was muffled up, but her gait and figure were those of a buxom damsel."

"I will in and resolve the point," said Seymour, smiling at the old man's description of the princess and her governess. And lifting aside the arras, he entered the adjoining chamber..

It was a large room, hung with costly tapestry and silken stuffs, the latter embellished with golden birds deftly wrought in needlework, while the arras was covered with roses, fleurs-de-lys, and lions. Over the high-carved chimney-piece was placed a life-like portrait of Henry VIII., painted by Holbein, by whom the chimney-piece had likewise been designed. The roof was of oak, ornamented with grotesque figures. The chamber was lighted by a deep oriel window filled with stained glass, and in this recess, at a table covered with a Turkey carpet, sat two ladies, one of whom, it is almost needless to state, was the Princess Elizabeth, and the other her governess, Mistress Ashley. Of the latter it may be observed, that she was amiable and accomplished, but foolishly indulgent to the caprices of her somewhat headstrong pupil, of whom she was dotingly fond, and who did just what she pleased

with her.

Mistress Ashley was seated at the bottom of the recess, and was so much occupied with her book that it is to be presumed she did not remark Sir Thomas Seymour's entrance. At all events, she neither looked up then, nor raised her eyes during the subsequent interview between the princess and her suitor. What use she made of her ears we pretend not to determine. The lovers gave themselves little concern about her.

On beholding Sir Thomas, Elizabeth arose and came forward to meet him. Seymour immediately threw himself at her feet.

"Rise, Sir Thomas," she cried. "I cannot listen to you in this posture."

"Pardon me if I disobey you,, sweet saint!" cried Seymour, passionately. "A suppliant at your shrine, I cannot rise till my prayers are heard. Forbid me not thus humbly to pay my vows to you to tell you how deeply and devotedly I love you!"

Nay, in good sooth, I must be obeyed," rejoined Elizabeth, in a tone not to be disputed..

"Have I become indifferent to you?" cried Seymour, rising, and assuming a despairing tone. "Have I deluded myself with the notion that my love was requited?"

"If I loved you not, Sir Thomas, I should not be here," she rejoined.

It was with difficulty that Seymour refrained from casting himself again at her feet.

"Never were syllables more grateful to mortal ear than those you have uttered, sweet princess," he cried. "Repeat them! oh repeat them! I can scarce believe I have heard aright."

"I like not to bind myself so," hesitated Elizabeth.

Nay, I beseech you, refuse me not?" urged Seymour.

After a brief internal struggle, during which her lover pleaded yet more ardently, Elizabeth yielded, saying, "Be it as you will. What I have said I will abide by. Mistress Ashley shall witness our betrothal."

With this, she gave her hand to Seymour, who pressed it to his lips, and they were proceeding together towards the recess in which the governess was still seated, when a piece of arras on the right of the chamber was suddenly drawn aside, and Queen Catherine stood before them.

XIII.

HOW THE COUNTESS OF HERTFORD WAS BALKED OF HER REVENGE; AND IN WHAT MANNER XIT SOUGHT TO DIVERT THE KING.

THE injured queen was pale as death. But her eyes flashed lightnings upon the startled pair, and she looked as if she would willingly annihilate them. Catherine, indeed, was very terrible at this moment, and it required no little courage to meet her glances. This courage Elizabeth possessed in an eminent degree, and though somewhat alarmed on the infuriated queen's first appearance, she almost instantly recovered herself, and eyed Catherine with a glance almost as ireful and vindictive as her own.

Sir Thomas Seymour's position was very different, and infinitely more embarrassing. By this unexpected occurrence he had every reason to fear he should lose both Elizabeth and the queen. By the latter his perfidy had evidently been detected-immediate exposure to the princess in all probability awaited him. But he was not easily daunted, and though the situation was in the highest degree perplexing, almost desperate, he did not for a moment lose his presence of mind.

"Hold!" cried Catherine, extending her hand menacingly towards them, as they recoiled on beholding her. "No troth

plight can take place between you. I forbid it in the name of the council. Such a contract would be in direct violation of your august father's will, Elizabeth; and by the reverence you owe his memory, I charge you to forbear."

"You have much reverence for the king my father's memory, I must needs own, madam," rejoined the princess, scornfully.

"I deserve the taunt, but it comes with an ill grace from your lips," said Catherine.

"Me

"Why with an ill grace from mine?" cried Elizabeth. thinks no one hath greater right than myself to reproach King

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Henry's widow, who, forgetful alike of decency and duty, seeks to dishonour his memory-so far as dishonour can attach to a memory so glorious-by a marriage with another ere yet her royal husband's body is laid in the tomb."

"Princess!" interposed Seymour, "you mistake."

"What makes her majesty here, if she be not brought by jealousy?" cried Elizabeth. "No, I do not mistake. When her grace and I met yesterday, I felt I had a rival. Let her deny it if she can."

Mine

"I shall not attempt to deny it," replied Catherine, with dignity. "I have been deeply, basely deceived, and bitterly do I grieve that I listened to the voice of the tempter. But my present sufferings may serve to expiate my error, great though it be. May you, Elizabeth, never feel the humiliation, the self-reproach, the anguish I now experience! I will not attempt to palliate my conduct, but I may say that throughout this kingdom more miserable wife did not, and could not, exist than the unfortunate Catherine Parr, the envied consort of your father, King Henry. Evil was the hour that, dazzled by the splendour of a crown, and confident in my own firmness of principle, I consented to become his spouse! Since that fatal moment I have known little peace. Anxiously as I studied my fickle husband's lightest humours, I found it scarcely possible to please him, and to anger him would have ensured my destruction. Surrounded by enemies, I was constantly exposed to secret machinations, and with difficulty escaped them, because the king ever lent ready credence to charges brought against me. was a wretched existence-so wretched that, though clothed with the semblance of power, I would gladly have exchanged lots with the meanest of my subjects. No love could outlast such usage. Terror trampled out the embers of expiring affection. I never approached my terrible husband but with constraint and dread, uncertain whether I might not quit him for the scaffold. What wonder, after well-nigh four years of such misery, when the days of my suffering drew towards a close, I should not be wholly insensible to the attentions of one who seemed to pity me, and feigned to adore me? What wonder, when death at last released me from tyranny almost insupportable, I should have forgotten that I was the widow of a great king, but a cruel husband, and ere he, who had more than once menaced me with death, and had even ordered the warrant for my execution, was laid in the grave, should have half promised my hand to him who had sworn to efface my previous sufferings by a life of devotion? What wonder I should be beguiled by Sir Thomas Seymour, who hath the glozing tongue of the serpent, and who is as fairspoken and specious as he is perfidious? No epithet is strong enough to express the scorn I hold him in. My conduct may not be wholly free from censure, and some, as you have done, Elizabeth,