But Thomas Seymour had already regained his self-command and composure. He approached the princess and despite her struggles clasped her in his arms.
“Little fool!” said he, between his kisses. “Sweet, dear fool, how beautiful you are in your anger, and how I love you for it! Jealousy is becoming to love; and I do not complain, though you are unjust and cruel toward me. The queen has much too cold and proud a heart ever to be loved by any man. Ah, only to think this is already treason to her virtue and modesty; and surely she has not deserved this from us two, that we should disdain and insult her. She is the first that has always been just to you; and to me she has ever been only a gracious mistress!”
“It is true,” murmured Elizabeth, completely ashamed; “she is a true friend and mother; and I have her to thank for my present position at this court.”
Then, after a pause, she said, smiling, and extending her hand to the earl: “You are right. It would be a crime to suspect her; and I am a fool. Forgive me, Seymour, forgive my absurd and childish anger; and I promise you in return to betray our secret to no one, not even to the queen.”
“Do you swear that to me?”
“I swear it to you! and I swear to you more than that: I will never again be jealous of her.”
“Then you do but simple justice to yourself and to the queen also,” said the earl, with a smile, as he drew her again to his arms.
But she pushed him gently back. “I must now away. The morning dawns, and the archbishop awaits me in the royal chapel.”
“And what will you say to him, beloved?”
“I will make my confession to him.”