“And for yours as well, my dear marquis. If I marry not the queen, your daughter marries not the king.”
“That is coming to the point, Sir Thomas.”
“I never go roundabout when a straight course will serve my turn. And now, marquis, am I to have the disposal of the Lady Jane’s hand?”
“Ah, marry, Sir Thomas, and I shall be greatly beholden to you.”
“Is there aught more I can do to content your lordship?”
“I do not like to trouble you too much, Sir Thomas, but I happen at this moment to have occasion for a few hundred pounds—say five hundred—and if you can, without inconvenience, lend me the amount, I shall be infinitely indebted to you. Any security you may require—”
“No security is needed, marquis. Your word will suffice. I am enchanted to be able to oblige you—not now, but at all times. What ho, Ugo!” he cried; adding, as the esquire, who was within earshot, promptly answered the summons, “Here is the key of my coffer. Count out five hundred pounds in gold, and let that sum be conveyed to the Marquis of Dorset’s apartments.”
Ugo took the small gold key from his patron, bowed, and retired.
“If I had asked him for double the amount he would have given it,” muttered Dorset. “But I will have the rest at some other time.” “You are very confident in your esquire’s honesty, Sir Thomas?” he added, aloud.
“With good reason, my lord. I have proved it.”
At this moment a page entered, and announced: “The king!” Immediately afterwards Edward was ceremoniously ushered into the chamber by Fowler. The rest of the young monarch’s attendants, amongst whom was Xit, remained in the ante-chamber.
“Having finished my studies, gentle uncle,” he cried, “I am come to have an hour’s recreation with you. Shall we walk forth upon the ramparts?” Sir Thomas bowed assent. “I would have had my sister Elizabeth’s company, but she is out of sorts, and prayed to be excused. Ah! gentle uncle, you are to blame there. You have done something to offend her. But I must have you friends again. I cannot let two persons I love so much remain at variance.”
“Nay, your Majesty, there is no difference between us.”
“I am sure there is, and between the queen, our mother, also—but we will set it right. You also shall bear us company in our walk, if you will, my Lord of Dorset. How doth our fair cousin, the Lady Jane?”
“My daughter is well—quite well, my gracious liege,” replied Dorset. “Like your Majesty, she pursues her studies even in the Tower. I left her but now reading the Phædo of Plato.”
“Then we will not disturb her, for she cannot be better employed. Otherwise, we should have been glad to converse with her during our walk.”
“Nay, I am sure the Lady Jane would prefer your Majesty’s society to that of the greatest heathen philosopher—even than that of the divine Plato,” observed Seymour.
“I know not that,” replied Edward, smiling. “Our cousin Jane loves books better than society. Ere long, you will have good reason to be proud of your daughter’s erudition, my Lord Marquis.”
“I will say for the Lady Jane Grey what her father could not say for her,” interposed Seymour, “that she is pious as wise, and gentle as pious. Her virtues fit her for a throne.”
“You speak enthusiastically, gentle uncle,” said Edward. “Yet you go not beyond the truth. Such is my own opinion of my cousin. But she must not study overmuch. A little exercise will do her good. How say you, my Lord of Dorset?”
“I will bring her to your Majesty forthwith,” replied the marquis. “‘T will delight her to obey you.”
“You will find us on the northern ramparts,” said Edward, as Dorset, with a profound obeisance, withdrew. “You are right, gentle uncle,” he observed, as soon as they were alone. “My cousin Jane would adorn a throne. I would I might wed such another.”
“Why not wed the Lady Jane herself, my liege?” demanded Seymour.
“My uncle, the lord protector, designs to affiance me to the infant Queen of Scots.”
“But if your Majesty prefers the Lady Jane?”