The gouty minister passed on with these words. His look and manner, being so unusually churlish, had not been unobserved by Sir Walter; and, taken in connexion with his words, they seemed to him to menace him with some serious mischief.
He did not doubt that the pointed expressions of the minister alluded to his friendly disposition towards Sir Edgar de Neville. But, allowing his supposition to be correct, how had he been made acquainted with this disposition, or how, in the present stage of the affair, could it excite his enmity? This was a mystery—a question which, with all his experience of courts and courtiers, Sir Walter could not at the moment unravel.
Nothing transpired during the day to lend the uneasiness he began to feel any additional incitement. The evening came at last; and as the hour at which he had arranged to meet Evaline drew nigh, with seeming reluctance and tardiness, he sallied into the park, intending to proceed straight to the spot he had appointed.
Just as he entered the park, he observed the Queen, attended by a train of lords and ladies, pacing a neighbouring walk. Though the hour of his appointment was now fast approaching, this circumstance induced him to pause, and, while thus stationary, to reflect whether it would be advisable, when the Queen was so close at hand, to seek to pass unobserved. While he was pondering how he should proceed, the Queen, who had hitherto been walking away from the palace, suddenly turned round, and discerned him.
It was not without gratification that the great Princess observed herself to be watched by a man whom every unenvious person admired. She did not doubt, from his mournful and hesitating posture, that he was watching her with the deepest interest, though awe of her rank induced him to do so by stealth. There was something touching, as well as pleasing, in this prostrate affection; and when it was revealed by an individual of such eminent merit, its appeal to the sympathies was irresistible. Elizabeth, supposing Sir Walter to be thus influenced, resolved to lighten his misery, and graciously beckoned him to approach.
As he drew nigh, her quick eye readily perceived that, though he strove to conceal it, his manner was embarrassed, and his countenance greatly dejected. These appearances, however, tended to confirm the impressions she had conceived, and her yet fair face became flushed with triumph.
“Why, knight! knight!” she cried, extending him her small hand; “what hath happed?—I prithee, what hath happed?”
While she was yet speaking, she turned her head away, and dealt what (notwithstanding its exceeding brevity) appeared to be a significant look at one of the ladies in waiting. In a moment afterwards, the crowd of courtiers who had been attending her passed into another walk, and she and Sir Walter stood alone.
“Thou hast not told me what hath befallen thee,” remarked the Queen, at this juncture.
“Methought your Highness looked coldly on me to-day,” answered Sir Walter, at a loss for an excuse.