"So far from home!" he said with a smile.

"More miles from home," she replied, thinking of never-returning days in France, "than I shall ever count again."

"But no, methinks the palace is within a whisper," he responded.

"Lord Leicester knows well I am a prisoner; that I no longer abide in the palace," she answered.

He laughed lightly. "An imprisonment in a Queen's friendship. I bethink me, it is three hours since I saw you go to the palace. It is a few worthless seconds since you have got your freedom."

She nettled at his tone. "Lord Leicester takes great interest in my unimportant goings and comings. I cannot think it is because I go and come."

He chose to misunderstand her meaning. Drawing closer he bent over her shoulder. "Since your arrival here, my only diary is the tally of your coming and going." Suddenly, as though by an impulse of great frankness, he added in a low tone:

"And is it strange that I should follow you--that I should worship grace and virtue? Men call me this and that. You have no doubt been filled with dark tales of my misdeeds. Has there been one in the Court, even one, who, living by my bounty or my patronage, has said one good word of me? And why? For long years the Queen, who, maybe, might have been better counselled, chose me for her friend, adviser--because I was true to her. I have lived for the Queen, and living for her have lived for England. Could I keep--I ask you, could I keep myself blameless in the midst of flattery, intrigue, and conspiracy? I admit that I have played with fiery weapons in my day; and must needs still do so. The incorruptible cannot exist in the corrupted air of this Court. You have come here with the light of innocence and truth about you. At first I could scarce believe that such goodness lived, hardly understood it. The light half-blinded and embarra.s.sed; but, at last, I saw! You of all this Court have made me see what sort of life I might have lived. You have made me dream the dreams of youth and high unsullied purpose once again.

Was it strange that in the dark pathways of the Court I watched your footsteps come and go, carrying radiance with you? No--Leicester has learned how sombre, sinister, has been his past, by a presence which is the soul of beauty, of virtue, and of happy truth. Lady, my heart is yours. I worship you."

Overborne for the moment by the eager, searching eloquence of his words, she had listened bewildered to him. Now she turned upon him with panting breath and said:

"My lord, my lord, I will hear no more. You know I love Monsieur de la Foret, for whose sake I am here in England--for whose sake I still remain."

"'Tis a labour of love but ill requited," he answered with suggestion in his tone.

"What mean you, my lord?" she asked sharply, a kind of blind agony in her voice; for she felt his meaning, and though she did not believe him, and knew in her soul he slandered, there was a sting, for slander ever scorches where it touches.

"Can you not see?" he said. "May Day--why did the Queen command him to the lists? Why does she keep him here-in the palace? Why, against the will of France, her ally, does she refuse to send him forth? Why, unheeding the laughter of the Court, does she favour this unimportant stranger, brave though he be? Why should she smile upon him?... Can you not see, sweet lady?"

"You know well why the Queen detains him here," she answered calmly now.

"In the Queen's understanding with France, exiles who preach the faith are free from extradition. You heard what the Queen required of him--that on Trinity Day he should preach before her, and upon this preaching should depend his safety."

"Indeed, so her Majesty said with great humour," replied Leicester. "So indeed she said; but when we hide our faces a thin veil suffices. The man is a soldier--a soldier born. Why should he turn priest now? I pray you, think again. He was quick of wit; the Queen's meaning was clear to him; he rose with seeming innocence to the fly, and she landed him at the first toss. But what is forward bodes no good to you, dear star of heaven. I have known the Queen for half a lifetime. She has wild whims and dangerous fancies, fills her hours of leisure with experiences--an artist is the Queen. She means no good to you."

She had made as if to leave him, though her eyes searched in vain for the path which she should take; but she now broke in impatiently:

"Poor, unnoted though I am, the Queen of England is my friend," she answered. "What evil could she wish me? From me she has naught to fear.

I am not an atom in her world. Did she but lift her finger I am done.

But she knows that, humble though I be, I would serve her to my last breath; because I know, my Lord Leicester, how many there are who serve her foully, faithlessly; and there should be those by her who would serve her singly."

His eyes half closed, he beat his toe upon the ground. He frowned, as though he had no wish to hurt her by words which he yet must speak. With calculated thought he faltered.

"Yet do you not think it strange," he said at last, "that Monsieur de la Foret should be within the palace ever, and that you should be banished from the palace? Have you never seen the fly and the spider in the web?

