“Nothing will shake me,” said Constance. “My belief is fixed. I would rather endure martyrdom than peril my salvation.”
“Your firmness may be put to the test,” observed the Queen severely. “Your Majesty, methinks,” she added to Philip, “will scarcely attempt to defend her now.”
“I am horror-stricken!” exclaimed the King. “I could not have believed in so sudden and sad a defection. Who is the author of this evil work? To whose baneful counsel have you listened? Is it from the would-be assassin, Derrick Carver, that you have imbibed these pernicious opinions?”
“I have heard the truth from his lips, Sire,” returned Constance.
“I guessed as much,” said Philip; “and it is from this polluted source that you expect the water of life to flow. I did not believe you capable of such weakness. I can no longer oppose her Majesty’s design of placing you in some religious house, where discipline and good counsel may bring you back to the faith from which you have swerved.”
“If mild measures prove ineffectual, others must be adopted,” observed Mary.
“Do with me as you will,” said Constance, resignedly. “I am in your Majesty’s hands, and am prepared to seal my faith with my blood.”
“Were anything wanting to convince me of the necessity of utterly extirpating heresy from the realm, I should now be satisfied,” remarked Mary. “An example shall be made of this mischievous Derrick Carver. He shall be delivered over to the religious tribunals, to be dealt with according to his deserts. Prepare for immediate departure,” she added to Constance. “I myself will give instructions respecting you.”
Constance bowed submissively.
By this time the Queen’s anger towards her consort had somewhat subsided, and she said to him in a somewhat kindlier tone, “Your Majesty can have no further business here. I will pray you to accompany me.”