It was in vain that Edward sought to absorb the fire of his nature in
state affairs, in all needful provisions against the impending perils,
in schemes of war and vengeance. The fatal frenzy that had seized him
haunted him everywhere, by day and by night. For some days after the
unsuspected visit which he had so criminally stolen to his guest's
chamber, something of knightly honour, of religious scruple, of common
reason,--awakened in him the more by the dangers which had sprung up
and which the Neviles were now actively employed in defeating,--
struggled against his guilty desire, and roused his conscience to a
less feeble resistance than it usually displayed when opposed to
passion; but the society of Anne, into which he was necessarily thrown
so many hours in the day, and those hours chiefly after the
indulgences of the banquet, was more powerful than all the dictates of
a virtue so seldom exercised as to have none of the strength of habit.
And as the time drew near when he must visit the archbishop, head his
army against the rebels (whose force daily increased, despite the
captivity of Lord Welles and Sir Thomas Dymoke, who, on the summons of
the king, had first taken sanctuary, and then yielded their persons on
the promise of pardon and safety), and restore Anne to her mother,--as
this time drew near, his perturbation of mind became visible to the
whole court; but, with the instinct of his native craft, he contrived
to conceal its cause. For the first time in his life he had no
confidant--he did not dare trust his secret to Hastings. His heart
gnawed itself. Neither, though constantly stealing to Anne's side,
could he venture upon language that might startle and enlighten her.
He felt that even those attentions, which on the first evening of her
arrival had been noticed by the courtiers, could not be safely
renewed. He was grave and constrained, even when by her side, and the
etiquette of the court allowed him no opportunity for unwitnessed
conference. In this suppressed and unequal struggle with himself the