“It was you who prevailed on the king to relieve me of the disgrace that rested on me; you will also have power over him to set aside this clause which contains my heart’s sentence of condemnation.”
Catharine shook her head with a sigh. “My power does not reach so far,” said she, sadly. “Ah, Elizabeth, why did you not put confidence in me? Why did you not let me know sooner that your heart cherished a love which is in opposition to this law? Why did you not tell your friend your dangerous secret?”
“Just because it is dangerous I concealed it from you; and just on that account I do not even now mention the name of the loved one. Queen, you shall not through me become a guilty traitoress against your husband; for you well know that he punishes every secret concealed from him as an act of high treason. No, queen; if I am a criminal, you shall not he my accomplice. Ah, it is always dangerous to be the confidant of such a secret. You see that in John Heywood. He alone was my confidant, and he betrayed me. I myself put the weapons into his hands, and he turned them against me.”
“No, no,” said Catharine, thoughtfully; “John Heywood is true and trusty, and incapable of treachery.”
“He has betrayed me!” exclaimed Elizabeth, impetuously. “He knew—he only—that I love, and that my beloved, though of noble, still is not of princely birth. Yet it was he, as you said yourself, who moved the king to introduce this paragraph into the act of succession.”
“Then, without doubt, he has wished to save you from an error of your heart.”
“No, he has been afraid of the danger of being privy to this secret, and at the cost of my heart and my happiness he wanted to escape this danger. But oh, Catharine, you are a noble, great and strong woman; you are incapable of such petty fear—such low calculation; therefore, stand by me; be my savior and protectress! By virtue of that oath which we have just now mutually taken—by virtue of that mutual clasp of the hands just given—I call you to my help and my assistance. Oh, Catharine, allow me this high pleasure, so full of blessing, of being at some time, perhaps, able to make him whom I love great and powerful by my will. Allow me this intoxicating delight of being able with my hand to offer to his ambition at once power and glory—it may be even a crown. Oh, Catharine, on my knees I conjure you—assist me to repeal this hated law, which wants to bind my heart and my hand!”
In passionate excitement she had fallen before the queen, and was holding up her hands imploringly to her.
Catharine, smiling, bent down and raised her up in her arms. “Enthusiast,” said she, “poor young enthusiast! Who knows whether you will thank me for it one day, if I accede to your wish; and whether you will not some time curse this hour which has brought you, perhaps, instead of the hoped-for pleasure, only a knowledge of your delusion and misery?”
“And were it even so,” cried Elizabeth, energetically, “still it is better to endure a wretchedness we ourselves have chosen, than to be forced to a happy lot. Say, Catharine—say, will you lend me your assistance? Will you induce the king to withdraw this hated clause? If you do it not, queen, I swear to you, by the soul of my mother, that I will not submit to this law; that I will solemnly, before all the world, renounce the privilege that is offered me; that I—”