an impetuous step. "I might kneel down, indeed, a ruined man, condemned
to the block, but how should I rise again? Once more the favorite of
Elizabeth!--England's proudest noble!--with such prospects as ambition
never aimed at! Why have I tarried so long in this weary dungeon? The
ring has power to set me free! The palace wants me! Ho, jailer, unbar
the door!"

But then occurred the recollection of the impossibility of obtaining an
interview with his fatally estranged mistress, and testing the influence
over her affections, which he still flattered himself with possessing.
Could he step beyond the limits of his prison, the world would be all
sunshine; but here was only gloom and death.

"Alas!" said he, slowly and sadly, letting his head fall upon his hands.
"I die for the lack of one blessed word."

The Countess of Shrewsbury, herself forgotten amid the earl's gorgeous
visions, had watched him with an aspect that could have betrayed nothing
to the most suspicious observer; unless that it was too calm for
humanity, while witnessing the flutterings, as it were, of a generous
heart in the death-agony. She now approached him.

"My good lord," she said, "what mean you to do?"

"Nothing,--my deeds are done!" replied he, despondingly; "yet, had a
fallen favorite any friends, I would entreat one of them to lay this
ring at her Majesty's feet; albeit with little hope, save that,
hereafter, it might remind her that poor Essex, once far too highly
favored, was at last too severely dealt with."