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.

"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.