The death-bell thrice was heard to ring,

An aerial voice was heard to call,

And thrice the raven flapp’d its wing

Around the towers of Cumnor Hall.

Mickle.

We are now to return to that part of our story where we intimated that Varney, possessed of the authority of the Earl of Leicester, and of the Queen’s permission to the same effect, hastened to secure himself against discovery of his perfidy by removing the Countess from Kenilworth Castle. He had proposed to set forth early in the morning; but reflecting that the Earl might relent in the interim, and seek another interview with the Countess, he resolved to prevent, by immediate departure, all chance of what would probably have ended in his detection and ruin. For this purpose he called for Lambourne, and was exceedingly incensed to find that his trusty attendant was abroad on some ramble in the neighbouring village, or elsewhere. As his return was expected, Sir Richard commanded that he should prepare himself for attending him on an immediate journey, and follow him in case he returned after his departure.

In the meanwhile, Varney used the ministry of a servant called Robin Tider, one to whom the mysteries of Cumnor Place were already in some degree known, as he had been there more than once in attendance on the Earl. To this man, whose character resembled that of Lambourne, though he was neither quite so prompt nor altogether so profligate, Varney gave command to have three horses saddled, and to prepare a horse-litter, and have them in readiness at the postern gate. The natural enough excuse of his lady’s insanity, which was now universally believed, accounted for the secrecy with which she was to be removed from the Castle, and he reckoned on the same apology in case the unfortunate Amy’s resistance or screams should render such necessary. The agency of Anthony Foster was indispensable, and that Varney now went to secure.

This person, naturally of a sour, unsocial disposition, and somewhat tired, besides, with his journey from Cumnor to Warwickshire, in order to bring the news of the Countess’s escape, had early extricated himself from the crowd of wassailers, and betaken himself to his chamber, where he lay asleep, when Varney, completely equipped for travelling, and with a dark lantern in his hand, entered his apartment. He paused an instant to listen to what his associate was murmuring in his sleep, and could plainly distinguish the words, “Ave Maria — ora pro nobis. No, it runs not so — deliver us from evil — ay, so it goes.”

“Praying in his sleep,” said Varney, “and confounding his old and new devotions. He must have more need of prayer ere I am done with him.— What ho! holy man, most blessed penitent!— awake — awake! The devil has not discharged you from service yet.”

As Varney at the same time shook the sleeper by the arm, it changed the current of his ideas, and he roared out, “Thieves!— thieves! I will die in defence of my gold — my hard-won gold — that has cost me so dear. Where is Janet?— Is Janet safe?”

“Safe enough, thou bellowing fool!” said Varney; “art thou not ashamed of thy clamour?”

Foster by this time was broad awake, and sitting up in his bed, asked Varney the meaning of so untimely a visit. “It augurs nothing good,” he added.

“A false prophecy, most sainted Anthony,” returned Varney; “it augurs that the hour is come for converting thy leasehold into copyhold. What sayest thou to that?”

“Hadst thou told me this in broad day,” said Foster, “I had rejoiced; but at this dead hour, and by this dim light, and looking on thy pale face, which is a ghastly contradiction to thy light words, I cannot but rather think of the work that is to be done, than the guerdon to be gained by it.”

“Why, thou fool, it is but to escort thy charge back to Cumnor Place.”

“Is that indeed all?” said Foster; “thou lookest deadly pale, and thou art not moved by trifles — is that indeed all?”

“Ay, that — and maybe a trifle more,” said Varney.

“Ah, that trifle more!” said Foster; “still thou lookest paler and paler.”

“Heed not my countenance,” said Varney; “you see it by this wretched light. Up and be doing, man. Think of Cumnor Place — thine own proper copyhold. Why, thou mayest found a weekly lectureship, besides endowing Janet like a baron’s daughter. Seventy pounds and odd.”

“Seventy-nine pounds, five shillings and fivepence half-penny, besides the value of the wood,” said Foster; “and I am to have it all as copyhold?”

“All, man — squirrels and all. No gipsy shall cut the value of a broom — no boy so much as take a bird’s nest — without paying thee a quittance.— Ay, that is right — don thy matters as fast as possible; horses and everything are ready, all save that accursed villain Lambourne, who is out on some infernal gambol.”

“Ay, Sir Richard,” said Foster, “you would take no advice. I ever told you that drunken profligate would fail you at need. Now I could have helped you to a sober young man.”

“What, some slow-spoken, long-breathed brother of the congregation? Why, we shall have use for such also, man. Heaven be praised, we shall lack labourers of every kind.— Ay, that is right — forget not your pistols. Come now, and let us away.”

“Whither?” said Anthony.

“To my lady’s chamber; and, mind, she must along with us. Thou art not a fellow to be startled by a shriek?”

