"Essex is lost," thought Strafford. " And
what were the charges against the count which
seemed to affect her most?"

"That of despising her authority."

"He can never recover," thought the prudent
courtier; " my good Morden! my true friend!
this day opens for you a new career. At what
hour did you leave the court?"

"At nine o'clock."

"Heaven! I am too fast/' thought Strafford.
"Essex must still have resources; he may be
able to bend the queen." So he took the other
tack, hoped the count would be able to justify
himself. For himself, he was devoted to his
sovereign: his brother had been a rebel; fought
for the Stuarts, and died in exile. He had been
all the more anxious, on account of this
anachronatic treason, to give proofs of his loyalty.

There is not much love-making, unhappily, in
our little comedy, but we have next a scene
between Will, the Oxford student, turned drawing-
master, and his pupil, Miss Maria. She shows
him her copy of a head of Niobe. It is perfect.
She says her old master was not satisfied with
it. He exclaims against such gross injustice,
by which masters discourage their pupils. She
inquires tenderly after his wounded arm. He
is delighted that she should know who had saved
her from the Hyde Park peril, and rather sorry
that he was not half killed on that occasion. He
reminds her of having seen her at those races at
Newmarket, and hopes that her teacher may
have a long fit of illness. Miss Maria thinks
that when teacher and pupil are nearly of an
age they get along better. There springs up a
little intimacy, which, Will says, is greatly to
the benefit of the pupil. But to-day, her hand
trembles. There are days when one ought not
to work. She thinks it must be the fault of
the crayons. Decidedly, they are bad. He
proposes to study geography; but whatever is
proposed, they always return to the one subject,
but are interrupted by Lord and Lady Morden,
who come to propose a marriage to Maria. The
Chancellor of the Exchequer has demanded her
hand for his nephew, the Baronet Tourville. It
is a great match. Elizabeth will sign the contract.
Maria makes the slight objection that
she does not love this baronet, but is told that
she will soon enough, and must be married to
him in a week. Will, naturally, hearing all this,
is in despair; but a little reassured when he
hears Lord Morden declare that he does not
propose to marry her to any one against her
inclinations.

At this juncture, Mr. Brigton, the valet,
with a low voice and a mysterious manner, gives
Lord Morden a despatch. He reads it, and cannot
conceal his agitation; however, he controls
himself, and they all go to dinner. Will is in
great trouble about the projected marriage of
Miss Maria. If he only knew who he was, and
happened to be somebody, he would propose for
her himself. Being nobody, that he knows of,
he is miserable accordingly.

To him, Miss Maria; who says she has good
news to tell him. She has reason to believe
that her marriage with the Baron Tourville—it
was baronet just now— is broken. " Oh! happiness!"
says Will. She hopes so. Her uncle
has received a despatch which has greatly troubled
him, and she thinks, of course, it must
relate to her marriage. What else could cause
him such inquietude.

"By the way, Mr. Will," says the lady,
"what made you leave college?"

"I am eighteen, miss, and my studies are
finished."

"And when we met you, you were going to
your family?"

"Not exactly— in fact, that would be rather
difficult, because I do not know who they are."

Will fears to be taken for an adventurer.
She asks his name. He has none but Will,
which she is aware is not a family name, and
though it has sufficed to win the honours of the
University, he has some not unreasonable doubt
whether it will help him to win the charming
Maria.

Robert now encounters Will, and tells him
that milord and his family are lost. That
memoir, which they had written together for
Lord Morden, had been his ruin. Essex had
appeared to be lost. The queen had condemned
him to exile. He submitted; asked for a parting
interview, which she had the weakness to
grant. It ended in his being pardoned and
restored to favour, and to the power, of course,
of revenging his injuries, and especially upon
the author of the memoir.

"He will not avenge himself," says Will;
"he is happy."

"The most irritating passages are those you
have written."

"You asked for biting epigrams and satires,
and I gave them to you."

"Then that caricature! It is all over
London."

"What caricature?"

"The one you made against Essex."

"Me?"

"Yes; you are so young, I feared to trust
you."

"Mr. Robert, you have treated me very
badly. You have made a tool of me. Happily,
the drawing was not signed."

"Oh yes it was. I wrote on it 'Robert,
fecit.'"

"So much the worse for you, then."

Robert proposes to escape. Will rushes out
to denounce himself to the constables, who
already surround the house, as the sole author
of the mischief. He tells them that he is the
intimate friend of Lord Morden, the writer of
the memoir, the designer of the caricature.
They laugh at him. As a last resource he
writes to Essex, and charges himself with all
these atrocities.

Lord Strafford comes in disguise to see his
friends. Will begs he will assist him to move
the court in favour of Lord Morden.

"You wish to go to court?" says Lord
Strafford; " who are you, young man?"

"Who am I? The protégé of Lord Morden."