“Come, my lord and husband,” said she, cheerfully, “the sun beckons to us, and the trees shake their heads indignantly because we are not yet there.”
“Yes, come, Kate,” said the king, rousing himself with an effort from his brown study; “come, we will go down into God’s free air. Perhaps He is nearer to us there, and may illuminate us with good thoughts and wholesome resolutions. Come, Kate.”
The queen gave him her arm, and, supported on it, the king advanced a few steps. But suddenly Catharine stood still; and as the king fastened on her his inquiring look, she blushed and cast down her eyes.
“Well!” asked the king, “why do you linger?”
“Sire, I was considering your words; and what you say about the sun and wholesome resolutions has touched my heart and startled my conscience. My husband, you are right; God is there without, and I dare not venture to behold the sun, which is God’s eye, before I have made my confession and received absolution. Sire, I am a great sinner, and my conscience gives me no rest. Will you be my confessor, and listen to me?”
The king sighed. “Ah,” thought he, “she is hurrying to destruction, and by her own confession of guilt she will make it impossible for me to hold her guiltless!”
“Speak!” said he aloud.
“First,” said she, with downcast eyes—“first, I must confess to you that I have to-day deceived you, my lord and king. Vanity and sinful pride enticed me to this; and childish anger made me consummate what vanity whispered to me. But I repent, my king; I repent from the bottom of my soul, and I swear to you, my husband—yes, I swear to you by all that is sacred to me, that it is the first and only time that I have deceived you. And never will I venture to do it again, for it is a dismal and awful feeling to stand before you with a guilty conscience.”
“And in what have you deceived us, Kate?” asked the king; and his voice trembled.
Catharine drew from her dress a small roll of paper, and, humbly bowing, handed it to the king. “Take and see for yourself, my husband,” said she.