“You shall occupy the throne, and entrust the reins of government to me,” observed Dudley.
“There your ambitious designs peep forth, my lord,” rejoined Jane. “It is for yourself, not for me you are plotting. You would be king!”
“I would,” returned Dudley. “There is no need to mask my wishes now.”
“Sooner than this shall be,” rejoined Jane, severely, “I will hasten to Whitehall, and warn Mary of her danger.”
“Do so,” replied Dudley, “and take your last farewell of me. You are aware of the nature of the plot—of the names and object of those concerned in it. Reveal all—make your own terms with the queen. But think not you can check it. We have gone too far to retreat. When the royal guards come hither to convey me to the Tower, they will not find their prey, but they will soon hear of me. You will precipitate measures, but you will not prevent them. Go, madam.”
“Dudley,” replied Jane, falling at his feet—“by your love or me—by your allegiance to your sovereign—by your duty to your Maker—by every consideration that weighs with you—I implore you to relinquish your design.”
“I have already told you my fixed determination, madam,” he returned, repulsing her. “Act as you think proper.”
Jane arose and walked slowly towards the door. Dudley laid his hand upon his sword, half drew it, and then thrusting it back into the scabbard, muttered between his ground teeth, “No, no—let her go. She dares not betray me.”
As Jane reached the door, her strength failed her, and she caught against the hangings for support. “Dudley,” she murmured, “help me—I faint.”
In an instant, he was by her side.