e suitors, wealthy lords, whose alliance
gave strength to my kindred in the day when their very lives depended on
their swords, were rivals for Earl Salisbury's daughter. Earl Salisbury
bade his daughter choose. Thy great friend and my own kinsman, Duke
Richard of York, himself pleaded for thy rivals. He proved to me that my
disobedience--if, indeed, for the first time, a child of my House could
disobey its chief--would be an external barrier to thy fortune; that
while Salisbury was thy foe, he himself could not advance thy valiancy
and merit; that it was with me to forward thy ambition, though I could
not reward thy love; that from the hour I was another's, my mighty
kinsmen themselves--for they were generous--would be the first to aid
the duke in thy career. Hastings, even then I would have prayed, at
least, to be the bride, not of man, but God. But I was trained--as what
noble demoiselle is not?--to submit wholly to a parent's welfare and his
will. As a nun, I could but pray for the success of my father's cause;
as a wife, I could bring to Salisbury and to York the retainers and
strongholds of a baron. I obeyed. Hear me on. Of the three suitors for
my hand, two were young and gallant,--women deemed them fair and comely;
and had my choice been one of these, thou mightest have deemed that a
new love had chased the old. Since choice was mine, I chose the man
love could not choose, and took this sad comfort to my heart, 'He, the
forsaken Hastings, will see in my very choice that I was but the slave
of duty, my choice itself my penance.'"

Katherine paused, and tears dropped fast from her eyes. Hastings held
his hand over his countenance, and only by the heaving of his heart was
his emotion visible. Katherine resumed:--

"Once wedded, I knew what became a wife. We met again; and to thy first
disdain and anger (which it had been dishonour in me to soothe by one
word that said, 'The wife remembers the maiden's love'),--to these,
thy first emotions, succeeded the more cruel revenge, which would have
changed sorrow and struggle to remorse and shame. And then, then--weak
woman that I was!--I wrapped myself in scorn and pride. Nay, I felt deep
anger--was it unjust?--that thou couldst so misread and so repay the
heart which had nothing left save virtue to compensate for love. And
yet, yet, often when thou didst deem me most hard, most proof against
memory and feeling--But why relate the trial? Heaven supported me, and
if thou l