his advancement or his fall forgot all that love had previously dictated, and saw nothing for the instant but the favour or disgrace which depended on the nod of Elizabeth and the fidelity of Varney.  He summoned himself hastily, and prepared to play his part in the scene which was like to ensue, when, as he judged from the glances which the Queen threw towards him, Varney’s communications, be they what they might, were operating in his favour.  Elizabeth did not long leave him in doubt; for the more than favour with which she accosted him decided his triumph in the eyes of his rival, and of the assembled court of England.  “Thou hast a prating servant of this same Varney, my lord,” she said; “it is lucky you trust him with nothing that can hurt you in our opinion, for believe me, he would keep no counsel.”

“From your Highness,” said Leicester, dropping gracefully on one knee, “it were treason he should.  I would that my heart itself lay before you, barer than the tongue of any servant could strip it.”

“What, my lord,” said Elizabeth, looking kindly upon him, “is there no one little corner over which you would wish to spread a veil?  Ah!  I see you are confused at the question, and your Queen knows she should not look too deeply into her servants’ motives for their faithful duty, lest she see what might, or at least ought to, displease her.”

Relieved by these last words, Leicester broke out into a torrent of expressions of deep and passionate attachment, which perhaps, at that moment, were not altogether fictitious.  The mingled emotions which had at first overcome him had now given way to the energetic vigour with which he had determined to support his place in the Queen’s favour; and never did he seem to Elizabeth more eloquent, more handsome, more interesting, than while, kneeling at her feet, he conjured her to strip him of all his dower, but to leave him the name of her servant.—­“Take from the poor Dudley,” he exclaimed, “all that your bounty has made him, and bid him be the poor gentleman he was when your Grace first shone on him; leave him no more than his cloak and his sword, but let him still boast he has—­what in word or deed he never forfeited—­the regard of his adored Queen and mistress!”

“No, Dudley!” said Elizabeth, raising him with one hand, while she extended the other that he might kiss it.  “Elizabeth hath not forgotten that, whilst you were a poor gentleman, despoiled of your hereditary rank, she was as poor a princess, and that in her cause you then ventured all that oppression had left you—­your life and honour.  Rise, my lord, and let my hand go—­rise, and be what you have ever been, the grace of our court and the support of our throne!  Your mistress may be forced to chide your misdemeanours, but never without owning your merits.—­And so help me God,” she added, turning to the audience, who, with various feelings, witnessed this interesting scene—­“so help me God, gentlemen, as I think never sovereign had a truer servant than I have in this noble Earl!”