an irrepressible burst of natural
feeling. And Marie had darted forwards, and was kneeling at her feet,
and covering her hand with tears and kisses, ere she had power to
forcibly subdue the emotion and speak again.

"This must not be," she said at length; but she did not withdraw the
hand which Marie still convulsively clasped, and, half unconsciously
it seemed, she put back the long, black tresses, which had fallen over
her colorless cheek, looked sadly in that bowed face, and kissed
her brow. "It is the last," she murmured to herself. "It may be
the effects of sorcery--it may be sin; but if I do penance for the
weakness, it must have way."

"Thou hast heard the one alternative," she continued aloud; "now hear
the other. We have thought long, and watched well, some means of
effectually obliterating the painful memories of the past, and making
thy life as happy as it has been sad. We have asked and received
permission from our confessor to bring forward a temporal inducement
for a spiritual end; that even the affections themselves may be made
conducive to turning a benighted spirit from the path of death into
that of life; and, therefore, we may proceed more hopefully. Marie! is
there not a love thou valuest even more than mine? Nay, attempt not
to deny a truth, which we have known from the hour we told thee that
Arthur Stanley was thy husband's murderer. What meant those wild words
imploring me to save him? For what was the avowal of thy faith, but
that thy witness should not endanger him? Why didst thou return to
danger when safety was before thee?--peril thine own life but to save
his? Answer me truly: thou lovest Stanley, Marie?"

"I have loved him, gracious Sovereign."

"And thou dost no longer? Marie, methinks there would be less wrong
in loving now, than when we first suspected it," rejoined the Queen,
gravely.

"Alas! my liege, who may school the heart? He was its first--first
affection! But, oh! my Sovereign, I never wronged my noble husband. He
knew it all ere he was taken from me, and forgave and loved me still;
and, oh! had he been but spared, even memory itself would have lost
its power to sting. His trust, his love, had made me all--all his
own!"

"I believe thee, my poor child; but how came it that, loving Stanley,
thy hand was given to Morales?"

For the first time, the dangerous ground on which she stood flashed on
the mind of Marie; and her voice faltered as she answered--"My father
willed i