“Oh! do not let me be the cause of misunderstanding between yourself and the King your consort, gracious Madam,” cried Constance. “I am not worth it. If my life will restore the peace I have unhappily disturbed, take it. I will lay it down freely.” “It will be best to let her go, Madam,” observed Sir John Gage in a low tone. There was a pause, during which it was evident that Mary was struggling hard with her feelings. Constance, who still remained in a kneeling posture, watched her countenance with the keenest anxiety. Folding his arms on his breast, Philip looked on coldly. Mary at length spoke. “You have said truly, minion,” she observed. “You are not worth a quarrel between the King and myself. His Majesty has sought to screen you, by taking all blame upon himself, but I am not to be deceived. If nothing more, you have been indiscreet.” “Indiscretion is a very venial fault,” rejoined Philip. “But even that cannot justly be laid to this damsel’s charge. Since her presence annoys you, let her leave the palace and return to her family.” “She _shall_ leave the palace, and that without delay,” rejoined Mary. “But she will be more secure in some religious house than with her family.” “I pray you let me return to my father,” implored Constance, who had risen to her feet. “I will die rather than give you further cause of anxiety. But, as your Majesty is aware, I have quitted the Church of Rome.” “A heretic!” exclaimed Philip, aghast at the unexpected declaration. “To what is this sad change attributable? When I first beheld you, you were zealous and devout.” “I am zealous and devout still, I trust, Sire,” rejoined Constance. “But my eyes have been opened, and I reject as idolatrous and superstitious the worship which I formerly practised.” “I lament to hear it,” replied Philip, with a look of pious horror. “My confessor, Father Alfonso, shall take you in hand. He will convince you of your errors.” “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.