"What is this paper?" queried His Lordship.
"It is a dispensation, my lord," replied Rose Marie firmly, "signed by His Holiness the Pope, as you will see. It was granted to my husband, Rupert Kestyon, then styled my Lord of Stowmaries and Rivaulx, giving him leave to avail himself of the laws of England, which would, on his request, annul his marriage with one Rose Marie Legros, who did on the nineteenth day of April, 1678, break her sworn marriage vows by contracting with Michael Kestyon a—"
But even as the awful words trembled on the girl's lips, Michael's restraint completely gave way. Despite the soldiers around him—who of a truth were taken by surprise—despite the hopeless futility of his former attempt—he broke through the rank of musketeers who were surrounding him, and with a cry as that of a wild animal wounded unto death, he bounded forward to where his snowdrop stood, and with one arm round her, pressing her to him with all the strength of passion held in check so long, he, with the other hand placed upon her mouth, smothered the word which would have escaped her lips.
"My lord, my lord," he cried, "is this justice? Sire, you are here present! Where is your kingly power? Will you not stop this desecration of the purest, holiest thing on earth? Are we in the torture chambers of our forefathers that men in England will listen unmoved to this?"
He had taken the guard so completely by surprise that the men were still standing mute and irresolute, the while the prisoner with defiant head erect challenged the king himself to intervene. He had sunk on one knee, his arm still round the form of his beloved. No one would have dared to touch him then, for he was like a wild beast defending its mate.
Rose Marie's strength had indeed failed her at last; when she felt herself falling against the breast of the man whom she so ardently loved, all her calm, all her resolution suddenly gave way. Once more she was the woman, the pure, tender-hearted, gentle-nurtured child, content to rest in the protecting arms of her lord, content to live for his happiness, or to share his disgrace.
"If I feared you before, my lord—meseems that I could love you now," her cold lips seemed to murmur the echo of the very first words of love which they had ever uttered.
And a groan of agony escaped the poor blackguard's overburdened heart. No longer splendid now, no longer defiant or proud—but humbled from his self-exalted state of arrogant manhood. And she, the slender water-lily, had of her own free will allowed the mud of a polluted world to soil the exquisite whiteness of her gown. She had descended from her lofty pedestal of saint-like aloofness, in order to link her fate to his—her sins to his—her life and love to his own. Fate and the overwhelming love of a woman had conquered his will.
"I am a man and what I do, I do!"