“True,” she rejoined, sadly. “Her Majesty may deal with me as she thinks fit. But all efforts to compel me to return to the faith I have abjured will prove ineffectual.”
“But this is not the real danger by which you are threatened,” he continued. “The King will not permit her Majesty’s intentions to be carried out, and has ordered me to convey you away privately to a secure retreat, where there will be no risk of discovery by his jealous consort. You will escape the convent, but only to encounter a worse fate.”
“I will die rather than submit,” she cried, despairingly. “Pity me, kind Heaven! pity me!”
“Hear me, Constance,” he cried. “The avowal I am about to make is wrung from me by the circumstances in which you are placed. I love you to desperation, and would plunge my sword in Philip’s heart rather than you should fall a sacrifice to him. Dismiss all doubts, and trust yourself with me. I will lay down my life for you.”
“If I consent, whither would you take me?” she demanded. “But no! I cannot—dare not fly with you.”
“You wrong me by these suspicions, Constance,” he cried, half reproachfully. “Loving you as I do, could I do aught to injure you?”
“But the King himself professes to love me——”
“He loves you not—his vows are false,” interrupted Osbert, bitterly. “Shun him as you would shame and dishonour. If you have any love for him, tear it from your breast—no matter what the pang!—it can only lead to guilt and remorse.”
“I have no love for him now,” she rejoined; “and if for a moment I yielded credence to his vows and passionate declarations, I have expiated the offence by tears and contrition. My constant prayer has been never to behold him more.”
“All further peril may be averted if you will confide in me. Give me a husband’s right to defend you, and not all the world shall tear you from me. You cannot return to your father. He would not dare to give you shelter. And to enable me to watch over and protect you without damage to your fair fame, we must be bound together by sacred ties.”