"That woman?" she continued wildly, not heeding him, "that woman . . . where is she? . . . find her, my lord . . . find her, and let me speak to her. . . . Oh! I'll find the right words to melt her heart . . . she must speak . . . she must tell the truth . . . she cannot let him die . . . no, no . . . not like that. . . ." Gone was all her pride, all her icy reserve, even jealousy had vanished before the awful inevitableness of his dishonour and his death. She would have dragged herself at the feet of those judges who were about to condemn him, of this man who was taking a cruel delight in torturing her; nay! she would have knelt and kissed the hands of that unknown rival, for whose sake she had endured the terrible mental tortures of the past few days, if only she could wrench from her the truth which would set _him_ free from all this disgrace. "That woman!" she repeated with agonizing passion, "that woman . . . where is she? . . ." "She stands now before me," said the Cardinal sternly, "repentant, I hope, ready to speak the truth." "No! no! it is false!" she protested vehemently, "false I tell you! It was not I . . ." Her voice broke in a pitiable, wistful sob, which would have melted a heart less stony than that which beat in the Cardinal's ambitious breast. "Oh! have I not endured enough?" she murmured half to herself, half in appealing misery to him. "Jealousy--hate for that woman whom he loves as he never hath loved me . . . whom he loves better than his honour . . . for whose sake he will stand there anon, branded with infamy. . . ." Her knees gave way under her, she fell half prostrate on the floor at the very feet of her tormentor. "Find her, my lord," she sobbed passionately, "find her . . . you can . . . you can. . . ." But for sole answer he once more pushed the door ajar. Another voice came from the body of the hall now, that of Mr. Barham, the Queen's Serjeant-- "And having proved Robert d'Esclade, Duke of Wessex, guilty of this most heinous murder, I, on behalf of the Crown, will presently ask you, my lord, to pass sentence of death upon him." "No, no, no--not death!" she moaned, "not death. . . . They are mad, my lord--are they not mad? . . . He guilty of murder! Oh! will no one come forward to prove him innocent?" "No one can do that but you, my daughter," replied His Eminence sternly, as he once more closed the door. "But you do not understand. In God's name, what would you have me do? I loved him, it is true, but . . . it was another woman . . . not I! another woman, whose honour is dearer to him than his own . . . for whose sake he killed . . . for whose sake he is silent . . . for whose sake he will die . . . but that woman was not I . . . not I!" "Alas!" he replied placidly, "then indeed nothing can save His Grace from the block. . . ."