“But the love of a woman is so changeable! Who knows how long it will be before you will tread under your feet poor Thomas Seymour, when once the crown has adorned your brow.”
She looked at him well-nigh horrified. “Can this be, then? Is it possible that one can forget and forsake what he once loved?”
“Do you ask, Elizabeth? Has not your father already his sixth wife?”
“It is true,” said she, as mournfully she dropped her head upon her breast. “But I,” said she, after a pause, “I shall not be like my father in that. I shall love you eternally! And that you may have a guaranty of my faithfulness, I offer myself to you as your wife.”
Astonished, he looked inquiringly into her excited, glowing face! He did not understand her.
But she continued, passionately: “Yes, you shall be my lord and my husband! Come, my beloved, come! I have not called you to take upon yourself the disgraceful role of the secret lover of a princess—I have called you to be my husband. I wish a bond to unite us two, that is so indissoluble that not even the wrath and will of my father, but only death itself, can sever it. I will give you proof of my love and my devotion; and you shall be forced to acknowledge that I truly love you. Come, my beloved, that I may soon hail you as my husband!”
He looked at her as though petrified. “Whither will you lead me?”
“To the private chapel,” said she, innocently. “I have written Cranmer to await me there at daybreak. Let us hasten, then!”
“Cranmer! You have written to the archbishop?” cried Seymour, amazed. “How! what say you? Cranmer awaits us in the private chapel?”
“Without doubt he is waiting for us, as I have written him to do so.”