Chapter 19

It is and is not--'tis the thing I sought for,
Have kneel'd for, pray'd for, risk'd my fame and life for,
And yet it is not--no more than the shadow
Upon the hard, cold, flat, and polished mirror,
Is the warm, graceful, rounded, living substance
Which it presents in form and lineament.
OLD PLAY.

The usher, with gravity which ill concealed a jealous scowl, conducted
Roland Graeme to a lower apartment, where he found his comrade the
falconer. The man of office then briefly acquainted them that this
would be their residence till his Grace's farther orders; that they
were to go to the pantry, to the buttery, to the cellar, and to the
kitchen, at the usual hours, to receive the allowances becoming their
station,--instructions which Adam Woodcock's old familiarity with the
court made him perfectly understand--"For your beds," he said, "you
must go to the hostelry of Saint Michael's, in respect the palace is
now full of the domestics of the greater nobles."

No sooner was the usher's back turned than Adam exclaimed with all the
glee of eager curiosity, "And now, Master Roland, the news--the
news--come unbutton thy pouch, and give us thy tidings--What says the
Regent? asks he for Adam Woodcock?--and is all soldered up, or must
the Abbot of Unreason strap for it?"

"All is well in that quarter," said the page; "and for the rest--But,
hey-day, what! have you taken the chain and medal off from my bonnet?"

"And meet time it was, when yon usher, vinegar-faced rogue that he is,
began to inquire what Popish trangam you were wearing.--By the mass,
the metal would have been confiscated for conscience-sake, like your
other rattle-trap yonder at Avenel, which Mistress Lilias bears about
on her shoes in the guise of a pair of shoe-buckles--This comes of
carrying Popish nicknackets about you."

"The jade!" exclaimed Roland Graeme, "has she melted down my rosary
into buckles for her clumsy hoofs, which will set off such a garnish
nearly as well as a cow's might?--But, hang her, let her keep
them--many a dog's trick have I played old Lilias, for want of having
something better to do, and the buckles will serve for a remembrance.
Do you remember the verjuice I put into the comfits, when old Wingate
and she were to breakfast together on Easter morning?"

"In troth do I, Master Roland--the major-domo's mouth was as crooked
as a hawk's beak for the whole morning afterwards, and any other page
in your room would have tasted the discipline of the porter's lodge
for it. But my Lady's favour stood between your skin and many a
jerking--Lord send you may be the better for her protection in such
matters!"