"O God of Paradise!" she cried, "holy and true, just in Thy judgments, look upon us two--this King and me--and betwixt us judge this day! Look upon us, Lady of Pity, Lily of Christendom, and say whether of us two is the sinner! O all ye Angels, all ye Saints in Heaven! that sin not, but plead for us sinners,--plead ye this day with God that He will render to each of us two his due, as he hath demerited! Before you, before holy Church, before God in Heaven, I denounce this man Harry of Bolingbroke! Render unto him, O Lord! render unto him his desert!" "Custance, thou mayest better take this matter more meekly," observed Isabel with quiet propriety, very different from her cousin's tone and mien of frenzied passion. "I have told thee truth, and no lie. What should it serve? The priest is excommunicate, and my Lord of Kent shall wed the Lady Lucy, and the King will have thine hand thereto, ere thou come forth." "Not if I die here a thousand times!" "I do thee to wit, Custance, that there is grave doubt cast of thy truth and fealty--" "To Harry of Bolingbroke?" she asked contemptuously. "When lent I _him_ any?" "Custance!--Of thy truth and fealty unto holy Church our mother. Nor, maybe, shall she be over ready to lift up out of the mire one whom all the holy doctors do esteem an heretic." "What, I?" "Thou." "I never was an heretic yet, Isabel, but I do thee to wit thou goest the way to make me so. As to holy Church, she never was my mother. I can breathe without her frankincense, belike, and maybe all the freer." "Alas, Custance! Me feareth sore thou art gone a long way on that ill road, else hadst thou never spoken such unseemly words." "Be it so!" said Constance, with the recklessness of overwhelming misery. "An heretic's daughter, and an heretic's widow--what less might ye look for? If thou hast mangled mine heart enough to serve thee, Isabel, I would thou wert out of my sight!" "Fair Cousin, I do ensure thee mine own lieth bleeding for thy pain." "Ay, forsooth! I see the drops a-dripping!" said Constance in bitter mockery. "Marry, get thee hence--'tis the sole mercy thou canst do me." "So will I; but, Custance, I ensure thee, I am bidden to abide hither the setting of thine hand to that paper." "Then haste and bid measure be taken for a coffin, for one shall lack either for thee or me ere thou depart!" "Alack, alack!" But Isabel rose and withdrew, signing to her companion to follow. The elder nun, who had not yet finished her rosary, stopped in the middle of a Paternoster, and obeyed. "Leave me likewise, thou, Maude," said Constance, in a voice in which anguish and languor strove for the predominance. "Dear my Lady, could I not--?" Maude began pityingly. "Nay, my good Maude, nought canst thou do. Unless it _were_ true that God would hearken prayer, and then, perchance--" "Trust me for that, Lady mine!--Take I the babe withal?" "Poor little maid!--Ay,--take her to thee."