Elizabeth was then residing at Hatfield, and thither, about a month after his return to town, the admiral rode, attended only by Ugo. His visit was not unexpected, the princess having been prepared for it by a letter. She received him very graciously, and after some little discourse, Mistress Ashley, by whom she was attended, discreetly withdrew. No sooner were they alone together, than the admiral, flinging himself on his knees before her, and seizing her hand, exclaimed, in passionate tones:
“I am come to claim you, Elizabeth. There is now no obstacle to our union. The bar that stood between us is removed. You will be mine—mine!”
“Not clandestinely, as you propose in your letter, my lord,” she rejoined. “I will never consent to secret nuptials, such as took place between you and the queen. On that I am decided, so you will strive in vain to move me.”
“Your decision amounts to a refusal,” cried Seymour. “Were I to demand your hand formally in marriage, neither the lord protector, nor the council, nor even the king, your brother, would consent. Such an attempt would be madness, and would effectually frustrate our object. You have often told me you hoped the time would come when we might be free to wed each other. The happy moment has arrived. Why postpone it? If you love me as much as ever, why should we not be secretly united, and await a favorable opportunity of avowing the marriage?”
“Because such a course would be unworthy of a daughter of Henry the Eighth,” replied Elizabeth, proudly. “A secret marriage brought little happiness to the queen, your late consort, and might bring less to me; but be that as it might, I will not make the experiment. My hand must be formally demanded.”
“Of whom?” said Seymour.
“Of the executors of my royal father’s will.”
“And what answer do you expect them to return? Such a demand on my part would be treated with scorn, and I should be sharply rebuked for my presumption.”
“Do you not perceive, my lord, that you are arguing against yourself? If your demand is sure to be treated with scorn by the council and the lord protector, ought I not to adopt a like tone? Ought I not to treat your offer as presumptuous?”
“Princess!” exclaimed Seymour.
“Ought I not to say, ‘You forget yourself, my lord. You are no fitting husband for Elizabeth Tudor, daughter of Henry the Eighth, of glorious memory, and second inheritor of the crown?’ This is what I ought to say—and what I shall say, if you continue to urge your insulting proposition—for such I must regard it—of a clandestine marriage.”
“Then there is nothing left for me but to withdraw altogether,” said Seymour, rising. “That I have been presumptuous, I own—but it is your encouragement that has made me so. You told me you loved me—and promised—solemnly promised—to be mine.”
“And so I will be yours, my lord, when you dare claim my hand in the face of the world—not otherwise,” rejoined Elizabeth.
“What would you have me do?” cried Seymour. “Show me the way to win you. I will shrink from nothing—I will dare anything so that my guerdon may be your hand. But it is idle to make a demand which will only be met by a refusal.”
“Place yourself in such a position, my lord, that your demand must be acceded to,” rejoined Elizabeth. “You once told me your ambition soared to such a height that you would be second to no one in the realm, except the king. That point attained, the council could not withhold their consent, for they must necessarily do your bidding as they now do that of the Duke of Somerset.”
“And by Heaven! I will attain it,” cried the admiral. “Nor will I renew my proposition till it can be certainly carried out in the manner you desire.”
“In that case my hand shall be yours,” replied Elizabeth; “and my promise will be as binding to me as if I were solemnly affianced to you. I have never loved anyone but yourself, my lord, and am not likely to change. If I wed not you, I will wed no other.”
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