“Such love as I bear for you, sweet Constance, I cannot give to her Majesty,” rejoined Philip, “for as I have just declared, you have sole possession of my heart. You need fear no rival in the Queen.”
“Oh! hush, Sire—hush!” exclaimed Constance, with the utmost alarm. “You are overheard! ha!—her Majesty!”
“The Queen here!” exclaimed Philip, springing to his feet.
And turning, he perceived that the Queen was pushing aside the hangings, and about to enter the room. Close behind her Majesty, whose looks proclaimed the depth of her indignation, came Sir John Gage. For a moment, Philip seemed embarrassed, but he quickly recovered himself. Mary regarded her faithless consort with flashing eyes, but repressed the bitter reproaches that rose to her lips, though her heart swelled almost to bursting, and the veins on her brow distended with rage.
It was an awful moment, and Sir John Gage looked greatly troubled. The silence was broken by Constance, who flung herself at the Queen’s feet, exclaiming:
“Do not judge me harshly, gracious Madam. Do not suppose that I have failed in duty to your Majesty. Do not deem that I have been a consenting party to this meeting. On my soul I have not. The King will confirm my assertion. Speak, Sire, speak!”
Unable to resist this appeal, Philip said, “It is the truth, Madam. I alone am to blame.”
“You hear, gracious Madam,” cried Constance, “his Majesty acquits me. My sole crime is, that I have unhappily attracted his attention.”
“And that is crime enough, minion,” said Mary, regarding her fiercely. “You shall expiate the offence with your life. I will show you no mercy. Call in the guard, Sir John,” she added to Gage.
“Take heed how you obey that order, Sir John,” interposed Philip. “I am equal in authority here, and I forbid you. Your Majesty will do well to pause,” he added, with stern significance, to the Queen, “ere a breach be made between us that cannot be closed.”