And a cloud of doubt spread slowly o'er her forehead wide,
While beneath, from lids uplifted, shot the lightning-flash of
Night's thin curtain from the lover could not hide such
Low he questioned, "My beloved, wherefore art thou
Hath false friend or envious rival whispered cause of fear ?
By Saint Stephen! but the traitor shall aby his rashness dear !"
Silent, and as one who gathers strength for utmost need,
For a moment stood the maiden, till her drooping head
Rested meek upon his shoulder — then, with rapid gest,
Back she threw the shrouding mantle — and the monarch
stood confessed !
Swift as ever slid the wild bird from the fowler's hand.
Through his clasping arms she glided, darted toward the