“Yes, you are right, Andrea, my sister and friend; and I am unjust, exacting and cruel. But when all falls away from me, friends, power and fame, I may wish that at least this passion to which I have sacrificed friendship, power and reputation, should be left to me.”
“And, now,” went on the lady of honor, with the glacial coldness she had laid aside only for a moment, when she spoke of the torments she had undergone, “have you anything more to ask me—or fresh orders to transmit?”
“No, nothing, I thank you. I wished to restore you my friendship but you will not accept it. Farewell; at least take my gratitude with you.”
Andrea waved away this second feeling as she had the former, and making a cold and deep reverence, stole forth silently and slowly as a ghost.
“Oh, body of ice, heart of diamond and soul of fire, you are right not to wish either my friendship or my gratitude; for I feel—though the Lord forgive me! that I hate you as I never hated any one—for if he does not love you now, I foresee that he will love you some day.”
She called Weber to ask if Dr. Gilbert was coming next day.
“At ten in the morning.”
Pleading that she was ailing and wearied, she forbade her ladies to disturb her before ten, the only person she intended to see being Gilbert.
CHAPTER XXI.
WHAT A CUT-OFF HEAD MAY COUNSEL.
WHEN Gilbert appeared before the Queen, she uttered a scream, for his ruffles and part of his coat were torn and drops of blood stained his shirt.