“May I not ask whom your majesty has so far distinguished?” demanded the earl, trembling.
“You shall learn anon, my lord,” replied the queen. “We choose to keep you a short time in suspense, for here comes Simon Renard, and we do not intend to admit him to our confidence.”
“That man is ever in my path,” muttered the earl, returning the ambassador’s stern glance with one equally menacing. “I am half reconciled to this hateful alliance by the thought of the mortification it will inflict upon him.”
It would almost seem from Renard’s looks, that he could read what was passing in the other’s breast; for his brow grew each instant more lowering.
“I must quit your majesty for a moment,” observed Courtenay, “to see to the masquers. Besides, my presence might be a restraint to your councillor. He shall not want an opportunity to utter his calumnies behind my back.”
Renard smiled bitterly.
“Farewell, my lord,” said the queen, giving him her hand to kiss. “When you return, you shall have your answer.”
“It is the last time his lips shall touch that hand,” muttered Renard, as the earl departed.
On quitting the royal presence, Courtenay wandered in a state of the utmost disquietude to the terrace. He gazed vacantly at the masquers, and tried to divert his thoughts with their sports; but in vain. He could not free himself from the idea of Elizabeth. He had now reached the utmost height of his ambition. He was all but affianced to the queen, and he doubted not that a few hours—perhaps moments—would decide his fate. His bosom was torn with conflicting emotions. On one side stood power, with all its temptations, on the other passion, fierce, irrepressible passion. The struggle was almost intolerable.
After debating with himself for some time, he determined to seek one last interview with Elizabeth, before he finally committed himself to the queen, vainly imagining it would calm his agitation. But, like most men under the influence of desperate emotion, he acted from impulse, rather than reflection. The resolution was no sooner formed, than acted upon. Learning that the princess was in her chamber, he proceeded thither, and found her alone.
Elizabeth was seated in a small room, partially hung with arras, and over the chair she occupied were placed the portraits of her sire, Henry the Eighth, and two of his wives, Anne Boleyn and Catherine of Arragon. Greatly surprised by the earl’s visit, she immediately arose, and in an authoritative tone commanded him to withdraw.
“How is this?” she cried. “Are you not content with what you have already done, but must add insult to perfidy?”
“Hear me, Elizabeth,” said Courtenay, advancing towards her, and throwing himself on his knee. “I am come to implore your forgiveness.”
“You have my compassion, my lord,” rejoined Elizabeth “but you shall not have my forgiveness. You have deeply deceived me.”
“I have deceived myself,” replied Courtenay.
“A paltry prevarication, and unworthy of you,” observed the princess, scornfully. “But I have endured this long enough. Arise, and leave me.”
“I will notleave you, Elizabeth,” said Courtenay, “till I have explained the real motives of my conduct, and the real state of my feelings, which, when I have done, I am persuaded you will not judge me as harshly as you do now.”
“I do not desire to hear them,” replied the princess. “But since you are determined to speak, be brief.”
“During my captivity in this fortress,” began Courtenay, “when I scarcely hoped for release, and when I was an utter stranger, except from description, to the beauties of your sex, I had certain vague and visionary notions of female loveliness, which I have never since found realised except in yourself.”
Elizabeth uttered an exclamation of impatience.
“Do not interrupt me,” proceeded Courtenay. “All I wish to show is, that long before I had seen you, my heart was predisposed to love you. On my release from imprisonment, it was made evident in many ways, that the queen, your sister, regarded me with favourable eyes. Dazzled by the distinction—as who would not be—I fancied I returned her passion. But I knew not then what love was, nor was it till I was bound in this thraldom that I became acquainted with its pangs.”