The doubt of future foes exiles my present joy,
And wit me warns to shun such snares
As threaten mine annoy;
For falsehood now doth flow, and subject faith doth ebb,
Which would not be, if Reason ruled, or
Wisdom weav'd the web.
QUEEN ELIZABETH
While the headstrong Cavalier was confined in "the strong room" of Cecil
Place, he had ample leisure to reflect upon the consequences of his
rashness, and to remember the caution he had received from Major
Wellmore on the night of their first meeting--to be guarded in his
expressions, where danger might arise from a single thoughtless word. He
surveyed the apartment with a careless look, as if indifferent whether
it were built of brick or of Portland stone, glanced upon the massive
bars of the iron-framed windows, and scarcely observed that the walls
were bare of tapestry, and that dampness and decay had mottled the
plastering into a variety of hues and shades of colour. His lamp burned
brightly on the table; the solitary but joyous light seemed out of
place; he put it therefore aside, endeavouring to lessen its effect by
placing it behind a huge worm-eaten chair, over which he threw his
cloak. Thus, almost in darkness, with a mind ill at ease, brooding on
the events of the day, which had perhaps perilled his life, although
life had now become of little value, we leave him to his melancholy and
self-reproachful thoughts, and hasten to the chamber of Constance Cecil.
It has already appeared that an early and a close intimacy had subsisted
between her and Walter De Guerre; but we must leave it to Time, the
great developer, to explain the circumstances under which it originated,
as well as those by which it was broken off.
Lady Frances Cromwell had left her friend in what she considered a
sound slumber; and sought her dressing-room only to change her garments,
so that she might sit with her during the remainder of the night.
Barbara, however, had hardly taken the seat the lady had quitted, when
her mistress half arose from the bed, and called her by name in so
hollow a voice that the poor girl started, as if the sound came from a
sepulchre.
"The night is dark, Barbara," she said, "but heed it not; the good and
the innocent are ever a pure light unto themselves. Go forth with
courage and with faith, even to the Gull's Nest Crag; tell Robin Hays
that Walter De Guerre is a prisoner here, and that, unless he be at
liberty before sunrise, he may be a dead man, as surely as he is a
banned one; for some covert purpose lurks under his arrest. Tarry not,
but see that you proceed discreetly, and, above all, secretly. It is a
long journey at this hour; the roan pony is in the park, and easily
guided--he will bear you along quickly;--and for security--for you are
timid, Barbara--take the wolf-hound."