she had only excited suspicion. A courtier or two appeared from London, and was introduced to her presence or not, as she chose: but, as soon as they were gone, she missed some occasional visitors,—she ceased to hear from her most punctual correspondents,—and she received, in fact, very few letters, and was restricted in her intercourses with even the few persons in the neighbourhood whose services she commanded. To the Earl she could speak as a gentleman, if not as a friend; and the Earl told her that his sovereign blamed him for permitting too much resort of strangers to his Castle at a critical season, and had herself ordered the new arrangements. Assuming that he was consulted, he gave it as his opinion that it would be greatly for her Grace’s interest to disarm suspicion by ready conformity to any plans laid for her Grace’s good, in health or otherwise. It was a bitter potion, the poor lady said,—this practice of obedience,—however sweetened by the courtesy of her host: but by resistance she might doom herself to close imprisonment. Her host did not gainsay this: and to Buxton they went.

Among the throng who saw the cavalcade descend the hill, and wind away through the now green forest, was Dr. Pantlin. He had been out of sight for some weeks, as men of his class found it necessary to be. Deprived clergymen were scarcely less abhorred by the ruling powers than Jesuit priests; and, if they thought fit to hold to their ministry, they could do it only on sufferance. Dr. Pantlin then had been on one of his rounds since February; and now, at the end of April, he appeared only in passing.

On the next Sunday it was plain that he had gathered matter for his discourse in attending on the departure of the Castle party. The church was closed, as happened very frequently, for want of a preacher. The Earl had applied to the universities for a man of learning and piety, to fill the parish pulpit: but the answer was that if the universities could not supply one-fifth part of the demands of the populous towns, they could not attend to rural parishes. One bishop had lately declared that he had but two preachers in his whole diocese. If the Earl would send up some promising young man, of sufficient instruction to read the service and a homily, such a person could be ordained on easy terms: otherwise there was no help. This left