"I wot that but too well," said the artist, "for I have felt these three days as if I had a halter round my neck. This lady knows not her own mind--she will have none of your aid--commands you not to be named to her--and is about to put herself into the hands of my Lord Leicester. I had never got her safe into your chamber, had she known the owner of it."
"Is it possible," said Tressilian. "But she may have hopes the Earl will exert his influence in her favour over his villainous dependant."
"I know nothing of that," said Wayland; "but I believe, if she is to reconcile herself with either Leicester or Varney, the side of the Castle of Kenilworth which will be safest for us will be the outside, from which we can fastest fly away. It is not my purpose to abide an instant after delivery of the letter to Leicester, which waits but your commands to find its way to him. See, here it is--but no--a plague on it--I must have left it in my dog-hole, in the hay-loft yonder, where I am to sleep."
"Death and fury!" said Tressilian, transported beyond his usual patience; "thou hast not lost that on which may depend a stake more important than a thousand such lives as thine?"
"Lost it!" answered Wayland readily; "that were a jest indeed! No, sir, I have it carefully put up with my night-sack, and some matters I have occasion to use; I will fetch it in an instant."
"Do so," said Tressilian; "be faithful, and thou shalt be well rewarded. But if I have reas
