There was so much of dignity, so much of tenderness, in the Countess's

remonstrance, that it moved all that was noble and generous in the

soul of her husband. The scales seemed to fall from his eyes, and the

duplicity and tergiversation of which he had been guilty stung him at

once with remorse and shame.

"I am not worthy of you, Amy," he said, "that could weigh aught which

ambition has to give against such a heart as thine. I have a bitter

penance to perform, in disentangling, before sneering foes and astounded

friends, all the meshes of my own deceitful policy. And the Queen--but

let her take my head, as she has threatened."

"Take your head, my lord!" said the Countess, "because you used the

freedom and liberty of an English subject in choosing a wife? For shame!

it is this distrust of the Queen's justice, this apprehension of danger,

which cannot but be imaginary, that, like scarecrows, have induced you

to forsake the straightforward path, which, as it is the best, is also

the safest."

"Ah, Amy, thou little knowest!" said Dudley but instantly checking

himself, he added, "Yet she shall not find in me a safe or easy victim

of arbitrary vengeance. I have friends--I have allies--I will not, like

Norfolk, be dragged to the block as a victim to sacrifice. Fear not,

Amy; thou shalt see Dudley bear himself worthy of his name. I must

instantly communicate with some of those friends on whom I can best

rely; for, as things stand, I may be made prisoner in my own Castle."

"Oh, my good lord," said Amy, "make no faction in a peaceful state!

There is no friend can help us so well as our own candid truth and

honour. Bring but these to our assistance, and you are safe amidst a

whole army of the envious and malignant. Leave these behind you, and all

other defence will be fruitless. Truth, my noble lord, is well painted

unarmed."

"But Wisdom, Amy," answered Leicester, "is arrayed in panoply of

proof. Argue not with me on the means I shall use to render my

confession--since it must be called so--as safe as may be; it will

be fraught with enough of danger, do what we will.--Varney, we must

hence.--Farewell, Amy, whom I am to vindicate as mine own, at an expense

and risk of which thou alone couldst be worthy. You shall soon hear

further from me."

He embraced her fervently, muffled himself as before, and accompanied

Varney from the apartment. The latter, as he left the room, bowed low,

and as he raised his body, regarded Amy with a peculiar expression,

as if he desired to know how far his own pardon was included in the

reconciliation which had taken place betwixt her and her lord. The

Countess looked upon him with a fixed eye, but seemed no more conscious

of his presence than if there had been nothing but vacant air on the

spot where he stood.




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