Part 25

"My Father," she resumed with a great effort, "I knew not of this history of the last of our Kings of Cyprus, until my marriage had been made.... I knew not of any right of Carlotta, being own daughter to the King, the father of my husband"--again that tremulous pause of unuttered music--"to contest the crown with him, until I learned it in Cyprus, these few weeks past."

Her head drooped lower, but she went on resolutely. "I knew not, until I came to Cyprus--for they who knew and should have told me, held the knowledge from me--that any might question the right of Janus--my husband--to this kingdom of Cyprus--he being only son to the King. For I knew not that his mother was not the Queen, until I came hither."

She paused again to gather strength, lifting her guileless great eyes to his, in agonized appeal, while he watched her dumbly.

"And now, my Father," she said, throwing back her head with sudden vigor, and with the dignity of a great resolve, "this is my question, which hath come to me in the watches of the night and will not be denied, and for which I have summoned thee. I--being wife to Janus, who hath been crowned King of this people--and I, with him, crowned Queen; and by his will left Queen of Cyprus--with Council, appointed by him, to help me rule; shall I, a Christian woman--a Venetian and not a Cyprian--his widow--hold this kingdom against Carlotta, who is daughter to the King, the father of my husband--and to the rightful Queen, Elenà--his father's lawful wife?"

He was dumbfounded and could not answer her at once; but while he sought for words he bowed his head in mute reverence.

"My daughter," he said at length, "hath this question been put to thee by any men of Cyprus?"

"Nay, Father; but it hath come to me in these sad nights, because I fain would do the right--that which is well for my people: and life is very difficult."

"My people," again, uttered with the accent of a mother who folds her child to her heart--it was a revelation; but he must probe more deeply before he could answer her.

"And this palace--and all the palaces of this estate?" he asked slowly, as if he could not comprehend her. "Thou wouldst renounce this splendor when none hath asked it of thee?"

"I would even bear the weight of it, if it be right," she said, "though rest were sweeter."

"Thou wouldst be free, perchance, to seek thy home in Venice?"

"Nay, nay!" she exclaimed, shrinking from him--"never Venice again--since she hath sent me hither, knowing all, and told me not. I cannot go back to Venice!"

He pondered gravely.

"Then what is thy will, my daughter?"

"To do the right!" she cried vehemently; "out of my own great sorrow to expiate the wrong! May it not be, my Father, if I shrink not from the right at any cost?"

"I will consider," he said, "since thy will is strong for this sacrifice."

"Sacrifice!" she cried, in her amazement breaking all reserve. "Oh, Father! To call this 'sacrifice,' when the very light of life is gone from me! He was so beautiful and gracious--with such a light in his eyes--and I thought--oh, I thought we were so happy! And now--oh, God, it breaks my heart--I loved him!"

"Daughter----"

"May not the suffering of one atone for another's sin?" she questioned feverishly.

"Nay--leave that thought, it is too heavy for thee: and not revealed to men, that they may declare it."

"Pray for him, Father! Thou wilt pray for him--thou and all those who come to thee. There will be many, many prayers and God will hear. For his people loved him--none could stay from loving him, he was so winsome. Mother of Mercies, thou wilt take my anguish for his atonement!--Oh I suffer!"

The words came in a low moan, wrung from her unaware. Father Johannes caught the small hands which she had flung out before her clenched, in her passionate struggle for control, and with faltering motions of unaccustomed gentleness, he soothed her until she had grown quieter and he could unclasp them. Then he spoke strange words, out of a great compassion:

"Christ knoweth; for He is Love--and He will save!"

"There is more," she gasped with her spent voice--"but I dare not name it--the thought of it is torture. But it is not true; Madonna mia! it is not true!"

The strong man could bear no more; he groaned in spirit and ground his hands against his breast--his lip curling with scorn at the pain of his own torn flesh. "Tell it!" he commanded; "it cannot be true."

She looked at him, hope dawning in her stricken face. "The words they speak--they who are his enemies--that he had forsworn his faith: it is not true."

"It is the very machination of the Evil One!" he thundered. "I know the slander and the man who fathered it, for spite. And may Heaven forgive its maker--for he hath need--standing high in the holy place of Earth. I know it is not true!"

He looked his faith into her eyes until he had banished her terror, and she put out her wan hand, grateful, for his assurance.