“Oh, madam, bear with me; I know not what I say.  Think I am mad; but oh, in mercy, ask me no question.  Am I not mad, to ask thee to spare—­spare—­him they call my husband’s murderer?  Let him die,” and the wild tone returned, “if he indeed could strike the blow; but oh, let not my lips pronounce his death-doom!  Gracious Sovereign, do not look upon me thus—­I cannot bear that gaze.”

“Fear me not, poor sufferer,” replied Isabella, mildly; “I will ask no question—­demand nought that will give thee pain to answer—­save that which justice compels me to require.  That there is a double cause for all this wretchedness, I cannot but perceive, and that I suspect its cause I may not deny; but guilty I will not believe thee, till thine own words or deeds proclaim it.  Look up then, my poor child, unshrinkingly; I am no dread Sovereign to thee, painful as is the trial to which I fear I must subject thee.  There are charges brought against young Stanley so startling in their nature, that, much as we distrust his accuser, justice forbids our passing them unnoticed.  On thy true testimony his Grace the King relies to confirm or refute them.  Thy evidence must convict or save him.”

“My evidence!” repeated Marie.  “What can they ask of me of such weight?  Save him.” she added, a sudden gleam of hope irradiating her pallid face, like a sunbeam upon snow?  “Did your Grace say I could save him?  Oh, speak, in mercy!”

“Calm this emotion then, Marie, and thou shalt know all.  It was for this I called thee hither.  Sit thee on the settle at my feet, and listen to me patiently, if thou canst.  ’Tis a harsh word to use to grief such as thine, my child,” she added, caressingly, as she laid her hand on Marie’s drooping head; “and I fear will only nerve thee for a still harsher trial.  Believe me, I would have spared thee if I could; but all I can do is to bid thee choose the lesser of the two evils.  Mark me well:  for the Sovereign of the murdered, the judge of the murderer, alike speak through me.”  And clearly and forcibly she narrated all, with which our readers are already acquainted, through her interview with the King.  She spoke very slowly, as if to give Marie time to weigh well each sentence.  She could not see her countenance; nay, she purposely refrained from looking at her, lest she should increase the suffering she was so unwillingly inflicting.  For some minutes she paused as she concluded; then, as neither word nor sound escaped from Marie, she said, with emphatic earnestness—­“If it will be a lesser trial to give thine evidence on oath to thy Queen alone, we are here to receive it.  Our royal husband—­our loyal subjects—­will be satisfied with Isabella’s report.  Thy words will be as sacred—­thy oath as valid—­as if thy testimony were received in public, thy oath administered by one of the holy fathers, with all the dread formula of the church.  We have repeated all to which thy answers will be demanded; it remains for thee to decide whether thou wilt speak before his Grace the King and his assembled junta, or here and now before thy native Sovereign.  Pause ere thou dost answer—­there is time enough.”