Oh, forgive me, my gracious Sovereign; and in token of thy pardon, grant me but one boon!" "Nought have I to forgive, my suffering child," replied the Queen, powerfully affected, and passing her arm caressingly round her kneeling favorite; "what is rank--sovereignty itself--in hours of sorrow?
If I were so tenacious of dignity as thou fearest, I should have shrunk from that awful presence--affliction from a Father's hand--in which his children are all equals, Marie.

And as for thy boon: be it what it may, I grant it." "Thou sayest so now, my liege; but when the hour to grant it comes, every feeling will revolt against it; even thine, my Sovereign, kind, generous, as thou art.

Oh, Madam, thou wilt hear a strange tale to-morrow--one so fraught with mystery and marvel, thou wilt refuse to believe; but when the trial of to-morrow is past, then think on what I say now: what thou nearest will be TRUE--true as there is a heaven above us; I swear it! Do not look upon me thus, my Sovereign; I am not mad--oh, would that I were! Dark, meaningless as my words seem now, to-morrow they will be distinct and clear enough.

And then--then, if thou hast ever loved me, oh, grant the boon I implore thee now: whatever thou mayest hear, do not condemn me--do not cast me wholly from thee.

More than ever shall I need thy protecting care.