“Rise, madam, rise. I have no enmity against your relations. It is not I who accuse them. They have been tried by the laws of the country, and, if guilty, I have resigned all power over them. My crown, my life, the happiness of my people, and the tranquillity of the land, require their punishment. It is by my Minister’s advice I act thus, and to him you must plead their cause.”
“Oh, say not so, your Majesty. Do not thus yield to the grasping ambition of that enemy of our race, who seeks to rise by their destruction,” exclaimed Donna Theresa. “Exert your own royal authority, and act according to the generous dictates of your heart. You have the power—exert it, and be merciful; if not, before two suns have set, such deeds of cruelty will have been perpetrated as will cause the nations of Europe to execrate the very name of a Portuguese.”
The King’s firmness was fast yielding to the entreaties of his lovely petitioner. “I will endeavour to mitigate the rigour of their sentence for your sake, fair lady,” he answered. “If clearly proved, for the sake of my successors, I have no right to overlook their crime.”
“Rather let it be supposed by posterity that such a crime was impossible in Portugal,” interrupted Donna Theresa; “or teach your successors the virtue of clemency.”
“You plead most powerfully to my heart, Donna Theresa, nor can I longer withstand the energy of your prayers,” said the King. “Rise, then, and let me rather ask pardon for the anguish I have caused you. I it was who ought to have knelt to you.”
“I cannot rise till I hear their pardon pronounced by your gracious lips,” returned Donna Theresa. “Let me, to prove my innocence of betraying them, be the bearer of your forgiveness.”
“I do forgive them,” answered the King; “yet, in so important a matter, I may not act further without consulting my Minister.”
“Then their doom is sealed!” cried the unhappy lady. “Sebastiaö Jozé has moved heaven and earth to destroy them; and unless your Majesty rescues them by a determined act, they can in no way escape death.”
The King still looked as if he was about to deny her.
“Oh! hear me, your Majesty,—by the devoted love you so lately professed to bear me, by all your tender endearments, by your vows of constancy, by the sacrifice of my name and reputation to your passion, pardon those innocent ones—at all events, comparatively innocent—and let the punishment fall upon my guilty head!”