udley," said Elizabeth, yet it was with broken accents,--"no, I
must be the mother of my people. Other ties, that make the lowly
maiden happy, are denied to her sovereign--No, Leicester, urge it no
more--Were I as others, free to seek my own happiness--then,
indeed--but it can not--can not be.--Delay the chase--delay it for
half an hour--and leave me, my lord."

"How--leave you, madam!" said Leicester. "Has my madness offended
you?"

"No, Leicester, not so!" answered the Queen hastily; "but it is
madness, and must not be repeated. Go--but go not far from hence; and
meantime let no one intrude on my privacy."

While she spoke thus, Dudley bowed deeply, and retired with a slow and
melancholy air. The Queen stood gazing after him, and murmured to
herself, "Were it possible--were it _but_ possible!--But
no--no--Elizabeth must be the wife and mother of England alone."

As she spoke thus, and in order to avoid some one whose step she heard
approaching, the Queen turned into the grotto in which her hapless and
yet but too successful rival lay concealed.

The mind of England's Elizabeth, if somewhat shaken by the agitating
interview to which she had just put a period, was of that firm and
decided character which soon recovers its natural tone. It was like
one of those ancient druidical monuments called rocking-stones. The
finger of Cupid, boy as he is painted, could put her feelings in
motion; but the power of Hercules could not have destroyed their
equilibrium. As she advanced with a slow pace toward the inmost
extremity of the grotto, her countenance, ere she had proceeded half
the length, had recovered its dignity of look and her mien its air of
command.

It was then the Queen became aware that a female figure was placed
beside, or rather partly behind, an alabaster column, at the foot of
which arose the pellucid fountain which occupied the inmost recess of
the twilight grotto. The classical mind of Elizabeth suggested the
story of Numa and Egeria; and she doubted not that some Italian
sculptor had here represented the Naiad whose inspirations gave laws
to Rome. As she advanced, she became doubtful whether she beheld a
statue or form of flesh and blood. The unfortunate Amy, indeed,
remained motionless betwixt the desire which she had to make her
condition known to one of her own sex, and her awe for the stately
form that approached her,--and which, tho her eyes had never before
beheld, her fears instantly suspected t