This conduct Jane attributed in some degree to the effect produced upon his spirits by the reverse of fortune he had sustained, and by his long imprisonment. But she could not help fearing, though he did not confide the secrets of his bosom to her, that he still cherished the project he had darkly hinted at. She was confirmed in this opinion by the frequent visits of her father, who like her husband, had an anxious look, and by other guests who arrived at nightfall, and departed as secretly as they came. As soon as this conviction seized her, she determined, at the hazard of incurring his displeasure, to speak to her husband on the subject; and accordingly, one day, when he entered her room with a moodier brow than usual, she remarked, “I have observed with much uneasiness, dear Dudley, that ever since our release from imprisonment, a gradually-increasing gloom has taken possession of you. You shun my regards, and avoid my society,—nay, you do not even converse with me, unless I wring a few reluctant answers from you. To what must I attribute this change?” “To anything but want of affection for you, dear Jane,” replied Dudley, with a melancholy smile, while he fondly pressed her hand. “You had once secrets from me, it is my turn to retaliate, and be mysterious towards you.” “You will not suppose me influenced by idle curiosity if I entreat to be admitted to your confidence, my dear lord,” replied Jane. “Seeing you thus oppressed with care, and knowing how much relief is afforded by sharing the burthen with another, I urge you, for your own sake, to impart the cause of your anxiety to me. If I cannot give you counsel, I can sympathy.” Dudley shook his head, and made a slight effort to change the conversation. “I will not be turned from my purpose,” persisted Jane; “I am the truest friend you have on earth, and deserve to be trusted.” “I would trust you, Jane, if I dared,” replied Dudley. “Dared!” she echoed. “What is there that a husband dares not confide to his wife?” “In this instance much,” answered Dudley; “nor can I tell you what occasions the gloom you have noticed, until I have your plighted word that you will not reveal aught I may say to you. And further, that you will act according to my wishes.” “Dudley,” returned Jane gravely, “your demand convinces me that my suspicions are correct. What need of binding me to secrecy, and exacting my obedience, unless you are acting wrongfully, and desire me to do so likewise? Shall I tell why you fear I should divulge your secret—why you are apprehensive I should hesitate to obey your commands? You are plotting against the queen, and dread I should interfere with you.” “I have no such fears,” replied Dudley, sternly. “Then you own that I am right?” cried Jane, anxiously. “You are so far right,” replied Dudley, “that I am resolved to depose Mary, and restore you to the throne, of which she has unjustly deprived you.”