“Not now,” rejoined Mary, rising. “Fear nothing, thou merry urchin. We will take care Love meets its desert. We thank you, my lord,” she added, turning to Courtenay, “for the pleasant pastime you have afforded us.” As the queen arose, loud and reiterated shouts resounded from the spectators, in which all the mummers joined. Amid these acclamations she returned to the palace. Courtenay again tendered her his hand, and the slight pressure which he hazarded was sensibly returned. Just as she was about to enter the window, Mary turned round to bow for the last time to the assemblage, when there arose a universal cry—“Long live Queen Mary!—Long live the Earl of Devonshire!” Mary smiled. Her bosom palpitated with pleasure, and she observed to her lover—“You are the people’s favourite, my lord. I should not deserve to be their queen if I did not share in their affection.” “May I then hope?” asked the Earl, eagerly. “You may,” replied Mary, softly. The brilliant vision which these words raised before Courtenay’s eyes, was dispersed by a look which he at that moment received from Elizabeth. The festivities in the court did not terminate with the departure of the royal train. Xit was replaced in the turret, whence he aimed his darts at the prettiest damsels he could perceive, creating infinite merriment among the crowd. An immense ring was then formed by all the mummers, who danced round the three giants, the minstrels accompanying the measure with appropriate strains. Nothing more grotesque can be imagined than the figures of Gog and Magog, as engaged in the dance, in their uncouth garbs. As to Og, he flourished his clubs, and twirled himself round with great rapidity in the opposite direction to the round of dancers, until at last, becoming giddy, he lost his balance, and fell with a tremendous crash, upsetting Xit for the second time. Ever destined to accidents, the dwarf, from his diminutive stature, seldom sustained any injury, and upon this occasion, though a good deal terrified, he escaped unhurt. Og was speedily uncased, and, glad to be set at liberty, joined the ring of dancers, and footed it with as much glee as the merriest of them. As the evening advanced, fire-works were discharged, and a daring rope-dancer, called Peter the Dutchman, ascended the cupola of the south-east turret of the White Tower, and got upon the vane, where he lighted a couple of torches. After standing for some time, now upon one foot—now on the other, he kindled a firework placed in a sort of helmet on his head, and descended amid a shower of sparks by a rope, one end of which was fastened in the court where the masquers were assembled. A substantial supper, of which the mummers and their friends partook, concluded the diversions of the evening, and all departed well satisfied with their entertainment. XV.—BY WHOSE INSTRUMENTALITY QUEEN MARY BECAME CONVINCED OF COURTENAY’S INCONSTANCY; AND HOW SHE AFFIANCED HERSELF TO PHILIP OF SPAIN.