“It is well,” replied Elizabeth, with a triumphant glance at the queen.
“Place me at the feet of the princess,” said Wyat to his supporters. “Your pardon, madam,” he added, as the order was obeyed.
“You have it,” replied Elizabeth, scarcely able to repress her emotion. “May God forgive you, as I do.”
“Then your former declaration was false, thou perjured traitor?” cried Mary, in amazement.
“What I have said, I have said,” rejoined Wyat; “what I now say is the truth.” And he motioned the attendants to raise him, the pain of kneeling being too exquisite for endurance.
“And you will adhere to your declaration?” pursued Mary.
“To my last breath,” gasped Wyat.
“At whose instigation were you induced to charge the princess with conspiring with you?” demanded Renard, stepping forward.
“At yours,” returned Wyat, with a look of intense hatred. “You, who have deceived the queen—deceived me—and would deceive the devil your master, if you could—you urged me to it—you—ha! ha!” And with a convulsive attempt at laughter, which communicated a horrible expression to his features, he sank into the arms of Wolfytt, and was conveyed to a cell at the back of the chamber, the door of which was closed.
“My innocence is established,” said Elizabeth, turning to the queen.