“Is there no poison left for me, that I may join him?” cried Constance.
“Kind Heaven support her!” exclaimed Pole. “Her reason wanders.”
“No, I am calm enough now,” she rejoined.
“Then you may bear to hear that Osbert’s last thoughts were given to you,” said Philip. “This scrap of paper was found clutched in his dying grasp. On it are written the words, ‘Farewell for ever, beloved Constance!’”
Taking the piece of crumpled paper from the King, she gazed at it for a few moments, and then pressed it convulsively to her lips.
“Farewell, Osbert—farewell for ever!” she cried.
“No, not for ever,” rejoined Pole, solemnly. “You will be united in a better world.”
Praying the Cardinal to stay with her and console her, the King withdrew with D’Egmont and Bedingfeld.
Left alone with Pole and the Queen, Constance was permitted by them to indulge her grief without restraint before any attempt at consolation was made; but when these paroxysms were over, and she became calmer, the good Cardinal poured balm into her bruised spirit, and ceased not till his efforts were successful.
From that moment Constance became perfectly resigned—and though all youthful gaiety and lightness of heart deserted her, and her features wore an unvarying expression of melancholy and sadness, she never uttered a murmur. She would fain have spent the rest of her life in solitude and retirement, but the Queen refused to part with her, and retained her with her to the close of her days.