“I trust you will live to see her come to years of womanhood; ay, and well married.”
“May she be happily married!” exclaimed Catherine, with a sigh. “Better she should die single than wed to grandeur and misery!”
She then gazed wistfully at the child for some moments, and exclaimed:
“Heaven bless thee, my babe! May thy lot be happier than thy mother’s. Take her hence, good nurse. And leave me, all of you,” she added to the others, “I desire to speak with my husband.”
Her women having placed her in her chair, and arranged all matters for her convenience, quitted the room. For some little time after they were alone there was a profound silence, which neither seemed inclined to break. At last, the queen said:
“I shall not live long, Seymour. This will not be very afflicting news to you, for I am certain you are anxious to get rid of me.”
“Nay, sweetheart, you wrong me! On my soul you do,” cried the admiral. “I have no such wish.”
“I am not to be deceived,” said Catherine, looking at him fixedly; “you want to get rid of me that you may wed Elizabeth. Do not seek to deny it. I know it is so. But mark me, Seymour! mark what I say to you! That unhallowed marriage will never be!” And with a solemnity which awed and almost appalled him, she added, “In her dead father’s name I forbid it—in my own name I forbid it. If you proceed further in this matter you will incur Heaven’s vengeance. Delude not yourself by the supposition that by crime you can accomplish your purpose.”
“By crime!” exclaimed the admiral. “What mean you by that dark suggestion, Catherine? Surely you do not suspect that I would harm you?”
“I have not been fairly dealt with,” she replied.
“Say by whom! Give words to your suspicions at once,” cried the admiral. “What has been done to you?”
“Poison has been administered to me,” rejoined Catherine. “Heaven pardon you if it was done by your order.”
“Poison!” exclaimed Seymour, horror-stricken. “Is it possible you can suspect me of so foul a deed? So far from desiring your death, I would lay down my life for you. But it is a delusion by which you are possessed. You are laboring under a severe and torturing illness, and attribute your sufferings to wrong causes.”
“It is no delusion, Seymour,” she replied. “I am certain that poison has been given me.”
“But by whom?—whom do you suspect?”
“My suspicions attach to your confidential servant, Ugo. ‘Twas by his hand, I am sure, and no other, that the subtle poison was administered.”
“But, even supposing him capable of such a crime, how could he find the means of accomplishing it unobserved? No, no, Catherine! You wrong him—indeed you do!”
“Heaven forgive me, if I do wrong him!—and Heaven forgive him, if he be guilty as I think him! But he had the opportunity of perpetrating the crime. Before starting on his journey to you he was alone with me for a few minutes in this chamber. The cup containing my potion was within his reach; and I am certain—as certain as if I had seen him do it—that he mingled poison with the drink, for I had not long swallowed it when I became a prey to dreadful tortures.”
“But did you not mention your suspicions to Hewke?”
“No,” she replied. “I bore my sufferings in silence, because I felt that if I accused Ugo, the charge would fall on your head. What motive could Ugo have for my destruction? Why should he desire my death? He is merely your instrument.”
“Oh!” Catherine, I implore you not to think me capable of injuring you! But I still believe you are in error. You will speedily get well again, and then you will acquit Ugo and myself of the terrible crime you impute to us.”
“If I do get well, I will acquit you, my lord, and humbly implore your pardon. But there is no hope for me. I am sinking fast. Ere many hours you will have no wife to trouble you.”
“I trust your fears will not be realized, Catherine, but that you may live for many years to bless me.”