Page:The fortunes of Perkin Warbeck.djvu/380

372 when our hopes stretch themselves not merely to to-day and to-morrow, but even to eternity. In this state of human woe, we do not describe the disheartening and carking sorrows of those who lag on life's highway—but the swift, poignant, intolerable agonies of the young, to whom the aspiration for happiness is a condition of being. The queen had been accustomed to witness and admire Katherine's self-command and quiet fortitude; she was awe-struck on beholding the devastation of the last four days, and the expression of wild horror on her soft features. With feminine instinct she read her heart, her first words were, "Sweet love, he lives—and he will live—his life is spared, and we may still hope."

Tears at last flowed from the mourner's eyes, as she asked, "What then will be his fate?—Shall I ever see him more?"

"How can we guess the hidden purposes of the king? By your enforced solitude you have escaped his scowling brow, his violence, his sarcasms; again he smiles. My gentle Kate, my sweet, courageous sufferer, hitherto we have played with the lion's fangs—they are unsheathed in anger now—let us prepare: he will be here anon."

The princess desired not to exhibit too humiliating a spectacle of misery to her cruel foe—she checked her weeping—she endeavoured to forget the burning agony that tortured her beating heart. "Let him but live; let me but once more see him;" and the unbidden tears flowed again. The king soon broke in upon them; his look was haughty even to insolence: an expression of vulgar triumph was in his eyes, that baffled the eager scanning gaze of the hapless princess. He said, scoffingly (and was it in man's nature, or only in Henry's, to look on the sad, but lovely countenance of his victim, and to mock her woe?), "We congratulate you, lady, on the return of the gentle Perkin to our good city of Westminster—do not weep—he is in safe keeping now, very safe—it is no feathered shoe our Mercury wears this day."

"Holy Virgin!" cried Katherine, "your grace does not surely mean"

"Fear not—he lives," continued Henry, his scorn growing more bitter as he spoke; "he lives, and shall live, till the White Rose acknowledge on what base stock she is grafted, or he twist the rope by some new sleight. Is Perkin's honoured dame satisfied?"

"Oh, no, no, no; some covert meaning you have; in pity for a woman, speak." The agony her countenance expressed was the mute echo of the frightful idea that convulsed her frame. "Oh, let me see him! you have tormented me too cruelly; even