CHAPTER XVIII.
The moment comes-- It is already come--when thou must write The absolute total of thy life's vast sum.
The constellations stand victorious o'er thee, The planets shoot good fortune in fair junctions, And tell thee, "Now's the time." -- SCHILLER'S WALLENSTEIN, BY COLERIDGE.
When Leicester returned to his lodging, alter a day so important and so harassing, in which, after riding out more than one gale, and touching on more than one shoal, his bark had finally gained the harbour with banner displayed, he seemed to experience as much fatigue as a mariner after a perilous storm.

He spoke not a word while his chamberlain exchanged his rich court-mantle for a furred night-robe, and when this officer signified that Master Varney desired to speak with his lordship, he replied only by a sullen nod.

Varney, however, entered, accepting this signal as a permission, and the chamberlain withdrew.
The Earl remained silent and almost motionless in his chair, his head reclined on his hand, and his elbow resting upon the table which stood beside him, without seeming to be conscious of the entrance or of the presence of his confidant.

Varney waited for some minutes until he should speak, desirous to know what was the finally predominant mood of a mind through which so many powerful emotions had that day taken their course.

But he waited in vain, for Leicester continued still silent, and the confidant saw himself under the necessity of being the first to speak.