hought to have thanked God to see my master weep," said Will
Badger; "but now I do, though I am like to weep for company."

"I will ask thee no questions," said the old knight; "no
questions--none, Edmund. Thou hast not found her--or so found her, that
she were better lost."

Tressilian was unable to reply otherwise than by putting his hands
before his face.

"It is enough--it is enough. But do not thou weep for her, Edmund. I
have cause to weep, for she was my daughter; thou hast cause to rejoice,
that she did not become thy wife.--Great God! thou knowest best what is
good for us. It was my nightly prayer that I should see Amy and Edmund
wedded,--had it been granted, it had now been gall added to bitterness."

"Be comforted, my friend," said the curate, addressing Sir Hugh, "it
cannot be that the daughter of all our hopes and affections is the vile
creature you would bespeak her."

"Oh, no," replied Sir Hugh impatiently, "I were wrong to name broadly
the base thing she is become--there is some new court name for it, I
warrant me. It is honour enough for the daughter of an old Devonshire
clown to be the leman of a gay courtier--of Varney too--of Varney, whose
grandsire was relieved by my father, when his fortune was broken, at
the battle of--the battle of--where Richard was slain--out on my
memory!--and I warrant none of you will help me--"

"The battle of Bosworth," said Master Mumblazen--"stricken between
Richard Crookback and Henry Tudor, grandsire of the Queen that now is,
PRIMO HENRICI SEPTIMI; and in the year one thousand four hundred and
eighty-five, POST CHRISTUM NATUM."

"Ay, even so," said the old knight; "every child knows it. But my poor
head forgets all it should remember, and remembers only what it would
most willingly forget. My brain has been at fault, Tressilian, almost
ever since thou hast been away, and even yet it hunts counter."

"Your worship," said the good clergyman, "had better retire to your
apartment, and try to sleep for a little space. The physician left
a composing draught; and our Great Physician has commanded us to use
earthly means, that we may be strengthened to sustain the trials He
sends us."

"True, true, old friend," said Sir Hugh; "and we will bear our trials
manfully--we have lost but a woman.--See, Tressilian,"--he drew from
his bosom a long ringlet of glossy hair,--"see this lock! I tell thee,
Edmund, the very night she disappeared, when she bid me good even, as
she w