‘It is all plain sailing,’ replied Randolph, with an appearance of the most engaging candour. ‘My instructions are usually so intelligible and above-board that I have but to act on them without delay. Frankly, my friend, between you and me, the only complications I have are owing to the mystery that is kept up about your Queen’s marriage. But this is no time for business. Fill your cup once more. Honest Jenkin’s catering requires to be washed down with good wine. The fare is moderate enough, but at least I can answer for the liquor.’ Both by precept and example Randolph encouraged his guest to do justice to his hospitality, and led the conversation as he well knew how, to such topics as he thought would most interest a man of his companion’s age and habits. Horses, hawks, and hounds, wine, women, the latest gossip at Holyrood, the newest jest from the French Court, and the recent improvements in warlike arms and tactics, such were the subjects lightly touched upon in turn, and each was made the reason or the excuse for a fresh bumper; but all the while the diplomatist’s attention was never taken off the object he had in view. Like some skilful chemist, he watched the gradual fusion of his materials, and waited patiently for the moment of projection. It did not escape him, however, that Maxwell was preoccupied and out of spirits; that though he bore his share in the dialogue courteously enough, it was with an obvious effort, and that every fresh cup he emptied seemed rather to drown than to cherish the few sparks of hilarity which he had shown at the commencement of the entertainment. At a sign from his master, Jenkin set a flask of rich Cyprus wine on the table, and Randolph, dismissing the domestic, heaped fresh logs upon the fire, and drew his chair towards his guest, as if he were growing exceedingly confidential and communicative. ‘Are you for the revels at the Palace to-night?’ said he, with a meaning look at the bravery of Walter’s attire. ‘We may as well go together. In the meantime (we are old friends, good Master Maxwell), I have something to say to you,--of course, in the strictest confidence.’ ‘Of course,’ replied Maxwell, with rather a disturbed expression of countenance, which subsided, however, almost immediately into his usual steady composure. The ambassador filled his guest’s cup and his own. ‘You and I are interested in the same matter,’ said he, not entirely repressing his habitual cynicism, ‘and such a community forms the strongest bond of friendship. If I can prove to you that by helping me you benefit yourself, can I count upon your assistance?’ ‘You must explain your meaning more clearly,’ replied the other, with something of contempt in his tone. ‘Remember, I am a soldier, and no diplomatist.’