“I will say no more,” rejoined the Duke, “but in this perilous time wish you to use constant hearts, abandoning all malice, envy, and private affections.”
“Doubt it not,” said Cecil.
“I have not spoken to you in this sort upon any mistrust I have of your truths,” pursued the Duke, “of which I have always hitherto conceived a trusty confidence. But I have put you in remembrance thereof, in case any variance should arise amongst you in my absence. And this I pray you, wish me not worse good-speed in this matter than you wish yourselves.”
“We shall all agree on one point,” observed Pembroke aside to Renard—“and that is a hope that he may never return.”
“If your grace mistrusts any of us in this matter, you are deceived,” rejoined Arundel, “for which of us can wash his hands of it. And if we should shrink from you as treasonable, which of us can excuse himself as guiltless. Therefore, your doubt is too far cast.”
“I pray Heaven it be so,” replied the Duke, gravely. “Brother of Suffolk, I resign the custody of the Tower to you, entreating you, if you would uphold your daughter’s crown, to look well to your charge. I now take my leave of your highness.”
“Heaven speed your grace,” replied Jane, returning his haughty salutation.
“Farewell, my lord,” said the Earl of Arundel, “I am right sorry it is not my chance to bear you company, as I would cheerfully spend my heart’s blood in your defence.”
“Judas!” muttered the Duke.
Upon this, the Council broke up, and Jane returned to the palace, accompanied by the Duke of Suffolk, the two ambassadors, and others of the conspiring nobles.