Gunnora Braose kept her word. Before daybreak, Lord Guilford Dudley joined his afflicted consort. Their meeting was passionate and sad. As Jane ardently returned her husband’s fond embrace, she cried—“Oh, my dear lord, that we had never been deluded by the false glitter, of greatness to quit this calm retreat! Oh that we may be permitted to pass the remainder of our days here!”
“I have not yet abandoned all hopes of the throne,” replied Dudley. “Our fortunes may be retrieved.”
“Never,” returned Jane, gravely—“never so far as I am concerned. Were the crown to be again offered to me—were I assured I could retain it, I would not accept it. No, Dudley, the dream of ambition is over; and I am fully sensible of the error I have committed.”
“As you please, my queen, for I will still term you so,” rejoined Dudley—“but if my father is in arms, I will join him, and we will make one last effort for the prize, and regain it, or perish in the attempt.”
“Your wild ambition will lead you to the scaffold—and will conduct me there, also,” replied Jane. “If we could not hold the power when it was in our own hands—how can you hope to regain it?”
“It is not lost—I will not believe it, till I am certified under my father’s own hand that he has abandoned the enterprise,” rejoined Dudley. “You know him not, Jane. With five thousand men at his command—nay, with a fifth of that number, he is more than a match for all his enemies. We shall yet live to see him master of the Tower—of this rebellious city, we shall yet see our foes led to the scaffold. And if I see the traitors, Renard, Pembroke and Arundel, conducted thither I will excuse Fortune all her malice.”
“Heaven forgive them their treason as I forgive them!” exclaimed Jane. “But I fear their enmity will not be satisfied till they have brought us to the block to which you would doom them.”
“This is not a season for reproaches, Jane,” said Dudley, coldly; “but if you had not trusted that false traitor, Renard,—if you had not listened to his pernicious counsels,—if you had not refused my suit for the crown, and urged my father to undertake the expedition against Mary,—all had been well. You had been queen—and I king.”
“Your reproaches are deserved, Dudley,” replied Jane, “and you cannot blame me more severely than I blame myself. Nevertheless, had I acceded to your desires,—had I raised you to the sovereignty,—had I turned a deaf ear to Renard’s counsel, and not suffered myself to be duped by his allies Arundel and Pembroke,—had I retained your father in the Tower,—my reign would not have been of much longer duration.”
“I do not understand you, madam,” said Lord Guilford, sternly.