our hand and raise me to the royalty of Poland, or see my
blood flow ignominiously upon the scaffold."

"I extend my hand!" exclaimed the agitated queen, "how can a feeble
woman give or take away the crown of Poland?"

"Him who wears the crown--she can take away."

"Murder the king!" shrieked Bona.

"Or sentence me," replied the duke.

It was no affected horror that the queen here displayed. Though at a
subsequent period of her life, if history speaks true, her imagination
had grown familiar with deeds of this very nature, and she had become
skilful in the art of poisoning, she was at this time young, and
unpractised in crime, and received its first suggestions with the
horror which it naturally inspires. She had sought for pleasure only
in the society of Glinski; it was a cruel disappointment, it was a
frightful surprise, to find herself thrust suddenly, with unsandaled
feet, on the thorny path of ambition. She sank back on the couch where
they had both been sitting, and, hiding her face in both her hands,
remained in that position while the duke continued to unfold his
schemes at greater length.

He represented to her that the possession of the duchy of Lithuania,
the inhabitants of which were distinguished by their bravery and their
turbulence, would enable him--should the king opportunely die--to
seize upon the vacant throne of Poland;--that he had numerous and
powerful friends among the nobility;--that he had already drawn
together his Lithuanians, under pretence of protecting the frontier
from the incursion of predatory bands;--that he intended immediately
to place himself at their head, and march towards Cracow. Now, if at
this moment the throne should suddenly become vacant, what power on
earth could prevent him from ascending it, and claiming the hand of
his then veritable queen? And then he expatiated on the happiness they
should enjoy, when they should live in fearless union,

"Like gods together, careless of mankind."

"What is this," exclaimed Bona, suddenly starting up--"what is this
you would tempt me to? You dare not even _name_ the horrid deed you
would have me _commit_. Avaunt! you are a devil, Albert Glinski!--you
would drag me to perdition." Then, falling in tears upon his neck, she
implored him not to tempt her further. "Oh, Albert! Albert!" she
cried, "I beseech you, plunge me not into this pit of guilt. You
_can_! I feel you can. Have mercy! I implore you, I charge you on your
soul,