truth some hunted, hopeless,
homeless waif appealing for sympathy, she shrouded her pallid face in
the blue folds of her travelling cloak, and disappeared.

"She must certainly recognize her countrymen, for that splendid
passage seemed almost thrown to us, as a tribute to our nationality.
What a wonderful voice! And yet--she is so tender, so fragile," said
the minister.

"Did you observe how pale she grew toward the last, and so
hollow-eyed, as if utterly worn out in the passionate struggle?"
asked Mrs. Laurance.

"The passion of the remaining parts belongs rather to Leicester and
the Queen. By the way, this is quite a handsome earl, and the whole
cast is decidedly strong and successful. Look, Laurance! were you an
artist, would you desire a finer model for an Egeria? If Madame had
been reared in Canova's studio she could not possibly have
accomplished a more elegant felicitous pose. I should like her
photograph at this moment."

In the grotto scene, Amy was attired in pale sea-green silk, and her
streaming hair braided it with yellow light, as she shrank back from
the haughty visage of the Queen.

Rapidly the end approached, courtiers and maids of honour crowded
upon the stage, and thither Elizabeth dragged the unhappy wife, into
the presence of the earl, crying in thunder tones: "My Lord of
Leicester! knowest thou this woman?"

The craven silence of the husband, the desperate rally of the
suffering wife to shield him from the impending wrath, until at last
she was borne away insensible in Hunsdon's strong arms, all followed
in quick succession, and Amy's ill-starred career approached its
close, in the last interview with her husband.

When Cuthbert Laurance was a grey-haired man, trembling upon the
brink of eternity, there came a vision in the solemn hours of night,
and the form of Amy, wan as some marble statue, breathed again in his
ear the last words she uttered that night.

"Take your ill-fated wife by the hand, lead her to the footstool of
Elizabeth's throne; say that 'in a moment of infatuation moved by
supposed beauty, of which none perhaps can now trace even the
remains, I gave my hand to this poor Amy Robsart.' You will then have
done justice to me, and to your own honour; and should law or power
require you to part from me, I will offer no opposition, since I may
then with honour hide a grieved and broken heart in those shades,
from which your love withdrew me. Then--have but a little
patience--a