"I do forgive thy boldness for the sake of thy anxiety," said the Queen with sweetness. "We women have many desperate moments in these bitter times. A good night, my lady."
The Countess bent her proud blonde head and departed, and the Queen took up her beads and her silks and began again to work the bouquet of roses, lilies, and violets she was embroidering on the lid of the casket.
A thoughtful and haughty expression clouded the delicate lines of her face, and this proud pensive look did not alter when the hangings that had scarcely fallen into place behind Lady Strafford were again lifted, and the King, unattended, and with an air of haste, came into her presence.
"Has Strafford come?" she asked.
"Not yet!" replied Charles, in an unsteady voice, "and I have begun to wish I had not sent for him."
The Queen flung down her work and rose; the angry red of a deep passion stained her pallor.
"Canst thou never be resolute?" she cried. "Wilt thou for ever hesitate and change and regret every action? My lord, I would sooner be dead than see this temper in thee."
The King came and kissed her hand with a charming air of gallantry.
"Sweet," he said, in self-justification, "it is a horrid thing to command a man into the hands of his enemies."