“Ah!” exclaimed the princess, “am I at their mercy?”
“Alas! madam, you are so,” replied Bedingfeld; “but the chancellor is your friend.”
“I am not sure of it,” returned Elizabeth. “Oh! that I could see the queen, were it but for one minute. My mother perished because she could not obtain a hearing of my royal sire, whose noble nature was abused in respect to her; and the Duke of Somerset himself told me, that if his brother the Admiral had been allowed speech of him, he would never have consented to his death. But it is ever thus. The throne is surrounded by a baneful circle, whose business is to prevent the approach of truth. They keep me from my sister’s presence, well knowing that I could clear myself at once, while they fill her ears with false reports. Bedingfeld, you are her faithful servant, and, therefore, not my enemy. Tell her, if she will grant me an audience alone, or before her councillors, I will either approve my innocence, or consent to lose my head. Above all, implore her to let me be confronted with Wyat, that the truth may be extorted from him.”
“The interview would little benefit your grace,” remarked Brydges. “Wyat confesses your privity to the rebellion.”
“He lies,” replied Elizabeth, fiercely. “The words have been put into his mouth with the vain hope of pardon. But he will recant them if he sees me. He dare not—will not look me in the face, and aver that I am a partner in his foul practices. But I will not believe it of him. Despite his monstrous treason, he is too brave, too noble-minded, to act so recreant a part.”
“Wyat has undergone the question ordinary, and extraordinary, madam,” replied Brydges; “and though he endured the first with surprising constancy, his fortitude sank under the severity of the latter application.”
“I forgive him,” rejoined Elizabeth, in a tone of deep commiseration. “But it proves nothing. He avowed thus much to escape further torture.”
“It may be,” returned Brydges, “and for your grace’s sake I hope it is so. But his confession, signed with his own hand, has been laid before the queen.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Elizabeth, sinking into the only seat which the dungeon contained.
“I beseech your highness to compose yourself,” cried Bedingfeld, compassionately. “We will withdraw and leave you to the care of your attendant.”