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Updated: September 5, 2025
It's a wonderful corner of England, and so unspoilt. Half of the houses look as if they'd stepped straight out of an artist's canvas." For the next few days the party lived with guidebooks in their hands. They thoroughly explored Kenilworth Castle, tried to call up a vision of the pageant that was presented before Queen Elizabeth there, and deplored the tragic fate of poor Amy Robsart.
While Tressilian was making preparations for his departure early the ensuing morning, Wayland Smith desired to speak with him, and, expressing his hope that he had been pleased with the operation of his medicine in behalf of Sir Hugh Robsart, added his desire to accompany him to court.
Accordingly, she extorted, by successive questions, the whole history of his first acquaintance with Amy Robsart their marriage his jealousy the causes on which it was founded, and many particulars besides.
"Yes," said Tressilian, "she MUST be safe, and I MUST be assured of her safety. My own quarrel with you is ended, my lord; but there is another to begin with the seducer of Amy Robsart, who has screened his guilt under the cloak of the infamous Varney." "The SEDUCER of Amy!" replied Leicester, with a voice like thunder; "say her husband! her misguided, blinded, most unworthy husband!
Bobby felt inclined to cry for the first time. Then rice was put into his hand to fling after the carriage, and his spirits rose again. Miss Robsart took them home, and all the way she and they talked over every detail of their enjoyable time. Even Margot acknowledged that, for a quiet wedding, it was very well done, and that the bride did look the sweetest lady that she had seen for a long time.
They have hot bloods, and I would not give Leicester the advantage over me by any imprudence of theirs." The Earl of Sussex ran so hastily through these directions, that it was with difficulty Tressilian at length found opportunity to express his surprise that he should have proceeded so far in the affair of Sir Hugh Robsart as to lay his petition at once before the Queen.
"Mine host," answered Tressilian, "my father such I must ever consider Sir Hugh Robsart sits at home struggling with his grief, or, if so far recovered, vainly attempting to drown, in the practice of his field-sports, the recollection that he had once a daughter a recollection which ever and anon breaks from him under circumstances the most pathetic.
Of his early wedlock with the ill-starred Amy Robsart, of his nuptial projects with the Queen, of his subsequent marriages and mock-marriages with Douglas Sheffield and Lettice of Essex, of his plottings, poisonings, imaginary or otherwise, of his countless intrigues, amatory and political of that luxuriant, creeping, flaunting, all-pervading existence which struck its fibres into the mould, and coiled itself through the whole fabric, of Elizabeth's life and reign of all this the world has long known too much to render a repetition needful here.
What women of dazzling beauty Flora M'Ivor, Rose Bradwardine, Rebecca the noble Jewess, Lucy Ashton, and Amy Robsart, the lovely Effie Deans, and her homely yet glorious sister Jenny, the bewitching Di Vernon, and Minna and Brenda Troil, of the northern isles, stand radiant amid a host of lesser beauties.
Take your ill-fated wife by the hand, lead her to the footstool of Elizabeth's throne say that in a moment of infatuation, moved by supposed beauty, of which none perhaps can now trace even the remains, I gave my hand to this Amy Robsart.
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