When Elizabeth had seated herself in the summer-house, she beckoned Sir Walter, who had taken his station at the entrance, to come forward, and seat himself by her side. The knight, without further ceremony, obeyed the command, well knowing that she liked such manifestations of confidence to be as slightly dwelt upon as possible. There was a moment’s pause after he had taken his seat. Sir Walter, however, though a fear that he would have to neglect his appointment with Evaline de Neville greatly disturbed him, was too polished and experienced a courtier, and, what was a greater advantage, too well acquainted with the character and temperament of the Queen, to suffer this pause to continue. Quickly collecting himself, he proceeded to thank her, in a somewhat hyperbolical strain, but which was not unsuited to her taste, for her marked and flattering condescension, and to pray that her royal favour might ever stand immoveable between him and his enemies. “Enemies?” cried the Queen: “what enemies, my chosen knight?” “Legion, legion, dread Sovereign!” answered Sir Walter. “And as I know, and do heartily confess, that my merits be most pitiful, and that ’tis only the gracious eyes of your Highness that view them favourably, so I do often fear, in my hours of solitude, that my enemies may sometime triumph with your Highness, and compass my disgrace.” “Have a better heart,” said the Queen, kindly. “But come! come, I will secure thee! Take this ring”--here she drew a light ring from her finger, and placed it in his hand--“and, whenever thou shalt need my favour, let this be thy token to me, and thy suit shall not fail.” Sir Walter, with real and unfeigned gratitude, here dropped on one knee at her feet, and, in this posture, respectfully caught up her hand, and raised it to his lips. “An’ our dearest thoughts be at any time visible,” he said, “when I die, my liege, the pattern of this ring will be found graven on my heart.” “Aroynt thee, flatterer!” replied Elizabeth, with a smile, at the same time turning away her head. “Then, let me die, dread Sovereign,” pursued Sir Walter, in a plaintive tone, “an’ I am to be shut out from the light of those beauteous eyes! Take from me all thy favours; deprive me of my high and unmerited fortunes; but suffer me, I beseech thee, still to live in thy presence, for there only is life supportable.” “Is it even so?” rejoined the Queen, turning back her head, and regarding him tenderly. “Well, well--but who is this approaches?” While she was yet speaking, the expression of her features changed, and she darted an angry glance at the neighbouring walk. As she did so, Sir Walter sprang to his feet; and, hastily wheeling round, and turning his eyes in the same direction as the Queen’s, confronted the Earl of Essex and Sir Robert Cecil.