On the day previous to the events described in the last chapter, and the morning subsequent to the review at Tilbury, there sat together, in Essex House, and in an upper chamber, looking out on the river, two individuals, who conversed with each other with great earnestness. One of these was the Earl of Essex himself; and the other, though of a mean and slovenly appearance, which (for he was yet scarcely thirty) assorted ill with his years, was a person no less distinguished: it was the immortal but despicable Francis Bacon. They had been conversing for some time, and, at the moment at which it is deemed advisable to take cognizance of their conversation, the young Earl, irritated at something Bacon had said, was speaking with some vehemence. “Think’st thou, then, thy kinsman Burleigh shall thwart me, Francis?” he said. “Be of good heart! An’ my voice can speed thee, no other than thou shall be Attorney-General.” “I thank your Lordship,” answered Bacon. “Yet do I know right well, from what I have heard, that both my uncle Burleigh, and my gentle cousin, Sir Robert, will plead hard for another.” “Give them no heed,” returned Essex. “Thou shalt have the office; but, meanwhile, as I do nought without requital, thou must render me a small service.” “That will I gladly, my dear Lord,” said Bacon. “Thou must even let me present thee with my little manor at Twickenham, then,” cried Essex. “Psha, now! no words! ’T is not worth a word!” He caught up the philosopher’s hand while he spoke, and, as a princely smile suffused his lip, seconded his munificent proposal with his looks. “Oh, my Lord! ’t is worth full three thousand pounds!” said Bacon. “Tut, a pin!” laughed the Earl. “’T is thine, an’ thou lovest me! But some one comes. No more words, now!” Master Bacon, though he was evidently greatly moved, would probably have spoken further, notwithstanding the young Earl’s request; but before he could give utterance to his sentiments, a servant opened the chamber-door, and two cavaliers, about the middle age, and of graceful and prepossessing appearance, thereupon pushed in. “See, see, my Lord Rutland,” cried the foremost cavalier to the other; “if we have not caught him with philosophy, let me die! Thou hast lost thy wager!” “And prithee what doth the wager affect, my Lord Bedford?” cried Essex, with a smile. “Rutland here, in his exquisite conceit, wagered me thou hadst departed for Portsmouth,” answered the Earl of Bedford. “The wager is no less than ten angels.” “Give thee joy of it!” said the Earl of Rutland. “I had rather lose the angels, than lose my gossip’s company to Portsmouth.” “I’faith, now,” cried Essex, “thou makest me sorry that thou hast lost. I am simply waiting for Hal Tracey, and then I am off.” “We will with thee, then,” cried the other two Earls together. “Thanks, thanks!” returned Essex. “I volunteer with Drake. Who serve you with?”