"And yet, was it not madness," the King urged, "thus publicly to avow
a determined heresy, and expose herself to all the horrors of the
church's vengeance! 'Years of deception and fraud!' she told thee,
'would be disclosed.' By St. Francis! fraud enough. Who could have
suspected the wife of Don Ferdinand Morales a Jewess? It was on this
account he kept her so retired. How could he reconcile his conscience
to a union with one of a race so abhorred, beautiful as she is? And
where could he have found her? But this matters not: it is all wild
conjecture, save the madness of the avowal. What cause could there
have been for such self-sacrifice?"

"There was a cause," replied the Queen earnestly; "cause enough to
render life to her of little moment. Do not ask me my meaning, dearest
Ferdinand; I would not do her such wrong as to breathe the suspicion
that, spite of myself, spite of incomprehensible mystery, will come,
even to thee. Do not let us regret her secret is discovered. Let her
but recover from the agony of these repeated trials, and with the help
of our holy fathers, we may yet turn her from her abhorred faith, and
so render her happy in this world, and secure her salvation in the
next."

"The help of the holy fathers!" repeated the King. "Nay, Isabel,
their sole help will be to torture and burn! They will accuse her
of insulting, by years of deceit, the holy faith, of which she has
appeared a member. Nay, perchance of using foul magic on Morales (whom
the saints preserve), and then thou knowest what will follow!"

The Queen shuddered. "Never with my consent, my husband! From the
first moment I beheld this unfortunate, something attracted me towards
her; her misery deepened the feeling; and even now, knowing what she
is, affection lingers. The Holy Virgin give me pardon, if 'tis sin!"

"For such sin I will give thee absolution, dearest," replied the King,
half jestingly, half earnestly. "Do not look so grave. No one knows,
or values thy sterling piety half so tenderly and reverentially as
I do. But this is no common case. Were Marie one of those base and
grovelling wretches, those accursed unbelievers, who taint our fair
realm with their abhorred rites--think of nothing but gold and usury,
and how best to cheat their fellows; hating us almost as intensely as
we hate them--why, she should abide by the fate she has drawn upon
herself. But the wife of my noble Morales, one who has associated so
long with zealous Ca