“Sin must not beshrew sin. It is bitter to the death; but I drink it.”
“O, thou toad! Thou wilt not die, for all thy stricken heart? Will this kill thee then?”
She whipped out the red stiletto. Rosamond uttered a faint shriek.
“Blood!”
The Queen brandished it before her eyes.
“I met thy whelp in the glade. It was he who betrayed the way to me.”
The girl gasped and tottered forward.
“I let him to his death. Monster, thou hast killed my Willie—my boy, my one darling!”
She made an effort to leap forward—swayed—and fell her full length upon the grass.
The Queen, softly replacing her blade, stood staring down. No sound or movement followed on the fall. Stooping, she gazed long and silently into the thin face, then, without a word, turned and retreated as she had come.