“Still are! my lord,” exclaimed Elizabeth, indignantly. “And you are about to wed the Queen. Say no more, or my pity for you will be changed into contempt.”
“It is my fate,” replied the earl. “Oh! if you knew what the struggle has cost me, to sacrifice love at the shrine of ambition, you would indeed pity me.”
“My lord,” said Elizabeth, proudly, “if you have no respect for me, at least have some for yourself, and cease these unworthy lamentations.”
“Tell me you no longer love me—tell me you despise—hate me—anything to reconcile myself to my present lot,” cried Courtenay.
“Were I to say I no longer loved you, I should belie my heart,” rejoined Elizabeth; “for, unfortunately for my peace of mind, I have formed a passion which I cannot conquer. But were I also to say that your abject conduct does not inspire me with contempt—with scorn for you, I should speak falsely. Hear me, in my turn, my lord. To-morrow, I shall solicit permission from the Queen to retire from the court altogether, and I shall not return till my feelings towards yourself are wholly changed.” “Say not so,” cried Courtenay. “I will forego all the brilliant expectations held out to me by Mary. I cannot endure to part with you.”
“You have gone too far to retreat, my lord,” said Elizabeth. “You are affianced to my sister.”
“Not so,” replied Courtenay, “and I never will be. When I came hither, it was to implore your forgiveness, and to take leave of you for ever. But I find that wholly impossible. Let us fly from this fortress, and find either in a foreign land, or in some obscure corner of this kingdom, a happiness, which a crown could not confer.”
As he pronounced these words with all the ardour of genuine passion, he pressed her hand to his lips. Elizabeth did not withdraw it.
“Save me from this great crime,” he cried—“save me from wedding one whom I have never loved—save me from an union, which my soul abhors.”
“Are you sincere?” asked Elizabeth, much moved.