“The King, no doubt, will confirm your assertions,” observed Mary, bitterly. “If I did not, I should belie the truth,” replied Philip. “By whose contrivance did you fly from Hampton Court?” demanded Mary. “Not by the King’s, Madam. I fled with Osbert Clinton.” “Tut! Osbert Clinton was merely a tool,” exclaimed Mary, incredulously. “Did his Majesty know of your hiding-place?” “Assuredly not, Madam,” replied Constance. “He it was I dreaded most.” “Ha! we are coming to it now,” cried Mary. “Why did you dread him?” “Nay, Madam, persist not in these inquiries, I entreat you,” interposed the Cardinal. “You will gain nothing by them, and will only torture yourself.” “Though each word should wound me to the quick, I will have it,” said Mary. “Why did you fear the King?” “Oh! bid me not answer that question, Madam—I cannot do it.” “I will answer it for you,” said Mary. “Contradict me if you can. You thought that the King loved you, and would pursue you.” “If she believed so, her flight was justifiable, and merits not reproach from your Majesty,” observed the Cardinal. “Pardon me if I say you are unjust towards this maiden. I am satisfied you have no real ground of complaint against her.” “At least, she has been the cause of much trouble to me,” cried Mary. “The innocent cause,” said Pole. “Ay, truly so,” said Constance. “I have never wronged your Majesty in act or thought. Beset by dangers, I fled from them, and, if I did wrong, it was from error in judgment, and not from ill intent. Had I stayed——But I will not dwell upon what might have happened. Your Majesty’s reproaches cut me to the soul. I do not deserve them. Rather, indeed, am I an object of pity than reproach. Six months ago I was happy. My life was unclouded—but a change came suddenly, and since then all has been darkness and misery.” “You could not expect happiness, since you have fallen from your faith,” said the Queen, severely. “You have justly provoked the wrath of Heaven, and cannot wonder that you have felt the effects of its displeasure. From what you have said, and from what his Eminence has urged in your behalf, I do not believe you have been culpable towards me. But you have cost me many a pang,” she added, placing her hand upon her breast. “Yield to the pitying emotions which I can see sway your breast, gracious Madam,” interceded Pole, “and forgive her.” “For the affliction she has caused I do forgive her,” replied the Queen, with an effort; “but if her conduct towards myself is free from blame, as you represent it, in other respects it is reprehensible. She was nurtured in the true faith, and was once a model of piety—nay, even contemplated devoting herself to a religious life. But she has listened to the baneful exhortations of one of these teachers of heresy, and has become a proselyte to the new doctrines. What shall be done with her?”