He said this in his most gay, yet benevolent manner, and smiled, not disdainfully, but in playful mockery of himself.  Then his countenance suddenly darkened, and in that shrill tone peculiar to himself, he cried, “I fought a good battle last night; higher conquest the plains of Greece never saw me achieve.  Now I am the first man in the state, burthen of every ballad, and object of old women’s mumbled devotions.  What are your meditations?  You, who fancy that you can read the human soul, as your native lake reads each crevice and folding of its surrounding hills—­say what you think of me; king-expectant, angel or devil, which?”

This ironical tone was discord to my bursting, over-boiling-heart; I was nettled by his insolence, and replied with bitterness; “There is a spirit, neither angel or devil, damned to limbo merely.”  I saw his cheeks become pale, and his lips whiten and quiver; his anger served but to enkindle mine, and I answered with a determined look his eyes which glared on me; suddenly they were withdrawn, cast down, a tear, I thought, wetted the dark lashes; I was softened, and with involuntary emotion added, “Not that you are such, my dear lord.”

I paused, even awed by the agitation he evinced; “Yes,” he said at length, rising and biting his lip, as he strove to curb his passion; “Such am I!  You do not know me, Verney; neither you, nor our audience of last night, nor does universal England know aught of me.  I stand here, it would seem, an elected king; this hand is about to grasp a sceptre; these brows feel in each nerve the coming diadem.  I appear to have strength, power, victory; standing as a dome-supporting column stands; and I am—­a reed!  I have ambition, and that attains its aim; my nightly dreams are realized, my waking hopes fulfilled; a kingdom awaits my acceptance, my enemies are overthrown.  But here,” and he struck his heart with violence, “here is the rebel, here the stumbling-block; this over-ruling heart, which I may drain of its living blood; but, while one fluttering pulsation remains, I am its slave.”

He spoke with a broken voice, then bowed his head, and, hiding his face in his hands, wept.  I was still smarting from my own disappointment; yet this scene oppressed me even to terror, nor could I interrupt his access of passion.  It subsided at length; and, throwing himself on the couch, he remained silent and motionless, except that his changeful features shewed a strong internal conflict.  At last he rose, and said in his usual tone of voice, “The time grows on us, Verney, I must away.  Let me not forget my chiefest errand here.  Will you accompany me to Windsor to-morrow?  You will not be dishonoured by my society, and as this is probably the last service, or disservice you can do me, will you grant my request?”

He held out his hand with almost a bashful air.  Swiftly I thought—­Yes, I will witness the last scene of the drama.  Beside which, his mien conquered me, and an affectionate sentiment towards him, again filled my heart—­I bade him command me.  “Aye, that I will,” said he gaily, “that’s my cue now; be with me to-morrow morning by seven; be secret and faithful; and you shall be groom of the stole ere long.”