“What if I tell you,” she continued, “that this false earl has transferred his affections to our sister?”
“Your highness!” exclaimed Elizabeth.
“Peace!” cried the Queen, fiercely. “And she, well knowing his engagement to ourself, has dared to encourage his suit.”
“Whoever told your majesty this, lied in his throat,” cried Courtenay. “I own myself guilty, but the Princess Elizabeth is no partner to my folly.”
“You do well to shield her, my lord,” retorted Mary. “But you cannot deceive me. She is equally culpable.”
“Nay, more so, if it comes to this,” interposed Elizabeth, whose spirit, which was quite equal to her sisters, was aroused. “If I had repressed my admiration for the Earl of Devonshire, he would have made no advances to me. I am the most to blame in this matter.”
“Not so;” replied Courtenay. “Let my folly and presumption be visited on my own head. I pray your highness to pass sentence on me at once. But do not let the Princess suffer for my fault.”
“So, so!” exclaimed Mary, with a bitter laugh, “I have brought you to your confessions at last. If I had before doubted your love for each other, your present conduct would have convinced me of it. You shall have your request, my lord,” she added, turning to Courtenay. “I will pass sentence upon you.”
“Hold, madam,” cried Gardiner. “Before the sentence is passed and irrevocable, reflect—if only for one moment. You are a great queen, and the daughter of a great king. But the rashness of one moment may annihilate all your future peace, destroy the hopes of your people, and the prosperity of your reign. The conduct of the Earl of Devonshire is unpardonable, I allow. But for your own sake—for the sake of your kingdom—not for his—I beseech you to overlook it. That he loves you, I am assured.”
“Let him declare as much,” said Renard.