“Her grace is overwrought,” he said coolly. “She asked to look into the future; I but obeyed her behest.”
“God’s death!” shrieked the queen, with a recurrence of her anguish, “he would have slain me, gentlemen!”
“Madam, I do beseech you, do me justice,” protested the wizard. “I laid no finger on you, nor intended harm to a hair of your royal head. Your grace should believe that I can but reveal, and not alter destiny.”
The queen stood a moment staring at him wildly, and then, despite Mistress Wyatt’s supporting arm, she fell forward on her knees, pressing her hands over her face.
“Alas!” she said, “the sight will kill me.”
“Call the Captain of the Guard,” cried Lady Rochford; “the villain hath bewitched the queen; she faints, she dies!”
Both Mary Wyatt and Betty were supporting Anne’s sinking form.
“Madam, I pray you remember that you are the Queen of England,” whispered her favorite, looking in agony at the white face of her mistress.
“The traitor has poisoned her!” exclaimed Sir Francis; “he shall hang at Tyburn!”
“I swear I have not harmed her,” retorted Sanders, casting an anxious glance at the stricken woman.