“Your son? Madam, I do not understand,” said the earl, knitting his brows in perplexity.
“You have condemned him to transportation! And he is innocent—as innocent of the crime for which he is to suffer as the angels in heaven,” cried the woman, in passionate tones.
“Madam, I assure you, I do not understand. Who is your son?” said the earl, more and more perplexed.
“You know him as Germaine, but he is my son, Reginald—my only son! Oh, my lord! spare him! spare him!” wildly pleaded the gipsy queen.
“Madam, rise.”
“Not until you have pardoned my son.”
“That I will never do! Your son has been found guilty of wilful robbery, and has been very justly condemned. I can do nothing for him,” said the earl, while his brow grew dark, and his mouth hard and stern.
“My lord, he is innocent!” almost shrieked the wretched woman at his feet.
“I do not believe it! He has been proven guilty,” said the earl, coldly.
“It is false! as false as the black hearts of the perjurers who swore against him!” fiercely exclaimed the gipsy; “he is innocent of this crime, as innocent of it as thou art, lord earl. Oh, Earl De Courcy, as you hope for pardon from God, pardon him.”