this too long," said Anne. "Begone--you
terrify me."

"It is my last interview with you, Anne," said Wyat imploringly; "do
not abridge it. Oh, bethink you of the happy hours we have passed
together--of the vows we have interchanged--of the protestations you
have listened to, and returned--ay, returned, Anne. Are all these
forgotten?"

"Not forgotten, Sir Thomas," replied Anne mournfully; "but they must not
be recalled. I cannot listen to you longer. You must go. Heaven grant
you may get hence in safety!"

"Anne," replied Wyat in a sombre tone, "the thought of Henry's happiness
drives me mad. I feel that I am grown a traitor--that I could slay him."

"Sir Thomas!" she exclaimed, in mingled fear and anger.

"I will not go," he continued, flinging himself into a seat. "Let them
put what construction they will upon my presence. I shall at least wring
Henry's heart. I shall see him suffer as I have suffered; and I shall be
content."

"This is not like you, Wyat," cried Anne, in great alarm. "You were wont
to be noble, generous, kind. You will not act thus disloyally?

"Who has acted disloyally, Anne?" cried Wyat, springing to his feet, and
fixing his dark eyes, blazing with jealous fury, upon her--"you or I?
Have you not sacrificed your old affections at the shrine of ambition?
Are you not about to give yourself to one to whom--unless you are
foresworn--you cannot give your heart? Better had you been the mistress
of Allington Castle--better the wife of a humble knight like myself,
than the queen of the ruthless Henry."

"No more of this, Wyat," said Anne.

"Better far you should perish by his tyranny for a supposed fault now
than hereafter," pursued Wyat fiercely. "Think not Henry will respect
you more than her who had been eight-and-twenty years his wife. No;
when he is tired of your charms--when some other dame, fair as yourself,
shall enslave his fancy, he will cast you off, or, as your father truly
intimated, will seek a readier means of ridding himself of you. Then you
will think of the different fate that might have been yours if you had
adhered to your early love."

"Wyat! Wyat! I cannot bear this--in mercy spare me!" cried Anne.

"I am glad to see you weep," said Wyat; "your tears make you look more
like your former self."

"Oh, Wyat, do not view my conduct too harshly!" she said. "Few of my sex
would have acted other than I have done."

"I do not think so," replied Wyat sternly; "nor will I forego m