The Count paused with a look of deep sadness: but there was no anger or jealousy in his countenance. The old English officer, however, as soon as he perceived him, hurried forward, and took both his hands, saying, in a low and solemn voice, "You must let her weep, Count, you must let her weep! It is her brother!"
"I have been sure of it for several days," replied the Count. "She told me not, but I knew it from what she did tell me. This day of agony, however, Sir, is not yet over. I must disturb her grief but to waken her to more. You know the short time that is allowed for flight. You know the fate that would await her here if she were to remain in this country as what is called a relapsed heretic, by the cruel persecutors of this land. Within two hours from this time, my good Sir, she must take her departure for ever. The boats will be ready, and not a moment must be lost; and in those two short hours she must part with one who loves her as well as ever woman yet was loved, with one who truly believes she loves him as well as woman's heart can love--and who shall say where is the boundary of that boundless affection? She must part with him, Sir, for ever, and with her native land."
"This is not her native land," replied the old officer. "The lady Clémence Cecil, Sir, is an English woman. But in one respect you say true. My poor niece must go, for I have experienced in my own person, as you know, now daring is the injustice of arbitrary power in this land, in the prisons of which, I, an English subject, have been detained for more than a year and a half, till our own papistical and despotic King chose to apply to your despot for my liberation, and for the restoration of my brother's children. She must leave this land indeed. But your words imply that you must stay behind. Tell me, tell me, my noble friend, is this absolutely necessary, in honour and in conscience?"
The Count grasped his hand, and pointed to the dead body. "I promised him," he said, "who lies there, that I would surrender myself to the King's pleasure. I have every reason to believe, that, in consideration of that promise, he dealt as favourably with us as he was permitted; that he even went beyond the strict line of his duty to give us some facilities of escape; and I must hold my promise to the dead as well as if he were here to claim it."
"God forbid," said Sir Thomas Cecil, "that I should say one word against it, terrible as is your determination--for you must well know the fate that awaits you. It seems to me that there was only that one act wanting, to make you all that our poor Clémence ought to love on earth, at the very moment she is to lose you for ever. See, she is raising her head. Speak to her, my friend, speak to her!"
The Count advanced and threw his arms round her. He knew that the grief which she felt was one that words could do nothing to mitigate, and the only consolation that he offered was thus by pressing her fondly to his heart, as if to express that there was love and tenderness yet left for her on earth. Clémence rose and wiped; way her tears, for she felt he might think that some doubt of his affection mingled with her grief for her brother, if she suffered it to fall into excess.
"Oh, Albert," she said, "this is very terrible. I have but you now----"
A hesitation came over the Count de Morseiul as she spoke those words, gazing tenderly and confidingly upon him: a hesitation, as to whether he should at once tell her his determination, or not let her know that he was about to remain behind, till she was absolutely in the boat destined to bear her away. It was a terrible question that he thus put to his own heart. But he thought it would be cruel not to tell her, however dreadful might be the struggle to witness and to share.
"Alas, Clémence," he replied, "I must soon trust you, for a time at least, to other guidance, to other protection than my own. The boats are preparing to carry off a certain number of our friends to England. You must go in one of them, Clémence, and that immediately. Your noble uncle here, for such I understand he is, Sir Thomas Cecil, will protect you I know, and be a father to you. The Marquis du Bar, too, one of the noblest of men, will be to you, as a brother."
Clémence replied not, but gazed with a look of deep, earnest, imploring inquiry in the countenance of her lover, and after a moment he answered that look by adding, "I have given my promise, Clémence, to remain behind!"