“He has just saved your life, my liege,” cried the supplicant. “Oh, spare him!”
“What make you here, Mabel?” cried Henry angrily. “I followed your majesty unseen,” she replied, in some confusion, “and reached yon wood just as the attack commenced. I did not dare to advance farther.”
“You should have gone home—gone home,” rejoined the king. “Wyat,” he continued, in a tone of stern reproach, “you were once a loyal subject. What means this change?”
“It means that you have robbed me of a mistress,” replied Wyat; “and for this cause I have damned myself.”
“Pardon him!-oh, pardon him, sire,” cried Mabel.
“I cannot understand you, Wyat,” said Henry, after a pause; “but I have myself suffered from the pangs of jealousy. You have saved my life, and I will spare yours.”
“Sire!” cried Wyat.
“Suffolk,” exclaimed Henry, looking towards the duke, who was holding Fenwolf by the throat, “shall I be justified in letting him go free?
“Strike!—strike!” cried a deep voice in Wyat's ear; “your rival is now in your power.”
“Far be it from me to thwart your majesty's generous impulses,” rejoined Suffolk. “It is true that Wyat has saved your life; and if he had been disposed to take it, you have this moment exposed yourself to him.”