You could not have freed him by a word as I could;
and oh, I did not utter it! I seemed to be his judge, his jailer, the
cause of all his woes, to the man I loved--and loved beyond all others!
I hated my own father for his sake. I"--she shuddered--"I was married to
Richard's rival. You at least have been alone, not companioned night and
day by one who helped to doom him. Your case is hard and bitter--but
mine! not our own Richard, in his chains and toil, has suffered what _I_
have suffered! Look at me, madam, and tell me if I speak truth or lie."
"Yes, yes," mused Mrs. Yorke, in tender tones, and passing her fingers
over the other's silvering hair and haggard face; "I do--I must believe
it. I should not have known you to-day had you not called me by my name.
You must have mourned for him indeed. Is this the cheek he loved to
kiss? Is this the hair a lock of which I took to comfort him in prison?
Poor soul--poor soul!"
"How is he, madam?" whispered Harry, hoarsely. "Is he well? Is he free?"
"Not yet, Harry. In a year hence he will be. I had a letter only
yesterday. But you must never see him; and if you really love him--I
speak it for his sake, not theirs--you must never let him set eyes on
your husband or your boy."
"I do not wish to see him; it would be too terrible to bear," groaned
Harry.
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