Relieved by these last words, Leicester broke out into a torrent of

expressions of deep and passionate attachment, which perhaps, at that

moment, were not altogether fictitious. The mingled emotions which had

at first overcome him had now given way to the energetic vigour with

which he had determined to support his place in the Queen's favour;

and never did he seem to Elizabeth more eloquent, more handsome, more

interesting, than while, kneeling at her feet, he conjured her to strip

him of all his dower, but to leave him the name of her servant.--"Take

from the poor Dudley," he exclaimed, "all that your bounty has made him,

and bid him be the poor gentleman he was when your Grace first shone on

him; leave him no more than his cloak and his sword, but let him still

boast he has--what in word or deed he never forfeited--the regard of his

adored Queen and mistress!"

"No, Dudley!" said Elizabeth, raising him with one hand, while she

extended the other that he might kiss it. "Elizabeth hath not forgotten

that, whilst you were a poor gentleman, despoiled of your hereditary

rank, she was as poor a princess, and that in her cause you then

ventured all that oppression had left you--your life and honour. Rise,

my lord, and let my hand go--rise, and be what you have ever been, the

grace of our court and the support of our throne! Your mistress may

be forced to chide your misdemeanours, but never without owning your

merits.--And so help me God," she added, turning to the audience, who,

with various feelings, witnessed this interesting scene--"so help me

God, gentlemen, as I think never sovereign had a truer servant than I

have in this noble Earl!"

A murmur of assent rose from the Leicestrian faction, which the friends

of Sussex dared not oppose. They remained with their eyes fixed on the

ground, dismayed as well as mortified by the public and absolute triumph

of their opponents. Leicester's first use of the familiarity to

which the Queen had so publicly restored him was to ask her commands

concerning Varney's offence, "although," he said, "the fellow deserves

nothing from me but displeasure, yet, might I presume to intercede--"

"In truth, we had forgotten his matter," said the Queen; "and it was

ill done of us, who owe justice to our meanest as well as to our highest

subject. We are pleased, my lord, that you were the first to recall the

matter to our memory.--Where is Tressilian, the accuser?--let him come

before us."




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