Five minutes more, and she stood alone in the
presence of her Sovereign.
* * * * *
It was told; and with such deep sympathy, so gently, so cautiously,
that all of rude and stunning shock was averted; but, alas! who could
breathe of consolation at such a moment? Isabella did not attempt it;
but permitted the burst of agony full vent. She had so completely
merged all of dignity, all of the Sovereign into the woman and the
friend, that Marie neither felt nor exercised restraint; and words
mingled with her broken sobs and wild lament, utterly incomprehensible
to the noble heart that heard. The awful nature of Don Ferdinand's
death, Isabella had still in some measure concealed; but it seemed as
if Marie had strangely connected it with violence and blood, and, in
fearful and disjointed words, accused herself as its miserable cause.
"Why did not death come to me?" she reiterated; "why take him, my
husband--my noble husband? Oh, Ferdinand, Ferdinand! to go now, when I
have so learnt to love thee! now, when I looked to years of faithful
devotion to prove how wholly the past was banished--how wholly I was
thine alone! to atone for hours of suffering by years of love! Oh, how
couldst thou leave me friendless--desolate?"
"Not friendless, not desolate, whilst Isabella lives," replied the
Queen, painfully affected, and drawing Marie closer to her, till her
throbbing brow rested on her bosom.
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