Old Stow records the following order, given in the reign of Henry the Third, for its decoration: “And that ye cause the whole chapel of St. John the Evangelist to be whited. And that ye cause three glass windows in the same chapel to be made; to wit, one on the north side, with a certain little Mary holding her child; the other on the south part, with the image of the Trinity; and the third, of St. John the Apostle and Evangelist, in the south part. And that ye cause the cross and the beam beyond the altar of the same chapel to be painted well and with good colours. And that ye cause to be made and painted two fair images where more conveniently and decently they may be done in the same chapel; one of St. Edward, holding a ring, and reaching it out to St. John the Evangelist.” These fair images—the cross, the rood, and the splendid illuminated window—are gone; most of them, indeed, were gone in Queen Jane’s time, the royal worshippers are gone with them; but enough remains in its noble arcades, its vaulted aisles, and matchless columns, to place St. John’s Chapel foremost in beauty of its class of architecture.
Her devotions over, Jane arose with a lighter heart, and, accompanied by her little train, quitted the chapel. On reaching her own apartments, she dismissed her attendants, with renewed injunctions of secrecy; and as Lord Guilford Dudley had not returned from the council, and she felt too much disturbed in mind to think of repose, she took from among the books on her table a volume of the divine Plato, whose Phædo, in the original tongue, she was wont, in the words of her famous instructor, Roger Ascham, “to read with as much delight as some gentlemen would take in a merry tale of Boccace;” and was speedily lost in his profound and philosophic speculations.
In this way the greater part of the night was consumed; nor was it till near daybreak that she was aroused from her studies by the entrance of her husband.
“Jane, my beloved queen!” he exclaimed, hastening towards her with a countenance beaming with delight. “I have intelligence for you which will enchant you.”
“Indeed! my dear lord,” she replied, laying down her book, and rising to meet him. “What is it?”
“Guess,” he answered, smiling.
“Nay, dear Dudley,” she rejoined, “put me not to this trouble. Tell me at once your news, that I may participate in your satisfaction.”
“In a word, then, my queen,” replied Lord Guilford, “my father and the nobles propose to elevate me to the same dignity as yourself.”
Jane’s countenance fell.
“They have not the power to do so, my lord,” she rejoined gravely; “I, alone, can thus elevate you.”
“Then I am king,” cried Dudley, triumphantly.
“My lord,” observed Jane, with increased gravity, “you will pardon me if I say I must consider of this matter.”
“Consider of it!” echoed her husband, frowning; “I must have your decision at once. You can have no hesitation, since my father desires it. I am your husband, and claim your obedience.”
“And I, my lord,” rejoined Jane, with dignity, “am your queen; and, as such, it is for me, not you, to exact obedience. We will talk no further on the subject.”
“As you please, madam,” replied Lord Guilford, coldly. “To-morrow you will learn the duke’s pleasure.”
“When I do so, he shall know mine,” rejoined Jane.
“How is this?” exclaimed Dudley, gazing at her in astonishment. “Can it be possible you are the same Jane whom I left—all love, all meekness, all compliance?—or have a few hours of rule so changed your nature that you no longer love me as heretofore?”
“Dudley,” returned Jane, tenderly, “you are dear to me as ever; and if I accede not to your wishes, do not impute it to other than the right motive. As a queen, I have duties paramount to all other considerations—duties which, so long as I am queen, I will fulfil to the best of my ability, and at every personal sacrifice. Be not wholly guided by the counsels of your father, be not dazzled by ambition. The step you propose is fraught with danger. It may cost me my crown, and cannot ensure one to you.”