t too true, Sir Richard," said Leicester; "there is indeed no
other remedy. I have heard her termed thy wife in my presence,
without contradiction. She must bear the title until she is far from
Kenilworth."

"And long afterwards, I trust," said Varney; then instantly added, "For
I cannot but hope it will be long after ere she bear the title of Lady
Leicester--I fear me it may scarce be with safety during the life of
this Queen. But your lordship is best judge, you alone knowing what
passages have taken place betwixt Elizabeth and you."

"You are right, Varney," said Leicester. "I have this morning been both
fool and villain; and when Elizabeth hears of my unhappy marriage, she
cannot but think herself treated with that premeditated slight which
women never forgive. We have once this day stood upon terms little short
of defiance; and to those, I fear, we must again return."

"Is her resentment, then, so implacable?" said Varney.

"Far from it," replied the Earl; "for, being what she is in spirit and
in station, she has even this day been but too condescending, in giving
me opportunities to repair what she thinks my faulty heat of temper."

"Ay," answered Varney; "the Italians say right--in lovers' quarrels, the
party that loves most is always most willing to acknowledge the greater
fault. So then, my lord, if this union with the lady could be concealed,
you stand with Elizabeth as you did?"

Leicester sighed, and was silent for a moment, ere he replied.

"Varney, I think thou art true to me, and I will tell thee all. I do NOT
stand where I did. I have spoken to Elizabeth--under what mad impulse
I know not--on a theme which cannot be abandoned without touching
every female feeling to the quick, and which yet I dare not and cannot
prosecute. She can never, never forgive me for having caused and
witnessed those yieldings to human passion."

"We must do something, my lord," said Varney, "and that speedily."

"There is nought to be done," answered Leicester, despondingly. "I am
like one that has long toiled up a dangerous precipice, and when he is
within one perilous stride of the top, finds his progress arrested
when retreat has become impossible. I see above me the pinnacle which I
cannot reach--beneath me the abyss into which I must fall, as soon as
my relaxing grasp and dizzy brain join to hurl me from my present
precarious stance."

"Think better of your situation, my lord," said Varney; "let us try the
experi