“Good sooth, my liege, I spoke on mere conjecture,” said Cecil. “When he betook him hence, I marked that he looked marvellously impatient; and as his step was hasty withal, I doubted not, in my own mind, that he was taken away by some grave business, which could be despatched only at leisure.” “By my troth, thou art right prompt at conjecture,” remarked the Queen, sneeringly. “A good fellow, I warrant you, to back out a friend. But go and seek out Sir Walter Raleigh, and let us hear what this grave business is.” Cecil, though taken somewhat aback, replied with a bow, and instantly proceeded to give the Queen’s injunctions effect. Shambling along at his quickest pace, he came to the central hall; and though, having failed to watch his route, he knew not what direction had been pursued by Sir Walter, passed straight to the park. As he stepped into the nearest walk, he observed Sir Walter, with his hat pulled over his brow, some distance ahead, striking off towards Blackheath. Wondering what he could possibly have in view, he determined, instead of calling him back, to steal secretly after him, and, if possible, ascertain his purpose. He pursued his intention for several minutes, when Sir Walter, suddenly turning round, became sensible that he was followed, and struck off in another direction. Still, however, Cecil kept him in view, and at length, after a diligent and arduous pursuit, fairly traced him to the avenue to Blackheath. A few brief minutes served to discover the object of his excursion. A lady--no other, indeed, than Evaline de Neville--was standing near the end of the avenue; and on reaching that locality, Sir Walter accosted her, and made it apparent that she was waiting there for him. Sir Robert Cecil watched them for a short space, when, with a glavering smile, he turned away, and passed back to the palace. On entering the royal presence, he found the courtiers dispersed over the hall, and the circle round the Queen, which he had left pretty full, greatly diminished. Elizabeth, though still somewhat discomposed, was talking apart with Essex; and the four or five ladies around her had fallen a few paces back, and with many smiles, and tossings of the head, and other significant gestures, discussed the scandal of the day together. Silently noting these particulars, Sir Robert Cecil, fearful of being thought an intruder, approached with great circumspection, and, while he was yet some paces distant, _hemmed_ several times to attract the Queen’s notice. It was not till he was close at hand, however, that that personage thought fit to observe him. “Well, Sir!” she then cried, in an abrupt tone, “where is thy marauding friend?”