The Tower Of London by W. Harrison Ainsworth

“You shall not choose, madam,” replied Bedingfeld, authoritatively. “The queen’s orders must, and shall be obeyed. Disembark, I pray you, without more ado, or it will go hardly with you.”

“This from you, Bedingfeld,” rejoined Elizabeth, reproachfully, “and at such a time, too?”

“I have no alternative,” replied the knight.

“Well then, I will not put you to further shame,” replied the princess, rising.

“Will it please you to take my cloak as a protection against the rain?” said Bedingfeld, offering it to her. But she pushed it aside “with a good dash,” as old Fox relates; and springing on the steps, cried in a loud voice, “Here lands as true a subject being prisoner, as ever set foot on these stairs. And before thee, O God, I speak it, having no other friend but thee.”

“Your highness is unjust,” replied Bedingfeld, who stood bare-headed beside her; “you have many friends, and amongst them none more zealous than myself. And if I counsel you to place some restraint upon your conduct, it is because I am afraid it may be disadvantageously reported to the queen.”

“Say what you please of me, sir,” replied Elizabeth; “I will not be told how I am to act by you, or any one.”

“At least move forward, madam,” implored Bedingfeld; “you will be drenched to the skin if you tarry here longer, and will fearfully increase your fever.”

“What matters it if I do?” replied Elizabeth, seating herself on the damp step, while the shower descended in torrents upon her. “I will move forward at my own pleasure, not at your bidding. And let us see whether you will dare to use force towards me.”

“Nay, madam, if you forget your