Throwing his arms round his son’s neck, and with difficulty repressing his emotion, the Duke implored his forgiveness.
“For what, my lord?” demanded the young nobleman.
“For the great wrong I have done you in placing you in this fearful jeopardy,” answered Northumberland.
“You have done me no wrong, my lord,” replied his son. “My wishes were as strongly in favour of the cause as yours, and I am therefore as culpable as yourself. And as I should have been the first to congratulate you on its success, so I ought to be the last to reproach you with its failure.”
“Nevertheless the fault is mine, and mine only,” replied the Duke. “I was the originator of the scheme—the planner of the snare into which we have fallen—and if you perish, your death will be at my door.”
“Think not of me, father,” replied the young man. “The life I received from you, I will gladly lay down for you. If you desire my forgiveness you shall have it. But I ought rather to ask your’s. And, at all events, I entreat your blessing.”
“Heaven bless you, my son, and have mercy on us both,” exclaimed Northumberland, fervently. “If the humblest supplication could move our judges in your favour it should not be wanting. But I well know they are inexorable.”
“I would rather die a thousand deaths than you so demeaned yourself,” replied Warwick. “Ask nothing from them but a speedy judgment. We go to a condemnation, not a trial.”
“True, my lord,” added Northampton; “we have nothing to hope, and therefore nothing to fear. The game is lost, and we must pay the penalty.”
“Right, my lord,” rejoined Northumberland, embracing him, “and we will discharge it to the uttermost. Would that my life could pay for all.”