The friar's eyes twinkled, but to the first thought of spite and
vengeance succeeded another: if he who had made the famous waxen
effigies of the Earl of Warwick were now to be found guilty of some
atrocious and positive violence upon Master Adam Warner, might not the
earl be glad of so good an excuse to put an end to Himself?

"Daughter," said the friar, at that reflection, and shaking his head
mysteriously and sadly, "daughter, it is too late."

The duchess in great despair flew to the queen. Hitherto she had
concealed from her royal daughter the employment she had given to
Adam; for Elizabeth, who had herself suffered from the popular belief
in Jacquetta's sorceries, had of late earnestly besought her to lay
aside all practices that could be called into question. Now, however,
when she confessed to the agitated and distracted queen the retaining
of Adam Warner, and his fatal predictions, Elizabeth, who, from
discretion and pride, had carefully hidden from her mother (too
vehement to keep a secret) that offence in the king, the memory of
which had made Warner peculiarly obnoxious to him, exclaimed,--

"Unhappy mother, thou hast employed the very man my fated husband
would the most carefully have banished from the palace, the very man
who could blast his name."

The duchess was aghast and thunderstricken.

"If ever I forsake Friar Bungey again!" she muttered; "OH, THE GREAT
MAN!"

But events which demand a detailed recital now rapidly pressing on,