Amy Robsart, the daughter of an impoverished and dotard knight--the
destined bride of a moonstruck, moping enthusiast, like Edmund
Tressilian, from her lowly fates, and held out to her in prospect the
brightest fortune in England, or perchance in Europe? Why, man, it was
I--as I have often told thee--that found opportunity for their secret
meetings. It was I who watched the wood while he beat for the deer. It
was I who, to this day, am blamed by her family as the companion of her
flight; and were I in their neighbourhood, would be fain to wear a shirt
of better stuff than Holland linen, lest my ribs should be acquainted
with Spanish steel. Who carried their letters?--I. Who amused the old
knight and Tressilian?--I. Who planned her escape?--it was I. It was
I, in short, Dick Varney, who pulled this pretty little daisy from its
lowly nook, and placed it in the proudest bonnet in Britain."

"Ay, Master Varney," said Foster; "but it may be she thinks that had the
matter remained with you, the flower had been stuck so slightly into the
cap, that the first breath of a changeable breeze of passion had blown
the poor daisy to the common."

"She should consider," said Varney, smiling, "the true faith I owed my
lord and master prevented me at first from counselling marriage; and
yet I did counsel marriage when I saw she would not be satisfied without
the--the sacrament, or the ceremony--which callest thou it, Anthony?"

"Still she has you at feud on another score," said Foster; "and I tell
it you that you may look to yourself in time. She would not hide her
splendour in this dark lantern of an old monastic house, but would fain
shine a countess amongst countesses."

"Very natural, very right," answered Varney; "but what have I to do