"Jesu Maria!" said the Queen, with sadness and astonishment; "thy story is like a chapter of the Hundred Tales. 'Tis a melancholy one, in sooth! But, ma bonne, what proof canst thou afford us of all this?"
"My word, madam!" sobbed Anna; "my word only!—I am the daughter of a belted knight, who died in battle."
"But this great lord will also give us his word that thou art false, and can back his assertion by five thousand lances. Now, in this bad world, where every body is so false, who am I to believe?"
The Earl, who, during Anna's pathetic address (every word of which stung him to the soul), had been intently polishing his waist-buckle with his leathern glove, now replied boldly—
"I trust that your majesty will believe me—whose word no man now living hath ever dared to doubt—and believe me, when I declare the whole of this fabrication to be the invention of some unknown enemy, to deprive me of the little favour with which you have honoured me, as a return for my dutiful devoir and loyal service in our raid into Liddesdale. And I think when the place wherein this wretched woman was found, is taken into consideration, that I need not trouble myself much in denying the whole accusation."
"Mon Dieu! my lord, thou sayest true!" replied Mary, struck with the remark. "I own that it throws suspicion on the whole; and I have lived long enow among you to see the lengths courtiers will resort to, for undermining each other."
"And this woman," continued the Earl, whose indignation increased with his success; "this accursed harridan—this Alison Craig—why comes she not to back the charge of her gleewoman? I well know that the Lord Arran will vouch for her truth and honesty—yea, and greater men than he!"
Arran grasped his Parmese dagger; but Darnley, to whom all this had given intense delight, stayed his hand, and they exchanged glances expressive of the sentiments that animated them; for both were vindictive and malignant, and both had great command of feature and of temper.
Poor Anna knew not until now the truth of what she had long ago suspected—the vile nature of the dwelling to which Morton had so infamously consigned her. Now it all burst on her like a flash of lightning, and she alternately became crimson with shame and anger, or pale as death with a mortal sickness of heart; for she saw in the sudden change of Mary's demeanour, and the half quizzical, half pitying eyes of the nobles, and the disdain of the maids of honour, how lightly her story was valued.
A perfect paralysis seemed to possess her; near the steps of the throne she sank upon her knees, with her hands clasped, her hair falling in clusters over her face, and her heart full of agony, as she thought of her father's pride, her mother's worth—of Konrad's slighted love, and old Sir Erick's kindness.