Who says he
slew him? Why do they attach so foul a crime to his unshadowed name?
Let the murderer die; but it is not Arthur: I know it is not. Oh, do
not slay him too!"
Marie knew not the wild entreaty breathing in her words: but the
almost severely penetrating gaze which Isabella had fixed upon her,
recalled her to herself; a crimson flush mounted to cheek and brow,
and, burying her face in the Queen's robe, she continued less wildly--
"Oh, madam, bear with me; I know not what I say. Think I am mad;
but oh, in mercy, ask me no question. Am I not mad, to ask thee to
spare--spare--him they call my husband's murderer? Let him die," and
the wild tone returned, "if he indeed could strike the blow; but oh,
let not my lips pronounce his death-doom! Gracious Sovereign, do not
look upon me thus--I cannot bear that gaze."
"Fear me not, poor sufferer," replied Isabella, mildly; "I will ask no
question--demand nought that will give thee pain to answer--save that
which justice compels me to require. That there is a double cause for
all this wretchedness, I cannot but perceive, and that I suspect its
cause I may not deny; but guilty I will not believe thee, till
thine own words or deeds proclaim it. Look up then, my poor child,
unshrinkingly; I am no dread Sovereign to thee, painful as is the
trial to which I fear I must subject thee.
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