You talk of Gaiety and Innocence!

The moment when the fatal fruit was eaten,

They parted ne’er to meet again; and Malice

Has ever since been playmate to light Gaiety,

From the first moment when the smiling infant

Destroys the flower or butterfly he toys with,

To the last chuckle of the dying miser,

Who on his deathbed laughs his last to hear

His wealthy neighbour has become a bankrupt.

OLD PLAY.

Sir Kenneth was left for some minutes alone and in darkness. Here was another interruption which must prolong his absence from his post, and he began almost to repent the facility with which he had been induced to quit it. But to return without seeing the Lady Edith was now not to be thought of. He had committed a breach of military discipline, and was determined at least to prove the reality of the seductive expectations which had tempted him to do so. Meanwhile his situation was unpleasant. There was no light to show him into what sort of apartment he had been led — the Lady Edith was in immediate attendance on the Queen of England — and the discovery of his having introduced himself thus furtively into the royal pavilion might, were it discovered; lead to much and dangerous suspicion. While he gave way to these unpleasant reflections, and began almost to wish that he could achieve his retreat unobserved, he heard a noise of female voices, laughing, whispering, and speaking, in an adjoining apartment, from which, as the sounds gave him reason to judge, he could only be separated by a canvas partition. Lamps were burning, as he might perceive by the shadowy light which extended itself even to his side of the veil which divided the tent, and he could see shades of several figures sitting and moving in the adjoining apartment. It cannot be termed discourtesy in Sir Kenneth that, situated as he was, he overheard a conversation in which he found himself deeply interested.

“Call her — call her, for Our Lady’s sake,” said the voice of one of these laughing invisibles. “Nectabanus, thou shalt be made ambassador to Prester John’s court, to show them how wisely thou canst discharge thee of a mission.”

The shrill tone of the dwarf was heard, yet so much subdued that Sir Kenneth could not understand what he said, except that he spoke something of the means of merriment given to the guard.

“But how shall we rid us of the spirit which Nectabanus hath raised, my maidens?”

“Hear me, royal madam,” said another voice. “If the sage and princely Nectabanus be not over-jealous of his most transcendent bride and empress, let us send her to get us rid of this insolent knight-errant, who can be so easily persuaded that high-born dames may need the use of his insolent and overweening valour.”

“It were but justice, methinks,” replied another, “that the Princess Guenever should dismiss, by her courtesy, him whom her husband’s wisdom has been able to entice hither.”

Struck to the heart with shame and resentment at what he had heard, Sir Kenneth was about to attempt his escape from the tent at all hazards, when what followed arrested his purpose.

“Nay, truly,” said the first speaker, “our cousin Edith must first learn how this vaunted wight hath conducted himself, and we must reserve the power of giving her ocular proof that he hath failed in his duty. It may be a lesson will do good upon her; for, credit me, Calista, I have sometimes thought she has let this Northern adventurer sit nearer her heart than prudence would sanction.”

One of the other voices was then heard to mutter something of the Lady Edith’s prudence and wisdom.

“Prudence, wench!” was the reply. “It is mere pride, and the desire to be thought more rigid than any of us. Nay, I will not quit my advantage. You know well that when she has us at fault no one can, in a civil way, lay your error before you more precisely than can my Lady Edith. But here she comes.”

A figure, as if entering the apartment, cast upon the partition a shade, which glided along slowly until it mixed with those which already clouded it. Despite of the bitter disappointment which he had experienced — despite the insult and injury with which it seemed he had been visited by the malice, or, at best, by the idle humour of Queen Berengaria (for he already concluded that she who spoke loudest, and in a commanding tone, was the wife of Richard), the knight felt something so soothing to his feelings in learning that Edith had been no partner to the fraud practised on him, and so interesting to his curiosity in the scene which was about to take place, that, instead of prosecuting his more prudent purpose of an instant retreat, he looked anxiously, on the contrary, for some rent or crevice by means of which be might be made eye as well as ear witness to what was to go forward.

