Holt bit his lips with rage and vexation.  From the suspicion of harbouring and aiding the traitor Tyrone, his known loyalty and good faith should have protected him.  He hoped, however, to throw back on the author of this foul slander the disgrace attached to it.  Smothering his wrath, and brooding over its gratification, he accompanied the messenger, who, placing an additional guard at the main entrance, proceeded with a wary eye to the search.  He carefully scrutinised the shape of the rooms, striking the walls and wainscots, measuring the capacity of the chambers, that no space might be left unaccounted for either in one way or another.  The concealed apartment in the chimney-range did not escape his examination.  Closets, cupboards, folding-doors,—­even the family pictures were turned aside, lest some strategem should lurk behind.

Holt, with a look of malicious satisfaction, beheld every fresh disappointment, which he followed with undisguised expressions of ill-will.

“Now for the women’s apartments,” said the officer.

“I have but one daughter.  Dost fancy that treason may be stitched in her petticoat?  Thinkest thou she would hide this invisible gallant in her bedchamber?  ‘Sdeath, that it should ha’ come to this!  But I’ll have my revenge.”

“I would fain spare thee from this contumely, but”——­

“But what?”

“I must search the house through; and though I doubt not now that our information is false, yet I may not disobey the mandate I have received.”

“Is this thy courtesy?”

“My courtesy must yet consist with the true and honest discharge of mine office.  I wait not further parley.”

A short gallery communicated from the stairhead to the private chamber of Constance.  They met her outside the door; and the timid girl grew pale as she beheld the officer led on by her father.

“Constance,” cried he, “thy chamber smacks of treason:  it must be purged from this suspicion.  This mousing owl will search the crannies even of a woman’s wits ere he sate his appetite for discovery.  Hast aught plotting in the hem of thy purfle, or in thy holiday ruff and fardingale?  Come with us, wench;—­the gallant Earl of Tyrone would sport himself bravely in thy bedchamber, pretty innocent!”

“If my gallantry were akin to mine office,—­then, lady, would I spare thy bosom and mine own nature this extremity.  Believe me, thou shall suffer no rudeness at my hands.”

The officer bowed low, observing her confusion and distress.

“Go with, us,” said her father, “and leave not until our search is over.  Mayhap he may find a lover in thy shoe, or in the wrinkles of thy rose-tie.”  He entered the chamber as he said this.  It was a little room, tricked out with great elegance and beauty.  Indian cabinets were there, and other costly ornaments, inlaid with ivory and pearl, in the arrangement of which, and of the other furniture, considerable taste was displayed.  A lute lay in one corner;—­tambour-work and embroidery occupied a recess near the window;—­the clothes’ presses showed their contents neatly folded, and carefully set out to the best advantage.