KENILWORTH - Penn State University

Kenilworthher a caterpillar on an old wall, when she would fain be apainted butterfly in a court garden?”“Fear not her displeasure, man,” said Varney. “I will showher all thou hast done in this matter was good service, bothto my lord and her; and when she chips the egg-shell andwalks alone, she shall own we have hatched her greatness.”“Look to yourself, Master Varney,” said Foster, “you maymisreckon foully in this matter. She gave you but a frostyreception this morning, and, I think, looks on you, as well asme, with an evil eye.”“You mistake her, Foster—you mistake her utterly. To meshe is bound by all the ties which can secure her to one whohas been the means of gratifying both her love and ambition.Who was it that took the obscure Amy Robsart, the daughterof an impoverished and dotard knight—the destined bride ofa moonstruck, moping enthusiast, like Edmund Tressilian,from her lowly fates, and held out to her in prospect the brightestfortune in England, or perchance in Europe? Why, man, itwas I —as I have often told thee—that found opportunityfor their secret meetings. It was I who watched the woodwhile he beat for the deer. It was I who, to this day, am blamedby her family as the companion of her flight; and were I intheir neighbourhood, would be fain to wear a shirt of betterstuff than Holland linen, lest my ribs should be acquaintedwith Spanish steel. Who carried their letters?—I. Who amusedthe old knight and Tressilian?—I. Who planned her escape?—it was I. It was I, in short, Dick Varney, who pulled this prettylittle daisy from its lowly nook, and placed it in the proudestbonnet in Britain.”“Ay, Master Varney,” said Foster; “but it may be she thinks thathad the matter remained with you, the flower had been stuck soslightly into the cap, that the first breath of a changeable breezeof passion had blown the poor daisy to the common.”“She should consider,” said Varney, smiling, “the true faithI owed my lord and master prevented me at first from counsellingmarriage; and yet I did counsel marriage when I sawshe would not be satisfied without the—the sacrament, orthe ceremony—which callest thou it, Anthony?”“Still she has you at feud on another score,” said Foster; “andI tell it you that you may look to yourself in time. She wouldnot hide her splendour in this dark lantern of an old monastichouse, but would fain shine a countess amongst countesses.”60