“Thy thought was false, then, knight,” returned Elizabeth. “But even an’ it were true, could that make thee so melancholy?”
“Alas, your Highness, no evil could afflict me more!” said Sir Walter. “But your Highness looks wearied. Shall I escort you to the palace?”
“No!” answered the Queen. “I will rest me here a while.”
Here she turned towards an adjacent summer-house, on one side of the walk, and, still leaning on Sir Walter’s arm, passed to its interior. The summer-house, which was open in front, looked on to the walk; but, as its seat was at the back, which was covered in, they were perfectly private, and no one could approach without first incurring their observation.
When Elizabeth had seated herself in the summer-house, she beckoned Sir Walter, who had taken his station at the entrance, to come forward, and seat himself by her side. The knight, without further ceremony, obeyed the command, well knowing that she liked such manifestations of confidence to be as slightly dwelt upon as possible.
There was a moment’s pause after he had taken his seat. Sir Walter, however, though a fear that he would have to neglect his appointment with Evaline de Neville greatly disturbed him, was too polished and experienced a courtier, and, what was a greater advantage, too well acquainted with the character and temperament of the Queen, to suffer this pause to continue. Quickly collecting himself, he proceeded to thank her, in a somewhat hyperbolical strain, but which was not unsuited to her taste, for her marked and flattering condescension, and to pray that her royal favour might ever stand immoveable between him and his enemies.
“Enemies?” cried the Queen: “what enemies, my chosen knight?”
“Legion, legion, dread Sovereign!” answered Sir Walter. “And as I know, and do heartily confess, that my merits be most pitiful, and that ’tis only the gracious eyes of your Highness that view them favourably, so I do often fear, in my hours of solitude, that my enemies may sometime triumph with your Highness, and compass my disgrace.”
“Have a better heart,” said the Queen, kindly. “But come! come, I will secure thee! Take this ring”—here she drew a light ring from her finger, and placed it in his hand—“and, whenever thou shalt need my favour, let this be thy token to me, and thy suit shall not fail.”
Sir Walter, with real and unfeigned gratitude, here dropped on one knee at her feet, and, in this posture, respectfully caught up her hand, and raised it to his lips.