rth for the dew. Come, it is light here at the window. Let me
see your eyes."

She tore herself vehemently away. "No, no, you must be gone! Hark, it is
already three o'clock. Soon everything will be astir in the castle. Did
it not seem as if some person passed by the door here? Haste, haste, if
you do not wish me to die of dread!" She threw his cloak over him; she
drew his hat over his brow; then once more she threw her arms around
his neck and pressed on his lips a burning kiss. "Farewell, my beloved!
farewell, Henry Howard! When we see each other again to-day, you are the
Earl of Surrey, and I, the queen--not your loved one--not the woman who
loves you! Happiness is past, and suffering awakes anew. Farewell."

She herself opened the glass door, and pushed her lover out.

"Farewell, Geraldine; good-night, my dear! Day comes, and I again greet
you as my queen, and I shall have to endure again the torture of your
cold looks and your haughty smiles."

CHAPTER XIX. LOYOLA'S GENERAL.

She rushed to the window and gazed after him till he had disappeared,
then she uttered a deep cry of anguish, and, wholly overcome by her
agony, she sank down on her knees weeping and wailing, wringing her
hands, and raising them to God.

But just before so happy and joyful, she was now full of woe and
anguish; and bitter sighs of complaint came trembling from her lips.

"Oh, oh," moaned she, with sobs; "what terrible agonies are these, and
how full of despair the anguish that lacerates my breast! I have lain in
his arms; I have received his vows of love and accepted his kisses; and
these vows are not mine, and these kisses he gave not to me. He kissed
me, and he loves in me only her whom I hate. He lays his hands in mine
and utters vows of love which he dedicates to her. He thinks and feels
for her only--her alone. What a terrible torture this is! To be loved
under her name; under her name to receive the vows of love that yet
belong to me only--to me alone! For he loves me, me exclusively.
They are my lips that he kisses, my form that he embraces; to me are
addressed his words and his letters; and it is I that reply to them. He
loves me, me only, and yet he puts no faith in me. I am nothing to him,
naught but a lifeless image, like other women. This he has told me; and
I did not become frenzied; and I had the cruel energy to pass off the
tears wrung from me by despair, for tears of rapture. Oh, detestable,
horrible mockery of f