h her foot. "That is to say, the proud Earl Seymour holds the
bastard too base for his coronet! That is to say, you love me not!"

"No, it means that I love you more than myself--better and more purely
than any other man can love you; for this love is so great that it makes
my selfishness and my ambition silent, and allows me to think only of
you and your future."

"Ah," sighed she, mournfully, "if you really loved me, you would not
consider--you would not see the danger, nor fear death. You would think
of nothing, and know nothing, save love."

"Because I think of love, I think of you," said Seymour. "I think that
you are to move along over the world, great, powerful, and glorious, and
that I will lend you my arm for this. I think of this, that my queen of
the future needs a general who will win victories for her, and that
I will be that general. But when this goal is reached--when you are
queen--then you have the power from one of your subjects to make a
husband; then it rests with your own will to elevate me to be the
proudest, the happiest, and the most enviable of all men. Extend me your
hand, then, and I will thank and praise God that he is so gracious to
me; and my whole existence will be spent in the effort to give you the
happiness that you are so well entitled to demand."

"And until then?" asked she, mournfully.

"Until then, we will be constant, and love each other!" cried he, as he
gently pressed her in his arms. She gently repelled him. "Will you also
be true to me till then?"

"True till death!"

"They have told me that you would marry the Duchess of Richmond, in
order thereby to at length put an end to the ancient hatred between the
Howards and Seymours."

Thomas Seymour frowned, and his countenance grew dark. "Believe me, this
hatred is invincible," said he; "and no matrimonial alliance could wash
it away. It is an inheritance from many years in our families; and I am
firmly resolved not to renounce my inheritance. I shall just as little
marry the Duchess of Richmond, as Henry Howard will my sister, the
Countess of Shrewsbury."

"Swear that to me! Swear to me, that you say the truth, and that this
haughty and coquettish duchess shall never be your wife. Swear it to me,
by all that is sacred to you!"

"I swear it by my love!" exclaimed Thomas Seymour, solemnly.

"I shall then at least have one sorrow the less," sighed Elizabeth.
"I shall have no occasion to be jealous. And is it not true," s