"There are other clauses; Aluisi thought it might be better to read
them here--alone--before--before----" Her face was blanched and pained,
and her words came with difficulty.

The young Queen looked at her in surprise, then, after a moment's
indecision, dropped her eyes upon the page and read the short clauses
through; then once more--as if she did not understand--then again, a
scarlet flush growing as she read.

The parchment contained but three short clauses: King Janus left his
kingdom to his wife Caterina, who was to reign, with their child, if
there should be one; or alone, if the child should die.

He provided a Council of seven to assist her with the Government:

In case of her death and the death of the child, the kingdom should
descend to each of the three other children of Janus, in the order
named. The unwedded mother of these children was not mentioned and
Caterina had never dreamed of their existence.

She stood trembling--her face slowly paling to a marble whiteness.
"_Mater Dolorosa!_" she gasped, with a moan of pain, instantly
repressed.

The Lady Beata put her arm around her to steady her; but Caterina drew
herself away, standing upright.

"Call back the Chamberlain!" she cried, imperiously; and stood
waiting--panting--until he entered the room.

Then she drew up her slight figure in defiance, her eyes flashing in her
white, white face--her voice ringing scorn as she pointed to the
document which had dropped from her hand.

"How should I believe this--this _baseness_ of my husband--your King?"
she cried. "Who hath _dared_ to fashion it?"

"Beloved Sovereign Lady"--he answered her, and for very pity could say
no more.

She turned from one to the other with an impatient, questioning,
imperious gesture.

They came nearer--slowly--silently turning upon her such faces of love
and sorrow and comprehension that the fire in her eyes died in anguish.

A quiver shot through her, but she struggled to stand, motioning them
away again when they would have helped her--she must drink this cup of
bitterness alone. "How should I believe it?" she repeated brokenly,
still studying their faces.--"How _should_ I believe it--ye are not
faithless to him--to me----?"

There was no need to answer her: again they looked their unspeakable
compassion.

But as Caterina's eyes rested upon the parchment once more, a sudden
hope came to her. "The will of the King was written in his own hand,"
she cried eagerly