Renown'd metropolis,
With glistening spires and pinnacles adorn'd.--Milton.
It is strange, in the life of man, always fluctuating as he is between hope and fear, gratification and disappointment, with nothing fixed in his state of existence, and uncertainty surrounding him on every side, that suspense should be to him the most painful of all situations. One would suppose that habit would have rendered it easy for him to bear; and yet, beyond all questions, every condition of doubt, from uncertainty respecting our fate, to mere indecision of judgment, are all, more or less, painful in their degree. Who is it that has not often felt irritated, vexed, and unhappy, when hesitating between two different courses of action, even when the subject of deliberation involved but a trifle?
Lady Katrine Bulmer, as has been already said, was grave and pensive when she reached Gravesend; and then, without honouring the knight with her company even for a few minutes, as he deemed that in simple courtesy she might have done, she retired to her chamber, and, shutting herself up with her two women, the only communication which took place between her and Sir Osborne was respecting the hour of their departure the next morning.
The knight felt hurt and vexed; for though he needed no ghost to tell him that the lovely girl he was conducting to the court was as capricious as she was beautiful, yet her gay whims and graceful little coquetry, had both served to pique and amuse him, and he could almost have been angry at this new caprice, which deprived him of her society for the evening.
The next morning, however, the wind of Lady Katrine's humour seemed again to have changed; and at the hour appointed for her departure she tripped down to her horse all liveliness and gaiety. Sir Osborne proffered to assist her in mounting, but in a moment she sprang into the saddle without aid, and turned round laughing, to see the slow and difficult manœuvres by which her women were fixed in their seats. The whole preparations, however, being completed, the cavalcade set out in the same order in which it had departed from the abbey the day before, and with the same number of persons; the poor priest whom they had delivered from the hands of the rioters being left behind, too ill to proceed with them to London.
"Well, sir knight," said the gay girl as they rode forward, "I must really think of some guerdon to reward all your daring in my behalf. I hope you watched through the livelong night, armed at all points, lest some enemy should attack our castle?"
"Faith, not I!" answered Sir Osborne; "you seemed so perfectly satisfied with the security of our lodging, lady, that I e'en followed your good example and went to bed."
"Now he's affronted!" cried Lady Katrine. "Was there ever such a creature? But tell me, man in armour, was it fitting for me to come and sit with you and your horsemen in the tap-room of an inn, eating, drinking, and singing, like a beggar or a ballad-singer?"
The knight bit his lip, and made no reply.
"Why don't you answer, Sir Osborne?" continued the lady, laughing.