“Thou shalt never have an opportunity to do so,” said the Countess.—­“Look at him, Janet.  He is fairly dressed, hath the outside of a gentleman, and hither he came to persuade me it was my lord’s pleasure—­nay, more, my wedded lord’s commands—­that I should go with him to Kenilworth, and before the Queen and nobles, and in presence of my own wedded lord, that I should acknowledge him—­him there—­that very cloak-brushing, shoe-cleaning fellow—­him there, my lord’s lackey, for my liege lord and husband; furnishing against myself, Great God! whenever I was to vindicate my right and my rank, such weapons as would hew my just claim from the root, and destroy my character to be regarded as an honourable matron of the English nobility!”

“You hear her, Foster, and you, young maiden, hear this lady,” answered Varney, taking advantage of the pause which the Countess had made in her charge, more for lack of breath than for lack of matter—­“you hear that her heat only objects to me the course which our good lord, for the purpose to keep certain matters secret, suggests in the very letter which she holds in her hands.”

Foster here attempted to interfere with a face of authority, which he thought became the charge entrusted to him, “Nay, lady, I must needs say you are over-hasty in this.  Such deceit is not utterly to be condemned when practised for a righteous end I and thus even the patriarch Abraham feigned Sarah to be his sister when they went down to Egypt.”

“Ay, sir,” answered the Countess; “but God rebuked that deceit even in the father of His chosen people, by the mouth of the heathen Pharaoh.  Out upon you, that will read Scripture only to copy those things which are held out to us as warnings, not as examples!”

“But Sarah disputed not the will of her husband, an it be your pleasure,” said Foster, in reply, “but did as Abraham commanded, calling herself his sister, that it might be well with her husband for her sake, and that his soul might live because of her beauty.”

“Now, so Heaven pardon me my useless anger,” answered the Countess, “thou art as daring a hypocrite as yonder fellow is an impudent deceiver!  Never will I believe that the noble Dudley gave countenance to so dastardly, so dishonourable a plan.  Thus I tread on his infamy, if indeed it be, and thus destroy its remembrance for ever!”

So saying, she tore in pieces Leicester’s letter, and stamped, in the extremity of impatience, as if she would have annihilated the minute fragments into which she had rent it.

“Bear witness,” said Varney, collecting himself, “she hath torn my lord’s letter, in order to burden me with the scheme of his devising; and although it promises nought but danger and trouble to me, she would lay it to my charge, as if I had any purpose of mine own in it.”

“Thou liest, thou treacherous slave!” said the Countess in spite of Janet’s attempts to keep her silent, in the sad foresight that her vehemence might only furnish arms against herself—­“thou liest,” she continued.—­“Let me go, Janet—­were it the last word I have to speak, he lies.  He had his own foul ends to seek; and broader he would have displayed them had my passion permitted me to preserve the silence which at first encouraged him to unfold his vile projects.”