The Queen, frightened in her turn, cast, as is usual, the blame
of her own folly on those around her, and endeavoured to comfort
Edith's grief, and appease her displeasure, by a thousand
inconsistent arguments. She was sure no harm had chanced--the
knight was sleeping, she fancied, after his night-watch. What
though, for fear of the King's displeasure, he had deserted with
the Standard--it was but a piece of silk, and he but a needy
adventurer; or if he was put under warding for a time, she would
soon get the King to pardon him--it was but waiting to let
Richard's mood pass away.
Thus she continued talking thick and fast, and heaping together
all sorts of inconsistencies, with the vain expectation of
persuading both Edith and herself that no harm could come of a
frolic which in her heart she now bitterly repented. But while
Edith in vain strove to intercept this torrent of idle talk, she
caught the eye of one of the ladies who entered the Queen's
apartment. There was death in her look of affright and horror,
and Edith, at the first glance of her countenance, had sunk at
once on the earth, had not strong necessity and her own elevation
of character enabled her to maintain at least external composure.
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