Where is the man who can withstand a lovely woman’s prayers, when, weeping, she pleads, and pleads for justice? The King could no longer resist her entreaties; he gently raised her, and, pressing his lips to her hands, he was about to pledge his kingly promise that none should suffer—the words faltered on his tongue—the door opened, he looked up, and beheld the commanding figure of the Prime Minister! The latter stopped, gazing with amazement. Donna Theresa saw not, heard not aught but her sovereign, as she waited eagerly for the words he was about to pronounce.
“You promise, then—you promise they shall be pardoned?” she ejaculated.
The King’s eye sank before the searching glance of his potent Minister.
“Pardon me, your Majesty, for my intrusion, and will you graciously deign to explain the meaning of this lady’s presence?” exclaimed the latter, advancing rapidly, for he had heard Donna Theresa’s last words, and in a moment clearly comprehended the cause of her visit. He felt that his own power hung upon a thread, and he foresaw that, if she gained her cause, he must inevitably be the sacrifice.
In an instant he had arranged his plan. “I need no explanation,—Donna Theresa de Tavora has ventured hither against your Majesty’s commands, to impose, with a false tale of her relatives’ innocence, on your gracious clemency, and, for the sake of saving the guilty, would sacrifice your life and crown to their implacable hatred. Be not deceived, Sire, by the treacherous tongue of an artful woman. I come now from the trial of the once so-called Duke of Aveiro, the Marquis of Tavora, and their associates: the judges have found them guilty of the most atrocious of conspiracies, and have condemned them accordingly. Your Majesty’s sacred life had nearly fallen a sacrifice to some unknown traitors. For months have I incessantly toiled, day and night, to discover the miscreants, and at length I have been successful, and they are about to receive the punishment of their deeds. Let not, then, all my exertions prove vain; and, above all, Sire, do not jeopard your own precious life by mistaken leniency.”
The Minister watched the King’s countenance, and saw that he had won his cause. He advanced to Donna Theresa, and grasped her arm: “Come, madam, you must no longer intrude upon his Majesty!” he exclaimed.
She started at his touch, and turned an entreating look towards the King. The Monarch’s eye was averted. “All, all is lost!” she cried, and, uttering a piercing shriek, sank senseless upon the ground.
“Pardon this seeming harshness, Sire,” said Carvalho, deprecatingly, as he raised Donna Theresa in his arms. “It is necessary for your safety.”
“You are always right, my friend,” said the King. “Let every care and attention be paid her; and let some one be with her to console her for her disappointment;” and he turned away to hide his own emotion: he longed to hide his feelings from himself.
“’Tis another step gained towards supreme power,” thought the Minister, as he bore his unconscious burden from the apartment, and committed her to the charge of his guards, with strict orders not to allow her to depart. He then returned to the King, with the fatal document in his hand,—the condemnation of the noble prisoners. His Majesty’s signature was required; nor had he now much difficulty in obtaining it.