QUEEN. She was devoted to you, wasn't she?
LORD B. I never read the depth of her devotion-till after her death. Then, Madam—this I have told to nobody but yourself—then I found among her papers—addressed "to my dear husband"—a message, written only a few days before her death, with a hand shaken by that nerve-racking and fatal malady which she endured so patiently—begging me to marry again.
(The Queen is now really crying, and finds speech difficult.)
QUEEN. And you, you—? Dear Lord Beaconsfield; did you mean—had you ever meant——?
LORD B. I did not then, Madam; nor have I ever done so since. It is enough if I allow myself—to love.
QUEEN. Oh, yes, yes; I understand—better than others would. For that has always been my own feeling.
LORD B. In the history of my race, Madam, there has been a great tradition of faithfulness between husbands and wives. For the hardness of our hearts, we are told, Moses permitted us to give a writing of divorcement. But we have seldom acted on it. In my youth I became a Christian; I married a Christian. But that was no reason for me to desert the nobler traditions of my race—for they are in the blood and in the heart. When my wife died I had no thought to marry again; and when I came upon that tender wish, still I had no thought for it; my mind would not change. Circumstances that have happened since have sealed irrevocably my resolution-never to marry again.
QUEEN. Oh, I think that is so wise, so right, so noble of you!
(The old Statesman rises, pauses, appears to hesitate, then in a voice charged with emotion says)
LORD B. Madam, will you permit me to kiss your hand?