Page:Waverley Novels, vol. 23 (1831).djvu/276

 said Amy, dropping once more on her knee, from which she had arisen.

"For what should I forgive thee, silly wench?" said Elizabeth; "for being the daughter of thine own father? Thou art brain-sick, surely. Well I see I must wring the story from thee by inches. Thou didst deceive thine old and honoured father--thy look confesses it--cheated Master Tressilian--thy blush avouches it--and married this same Varney."

Amy sprung on her feet, and interrupted the Queen eagerly with, "No, madam, no! as there is a God above us, I am not the sordid wretch you would make me! I am not the wife of that contemptible slave--of that most deliberate villain! I am not the wife of Varney! I would rather be the bride of Destruction!"

The Queen, overwhelmed in her turn by Amy's vehemence, stood silent for an instant, and then replied, "Why, God ha' mercy, woman! I see thou canst talk fast enough when the theme likes thee. Nay, tell me, woman," she continued, for to the impulse of curiosity was now added that of an undefined jealousy that some deception had been practised on her--"tell me, woman--for, by God's day, I WILL know--whose wife, or whose paramour, art thou! Speak out, and be speedy. Thou wert better daily with a lioness than with Elizabeth."

Urged to this extremity, dragged as it were by irresistible force to the verge of the precipice which she saw, but could not avoid--permitted not a moment's respite by the eager words and menacing gestures