“And when you have gratified this fell passion, madam,” returned Gardiner, “remorse will succeed, and you will bitterly regret what you have done. Since nothing better may be,—and if you will not nobly, and like yourself, pardon the offenders,—at least reflect before you act. If you persist in your present intention, it will be the duty of all your faithful subjects to prepare for a rebellion, for such will certainly ensue.” “Make what preparations you deem fitting, my lord,” replied Mary. “In my father’s time the people did not dare to resist his decrees, however arbitrary.” “The people are no longer what they were, madam, nor are you—for I must make bold to say so—in the position, or backed by the power of your dread father. What he did is no rule for you. I am no advocate for Courtenay—nor for the princess Elizabeth. Could you avenge yourself upon them with safety, though I should lament it, I would not oppose you. But you cannot do so. Others must bleed at the same time. Remember the Lady Jane Gray and her husband yet live. You will revive their faction—and must of necessity doom them to death to prevent another rebellion. Once begun, there will be no end to bloodshed.” “These are cogent reasons, my lord,” returned Mary, after a moment’s reflection,—“supposing them well-founded.” “And trust me, they are well-founded, gracious madam,” replied the Bishop. “Do not sacrifice your kingdom—do not sacrifice the holy Catholic church which looks to you for support—to an insane thirst of vengeance.” “Gardiner,” replied Mary, taking his hand and looking at him earnestly, “you know not how I have loved this man. Put yourself in my position. How would you act?” “As I am assured your highness would, if you were not under the dominion of passion,” replied the bishop—“forgive him.” “I would do so,” rejoined Mary, “but oh! if he were to wed Elizabeth, I should die. I would rather yield them my crown,—my life,—than consent to their espousals. But I will not think for myself. Arise, my lord. Give me your counsel, and what you recommend I will follow.” “Spoken like yourself, gracious madam,” replied the bishop. “I was sure your noble nature could soon triumph over unworthy thoughts. Since your highness thinks it possible Courtenay may wed Elizabeth, I would advise you to detain him for the present a captive in the Tower. But instantly liberate the princess—dismiss her from your court—and let her retire to Ashbridge.” “I like your advice well, my lord,” replied the Queen, “and will act upon it. The princess shall set out to-day.” “I cannot too highly applaud your highness’s determination,” replied Gardiner; “but as you have spoken thus frankly, may I venture to ask whether the earl’s case is utterly hopeless?—whether, after he has sufficiently felt the weight of your displeasure you will not restore him to your favour—to your affections?” “Never,” replied Mary, firmly, “never. And could you counsel it?”