“In the midst of grief we must perforce eat,” observed the pantler, “and our worthy friends, the giants, as well as Xit, have often enlivened our board, and put care to flight. Perhaps you are not aware that Magog has been married since we last saw you.” “Magog married!” exclaimed Cholmondeley, in surprise. “Ay. indeed!” rejoined Gog, “more persons than your worship have been astonished by it. And shall I let you into secret—if ever husband was henpecked, it is my unfortunate brother. Your worship complains of losing your mistress. Would to heaven he had had any such luck! And the worst of it is that before marriage she was accounted the most amiable of her sex.” “Ay, that’s always the case,” observed Peter Trusbut; “though I must do my dame the justice to say that she did not disguise her qualities during my courtship.” “I will not hear a word uttered in disparagement of Dame Potentia,” cried Ribald, who at that moment entered the kitchen, “even by her husband. Ah! Master Cholmondeley I am right glad to see you. I heard of your release to-day. So, the pretty bird is flown you find—and whither none of us can tell, though I think I could give a guess at the fowler.” “So could I,” replied Cholmondeley. “I dare say both our suspicions tend to the same mark,” said Ribald—“but we must observe caution now—for the person I mean is protected by Simon Renard, and others in favour with the queen.” “He is little better than an assassin,” said Cholmondeley; “and has detained a wretched woman whom he has driven out of her senses by his cruelty a captive in the subterranean dungeons beneath the Devilin Tower.” And he proceeded to detail all he knew of the captive Alexia. “This is very dreadful, no doubt,” remarked Ribald, who had listened to the recital with great attention. “But as I said before, Nightgall is in favour with persons of the greatest influence, and he is more dangerous and vindictive than ever. What you do, you must do cautiously.” By this time, the party had been increased by the arrival of Og and Xit, both of whom, but especially the latter, appeared rejoiced to meet with the young esquire. “Ah! Master Cholmondeley,” said the elder giant, heaving a deep sigh. “Times have changed with us all since we last met. Jane is no longer Queen. The Duke of Northumberland is beheaded. Cicely is lost. And last and worst of all, Magog is married.” “So I have heard from Gog,” replied Cholmondeley, “and I fear not very much to your satisfaction.1’ “Nor his own either,” replied Og, shrugging his shoulders. “However it can’t be helped. He must make the best of a bad bargain.” “It might be helped though,” observed Xit. “Magog seems to have lost all his spirit since he married. If I had to manage her, I’d soon let her see the difference.” “You, forsooth!” exclaimed Dame Potentia, contemptuously. “Do you imagine any woman would stand in awe-of you!”