The first half-hour after Wessex' departure she gave way to weakness and to a flood of tears, she turned to her prie-Dieu and prayed fervently for resignation to the heavenly will, for strength to bear her cross. "Holy Mother of our crucified Lord, pray for me now and at the hour of _his_ death," was the burden of her passionate orisons. "Take my life since _he_ must die," she added, striking her breast and falling prostrate before the holy images. And then reaction set in. She felt more calm after her prayers, and began to think more clearly. The inevitableness of a catastrophe seemed to become less tangible, a persistent and hopeful "if" crept in amongst her desperate litanies. She dried her tears, rang for her waiting-woman, had her face bathed with soothing, scented waters, her temples rubbed with perfumed vinegar. All the while now she repeated to herself-- "I _will_ save him . . . I _will_ save him . . . but how? . . . how?" She had less than twenty-four hours in which to do it, and she had spent fourteen days previously in the same endeavour, without arriving at any definite plan, save the one which had so signally failed just now. "If being found guilty I were acquitted at Your Majesty's desire, 'twould be said the Queen had saved her lover--and then married a felon!" was his sole reply to her impassioned query whether he loved her and would be saved by her command. She would have been content to lose her honour for his sake, he would not even jeopardize his own self-esteem for hers. If he had one spark of love for her he would have been content to challenge the opinion of the world, whilst accepting his life at her hands, but he cared naught about death, and all the world for another woman who was false, a coward, a wanton, and who boldly allowed him to sacrifice his honour for her, whilst she herself had none to lose. "Then I will save him in spite of himself," repeated Mary for the hundredth time. Suddenly a thought struck her. She rang her hand-bell, and to the servitor who appeared at the door she commanded briefly-- "His Eminence the Cardinal de Moreno;--I desire his presence here at once." The servitor retired, and she waited in seeming calm, sitting at her desk, her trembling hand alone betraying the excitement of her mind. Five minutes later, the Cardinal stood before her, placid, urbane, picturesque in his brilliant, flowing robes, with one white, richly be-ringed hand raised in benediction, as he stood waiting for the Queen to speak. "I pray Your Eminence to be seated," began Mary, speaking with feverish haste. "I have something of grave import to say to you, which brooks of no delay, else I had not interrupted you at your orisons." "My time is ever at Your Majesty's service," replied the Cardinal humbly. "In what way may I have the honour to serve the Queen of England to-day?"