Do you not know that they who have the power to bless or ban, to give joy or withhold it, appear to give when they mean to withhold? G.o.d bless us all--how has your innocence involved your judgment!"

She suddenly flushed to the eyes. "I have wit enough," she said acidly, "to feel that truth which life's experience may not have taught me.

It is neither age nor evil that teaches one to judge 'twixt black and white. G.o.d gives the true divination to human hearts that need."

It was a contest in which Leicester revelled--simplicity and single-mindedness against the multifarious and double-tongued. He had made many efforts in his time to conquer argument and prejudice. When he chose, none could be more insinuating or turn the flank of a proper argument by more adroit suggestion. He used his power now.

"You think she means well by you? You think that she, who has a thousand ladies of a kingdom at her call, of the best and most beautiful--and even," his voice softened, "though you are more beautiful than all, that beauty would soften her towards you? When was it Elizabeth loved beauty?

When was it that her heart warmed towards those who would love or wed?

Did she not imprison me, even in these palace grounds, for one whole year because I sought to marry? Has she not a hundred times sent from her presence women with faces like flowers because they were in contrast to her own? Do you see love blossoming at this Court? G.o.d's Son! but she would keep us all like babes in Eden an' she could, unmated and unloved."

He drew quickly to her and leant over her, whispering down her shoulder.

"Do you think there is any reason why all at once she should change her mind and cherish lovers?"

She looked up at him fearlessly and firmly.

"In truth, I do. My Lord Leicester, you have lived in the circle of her good pleasure, near to her n.o.ble Majesty, as you say, for half a lifetime. Have you not found a reason why now or any time she should cherish love and lovers? Ah, no, you have seen her face, you have heard her voice, but you have not known her heart!"

"Ah, opportunity lacked," he said in irony and with a reminiscent smile. "I have been busy with State affairs, I have not sat on cushions, listening to royal fingers on the virginals. Still, I ask you, do you think there is a reason why from her height she should stoop down to rescue you or give you any joy? Wherefore should the Queen do aught to serve you? Wherefore should she save your lover?"

It was on Angele's lips to answer, "Because I saved her life on May Day." It was on her lips to tell of the poisoned glove, but she only smiled, and said:

"But, yes, I think, my lord, there is a reason, and in that reason I have faith."

Leicester saw how firmly she was fixed in her idea, how rooted was her trust in the Queen's intentions towards her; and he guessed there was something hidden which gave her such supreme confidence.

"If she means to save him, why does she not save him now? Why not end the business in a day--not stretch it over these long mid-summer weeks?"

"I do not think it strange," she answered. "He is a political prisoner.

Messages must come and go between England and France. Besides, who calleth for haste? Is it I who have most at stake? It is not the first time I have been at Court, my lord. In these high places things are orderly,"--a touch of sarcasm came into her tone,--"life is not a mighty rushing wind, save to those whom vexing pa.s.sion drives to hasty deeds."

She made to move on once more, but paused, still not certain of her way.

"Permit me to show you," he said with a laugh and a gesture towards a path. "Not that--this is the shorter. I will take you to a turning which leads straight to your durance--and another which leads elsewhere."

She could not say no, because she had, in very truth, lost her way, and she might wander far and be in danger. Also, she had no fear of him.

Steeled to danger in the past, she was not timid; but, more than all, the game of words between them had had its fascination. The man himself, by virtue of what he was, had his fascination also. The thing inherent in all her s.e.x, to peep over the hedge, to skirt dangerous fires lightly, to feel the warmth distantly and not be scorched--that was in her, too; and she lived according to her race and the long predisposition of the ages. Most women like her--as good as she--have peeped and stretched out hands to the alluring fire and come safely through, wiser and no better. But many, too, bewildered and confused by what they see--as light from a mirror flashed into the eye half blinds--have peeped over the hedge and, miscalculating their power of self-control, have entered in, and returned no more into the quiet garden of unstraying love.

Leicester quickly put on an air of gravity. "I warn you that danger lies before you. If you cross the Queen--and you will cross the Queen when you know the truth, as I know it--you will pay a heavy price for refusing Leicester as your friend."

She made a protesting motion and seemed about to speak, but suddenly, with a pa.s.sionate gesture, Leicester added: "Let them go their way.

