The Real Charlotte. 1 53 



lowed by more, that she did not try to escape. The loud 

 clapping of the audience on the exit of Queen Elizabeth 

 brought Hawkins back to his senses ; he heard the quick 

 drawing of Francie's breath and felt her tremble as he 

 pressed her to him, and he realised that so far from " taking 

 a pull," he had let himself get out of hand without a struggle. 

 For this rash, enchanting evening, at all events, it was too 

 late to try to recover lost ground. What could he do now 

 but hold her hand more tightly than before, and ask her un- 

 repentingly whether she forgave him. The reply met with 

 an unlooked-for interruption. 



The drama on the stage had proceeded to its cHmax. 

 Amy Robsart was understood to have suffered a violent 

 death in the harness-room, and her entombment in the otto- 

 man had followed as a matter of course. The process had 

 been difficult ; in fact, but for surreptitious aid from the 

 corpse, the burial could scarcely have been accomplished ; but 

 the lid was at length closed, and the bereaved earl flung him- 

 self on his knees by the grave in an abandonment of grief. 

 Suddenly from the harness-room came sounds of discordant 

 triumph, and Queen Elizabeth bounded upon the stage, 

 singing a war-song, of which the refrain, 



** With me long sword, saddle, bridle, 

 Whack, fol de rol ! " 



was alone intelligible. Amy Robsart's white plume was 

 stuck in the queen's crown in token of victory, and its 

 feathers rose on end as, with a flourish of the drawing-room 

 poker which she carried as her sceptre, she leaped upon the 

 grave, and continued her dance and song there. Clouds of 

 dust and feathers rose from the cushions, and encouraged 

 by the shouts of her audience, the queen's dance waxed 

 more furious. There was a stagger, a crash, and a shrill 

 scream rose from the corpse, as the lid gave way, and Queen 

 Elizabeth stood knee-deep in Amy Robsart's tomb. An 

 answering scream came from Mrs. Gascogne and Lady 

 Dysart, both of whom rushed from their places on to the 

 stage, and dragged forth the unhappy Kitty, smothered in 

 dust, redder in the tace than ever, but unhurt, and still 

 giggling. 



