KENILWORTH - Penn State University

Sir Walter Scottwithin two inches of the throat of his fallen adversary, andplacing his foot at the same time upon his breast, bid himconfess his villainous wrongs towards him, and prepare fordeath.“I have no villainy nor wrong towards thee to confess,” answeredTressilian, “and am better prepared for death than thou.Use thine advantage as thou wilt, and may God forgive you!I have given you no cause for this.”“No cause!” exclaimed the Earl, “no cause!—but why parleywith such a slave? Die a liar, as thou hast lived!”He had withdrawn his arm for the purpose of striking thefatal blow, when it was suddenly seized from behind.The Earl turned in wrath to shake off the unexpected obstacle,but was surprised to find that a strange-looking boyhad hold of his sword-arm, and clung to it with such tenacityof grasp that he could not shake him of without a considerablestruggle, in the course of which Tressilian had opportunityto rise and possess himself once more of his weapon.Leicester again turned towards him with looks of unabatedferocity, and the combat would have recommenced with stillmore desperation on both sides, had not the boy clung toLord Leicester’s knees, and in a shrill tone implored him tolisten one moment ere he prosecuted this quarrel.“Stand up, and let me go,” said Leicester, “or, by Heaven, Iwill pierce thee with my rapier! What hast thou to do to barmy way to revenge?”“Much—much!” exclaimed the undaunted boy, “since myfolly has been the cause of these bloody quarrels between you,and perchance of worse evils. Oh, if you would ever againenjoy the peace of an innocent mind, if you hope again tosleep in peace and unhaunted by remorse, take so much leisureas to peruse this letter, and then do as you list.”While he spoke in this eager and earnest manner, to whichhis singular features and voice gave a goblin-like effect, heheld up to Leicester a packet, secured with a long tress ofwoman’s hair of a beautiful light-brown colour. Enraged ashe was, nay, almost blinded with fury to see his destined revengeso strangely frustrated, the Earl of Leicester could notresist this extraordinary supplicant. He snatched the letter fromhis hand—changed colour as he looked on the superscription—undidwith faltering hand the knot which secured it—glanced over the contents, and staggering back, would have435