Monsieur de la Foret will be tossed aside before another winter comes.

Do you think he can abide here in the midst of plot and intrigue, and hated by the people of the Court? He is doomed. But more, he is unworthy of you; while I can serve you well, and I can love you well." She shrank away from him. "No, do not turn from me, for in very truth, Leicester's heart has been pierced by the inevitable arrow. You think I mean you evil?"

He paused with a sudden impulse continued: "No! no! And if there be a saving grace in marriage, marriage it shall be, if you will but hear me.

You shall be my wife--Leicester's wife. As I have mounted to power so I will hold power with you--with you, the brightest spirit that ever England saw. Worthy of a kingdom with you beside me, I shall win to greater, happier days; and at Kenilworth, where kings and queens have lodged, you shall be ruler. We will leave this Court until Elizabeth, betrayed by those who know not how to serve her, shall send for me again. Here--the power behind the throne--you and I will sway this realm through the aging, sentimental Queen. Listen, and look at me in the eyes--I speak the truth, you read my heart. You think I hated you and hated De la Foret. By all the G.o.ds, it's true I hated him, because I saw that he would come between me and the Queen. A man must have one great pa.s.sion. Life itself must be a pa.s.sion. Power was my pa.s.sion--power, not the Queen. You have broken all that down. I yield it all to you--for your sake and my own. I would steal from life yet before my sun goes to its setting a few years of truth and honesty and clear design. At heart I am a patriot--a loyal Englishman. Your cause--the cause of Protestantism--did I not fight for it at Roch.e.l.le? Have I not ever urged the Queen to spend her revenue for your cause, to send her captains and her men to fight for it?"

She raised her head in interest, and her lips murmured: "Yes, yes, I know you did that."

He saw his advantage and pursued it. "See, I will be honest with you--honest, at last, as I have wished in vain to be, for honesty was misunderstood. It is not so with you--you understand. Dear, light of womanhood, I speak the truth now. I have been evil in my day I admit it--evil because I was in the midst of evil. I betrayed because I was betrayed; I slew, else I should have been slain. We have had dark days in England, privy conspiracy and rebellion; and I have had to thread my way through dreadful courses by a thousand blind paths. Would it be no joy to you if I, through your influence, recast my life--remade my policy, renewed my youth--pursuing principle where I have pursued opportunity? Angele, come to Kenilworth with me. Leave De la Foret to his fate. The way to happiness is with me. Will you come?"

He had made his great effort. As he spoke he almost himself believed that he told the truth. Under the spell of his own emotional power it seemed as though he meant to marry her, as though he could find happiness in the union. He had almost persuaded himself to be what he would have her to believe he might be.

Under the warmth and convincing force of his words her pulses had beat faster, her heart had throbbed in her throat, her eyes had glistened; but not with that light which they had shed for Michel de la Foret.

How different was this man's wooing--its impetuous, audacious, tender violence, with that quiet, powerful, almost sacred gravity of her Camisard lover! It is this difference--the weighty, emotional difference--between a desperate pa.s.sion and a pure love which has ever been so powerful in twisting the destinies of a moiety of the world to misery, who otherwise would have stayed contented, inconspicuous and good. Angele would have been more than human if she had not felt the spell of the ablest intriguer, of the most fascinating diplomatist of his day.

Before he spoke of marriage the thrill--the unconvincing thrill though it was--of a perilous temptation was upon her; but the very thing most meant to move her only made her shudder; for in her heart of hearts she knew that he was ineradicably false. To be married to one const.i.tutionally untrue would be more terrible a fate for her than to be linked to him in a lighter, more dissoluble a bond. So do the greatest tricksters of this world overdo their part, so play the wrong card when every past experience suggests it is the card to play. He knew by the silence that followed his words, and the slow, steady look she gave him, that she was not won nor on the way to the winning.

"My lord," she said at last, and with a courage which steadied her affrighted and perturbed innocence, "you are eloquent, you are fruitful of flattery, of those things which have, I doubt not, served you well in your day. But, if you see your way to a better life, it were well you should choose one of n.o.bler mould than I. I am not made for sacrifice, to play the missioner and s.n.a.t.c.h brands from the burning. I have enough to do to keep my own feet in the ribbon-path of right. You must look elsewhere for that guardian influence which is to make of you a paragon."