“And now,” continued Henry, taking the hand of Marguerite—“Here is the victor’s prize—wilt have him, Marguerite?—’fore heaven but he has won thee nobly!—wilt have her, De La-Hirè, methinks her tears and beauty may yet atone for fickleness produced by treasons such as his who now shall never more betray, nor lie, nor sin forever!—”
“Sire,” replied De La-Hirè very firmly, “I pardon her, I love her yet!—but I wed not dishonor!”
“He is right,” said the pale girl—“he is right, ever right and noble—for what have such as I to do with wedlock? Fare thee well!—Charles—dear, honored Charles!—The mists of this world are clearing away from mine eyes, and I see now that I loved thee best—thee only! Fare thee well, noble one, forget the wretch who has so deeply wronged thee—forget me and be happy. For me I shall right soon be free!”
“Not so—not so,” replied King Henry, misunderstanding her meaning—“not so, for I have sworn it, and though I may pity thee, I may not be forsworn—to-morrow thou must to a convent, there to abide for ever!”
“And that will not be long,” answered the girl, a gleam of her old pride and impetuosity lighting up her fair features.
“By heaven, I say forever,” cried Henry, stamping his foot on the ground angrily.
“And I reply, not long!”
| [1] | See the “False Ladye,” page 27. |