I never go to confession, for confession is a
highly-spiced dish of popery on which I long since spoilt my
stomach; and as concerns my deathbed, one cannot, under the blessed
and pious reign of Henry the Eighth, altogether know whether he will
be really a participant of any kind, or whether he may not make a
far more speedy and convenient trip into eternity by the aid of the
hangman."
"Oh, be serious, John--do, I pray you! Let the fool's mask, under
which you hide your sober and honest face, not hide it from me also.
Be serious, John, and swear to me that you will keep my secret."
"Well, then, I swear, princess; I swear by your mother's spirit to
betray not a word of what you are going to tell me."
"I thank you, John. Now lean this way nearer to me, lest the breeze
may catch a single word of mine and bear it farther. John, I love!"
She saw the half-surprised, half-incredulous smile which played
around John Heywood's lips. "Oh," continued she, passionately, "you
believe me not. You consider my fourteen years, and you think the
child knows nothing yet of a maiden's feelings. But remember, John,
that those girls who live under a warm sun are early ripened by his
glowing rays, and are already wives and mothers when they should
still be dreaming children. Well, now, I too am the daughter of a
torrid zone, only mine has not been the sun of prosperity, and it
has been sorrow and misfortune which have matured my heart. Believe
me, John, I love! A glowing, consuming fire rages within me; it is
at once my delight and my misery, my happiness and my future.
Pages:
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204