Minutes, many minutes, rolled by--but Marie moved not. Gently, and
tenderly, Don Ferdinand succeeded in disengaging the convulsive hold
with which she still clasped her parent, and sought to bear her from
that sad and solemn room. Wildly she looked up in his face, and then
on those beloved features, already fixed and gray in death;--with
frantic strength she pushed aside her husband, and sunk down by her
father's side.
CHAPTER VIII.
"Slight are the outward signs of evil thought:
Within, within--'twas there the spirit wrought.
Love shows all changes: hate, ambition, guile,
Betray no further than the bitter smile."
BYRON.
Our readers must imagine that nearly a year and a half has elapsed
since the conclusion of our last chapter. During that interval the
outward life of Marie had passed in a calm, even stream; which, could
she have succeeded in entirely banishing thoughts of the past, would
have been unalloyed enjoyment. Her marriage, as we hinted in our
fourth chapter, had been solemnized in public, with all the form and
ceremony of the Catholic Church, and with a splendor incumbent on the
high rank and immense wealth of the bridegroom. In compliance with
Marie's wishes, however, she had not yet been presented to the
Queen; delicate health (which was the fact, for a terrible fever
had succeeded the varied emotions of her wedding day) and her
late bereavement, was her husband's excuse to Isabella for her
non-appearance--an excuse graciously accepted; the rather that the
Queen of Castile was then much engrossed with political changes and
national reforms, than from any failing of interest in Don Ferdinand's
bride.
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