rections.

On the sudden entrance of the ladies, Richard, who was then lying on his
couch with his face towards the entrance, and resting on his elbow as he
spoke to his grisly attendant, flung himself hastily, as if displeased
and surprised, to the other side, turning his back to the Queen and the
females of her train, and drawing around him the covering of his couch,
which, by his own choice, or more probably the flattering selection of
his chamberlains, consisted of two large lions' skins, dressed in Venice
with such admirable skill that they seemed softer than the hide of the
deer.

Berengaria, such as we have described her, knew well--what woman knows
not?--her own road to victory. After a hurried glance of undisguised
and unaffected terror at the ghastly companion of her husband's secret
counsels, she rushed at once to the side of Richard's couch, dropped on
her knees, flung her mantle from her shoulders, showing, as they hung
down at their full length, her beautiful golden tresses, and while her
countenance seemed like the sun bursting through a cloud, yet bearing
on its pallid front traces that its splendours have been obscured, she
seized upon the right hand of the King, which, as he assumed his wonted
posture, had been employed in dragging the covering of his couch, and
gradually pulling it to her with a force which was resisted, though but
faintly, she possessed herself of that arm, the prop of Christendom
and the dread of Heathenesse, and imprisoning its strength in both her
little fairy hands, she bent upon it her brow, and united to it her
lips.

"What needs this, Berengaria?" said Richard, his head still averted, but
his hand remaining under her control.

"Send away that man, his look kills me!" muttered Berengaria.

"Begone, sirrah," said Richard, still without looking round, "What
wait'st thou for? art thou fit to look on these ladies?"

"Your Highness's pleasure touching the head," said the man.

"Out with thee, dog!" answered Richard--"a Christian burial!" The man
disappeared, after casting a look upon the beautiful Queen, in her
deranged dress and natural loveliness, with a smile of admiration more
hideous in its expression than even his usual scowl of cynical hatred
against humanity.

"And now, foolish wench, what wishest thou?" said Richard, turning
slowly and half reluctantly round to his royal suppliant.

But it was not in nature for any one, far less an admirer of beauty
like Richard,