“Not if Scripture reason can be rendered for it; and it is written, ‘Wives obey your husbands.’ But will my lord’s commands bear us out if we use violence?”

“Tush, man! here is his signet,” answered Varney; and having thus silenced the objections of his associate, they went together to Lord Hunsdon’s apartments, and acquainting the sentinel with their purpose, as a matter sanctioned by the Queen and the Earl of Leicester, they entered the chamber of the unfortunate Countess.

The horror of Amy may be conceived when, starting from a broken slumber, she saw at her bedside Varney, the man on earth she most feared and hated. It was even a consolation to see that he was not alone, though she had so much reason to dread his sullen companion.

“Madam,” said Varney, “there is no time for ceremony. My Lord of Leicester, having fully considered the exigencies of the time, sends you his orders immediately to accompany us on our return to Cumnor Place. See, here is his signet, in token of his instant and pressing commands.”

“It is false!” said the Countess; “thou hast stolen the warrant — thou, who art capable of every villainy, from the blackest to the basest!”

“It is true, madam,” replied Varney; “so true, that if you do not instantly arise, and prepare to attend us, we must compel you to obey our orders.”

“Compel! Thou darest not put it to that issue, base as thou art!” exclaimed the unhappy Countess.

“That remains to be proved, madam,” said Varney, who had determined on intimidation as the only means of subduing her high spirit; “if you put me to it, you will find me a rough groom of the chambers.”

It was at this threat that Amy screamed so fearfully that, had it not been for the received opinion of her insanity, she would quickly have had Lord Hunsdon and others to her aid. Perceiving, however, that her cries were vain, she appealed to Foster in the most affecting terms, conjuring him, as his daughter Janet’s honour and purity were dear to him, not to permit her to be treated with unwomanly violence.

“Why, madam, wives must obey their husbands —-there’s Scripture warrant for it,” said Foster; “and if you will dress yourself, and come with us patiently, there’s no one shall lay finger on you while I can draw a pistol-trigger.”

Seeing no help arrive, and comforted even by the dogged language of Foster, the Countess promised to arise and dress herself, if they would agree to retire from the room. Varney at the same time assured her of all safety and honour while in their hands, and promised that he himself would not approach her, since his presence was so displeasing. Her husband, he added, would be at Cumnor Place within twenty-four hours after they had reached it.

Somewhat comforted by this assurance, upon which, however, she saw little reason to rely, the unhappy Amy made her toilette by the assistance of the lantern, which they left with her when they quitted the apartment.

Weeping, trembling, and praying, the unfortunate lady dressed herself with sensations how different from the days in which she was wont to decorate herself in all the pride of conscious beauty! She endeavoured to delay the completing her dress as long as she could, until, terrified by the impatience of Varney, she was obliged to declare herself ready to attend them.

When they were about to move, the Countess clung to Foster with such an appearance of terror at Varney’s approach that the latter protested to her, with a deep oath, that he had no intention whatever of even coming near her. “If you do but consent to execute your husband’s will in quietness, you shall,” he said, “see but little of me. I will leave you undisturbed to the care of the usher whom your good taste prefers.”

“My husband’s will!” she exclaimed. “But it is the will of God, and let that be sufficient to me. I will go with Master Foster as unresistingly as ever did a literal sacrifice. He is a father at least; and will have decency, if not humanity. For thee, Varney, were it my latest word, thou art an equal stranger to both.”

Varney replied only she was at liberty to choose, and walked some paces before them to show the way; while, half leaning on Foster, and half carried by him, the Countess was transported from Saintlowe’s Tower to the postern gate, where Tider waited with the litter and horses.

The Countess was placed in the former without resistance. She saw with some satisfaction that, while Foster and Tider rode close by the litter, which the latter conducted, the dreaded Varney lingered behind, and was soon lost in darkness. A little while she strove, as the road winded round the verge of the lake, to keep sight of those stately towers which called her husband lord, and which still, in some places, sparkled with lights, where wassailers were yet revelling. But when the direction of the road rendered this no longer possible, she drew back her head, and sinking down in the litter, recommended herself to the care of Providence.

Besides the desire of inducing the Countess to proceed quietly on her journey, Varney had it also in view to have an interview with Lambourne, by whom he every moment expected to be joined, without the presence of any witnesses. He knew the character of this man, prompt, bloody, resolute, and greedy, and judged him the most fit agent he could employ in his further designs. But ten miles of their journey had been measured ere he heard the hasty clatter of horse’s hoofs behind him, and was overtaken by Michael Lambourne.

Fretted as he was with his absence, Varney received his profligate servant with a rebuke of unusual bitterness. “Drunken villain,” he said, “thy idleness and debauched folly will stretch a halter ere it be long, and, for me, I care not how soon!”

