suddenness startled me at first;
but it is over. Oh, madam," she continued--tone, look, and manner
becoming again those of the agitated suppliant, and she sunk once more
at Isabella's feet: "In my wild agony I have forgotten the respect and
deference due from a subject to her Sovereign; I have poured forth my
misery, seemingly as regardless of kindness, as insensible to the wide
distance between us. Oh, forgive me, my gracious Sovereign; and in
token of thy pardon, grant me but one boon!"

"Nought have I to forgive, my suffering child," replied the Queen,
powerfully affected, and passing her arm caressingly round her
kneeling favorite; "what is rank--sovereignty itself--in hours of
sorrow? If I were so tenacious of dignity as thou fearest, I should
have shrunk from that awful presence--affliction from a Father's
hand--in which his children are all equals, Marie. And as for thy
boon: be it what it may, I grant it."

"Thou sayest so now, my liege; but when the hour to grant it comes,
every feeling will revolt against it; even thine, my Sovereign, kind,
generous, as thou art. Oh, Madam, thou wilt hear a strange tale
to-morrow--one so fraught with mystery and marvel, thou wilt refuse to
believe; but when the trial of to-morrow is past, then think on what
I say now: what thou nearest will be TRUE--true as there is a heaven
above us; I swear it! Do not look upon me thus, my Sovereign; I am not
mad--oh, would that I were! Dark, meaningless as my words seem now,
to-morrow they will be distinct and clear enough. And then--then,
if thou hast ever loved me, oh, grant the boon I implore thee now:
whatever thou mayest hear, do not condemn me--do not cast me wholly
from thee. More than ever shall I need thy protecting care. Oh, my
Sovereign--thou who hast taught me so to love thee, in pity love me
still!"

"Strange wayward being," said Isabella, gazing doubtingly on the
imploring face upturned to hers; "towards other than thyself such
mystery would banish love for ever; but I will not doubt thee. Darkly
as thou speakest, still I grant the boon. What can I hear of thee, to
cast thee from me?"

"Thou wilt hear of deceit, my liege," replied Marie, very slowly, and
her eyes fell beneath the Queen's gaze; "thou wilt hear of long years
of deceit and fraud, and many--many tongues will speak their scorn and
condemnation. Then wilt thou grant it--then?"

"Even then," replied Isabella fearlessly; "an thou speakest truth
at last, deceit