“Let us see thee here often,” replied the Queen, with a smile, “and before long, too. But, for the present, get thee hence, and betake thee to rest; for we must straight pen a proclamation of thy news to our loving subjects.”
With these words, she extended him her small hand; and, again bending his knee, he raised it to his lips. Then, with a low bow, he rose to his feet, and made his egress.
His flattering reception at court, so much beyond what he could have expected, had affected his spirits but very slightly, and, though he was far from looking dejected, his countenance presented no trace of that fine, healthful buoyancy, which had once been its characteristic. The complexion of his mind was no less grave and rigid. The oppressive sense of remorse, indeed, which had arisen out of his connexion with Inez, had now subsided, but it had left behind it a deep and settled impression, very painful to endure. He looked at the issue of his suit with Evaline, on which he had built his every hope, with a sort of passionless sorrow—fixed and rooted, although free from despair! He was not sunk in despair! His fine sense of enjoyment, his elasticity of spirit, and his lightness of heart, it cannot be denied, were lost; but his mind retained its vigour, and never thought of bending before its bitter affliction.
On mounting his horse, he determined, as he knew no place nearer, to repair to the inn he had formerly lodged at, at Aldgate; and there take some repose. He rode along slowly, and was not ignorant that, as he progressed, he became an object of curiosity to the various passers-by, probably from his grave and travel-worn aspect. But, however he might look in their eyes, the several wayfarers, certainly, looked no way cheerful in his; for every individual face seemed full of anxiety and concern.
Though the hour was now advanced, the princely city, usually so lively and bustling, was hardly astir, and, in the terror of the expected invasion, all business was at a standstill. The unnatural repose became perfectly distressing as Hildebrand entered the Strand. Anxious to escape the view of it, he was about to spur on quicker, when, to his surprise, some one in his rear called to him by name, and brought him to a stand. It was Bernard Gray.
A thrill of pleasure, such as he had not felt for some time, shot through Hildebrand’s bosom, as he discerned his well-approved friend; and, quickly alighting, he caught him eagerly by the hand.
“What news from the fleet?” cried Bernard, before he could address him.
“The armada is overcome!” answered Hildebrand.
“Go to! Blessed be the Lord!” ejaculated Bernard. “But why lookest thou so mournful, Hildebrand?”
Hildebrand averted his head.