Oh, my Sovereign--thou who hast taught me so to love thee, in pity love me still!" "Strange wayward being," said Isabella, gazing doubtingly on the imploring face upturned to hers; "towards other than thyself such mystery would banish love for ever; but I will not doubt thee.

Darkly as thou speakest, still I grant the boon.

What can I hear of thee, to cast thee from me ?" "Thou wilt hear of deceit, my liege," replied Marie, very slowly, and her eyes fell beneath the Queen's gaze; "thou wilt hear of long years of deceit and fraud, and many--many tongues will speak their scorn and condemnation.

Then wilt thou grant it--then ?" "Even then," replied Isabella fearlessly; "an thou speakest truth at last, deceit itself I will forgive.

But thou art overwrought and anxious, and so layest more stress on some trivial fault than even I would demand.