“Have I not some apparent cause?” answered Leicester, perceiving that Tressilian paused for a reply.

“You do me wrong, my lord.  I am a friend, but neither a dependant nor partisan, of the Earl of Sussex, whom courtiers call your rival; and it is some considerable time since I ceased to consider either courts or court intrigues as suited to my temper or genius.”

“No doubt, sir,” answered Leicester “there are other occupations more worthy a scholar, and for such the world holds Master Tressilian.  Love has his intrigues as well as ambition.”

“I perceive, my lord,” replied Tressilian, “you give much weight to my early attachment for the unfortunate young person of whom I am about to speak, and perhaps think I am prosecuting her cause out of rivalry, more than a sense of justice.”

“No matter for my thoughts, sir,” said the Earl; “proceed.  You have as yet spoken of yourself only—­an important and worthy subject doubtless, but which, perhaps, does not altogether so deeply concern me that I should postpone my repose to hear it.  Spare me further prelude, sir, and speak to the purpose if indeed you have aught to say that concerns me.  When you have done, I, in my turn, have something to communicate.”

“I will speak, then, without further prelude, my lord,” answered Tressilian, “having to say that which, as it concerns your lordship’s honour, I am confident you will not think your time wasted in listening to.  I have to request an account from your lordship of the unhappy Amy Robsart, whose history is too well known to you.  I regret deeply that I did not at once take this course, and make yourself judge between me and the villain by whom she is injured.  My lord, she extricated herself from an unlawful and most perilous state of confinement, trusting to the effects of her own remonstrance upon her unworthy husband, and extorted from me a promise that I would not interfere in her behalf until she had used her own efforts to have her rights acknowledged by him.”

“Ha,” said Leicester, “remember you to whom you speak?”

“I speak of her unworthy husband, my lord,” repeated Tressilian, “and my respect can find no softer language.  The unhappy young woman is withdrawn from my knowledge, and sequestered in some secret place of this Castle—­if she be not transferred to some place of seclusion better fitted for bad designs.  This must be reformed, my lord—­I speak it as authorized by her father—­and this ill-fated marriage must be avouched and proved in the Queen’s presence, and the lady placed without restraint and at her own free disposal.  And permit me to say it concerns no one’s honour that these most just demands of mine should be complied with so much as it does that of your lordship.”