The Prince was at a loss to know why she was so distressed. She had long been involved with him in the growing rupture with her father, to whom no affection or respect bound her, but the mere name of duty, and lately she had been well aware that the actions of the King were driving the Prince into open opposition.
He looked at her, rather pale, and frowned.
"You think of your father..." he said, ... "your father..."
Mary, who knew that tears vexed him, endeavoured to check her sobbing; but she could not control her voice to speak.
"I am indeed unfortunate," added the Prince rather grimly, "that to do what I must do I am under the necessity of the scandal of a breach in my own family."
She answered faintly, pressing her handkerchief to her eyes—
"God forgive me, I did not think of His Majesty."
"Of what, then?"
There was the slightest pause, and then she answered steadily, still staring out at the dark wood—
"Of—ourselves. Of the great change this will make—success or failure."