s exhausted, and it is for you to give
me life or death. To-morrow I will ascend the scaffold, or you shall
permit me to live, to live for you."

Catharine trembled and looked at him wellnigh astounded. He seemed so
proud and imperative, she almost felt a fear for him, but it was the
happy fear of a loving, meek woman before a strong, commanding man.

"Know you," said she, with a charming smile, "that you almost have the
appearance of wishing to command me to love you?"

"No, queen," said he, proudly, "I cannot command you to love me, but I
bid you tell me the truth. I bid you do this, for I am a man who has the
right to demand the truth of a woman face to face. And I have told you,
you are not the queen to me. You are but a beloved, an adored woman.
This love has nothing to do with your royalty, and while I confess it to
you, I do not think that you abase yourself when you receive it. For
the true love of a man is ever the holiest gift that he can present to
a woman, and if a beggar dedicates it to a queen, she must feel herself
honored by it. Oh, queen, I am a beggar. I lie at your feet and raise
my hands beseechingly to you; but I want not charity, I want not your
compassion and pity, which may, perhaps, grant me an alms to lessen my
misery. No, I want you yourself. I require all or nothing. It will not
satisfy me that you forgive my boldness, and draw the veil of
silence over my mad attempt. No, I wish you to speak, to pronounce my
condemnation or a benediction on me. Oh, I know you are generous and
compassionate, and even if you despise my love and will not return
it, yet, it may be, you will not betray me. You will spare me, and
be silent. But I repeat it, queen, I do not accept this offer of your
magnanimity. You are to make me either a criminal or a god; for I am a
criminal if you condemn my love, a god if you return it."

"And do you know, earl," whispered Catharine, "that you are very cruel?
You want me to be either an accuser or an accomplice. You leave me
no choice but that of being either your murderess or a perjured and
adulterous woman--a wife who forgets her plighted faith and her sacred
duty, and defiles the crown which my husband has placed upon my head
with stains, which Henry will wash out with my own blood and with yours
also."

"Let it be so, then," cried the earl, almost joyfully. "Let my head
fall, no matter how or when, if you but love me; for then I shall still
be immortal; for a moment in