that in her eyes, before which his own wrongs seemed to dwarf, and pale, and die out.
"Do with me as you will; I cannot reach you—in all things—but I will follow as best I may."
She seemed to him so far above him with this royal past, that had given her the sway over royalties, with this lofty serene generosity from which she looked with compassion on one whom she declared the greatest enemy of her life.
She started as if the homage stung her like an adder—as if the reverence of his words were some unbearable disgrace.
"Never say that ! Never,—never. Follow me in nothing. Teach me your own brave, straight, knightly creeds. Let me see your noble honesty of thought and purpose, and let me steep myself in truth, and have it cleanse me if I can! Ah! once before we go, let me hear you say that you forgive me. Forgive me all you know—forgive me all that is hidden from you."
The remorse with which, in the dawn of that day, she had bidden him flee from her for ever, the abasement that had broken down her dignity, and laid her subject before him, were tenfold intensified now in a humiliation that crushed down like a bent reed the bold imperious spirit that had never
