“Now for it!” was Cyril’s inward comment, as he braced himself to meet the blow, the imminence of which had been little present to his mind of late. “I hope it hasn’t brought you any bad news?” he added, with a coolness which he was far from feeling, but which tended to reassure the Queen. “I have only looked at the first page,” she said; “but I can see that it is an attack upon you. She says that you have injured her deeply--that you belong to her, and not to me. Cyril, I must know, I must be sure! Do you love her? have you ever loved her?” “I have never loved her, and I don’t now.” “You have never asked her to marry you?” “Never.” “Then that is all I want to know.” She sprang up, and lifting the perforated cover from the _mangal_, or brazier, which stood close to the divan, threw the letter upon the glowing charcoal. “I won’t read any more. I am not interested in what she says against you. If you had really belonged to her, I would have given you up, though it would have broken my heart; but I can trust you, Cyril, and I do. You may have injured her, as she says--I know I am shut out of your political schemes,” she smiled sadly, “and I don’t ask how or why it was--but it was not in that way.” “My dearest, I wish I was more worthy of your trust.” “Trust me, my beloved; I shall always trust you.” The subject of the unread letter was not again touched upon between them, but Ernestine did not forget it. She had a conviction that Colonel Czartoriski would linger in the neighbourhood in order to watch the effect of his embassy, and inform his mistress of the result. That very evening she caught a glimpse of him, half-concealed among the trees by the wayside, watching her as she rode. This was merely what she had expected, and she had prepared a disappointment for him. Turning and beckoning with smiling imperiousness to Cyril, who was close behind, she reined in her horse that he might ride beside her. As they rode, she engaged him in a low-toned confidential conversation, quite contrary to her wont in public, stretching out a hand the while to play with his horse’s mane. A second glance showed her presently that Colonel Czartoriski had seen enough, and was retreating down the road, with defeat in all his aspect, and she shook her riding-whip at his unconscious form. “Go and tell your mistress exactly what you saw!” she cried passionately, and laughed at the sudden dawn of comprehension in Cyril’s face.