"Are at the door, your Majesty," replied the favourite; "and the hounds and huntsmen gone to the north gate."
"Foul fall the loons," cried James; "I'll make them mind words another time. Come away, Bobby, come away! We have lost much time already;" and thus saying, he shuffled out of the closet, followed by Rochester; while Overbury paused, gazing with a look of thoughtful satisfaction at the paper he held in his hand.
"Ay," now he cried, "the way to fortune is open before him, and the road to power open before me. And yet," he added, thoughtfully, "Rochester has become somewhat cold, even when I am serving him the most zealously. Such is the usual course of the world. I wonder how far he will push his ingratitude?"
Thus is it ever with men blindfolded by their own selfishness. Overbury fancied that he was entitled to deep gratitude from Rochester, because he schemed and laboured to serve him; but he forgot to ask himself, whether all that he did was not with a view to the gratification of his own ambition.
The man who, purely for the sake of another, sacrifices his own peace, his own repose, his own purposes, may well be entitled to thankfulness. Nay, he who at no sacrifice does a kindly act, may have merit likewise; but the man who, in labouring for another, has his own interests, immediate or remote, still before his eyes, can claim but little gratitude from him whom he may benefit in reaching his own objects.
Had anything been wanting to show what were the principles upon which Sir Thomas Overbury acted, his next thoughts would have displayed them: "I will guard against ingratitude," he said; "I will keep this paper in my own hands. His fortune will be then in my power, and hers too will be of my making.--It will be better to have her recalled to the Court at once. There is no fear of this Seymour now. He thinks not of her. As far as I can hear from Maxwell, he has neither been to see her since she went, nor even deigned to write.--No, no; 'twas but a common visit of courtesy; and these tale-bearers have magnified it into a matter of importance.--It is not there I have my fear; but I doubt that daring, impassioned, unprincipled Countess of Essex. I must break through that folly, or Rochester is lost; and yet it must be done skilfully, for it is no light thing to bring down upon one's head the anger of a fierce and ruthless woman. Still it must be done; and though Rochester be bound hand and foot in the chains of this Delilah, we will see whether ambition will not give him strength to break them. It was but an allegory, that tale of Samson. Pleasure was the fair Philistine; ambition the strength-giving hair of the Nazarite, which might be cut off for a time, but grew again in the lap of satiety; and though they blinded him, he slew them all.--He plucked ruin on his own head, it is true; and such may be the case with this man.--Well, we shall see!"
[CHAPTER XXVI.]
It was a fine clear morning in September, when, mounted on a powerful horse, and quite alone, William Seymour began his journey towards Buckinghamshire. Seldom were more joyful feelings in the heart of any one; he was going to unite for ever his fate to her he loved best on earth; nothing had occurred to interrupt his proceedings; the eyes of policy seemed blinded; the very prying spirit of courtly scandal had not penetrated his secret. All his preparations were made. The ring upon the finger, and the benediction of the Church, was all that was wanted to render Arabella his own. On, on he sped, then, with an eager spur, and with little apprehension of meeting any one who was likely to carry intelligence of his journey to the Court, which had now removed to Greenwich.
Taking the shortest way as it then lay, he crossed the Thames by the Horseferry,--which, at that time, existed about a mile beyond Sunbury,--recrossed it again some miles higher up, and then spurred on into Buckinghamshire through the deep beech woods, whose green leaves were beginning to show the bronzing hand of time. He did not now approach the house of Lord Shrewsbury from the side of the river, but passing by Burnham and Hedsor, took a circuit round towards the great gates of the park.
He was still about a mile distant, and the day had not yet reached the tenth hour, when he observed a man on horseback, apparently looking out for something in one of the neighbouring woods, about a quarter of a mile in advance. Taking it for one of the keepers watching the game, he rode on at the same quick pace; but the moment after, the person whom he had perceived put his horse into a quick trot, and advanced towards him.