"
"And you, queen?" asked Jane; and she turned so pale, that the queen
herself noticed it.
"You are unwell, Jane," said she, sympathizingly. "Really, Jane, you
seem to be suffering. You need recreation; you should rest a
little."
But Jane had already regained her calm and earnest air, and she
succeeded in smiling.
"No, indeed!" said she. "I am well, and satisfied to be permitted to
be near you. But will you allow me, queen, to make a request of
you?"
"Ask, Jane, ask, and it is granted beforehand; for I know that Jane
will request nothing that her friend cannot grant."
Lady Jane was silent, and looked thoughtfully upon the ground. With
firm resolution she struggled with herself. Her proud heart reared
fiercely up at the thought of bowing before this woman, whom she
hated, and of being obliged to approach her with a fawning prayer.
She felt such raging hate against the queen, that in that hour she
would willingly have given her own life, if she could have first
seen her enemy at her feet, wailing and crushed.
Henry Howard loved the queen; so Catharine had robbed her of the
heart of him whom she adored. Catharine had condemned her to the
eternal torment of renouncing him--to the rack of enjoying a
happiness and a rapture that was not hers--to warm herself at a fire
which she like a thief had stolen from the altar of another's god.
Catharine was condemned and doomed. Jane had no more compassion. She
must crush her.
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