and Wayland was still
less likely to light upon Tressilian, whom he sought so anxiously,
because, sensible of the danger of attracting attention in the
circumstances in which he was placed, he dared not make general
inquiries among the retainers or domestics of Leicester. He learned,
however, by indirect questions, that in all probability Tressilian must
have been one of a large party of gentlemen in attendance on the Earl
of Sussex, who had accompanied their patron that morning to Kenilworth,
when Leicester had received them with marks of the most formal respect
and distinction. He further learned that both Earls, with their
followers, and many other nobles, knights, and gentlemen, had taken
horse, and gone towards Warwick several hours since, for the purpose of
escorting the Queen to Kenilworth.

Her Majesty's arrival, like other great events, was delayed from hour
to hour; and it was now announced by a breathless post that her Majesty,
being detained by her gracious desire to receive the homage of her
lieges who had thronged to wait upon her at Warwick, it would be the
hour of twilight ere she entered the Castle. The intelligence released
for a time those who were upon duty, in the immediate expectation of the
Queen's appearance, and ready to play their part in the solemnities with
which it was to be accompanied; and Wayland, seeing several horsemen
enter the Castle, was not without hopes that Tressilian might be of the
number. That he might not lose an opportunity of meeting his patron
in the event of this being the case, Wayland placed himself in the
base-court of the Castle, near Mortimer's Tower, and watched every one
who went or came by the bridge, the extremity of which was protected by
that building. Thus stationed, nobody could enter or leave the Castle
without his observation, and most anxiously did he study the garb and
countenance of every horseman, as, passing from under the opposite
Gallery-tower, they paced slowly, or curveted, along the tilt-yard, and
approached the entrance of the base-court.

But while Wayland gazed thus eagerly to discover him whom he saw not, he
was pulled by the sleeve by one by whom he himself would not willingly
have been seen.

This was Dickie Sludge, or Flibbertigibbet, who, like the imp whose name
he bore, and whom he had been accoutred in order to resemble, seemed
to be ever at the ear of those who thought least of him. Whatever were
Wayland's internal feelings, he judged