This style of objurgation Lambourne, who was elated to an unusual degree, not only by an extraordinary cup of wine, but by the sort of confidential interview he had just had with the Earl, and the secret of which he had made himself master, did not receive with his wonted humility. “He would take no insolence of language,” he said, “from the best knight that ever wore spurs. Lord Leicester had detained him on some business of import, and that was enough for Varney, who was but a servant like himself.”

Varney was not a little surprised at his unusual tone of insolence; but ascribing it to liquor, suffered it to pass as if unnoticed, and then began to tamper with Lambourne touching his willingness to aid in removing out of the Earl of Leicester’s way an obstacle to a rise, which would put it in his power to reward his trusty followers to their utmost wish. And upon Michael Lambourne’s seeming ignorant what was meant, he plainly indicated “the litter-load, yonder,” as the impediment which he desired should be removed.

“Look you, Sir Richard, and so forth,” said Michael, “some are wiser than some, that is one thing, and some are worse than some, that’s another. I know my lord’s mind on this matter better than thou, for he hath trusted me fully in the matter. Here are his mandates, and his last words were, Michael Lambourne — for his lordship speaks to me as a gentleman of the sword, and useth not the words drunken villain, or such like phrase, of those who know not how to bear new dignities — Varney, says he, must pay the utmost respect to my Countess. I trust to you for looking to it, Lambourne, says his lordship, and you must bring back my signet from him peremptorily.”

“Ay,” replied Varney, “said he so, indeed? You know all, then?”

“All — all; and you were as wise to make a friend of me while the weather is fair betwixt us.”

“And was there no one present,” said Varney, “when my lord so spoke?”

“Not a breathing creature,” replied Lambourne. “Think you my lord would trust any one with such matters, save an approved man of action like myself?”

“Most true,” said Varney; and making a pause, he looked forward on the moonlight road. They were traversing a wide and open heath. The litter being at least a mile before them, was both out of sight and hearing. He looked behind, and there was an expanse, lighted by the moonbeams, without one human being in sight. He resumed his speech to Lambourne: “And will you turn upon your master, who has introduced you to this career of court-like favour — whose apprentice you have been, Michael — who has taught you the depths and shallows of court intrigue?”

“Michael not me!” said Lambourne; “I have a name will brook a Master before it as well as another; and as to the rest, if I have been an apprentice, my indenture is out, and I am resolute to set up for myself.”

“Take thy quittance first, thou fool!” said Varney; and with a pistol, which he had for some time held in his hand, shot Lambourne through the body.

The wretch fell from his horse without a single groan; and Varney, dismounting, rifled his pockets, turning out the lining, that it might appear he had fallen by robbers. He secured the Earl’s packet, which was his chief object; but he also took Lambourne”s purse, containing some gold pieces, the relics of what his debauchery had left him, and from a singular combination of feelings, carried it in his hand only the length of a small river, which crossed the road, into which he threw it as far as he could fling. Such are the strange remnants of conscience which remain after she seems totally subdued, that this cruel and remorseless man would have felt himself degraded had he pocketed the few pieces belonging to the wretch whom he had thus ruthlessly slain.

The murderer reloaded his pistol after cleansing the lock and barrel from the appearances of late explosion, and rode calmly after the litter, satisfying himself that he had so adroitly removed a troublesome witness to many of his intrigues, and the bearer of mandates which he had no intentions to obey, and which, therefore, he was desirous it should be thought had never reached his hand.

The remainder of the journey was made with a degree of speed which showed the little care they had for the health of the unhappy Countess. They paused only at places where all was under their command, and where the tale they were prepared to tell of the insane Lady Varney would have obtained ready credit had she made an attempt to appeal to the compassion of the few persons admitted to see her. But Amy saw no chance of obtaining a hearing from any to whom she had an opportunity of addressing herself; and besides, was too terrified for the presence of Varney to violate the implied condition under which she was to travel free from his company. The authority of Varney, often so used during the Earl’s private journeys to Cumnor, readily procured relays of horses where wanted, so that they approached Cumnor Place upon the night after they left Kenilworth.

At this period of the journey Varney came up to the rear of the litter, as he had done before repeatedly during their progress, and asked, “How does she?”

“She sleeps,” said Foster. “I would we were home — her strength is exhausted.”

“Rest will restore her,” answered Varney. “She shall soon sleep sound and long. We must consider how to lodge her in safety.”

“In her own apartments, to be sure,” said Foster. “I have sent Janet to her aunt’s with a proper rebuke, and the old women are truth itself — for they hate this lady cordially.”

“We will not trust them, however, friend Anthony,” said Varney; “We must secure her in that stronghold where you keep your gold.”

“My gold!” said Anthony, much alarmed; “why, what gold have I? God help me, I have no gold — I would I had!”

“Now, marry hang thee, thou stupid brute, who thinks of or cares for thy gold? If I did, could I not find an hundred better ways to come at it? In one w............