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stunning clash of the relentless peal。
Shortly afterwards； when the small apartment was at once
enlightened by the shower of artificial fires with which the air
was suddenly filled； and which crossed each other like fiery
spirits； each bent on his own separate mission； or like
salamanders executing a frolic dance in the region of the Sylphs；
the Countess felt at first as if each rocket shot close by her
eyes； and discharged its sparks and flashes so nigh that she
could feel a sense of the heat。 But she struggled against these
fantastic terrors； and compelled herself to arise； stand by the
window； look out； and gaze upon a sight which at another time
would have appeared to her at once captivating and fearful。 The
magnificent towers of the Castle were enveloped in garlands of
artificial fire； or shrouded with tiaras of pale smoke。 The
surface of the lake glowed like molten iron； while many fireworks
（then thought extremely wonderful； though now common）； whose
flame continued to exist in the opposing element； dived and rose；
hissed and roared； and spouted fire； like so many dragons of
enchantment sporting upon a burning lake。
Even Amy was for a moment interested by what was to her so new a
scene。 〃I had thought it magical art；〃 she said； 〃but poor
Tressilian taught me to judge of such things as they are。 Great
God！ and may not these idle splendours resemble my own hoped…for
happinessa single spark； which is instantly swallowed up by
surrounding darknessa precarious glow； which rises but for a
brief space into the air； that its fall may be the lower？ O
Leicester！ after allall that thou hast saidhast swornthat
Amy was thy love； thy life； can it be that thou art the magician
at whose nod these enchantments arise； and that she sees them as
an outcast； if not a captive？〃
The sustained； prolonged； and repeated bursts of music； from so
many different quarters； and at so many varying points of
distance； which sounded as if not the Castle of Kenilworth only；
but the whole country around； had been at once the scene of
solemnizing some high national festival； carried the same
oppressive thought still closer to her heart； while some notes
would melt in distant and falling tones； as if in compassion for
her sorrows； and some burst close and near upon her； as if
mocking her misery； with all the insolence of unlimited mirth。
〃These sounds；〃 she said； 〃are minemine； because they are HIS；
but I cannot say； Be still； these loud strains suit me not； and
the voice of the meanest peasant that mingles in the dance would
have more power to modulate the music than the command of her who
is mistress of all。〃
By degrees the sounds of revelry died away； and the Countess
withdrew from the window at which she had sat listening to them。
It was night； but the moon afforded considerable light in the
room； so that Amy was able to make the arrangement which she
judged necessary。 There was hope that Leicester might come to
her apartment as soon as the revel in the Castle had subsided；
but there was also risk she might be disturbed by some
unauthorized intruder。 She had lost confidence in the key since
Tressilian had entered so easily； though the door was locked on
the inside； yet all the additional security she could think of
was to place the table across the door； that she might be warned
by the noise should any one attempt to enter。 Having taken these
necessary precautions； the unfortunate lady withdrew to her
couch； stretched herself down on it； mused in anxious
expectation； and counted more than one hour after midnight； till
exhausted nature proved too strong for love； for grief； for fear；
nay； even for uncertainty； and she slept。
Yes； she slept。 The Indian sleeps at the stake in the intervals
between his tortures； and mental torments； in like manner；
exhaust by long continuance the sensibility of the sufferer； so
that an interval of lethargic repose must necessarily ensue； ere
the pangs which they inflict can again be renewed。
The Countess slept； then； for several hours； and dreamed that she
was in the ancient house at Cumnor Place； listening for the low
whistle with which Leicester often used to announce his presence
in the courtyard when arriving suddenly on one of his stolen
visits。 But on this occasion； instead of a whistle； she heard
the peculiar blast of a bugle…horn； such as her father used to
wind on the fall of the stag； and which huntsmen then called a
MORT。 She ran； as she thought； to a window that looked into the
courtyard； which she saw filled with men in mourning garments。
The old Curate seemed about to read the funeral service。
Mumblazen； tricked out in an antique dress； like an ancient
herald； held aloft a scutcheon； with its usual decorations of
skulls； cross…bones； and hour…glasses； surrounding a coat…of…
arms； of which she could only distinguish that it was surmounted
with an Earl's coronet。 The old man looked at her with a ghastly
smile； and said； 〃Amy； are they not rightly quartered？〃 Just as
he spoke； the horns again poured on her ear the melancholy yet
wild strain of the MORT； or death…note； and she awoke。
The Countess awoke to hear a real bugle…note； or rather the
combined breath of many bugles； sounding not the MORT。 but the
jolly REVEILLE； to remind the inmates of the Castle of Kenilworth
that the pleasures of the day were to commence with a magnificent
stag…hunting in the neighbouring Chase。 Amy started up from her
couch； listened to the sound； saw the first beams of the summer
morning already twinkle through the lattice of her window； and
recollected； with feelings of giddy agony； where she was； and how
circumstanced。
〃He thinks not of me；〃 she said； 〃he will not come nigh me！ A
Queen is his guest； and what cares he in what corner of his huge
Castle a wretch like me pines in doubt； which is fast fading into
despair？〃 At once a sound at the door； as of some one attempting
to open it softly； filled her with an ineffable mixture of joy
and fear； and hastening to remove the obstacle she had placed
against the door； and to unlock it； she had the precaution to
ask！ 〃Is it thou； my love？〃
〃Yes； my Countess；〃 murmured a whisper in reply。
She threw open the door； and exclaiming； 〃Leicester！〃 flung her
arms around the neck of the man who stood without； muffled in his
cloak。
〃Nonot quite Leicester；〃 answered Michael Lambourne； for he it
was； returning the caress with vehemence〃not quite Leicester；
my lovely and most loving duchess； but as good a man。〃
With an exertion of force； of which she would at another time
have thought herself incapable； the Countess freed herself from
the profane and profaning grasp of the drunken debauchee； and
retreated into the midst of her apartment。 where despair gave
her courage to make a stand。
As Lambourne； on entering； dropped the lap of his cloak from his
face； she knew Varney's profligate servant； the very last person；
excepting his detested master； by whom she would have wished to
be discovered。 But she was still closely muffled in her
travelling dress； and as Lambourne had scarce ever been admitted
to her presence at Cumnor Place； her person； sh