In his present frame of mind Shakespeare felt no longer any desire to witness the gaieties within doors, and yet he found it impossible to tear himself away from the gardens. He loved to breathe the neighbouring air, and as he listened to the music, he tried to fancy her he loved still adding to the grace and beauty of the assemblage.
Whilst he thus remained lost in his own thoughts, the threatened storm suddenly burst forth. The thunder crashed over head, and the lightning darted along the walks and alleys of the gardens, and then came the rain, rushing upon the earth like a cataract, suddenly bursting bounds.
These sounds were mingled with the tread of horses' hoofs as they clattered into the stable-yard, and then came a short and rapid word of command. A few minutes more and the music ceased; rapid and hurried footsteps were heard, as of guests suddenly departing, coupled with lamentations and sounds of alarm. The mirth of the assemblage seemed suddenly to have been marred, and their good cheer spoiled, and such indeed was the case.
In the very midst of the revel, and whilst the festive cup was drained around to the health of Sir Hugh and his fair child, that child had again been seized with illness and fainted.
Attributing it to the heat and excitement she had undergone, Sir Hugh bore her to her couch, and as she soon recovered from her swoon he again sought his guests.
When he did so, he observed that during his absence the party had been increased by the addition of some half a dozen cavaliers completely armed, and as he entered the room the chief of the party stepped up to him, and laid his hand upon his shoulder.
"Sir Hugh Clopton, of Clopton," he said, in a loud voice, "I arrest thee of high treason, in the name of our most sovereign lady the Queen."