(Watching him, she sees him smile.)
KATHARINE (rather tremulously). Are you glad—that you didn't have it?
PARNELL. And use it? Yes: I am—glad!
KATHARINE (throwing herself into his arms). Oh, my dear! Why, that means everything. You're glad! You're glad!
PARNELL (clasping her). Oh, my own love, my own dear sweet!
KATHARINE. You regret—nothing?
PARNELL. Nothing. Haven't I made you sure of that—yet?
KATHARINE. Oh, my King!—my King!
(And just then the paper in the grate kindling into flame, he points to it.)
PARNELL. Look! there goes—our proof.