But here lies the rub--Tressilian leaves not the place without establishing a correspondence with a poor man, the landlord of an inn in Cumnor, for the purpose of carrying off the lady.

He sent down an emissary of his, whom I trust soon to have in right sure keeping under Mervyn's Tower--Killigrew and Lambsbey are scouring the country in quest of him.

The host is rewarded with a ring for keeping counsel--your lordship may have noted it on Tressilian's hand--here it is.

This fellow, this agent, makes his way to the place as a pedlar; holds conferences with the lady, and they make their escape together by night; rob a poor fellow of a horse by the way, such was their guilty haste, and at length reach this Castle, where the Countess of Leicester finds refuge--I dare not say in what place." "Speak, I command thee," said Leicester--"speak, while I retain sense enough to hear thee." "Since it must be so," answered Varney, "the lady resorted immediately to the apartment of Tressilian, where she remained many hours, partly in company with him, and partly alone.

I told you Tressilian had a paramour in his chamber; I little dreamed that paramour was--" "Amy, thou wouldst say," answered Leicester; "but it is false, false as the smoke of hell! Ambitious she may be--fickle and impatient--'tis a woman's fault; but false to me!--never, never.