The next day passed as usual with Constance. At night she was alone in the room, the windows of which have been described as opening upon the garden, and anxiously expecting Osbert’s coming.
She was seated at a small table, perusing by the light of a single taper, which dimly illuminated the large but scantily-furnished apartment, one of the controversial tracts of the day, and essaying, but in vain, to fix her thoughts on what she read. Ever and anon she arose, and, going to the window, looked forth. The night was profoundly dark, and nothing was discernible except the trees skirting the lawn.
“He is later than usual,” she thought, as time went on. “Will he not come?”
Scarcely had she asked herself the question, when she distinctly heard footsteps without, and, concluding it must be Osbert, she passed through the window, and flew to meet him. She could just descry a figure wrapped in a mantle, advancing towards her from beneath a tree.
In another moment this person, whom she took to be her lover, reached her, and seized her hand. Startled by the proceeding, she involuntarily exclaimed, “Is it you?”
“Yes, ’tis I—Osbert,” rejoined the other, under his breath.
“I had almost given you up,” she returned. “I feared something had occurred to prevent your coming.”
The person she addressed made no reply. He had 172recognised her voice, and mentally ejaculated, “Can it be possible that it is Constance Tyrrell!”
“You do not answer,” she said, after a pause, “and your manner seems strange—very strange.”
“’Tis she, by all the saints!” muttered the other. “Let us go in!” he added, drawing her through the open window into the room.
No sooner were they within the influence of the light than the countenance of him she most dreaded on earth was revealed to Constance.
“The King!” she exclaimed, in accents of affright.
“Ay, the King,” rejoined Philip, regarding her with fierce exultation. “So, I have found you at last, and where I looked for you least. Little did I deem you were the beauty secluded with such jealous care by Osbert Clinton. Little did I expect, when I took the trouble to ascertain who he kept concealed, that I should be so richly rewarded. Never for a moment did I suppose that he would dare to rob me of my chief treasure. But he shall pay dearly for his audacity and treachery.”
“Be not unjust towards him, Sire,” rejoined Constance. “In Osbert’s place, you would have acted as he has acted. He loved me, and seeing the peril in which I stood, did not hesitate to deliver me.”
“And you have not proved ungrateful for the service,” retorted Philip, bitterly. “You have requited his devotion. The love refused to me has been bestowed freely on him.”
“Osbert’s love for me was not dishonourable, Sire,” she replied, “and in requiting it I committed no crime. I could not return your Majesty’s love without guilt. By this time the passion I was unhappy enough to inspire you with must have subsided, and you will view my conduct less harshly.”
“You are mistaken, Madam,” rejoined Philip, sternly. “I have never ceased to love you. I cannot regard you with indifference—even though you deserve that I should do so. You are necessary to my happiness. You must—you shall be mine.”
“Never!” exclaimed Constance, energetically.
“Hear me,” pursued the King; “you are now wholly in 173my power. Having found you, be assured I shall not part with you again. I am willing to excuse your conduct—to pardon your lover’s disobedience and deceit—nay, more, to continue my favour towards him—but this consideration on my part must be met by complaisance on yours.”
“I reject the proposal without a moment’s hesitation, Sire,” cried Constance, with scorn.
“Then mark what I have to say further,” rejoined Philip. “I repeat, you are wholly in my power. Nothing can deliver you. On your decision hangs your lover’s life. You—you will cause his immediate arrest—his imprisonment, torture—ay, torture—and death.”
“Oh, say not so, Sire!” she cried, all her firmness deserting her. “What has he done to deserve such barbarous treatment?”
“He has dared to disobey me,” rejoined Philip. “He has stepped between me and the object of my desires. But for your sake I am content to forego revenge—nay, to heap greater favours on his head. Will you cast him into a dungeon? Will you doom him to torture and death?”
“I cannot save him by the sacrifice you propose, Sire,” she rejoined, in tones of anguish. “Neither would he consent to be so saved.”
“You have avouched the truth, Constance,” exclaimed Osbert, springing through the open window, and placing himself between her and the King. “A thousand deaths rather than such a sacrifice.”
“My clemency, I find, is thrown away,” said Philip, haughtily. “Yet I will give you a few minutes for reflection. Perhaps your resolution may change.” And he moved towards the window.
“It is needless, Sire,” rejoined Osbert. “Our determination is taken.”
“Then prepare to part for ever,” said Philip, sternly. “As to you, audacious and insensate traitor, you shall learn whose anger you have braved. It will be small alleviation, methinks, to your imprisonment to know that your mistress is in my power.”
“Fear not the threat, Osbert,” said Constance. “I will never yield to him.”
174“I do not ask your consent,” rejoined Philip, derisively. “You are caught in a net from which there is no escape.”
“Sooner than this shall be, my sword shall free the country from a tyrant,” cried Osbert, plucking his rapier from its sheath.
“Ha! do you dare to raise your hand against me, traitor?” exclaimed Philip, stepping towards him, while Constance flung her arms about her lover, so as to prevent any movement on his part.
“Let him go,” continued the King, after a pause, during which he sternly regarded the pair. “He wants the courage to play the assassin.”
“You are right, Sire,” rejoined Osbert. “Draw, and defend your life.”
“Peace, madman!” cried Philip, disdainfully. “Think you I will deign to cross swords with you?”
“Heaven grant me patience, I am driven to the verge of frenzy!” ejaculated Osbert, distractedly.
“At last you are beginning to comprehend your true position,” observed Philip, in a taunting tone, “and perceive that you are utterly without help.”
“Not utterly,” cried a deep voice. And Derrick Carver strode into the room. “Heaven will not desert them in their need. Thou hast uttered threats against them which thou wilt never live to execute. Thou has ventured into this dwelling, but wilt never return from it. My hand failed me when I first struck at thee, but it will not fail me now.”
“Make the attempt, then, if thou think’st so, assassin!” cried Philip, keeping his eye steadily upon him.
“Hold!” exclaimed Osbert. “His life is sacred.”
“Not in my eyes,” rejoined Carver. “It were a crime to my country and to my religion to spare their deadliest foe. He shall die by my hand.”
“I say it must not be,” cried Osbert. “No harm must be done him. Persist, and I come to his defence.”
“Fool! you destroy yourself, and her who should be dearer to you than life, by this mistimed weakness,” rejoined Derrick Carver. “Leave him to me.”
“Again I say, forbear!” cried Osbert.
“I owe you no obedience, and will show none,” retorted 175Carver, fiercely. “Have at thy heart, tyrant!” he exclaimed, drawing his sword.
But ere he could make the meditated attack, Philip placed a silver whistle to his lips, and sounding it, Rodomont Bittern, with his sword drawn in his hand, and followed by half a dozen halberdiers, entered through the window. The party instantly fell upon Derrick Carver, and, after a brief struggle, disarmed him.
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