HOW THE QUEEN CONFIDED HER GRIEFS TO THE CARDINAL.

Philip, who exhibited little uneasiness at the Queen’s indisposition, was still seated at table with Pole, when the Cardinal’s physician, Doctor Forest, came in, and informed his Eminence that her Majesty desired instant speech with him.

“The Queen is not seriously ill, I trust, Sir?” said Philip, alarmed by the physician’s grave looks.

“She appears to have received a severe shock, Sire,” replied Forest, “but I trust no ill consequences may ensue. Her Majesty wishes to see your Eminence—alone,” he added to the Cardinal.

“Go to her at once,” said Philip. “If my hopes of succession should be blighted, it will be grievous indeed. But you have no such fears, Sir?” he added quickly to the physician.

“I shall have no fear if her Majesty’s mind can be tranquilised,” replied Forest—“and that, I trust, his Eminence will be able to accomplish.”

“My reliance, then, is upon you,” said Philip to the Cardinal. “A few words from your lips will not fail to calm her.”

Thereupon Pole hastened to the apartment where the Queen had been conveyed. On entering it, he found her reclining on a couch, and attended by her ladies, who, on his appearance, immediately withdrew.

“I am much concerned to see your Majesty thus,” observed 230Pole. “It will be a real affliction if your visit to me should be productive of ill consequences to yourself.”

“I am sorry I came,” replied Mary. “The words of that malignant heretic have sunk deep into my breast. He said that I shall never be a mother.”

“Let not his words trouble you for a moment, gracious Madam,” said Pole. “They are of no account. He but gave utterance to the evil wishes of his heart—nothing more. Dismiss all fears from your breast, and look joyfully and confidently forward to the moment which will crown a nation’s satisfaction in your marriage by giving it a prince.”

“Your words are comforting,” replied Mary, faintly; “but I cannot shake off my fears. Something whispers in mine ear that the fond hopes I have indulged will prove vain. And what will happen then?” she continued, with a shudder. “I shall lose my husband.”

“Oh! think not so, gracious Madam—think not so!” cried Pole. “If the consummation you dread were to happen—which Heaven, in its goodness, avert!—and fill the land with sorrow—the King, your husband, would be more devoted to you than ever.”

“Hear me, my Lord Cardinal,” said Mary, grasping his arm convulsively. “I have already lost my husband’s love, if I ever possessed it, which I more than doubt. Were I to disappoint his expectations now, he would leave me.”

“Leave you, gracious Madam! Impossible!”

“I say he would,” rejoined the Queen. “This is the only tie that binds us together. I cannot give him my kingdom, and if I fail to give him an heir, through whom he may exercise the sovereignty, he will return to Spain.”

“I cannot believe him so ungrateful,” cried Pole. “Your Majesty does him injustice.”

“His conduct towards me leaves no doubt as to his intentions,” rejoined Mary. “On our first meeting he vowed he loved me, but his vows were false. I am not blind to my defects. I know that I have few charms of person to attract him—that I have neither youth nor beauty. But I gave him a deep, true love. Moreover, I gave him a kingdom. How has he requited me?—by neglect, by harshness, by infidelity.”

231“Oh! Madam, I would willingly discredit what I hear,” cried Pole. “If it be as you represent, I pity you from the bottom of my heart.”

“My sainted mother, Queen Katharine of Aragon, was most unhappy,” pursued Mary; “but I am little less unhappy. Neglected, injured, scorned as I am by my husband, I cannot, despite the efforts I make, shake off the love I bear him. I summon pride to my aid, but in vain. My heart is wrung with jealousy, but I hide my torments. What shall I do if I lose him?”

“You will not lose him, gracious Madam—fear it not,” exclaimed Pole. “I will remonstrate with him. I will convince him of the wickedness of his conduct.”

“Proceed with caution, or you will only make matters worse,” said Mary. “Were I to lose him, I should die.”

“Do not distress yourself thus, Madam,” said Pole. “Exalted as is your station, it does not exempt you from the ordinary sufferings of humanity—nay, it exposes you to greater ills than fall to the lot of those less loftily placed. The King is unworthy of your l............