"Kill! who is killed?" gasped Marie. "What did he say? Where is my
husband?"

"Detained at the palace, dearest lady," readily answered Manuella.
"This foolish boy is terrified at shadows. My lord is detained, and
her Grace has sent a litter requiring thine attendance. We must haste,
for she wills no delay. Carlotta, my lady's mantilla; quick, girl!
Alberic, go if thou wilt: my Lord may be glad of thee! Ay, go," she
continued some little time afterwards, as her rapid movements speedily
placed her passive, almost senseless mistress, in the litter; and she
caught hold of the page's hand with a sudden change of tone, "go; and
return speedily, in mercy, Alberic. Some horror is impending; better
know it than this terrible suspense."

How long an interval elapsed ere she stood in Isabella's presence,
Marie knew not. The most incongruous thoughts floated, one after
another, through her bewildered brain--most vivid amongst them all,
hers and her husband's fatal secret: had it transpired? Was he
sentenced, and she thus summoned to share his fate? And then, when
partially relieved by the thought, that such a discovery had
never taken place in Spanish annals--why should she dread an
impossibility?--flashed back, clear, ringing, as if that moment
spoken, Stanley's fatal threat; and the cold shuddering of every limb
betrayed the aggravated agony of the thought. With her husband she
could speak of Arthur calmly; to herself she would not even think his
name: not merely lest he should unwittingly deceive again, but that
the recollection of _his_ suffering--and caused by her--ever created
anew, thoughts and feelings which she had vowed unto herself to bury,
and for ever.