“Surely,” said he to himself, “the Queen, who hath been pleased for an idle frolic to endanger my reputation, and perhaps my life, cannot complain if I avail myself of the chance which fortune seems willing to afford me to obtain knowledge of her further intentions.”

It seemed, in the meanwhile, as if Edith were waiting for the commands of the Queen, and as if the other were reluctant to speak for fear of being unable to command her laughter and that of her companions; for Sir Kenneth could only distinguish a sound as of suppressed tittering and merriment.

“Your Majesty,” said Edith at last, “seems in a merry mood, though, methinks, the hour of night prompts a sleepy one. I was well disposed bedward when I had your Majesty’s commands to attend you.”

“I will not long delay you, cousin, from your repose,” said the Queen, “though I fear you will sleep less soundly when I tell you your wager is lost.”

“Nay, royal madam,” said Edith, “this, surely, is dwelling on a jest which has rather been worn out, I laid no wager, however it was your Majesty’s pleasure to suppose, or to insist, that I did so.”

“Nay, now, despite our pilgrimage, Satan is strong with you, my gentle cousin, and prompts thee to leasing. Can you deny that you gaged your ruby ring against my golden bracelet that yonder Knight of the Libbard, or how call you him, could not be seduced from his post?”

“Your Majesty is too great for me to gainsay you,” replied Edith, “but these ladies can, if they will, bear me witness that it was your Highness who proposed such a wager, and took the ring from my finger, even while I was declaring that I did not think it maidenly to gage anything on such a subject.”

“Nay, but, my Lady Edith,” said another voice, “you must needs grant, under your favour, that you expressed yourself very confident of the valour of that same Knight of the Leopard.”

“And if I did, minion,” said Edith angrily, “is that a good reason why thou shouldst put in thy word to flatter her Majesty’s humour? I spoke of that knight but as all men speak who have seen him in the field, and had no more interest in defending than thou in detracting from him. In a camp, what can women speak of save soldiers and deeds of arms?”

“The noble Lady Edith,” said a third voice, “hath never forgiven Calista and me, since we told your Majesty that she dropped two rosebuds in the chapel.”

“If your Majesty,” said Edith, in a tone which Sir Kenneth could judge to be that of respectful remonstrance, “have no other commands for me than to hear the gibes of your waiting-women, I must crave your permission to withdraw.”

“Silence, Florise,” said the Queen, “and let not our indulgence lead you to forget the difference betwixt yourself and the kinswoman of England. — But you, my dear cousin,” she continued, resuming her tone of raillery, “how can you, who are so good-natured, begrudge us poor wretches a few minutes’ laughing, when we have had so many days devoted to weeping and gnashing of teeth?”

“Great be your mirth, royal lady,” said Edith; “yet would I be content not to smile for the rest of my life, rather than —”

She stopped, apparently out of respect; but Sir Kenneth could hear that she was in much agitation.

“Forgive me,” said Berengaria, a thoughtless but good-humoured princess of the House of Navarre; “but what is the great offence, after all? A young knight has been wiled hither — has stolen, or has been stolen, from his post, which no one will disturb in his absence — for the sake of a fair lady; for, to do your champion justice, sweet one, the wisdom of Nectabanus could conjure him hither in no name but yours.”

“Gracious Heaven! your Majesty does not say so?” said Edith, in a voice of alarm quite different from the agitation she had previously evinced — “you cannot say so consistently with respect for your own honour and for mine, your husband’s kinswoman! Say you were jesting with me, my royal mistress, and forgive me that I could, even for a moment, think it possible you could be in earnest!”

“The Lady Edith,” said the Queen, in a displeased tone of voice, “regrets the ring we have won of her. We will restore the pledge to you, gentle cousin; only you must not grudge us in turn a little triumph over the wisdom which has been so often spread over us, as a banner over a host.”

“A triumph!” exclaimed Edith indignantly —“a triumph! The triumph will be with the infidel, when he hears that the Queen of England can make the reputation of her husband’s kinswoman the subject of a light frolic.”

“You are angry, fair cousin, at losing your favourite ring,” said the Queen. “Come, since you grudge to pay your wager, we will renounce our right; it was your name and that p............