BY ANN S. STEPHENS.
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(Continued from page 144.)
A still more important scene than that which we have described in Lady Jane Seymour’s chamber was passing in the Lord Protector’s closet. A portion of those noblemen forming his council had been hastily summoned to assist in the examination of Lord Dudley, who was brought up from his prison in the new and damp rooms, near the Strand, where he had spent a night of discomfort, which by no means reconciled his proud spirit to the degradation heaped upon it. Though a member, and most powerful one, of his own council, the Lord Protector had neglected to summon the Earl of Warwick to the examination of his son, and Dudley was far too anxious for a good understanding between his own father and the family of his betrothed, to solicit his interference, or even send news of his arrest to the haughty earl. He dreaded the fiery indignation with which the intelligence might be received, and even felt a sensation of relief when he found his father’s seat vacant at the tribunal before which he was so ignominiously arraigned. He was sensible that the Earl of Warwick, as well as the duke, was willing to avail himself of any excuse which might terminate the contract existing between himself and the Lady Jane. His affection for the sweet girl was both sincere and ardent, and though he felt the insult offered by her father with the irritation of a proud, sensitive spirit, he suffered still more deeply from a consciousness that she was a sharer in his trouble, and that the proceedings to which he was an unwilling party were not only a degradation to his manhood but liable to separate him from the object of his affections forever.
With these indignant and conflicting feelings the young nobleman presented himself before the Lord Protector and the few councillors whom he had gathered to his assistance—men who seemed but ill at ease in the position which they held, and were in truth far more anxious to appease the duke than to join him in rash measures against a family which had already rendered itself fearful throughout the kingdom by the might of its power. The artisan was there, craven and abject, yet with something of insolence in his manner; but whether he was brought forward as a witness or a prisoner the proud young man did not deign to inquire; under any circumstances to be so associated was a cruel insult which made the blood tingle in his veins. It was with a firm lip and an eye darkling with subdued excitement that Lord Dudley placed himself before the council table to be questioned like a criminal by the man he had loved almost as a father. The duke seemed touched by some regretful feelings, and a flush came up to his forehead as he encountered the proud glance which was bent upon him by the prisoner. At another time he would have shrunk from mingling the pure name of his child with an investigation so strange in its nature—with questions which might even endanger the honor of his name, but this consideration was lost in his dislike of the Earl of Warwick—a man whom he feared and hated almost as much as he could fear and hate mortal being. Ambition was the leading characteristic of both—such ambition as at last rendered their strife for power like the struggle of two gladiators in mortal combat. They were bold combatants, and hitherto the strife had been a quiet and subtle one. Now a kingdom was looking on. Somerset had sprung into the arena, struck the first blow, and he was well aware that his station and power depended on the victory which he was contending for—that Warwick must be driven from the council of the nation or himself from the protectorship. He little knew how still and subtle had been the windings of his enemy, and with how deep a triumph he received the news of his son’s arrest. We have said that Dudley had caught one glimpse of his betrothed on his way to the council, and for her sake he condescended to answer, with haughty calmness, the questions propounded by her father. His account of the share he had taken in the St. Margaret’s riot was simple, and given in few words.
He had sallied forth, as usual, on his morning ride with the ordinary number of attendants and without the most remote suspicion that any disturbance was threatened. He described the manner in which he had become entangled with the crowd, but avoided all mention of the Lady Jane till called upon by her father to state how she came under his protection. He explained all about the condition in which he had found her—the struggle with which she was conducted through the crowd—their entrance to the church and every thing that transpired till the poor girl was exposed to public outrage by the violence of her own parent. There was truth and dignity in the young man’s statement, which, against his will, convinced the duke of his injustice. But he had already proceeded too far, and he felt that to leave the charge against his prisoner unsubstantiated was to make himself still more unpopular with the people, and fling a fearful power into the hands of his rival. Family affection, his daughter, everything was forgotten in the strife to maintain his tottering power, and though his eye quailed and his brow crimsoned as he perpetrated the insult, that cringing artisan was called forward to disprove the solemn statement of a high born and honorable man.
Lord Dudley turned very pale and drew back with a stern brow and folded arms as the wretch gave his infamous story. The artisan had enough of low born cunning to see that any statement, calculated to implicate the noble youth, would be received as an atonement for the base fraud which he had committed, and persisted in the assertions that he had previously made. When the jewels and the ring were produced he turned, like a coward hound, from the stern glance fixed on him by the young noble, but still in a tone of low bravado, asserted that the ring had been given by the Lady Jane, and that Lord Dudley had rewarded his exertions in bringing them together with the emeralds.
Lord Dudley shut his teeth hard and folded his arms more tightly, as if to repress an impulse to smite the worm where he stood, but turning his flashing eyes from the miscreant to the Duke of Somerset he once more forced himself to composure. The artisan proceeded to substantiate his evidence by assertions regarding the manner and words of the lady, and was going on adding falsehood to falsehood, when the gentle girl, whom he so cruelly aspersed, opened the door and glided into the room. She moved forward to a chair which stood directly in front of the wretch, and grasping the back with her hand, stood regarding him with a look of calm and almost solemn indignation. So noiseless was her entrance that she had been more than a minute in the room before those assembled there became conscious of her presence. As the perjured man lifted his eyes in uttering a sentence, they met the rebuke of that calm glance and quailed beneath it. He faltered in what he was saying and shrunk back to avoid the frown of her innocent presence. When the duke saw his child standing before him, her robe hastily girt round her person, her hair wound in a heavy web over her head, and her sweet face bearing upon each feature evidence of late and bitter suffering, he started to his feet with an exclamation of displeasure and would have demanded the cause of her intrusion, but the change which had fallen upon her was so great that he stood gazing upon her face, lost in a degree of astonishment that had something of awe in it. He could scarcely believe that the face so calm, so pale and resolute, was that of his quiet and child-like daughter. The fountains of a resolute and noble heart had been troubled for the first time, and their overflow left upon her face an expression that never left it again—the impress of such thoughts and feelings as exalt and strengthen the heart they wring. The Lady Jane had become suddenly capable of acting for herself.
“Father,” she said, turning her large eyes from the perjurer to his judge, “Father, I have heard enough to prove how base a thing may be dared even in the presence of a parent; that man has spoken falsely, the ring which you hold was taken from my finger when I lay helpless, and so terrified that I was almost unconscious of the loss, and only remember now as in a dream that a strange grasp was on my hand, a wrench that pained me; then I fainted and forgot all till my mother spoke of the ring a few moments since in my chamber. The emeralds my Lord Duke—” she hesitated a moment and her eyes filled as if with regret that she had uttered so cold a tittle, “the emeralds—my father, were not Lord Dudley’s but my mother’s gift, and I bound my hair with them yesterday morning when I went forth according to your command to take the air; they must have broken loose from my head, for behold here is a proof that they were my own and not Lord Dudley’s.”
As she spoke the Lady Jane unbound the rich masses of her hair, which had not been smoothed since the previous day, and disentangled a fragment of the emerald band which still sparkled within it. They were broad smooth gems linked together with its delicate chain work of gold, and each with a fanciful device cut upon its surface. One of those which the duke held, still remained firm in its setting, a link or two of the chain adhered to it, and those links corresponded in size and workmanship with the fragment which Lady Jane had taken from her hair.