Anything but this smiling calmness. It kills me; it pierces my heart like a dagger. For you see well enough that I have no longer the power to withstand you; you see well enough that I love you. Yes, Ilove you to ecstasy and to desperation; with desire and dread. Ilove you as my demon and my angel. I am angry, because you have so entirely crushed the pride of my heart. I curse you, because you have made me so entirely your slave; and the next moment I fall on my knees and beseech God to forgive me this crime against you. Ilove you, I say--not as those soft, gentle-hearted women love, with a smile on the lip; but with madness and desperation, with jealousy and wrath. I love you as my father loved Anne Boleyn, whom, in the hatred of his love and the cruel wrath of his jealousy, he made to mount the scaffold, because he had been told that she was untrue to him. Ah, had I the power, I would do as my father did; I would murder you, if you should dare ever to cease to love me. And now, Thomas Seymour, now say whether you have the courage to desire to leave me?"She looked bewitching in the naming might of her passion; she was so young, so ardent; and Thomas Seymour was so ambitious! In his eyes Elizabeth was not merely the beautiful, charming maiden, who loved him: she was more than that: she was the daughter of Henry the Eighth, the Princess of England, perchance some day the heiress of the throne. It is true, her father had disinherited her, and by act of Parliament declared her unworthy of succeeding to the throne.[Footnote: Burnet, vol. i, p. 138] But Henry's vacillating mind might change, and the disowned princess might one day become queen.
The earl thought of this as he gazed on Elizabeth--as he saw her before him, so charming, so young, and so glowing with passion. He thought of it as he now clasped her in his arms, and pressed on her lips a burning kiss.
"No, I will not go," whispered he. "I will never more depart from your side, if you do not wish me to go. I am yours!--your slave, your vassal; and I will never be anything else but this alone. They may betray me; your father may punish me for high treason; yet will I exult in my good fortune, for Elizabeth loves me, and it will be for Elizabeth that I die!""You shall not die!" cried she, clinging fast to him. "You shall live, live at my side, proud, great, and happy! You shall be my lord and my master; and if I am ever queen, and I feel here in my heart that I must become so, then will Thomas Seymour be King of England.""That is to say, in the quiet and secrecy of your chamber I should perhaps be so!" said he with a sigh. "But there without, before the world, I shall still be ever only a servant; and at the best, Ishall be called the favorite.""Never, never, that I swear to you! Said I not that I loved you?""But the love of a woman is so changeable! Who knows how long it will be before yon will tread under your feet poor Thomas Seymour, when once the crown has adorned your brow."She looked at him well-nigh horrified. "Can this be, then? Is it possible that one can forget and forsake what he once loved?""Do you ask, Elizabeth? Has not your father already his sixth wife?""It is true," said she, as mournfully she dropped her head upon her breast. "But I," said she, after a pause, "I shall not be like my father in that. I shall love you eternally! And that you may have a guaranty of my faithfulness, I offer myself to you as your wife."Astonished, he looked inquiringly into her excited, glowing face! He did not understand her.
But she continued, passionately: "Yes, you shall be my lord and my husband! Come, my beloved, come! I have not called you to take upon yourself the disgraceful role of the secret lover of a princess--Ihave called you to be my husband. I wish a bond to unite us two, that is so indissoluble that not even the wrath and will of my father, but only death itself, can sever it. I will give you proof of my love and my devotion; and you shall be forced to acknowledge that I truly love you. Come, my beloved, that I may soon hail you as my husband!"He looked at her as though petrified. "Whither will you lead me?""To the private chapel," said she, innocently. "I have written Cranmer to await me there at daybreak. Let us hasten, then!""Cranmer! You have written to the archbishop?" cried Seymour, amazed. "How! what say you? Cranmer awaits us in the private chapel?""Without doubt he is waiting for us, as I have written him to do so.""And what is he to do? What do you want of him?"She looked at him in astonishment. "What do I want of him? Why, that he may marry us!"The earl staggered back as if stunned. "And have you written him that also?""Nay, indeed," said she, with a charming, childlike smile. "I know very well that it is dangerous to trust such secrets to paper. Ihave only written him to come in his official robes, because I have an important secret to confess to him.""Oh, God he praised! We are not lost," sighed Seymour.
"But how, I do not understand you?" asked she. "You do not extend me your hand! You do not hasten to conduct me to the chapel!""Tell me, I conjure you, tell me only this one thing: have you ever spoken to the archbishop of your--no--of our love? Have you ever betrayed to him so much, as a syllable of that which stirs our hearts?"She blushed deeply beneath the steady gaze which he fixed on her.
"Upbraid me, Seymour," whispered she. "But my heart was weak and timorous; and as often as I tried to fulfil the holy duty, and confess everything honestly and frankly to the archbishop, I could not do it! The word died on my lips; and it was as though an invisible power paralyzed my tongue.""So, then, Cranmer knows nothing?""No, Seymour, he knows nothing as yet. But now he shall learn all;now we will go before him and tell him that we love each other, and constrain him, by our prayers, to bless our union, and join our hands.""Impossible!" cried Seymour. "That can never be!""How! What do you say?" asked she in astonishment.
