“Be that as it may, you must abandon her,” returned the chancellor. “The queen will not consent to your union.”
“Your lordship has just observed, in your address to the council,” rejoined Courtenay, “that it is the privilege of all—even of the meanest—to choose in marriage whom they will. Since her highness would exert this right in her own favour, why deny it to her sister?”
“Because her sister has robbed her of her lover,” replied Gardiner. “Strong-minded as she is, Mary is not without some of the weaknesses of her sex. She could not bear to witness the happiness of a rival.”
Courtenay smiled.
“I understand your meaning, my lord,” pursued Gardiner sternly; “but if you disobey the queen’s injunctions in this particular, you will lose your head, and so will the princess.”
“The queen’s own situation is fraught with more peril than mine,” replied Courtenay. “If she persists in her match with the prince of Spain, she will lose her crown, and then who shall prevent my wedding Elizabeth?”
Gardiner looked at him as he said this so fixedly, that the earl involuntarily cast down his eyes.
“Your words and manner, my lord,” observed the chancellor, after a pause, “convince me that you are implicated in a conspiracy, known to be forming against the queen.”
“My lord!” cried Courtenay.
“Do not interrupt me,” continued Gardiner,—“the conduct of the council to-day, the menaces of Sir Thomas Wyat, your own words, convince me that decided measures must be taken. I shall therefore place you in arrest. And this time, rest assured, care shall be taken that you do not escape.”