"Weep, my poor girl, tears must
flow for a loss like this; and long, long weeks must pass ere we may
hope for resignation; but harrow not thyself by thoughts of more
fearful ill than the reality, my child. Do not look on what might be,
but what has been; on the comfort, the treasure, thou wert to the
beloved one we have lost. How devotedly he loved thee, and thou--"
"And I so treasured, so loved. Oh, gracious Sovereign!" And Marie sunk
down at her feet, clasping her robe in supplication. "Say but I may
see him in life once more; that life still lingers, if it be but to
tell me once more he forgives me. Oh, let me but hear his voice; but
once, only once, and I will be calm--quite calm; I will try to bear
this bitter agony. Only let me see him, hear him speak again. Thou
knowest not, thou canst not know, how my heart yearns for this."
"See him thou shalt, my poor girl, if it will give thee aught of
comfort; but hear him, alas! alas! my child, would that it might be!
Would for Spain and her Sovereign's sake, then how much more for
thine, that voice could be recalled; and life, if but for the briefest
space, return! Alas! the blow was but too well aimed."
"The blow! what blow? How did he die? Who slew him?" gasped Marie; her
look of wild and tearless agony terrifying Isabella, whose last words
had escaped unintentionally.
Pages:
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168