"Speak, dear child, speak," said the princess. "There is nought in my whole life, that I am not ready to tell here or anywhere."
"Well, then," said Iola, with a sigh; "did the princess Mary, when her husband was doing his knightly devoir here on this English ground, in behalf of the house which had befriended him and his, did she consent to a divorce from her once-loved lord, and----"
"Never, never, never!" cried the princess, starting from her seat, "never, by word or deed. What, has that dark tale come hither too? 'Twas done without my consent or knowledge; and, when done, I raised my voice and wrote my protest against it. They told me he was dead. They told me that he fell there, on Atherston moor--fell, as he lived, in noble deeds and gallant self-devotion."
"And then, hearing of his death," said Iola, in a voice sunk to the lowest tone with emotion; "the princess married James, Lord Hamilton."
"'Tis false!" exclaimed Mary, vehemently; and then, clasping Iola's hand in her own, she added: "Strange, mysterious girl, how is it that you, who know so much, do not know more? Hamilton was kind. He sought my noble husband as a brother, spoke in his favour to the king, raised his voice with mine; and, when at length the news of his death came, my brother and my sovereign signed a contract of marriage on my behalf, between him and me, and in his bounty gave lands and lordships to Lord Hamilton and the Princess Mary, his wife. They laid the contract before me, and I tore it and scattered it to the winds--for I had doubts," she added, in a low thoughtful voice. "I saw couriers going and coming to and from England, whose tidings were concealed from me; and, I had doubts--I have still doubts--that he died then. Now, I am sure he is dead, or they would not give me liberty to roam and seek his burial-place; for, ever since that day, when I tore the contract before my brother's face, in name I have been free, in truth a prisoner. I had but one faithful servant, whom I could trust. He, indeed, once deceived me, because he was himself deceived. He told me that my husband was dead in Denmark; and when we found, from certain intelligence, that he was here in England, warring for the house of Lancaster, the poor man was more thunderstruck than I was, for I had not believed the tale. Oh, how the heart clings to hope--how it clasps the faded flower, when even the root is withered. Still, still, till the end I hoped! With what tears I watered my pillow! With what prayers I wearied Heaven. Although I saw letters telling plainly that he died, sword in hand, on Atherston moor, I would not believe, till they told me at length, but a few months since, that, if I pleased, I might come and seek him myself. But, oh, dear child, that hope which I so fondly clung to would become a horror and a terror, if I could believe that my dear, my noble Arran, had been lingering on here, living, and yet doubting of my faith and truth. I know what his noble mind would have felt; I know how his kind and generous heart would have been wrung; I know the black despair into which he would have fallen. But it cannot be. I will not believe it. He would have written; he would have sent; he would have found some means to re-assure and comfort me. Now, then, I have answered all. Tell me, tell me, I beseech you, how died my husband? Where have they laid him? But you are weeping, my poor child."
"Stay a moment," said Iola, her voice half choked with sobs. "I shall recover in a minute. Then I will tell you all;" and, breaking away from her, she, quitted the room suddenly.
With a foot of light, Iola trod the passage nearly to the end, and opened a door, from which immediately a light streamed forth.
Sitting at a table underneath a burning sconce, with his arms resting on the board, and his forehead on his arms, was a tall and powerful man, dressed in the garments of a nobleman of high rank, somewhat antiquated indeed in point of fashion, but still rich and in good taste. He seemed not to hear Iola's foot; for he moved not, although the stillness of his figure was broken by the heaving of his chest with a long, deep, gasping sigh. She laid her hand upon his arm, saying:
"Look up, look up. Sunshine has come again."
He raised his head with a start; and the countenance before her was that of Boyd the woodman.