“At your command! and is that your only order for to-day?”
“That is all, John! only,” added she, with hesitation and a slight blush, “only, if you perchance meet Earl Sudley, you may say to him that I charged you to greet him in my name.”
“Oh!” sighed John Hey wood, sadly.
“He has to-day saved my life, John,” said she, as if excusing herself. “It becomes me well, then, to be grateful to him.”
And giving him a friendly nod, she stepped into the porch of the castle.
“Now let anybody say again, that chance is not the most mischievous and spiteful of all devils!” muttered John Heywood. “This devil, chance, throws in the queen’s way the very person she ought most to avoid; and she must be, as in duty bound, very grateful to a lover. Oh, oh, so he has saved her life? But who knows whether he may not be one day the cause of her losing it!”
He dropped his head gloomily upon his breast, when suddenly he heard behind him a low voice calling his name; and as he turned, he saw the young Princess Elizabeth hastening toward him with a hurried step. She was at that moment very beautiful. Her eyes gleamed with the fire of passion; her cheeks glowed; and about her crimson lips there played a gentle, happy smile. She wore, according to the fashion of the time, a close-fitting high-necked dress, which showed off to perfection the delicate lines of her slender and youthful form, while the wide standing collar concealed the somewhat too great length of her neck, and made her ruddy, as yet almost childish face stand out as it were from a pedestal. On either side of her high, thoughtful brow, fell, in luxurious profusion, light flaxen curls; her head was covered with a black velvet cap, from which a white feather drooped to her shoulders.
She was altogether a charming and lovely apparition, full of nobleness and grace, full of fire and energy; and yet, in spite of her youthfulness, not wanting in a certain grandeur and dignity. Elizabeth, though still almost a child, and frequently bowed and humbled by misfortune, yet ever remained her father’s own daughter. And though Henry had declared her a bastard and excluded her from the succession to the throne, yet she bore the stamp of her royal blood in her high, haughty brow; in her keen, flashing eye.
As she now stood before John Heywood, she was not, however, the haughty, imperious princess, but merely the shy, blushing maiden, who feared to trust her first girlish secret to another’s ear, and ventured only with trembling hand to draw aside the veil which concealed her heart.
“John Heywood,” said she, “you have often told me that you loved me; and I know that my poor unfortunate mother trusted you, and summoned you as a witness of her innocence. You could not at that time save the mother, but will you now serve Anne Boleyn’s daughter, and be her faithful friend?”