“Yes, I confess it,” cried Lady Jane, as with passionate vehemence she threw herself at Catharine’s feet. “Yes, I love him—I adore him. I know it is a disdained and unhappy love; but what would you have? My heart is mightier than everything else. I love him; he is my god and my lord; I adore him as my savior and lord. Queen, you know all my secret; betray me if you will! Tell it to my father, if you wish him to curse me. Tell it to Henry Howard, if it pleases you to hear how he scoffs at me. For he, queen—he loves me not!”
“Poor unfortunate Jane!” exclaimed the queen, compassionately.
Jane uttered a low cry, and rose from her knees. That was too much. Her enemy commiserated her. She, who was to blame for her sorrow—she bemoaned her fate.
Ah, she could have strangled the queen; she could have plunged a dagger into her heart, because she dared to commiserate her.
“I have complied with your condition, queen,” said she, breathing hurriedly. “Will you now comply with my request?”
“And will you really be an advocate for this unthankful, cruel man, who does not love you? Proudly and coldly he passes your beauty by, and you—you intercede for him!”
“Queen, true love thinks not of itself! It sacrifices itself. It makes no question of the reward it receives, but only of the happiness which it bestows. I saw in his pale, sorrowful face, how much he suffered; ought I not to think of comforting him? I approached him, I addressed him; I heard his despairing lamentation over that misfortune, which, however, was not the fault of his activity and courage, but, as all the world saw, the fault of his horse, which was shy and stumbled. And as he, in all the bitterness of his pain, was lamenting that you, queen, would despise and scorn him, I, with full trust in your noble and magnanimous heart, promised him that you would, at my request, yet give him to-day, before your whole court, a token of your favor. Catharine, did I do wrong?”
“No, Jane, no! You did right; and your words shall be made good. But how shall I begin? What shall I do?”
“The earl this evening, after the king has read the Greek scene with Croke, will recite some new sonnets which he has composed. When he has done so, give him some kind of a present—be it what it may, no matter—as a token of your favor.”
“But how, Jane, if his sonnets deserve no praise and no acknowledgment?”