"Ay, but he does," exclaimed the Countess. "Tell me, if two men are in a sinking boat that will but bear one, has not the strongest every right to cast the other into the sea, and save himself?"
She paused for an answer, and her lover replied, "I think he has; but still he may regret to do it."
"True," said Lady Essex, "true; and so do I, and so do you. But if that man were an enemy, who had brought him there only to take his life? He who weakly stands in fear of a man he can destroy, deserves the fate that he spares the other. Had he been content to bear, even for some short time, with meekness and forbearance, the punishment he has called down on his own head, he might have lived on in peace, for aught you would have said or I have done against him. But now, Rochester," she added, laying her fair and beautiful hand upon his arm, and speaking in a low but emphatic tone, "but now, he must die! Do you mark me?--He must die! It is not hate that makes me speak; we could have afforded to hate him, and yet let him live. I practise nought against the life of Essex, though Heaven knows I have hated him enough. But to dread is different--to live in continual fear of what a fellow being may say--to know that our secrets are at the mercy of an enemy--to see him strive to curb us at his will, like a groom upon a managed horse, because he has got the bridle of fear between our jaws, is not an existence to be tolerated for an hour. Fling me, I say, such a rider to the dust and break his neck, or you are not half a man. This letter, this base and insolent letter, is his death-warrant!" And she struck it with the back of her fingers, with all the passion and vehemence of her nature. "He has signed it with his own hand," she added. "It is his own deed! and as he has planted the tree, so let him eat the fruit."
"But the means! but the means!" cried Rochester. "Where shall we find the means?--Remember, such deeds leave marks behind them that may condemn us. Cold judges will not weigh the provocation, but only the act; will not think of how he drove us to destroy him, but punish us for his destruction. The King himself will suffer no private revenge; remember the case of Sanquhar, where no prayers or entreaties would move him."
"Ay, but remember, also," said the Countess, "that he was hated--you are loved. James smiled when he signed Sanquhar's warrant. Know you not why he looked so pleased? Was not Sanquhar a friend of that famous King of France, who so eclipsed the pale light of the Scottish Star, that he looked like Orion beside one of the little twinkling Pleiades? Did not Sanquhar stand by, unmoved by aught but laughter, when Henry vented a keen jest upon the birth of this British Solomon; and James paid him well. Him he detested; you he adores.--Who does not that knows you, Rochester?--And if this be so managed that no mighty hubbub is made about it, I will undertake the King shall aid you to conceal it, rather than punish you for an act most necessary. Besides, if I judge right, there may be things within the scope of your knowledge that this great monarch would not have told. I counsel you not to make him dread you; for that is too perilous. Show him all devotion, and there is no fear of his becoming an enemy to one who is so much his friend. Then, as for the rest, lend me your power, and I will give you the means. I will away, with all speed, to a certain serviceable woman whom I know, who will afford me good counsel as to what is to be done. But I must put off this gay apparel; and if you will be here to supper, I will have news for you. Hark! I hear my mother coming, with my good Lord Northampton. He shall lend me his barge; and I will away."
"Let me go with you," said Rochester.
"What, in these fine feathers?" cried the Countess, laughing as lightly as if her errand were but some pleasant scheme of momentary diversion. "No, no, most noble Lord, that would betray all. Another time you shall. Fair sir," she continued, turning to the Earl of Northampton, as he entered, "I beseech you, as your poor kinswoman and dependant, to lend me your lordship's barge for a short time. I have a secret expedition to the city, to visit a certain goldsmith, who must not know me, lest he charge his workmanship too dear. You will not deny me?"
She spoke in a gay and mocking tone, calculated to discover rather than to conceal the fact, that she had some more important scheme to execute than that which she gave out; and the Earl of Northampton replied at once: "It, as all else that I possess, fair lady, is at your devotion. Stay; I must order it."
"Nay, nay," said the Countess, "I will do so as I pass through the ante-room. Show him the letter, Rochester, and ask him simply what that man deserves who wrote it."
Thus saying, she left the room, and Rochester placed the letter of Sir Thomas Overbury in the hands of the Lord Northampton, who had by this time become his chief friend and adviser at the Court. The Earl read it twice, and then returning it, said, in a marked tone, "Death!--A man," he added, "who can betray the secrets confided to him is the worst sort of traitor; but he who can use them to intimidate another, is lower than the common cut-purse upon the highway. Were this man out of prison, I should say--call him into some quiet corner of the Park, and draw your sword. As it is, I cannot so well advise you."