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xo so ben tre vung tau

Source global Wall Street Journal     time 2022-06-15 21:17:02
Typefacelarge in Small

xo so ben tre vung tau

Rose Marie's strength had indeed failed her at last; when she felt herself falling against the breast of the man whom she so ardently loved, all her calm, all her resolution suddenly gave way. Once more she was the woman, the pure, tender-hearted, gentle-nurtured child, content to rest in the protecting arms of her lord, content to live for his happiness, or to share his disgrace. [432] "If I feared you before, my lord—meseems that I could love you now," her cold lips seemed to murmur the echo of the very first words of love which they had ever uttered. And a groan of agony escaped the poor blackguard's overburdened heart. No longer splendid now, no longer defiant or proud—but humbled from his self-exalted state of arrogant manhood. And she, the slender water-lily, had of her own free will allowed the mud of a polluted world to soil the exquisite whiteness of her gown. She had descended from her lofty pedestal of saint-like aloofness, in order to link her fate to his—her sins to his—her life and love to his own. Fate and the overwhelming love of a woman had conquered his will. "I am a man and what I do, I do!" "No!" love triumphant had retorted, "for what I command that must thou do. I am the ruler, thou my slave! Whoever thou art, I am thy master and the arbiter of thy destiny!" CHAPTER XLVIII And not ever The justice and the truth o' the question carries The due o' the verdict with it. —Henry VIII. V. 1. At Michael's call, at his sudden rush for the protection of his beloved, general confusion prevailed such as had never before been witnessed in the sober halls of Westminster. Gorgeously-clad gentlemen of high degree, ladies in silks and brocades, elbowed and pushed one another, climbing on their chairs, in order to have a clear view of the small group on the floor of the hall at the foot of the judge's bench—Michael kneeling on one knee, Rose Marie half prostrate on the ground, Papa Legros with large coloured handkerchief mopping his streaming forehead. These were times when men gave freer rein to their emotions than they do now; they were not ashamed of them, and modern civilisation had not yet begun to propagate its false doctrine that only what is ugly and sordid is real, and what is fine and noble—and therefore mayhap a trifle unbridled and primitive—is false and must be suppressed. That public feeling had—with characteristic irresponsibility—veered round to the accused and to these two witnesses was undoubted. The poignancy of the situation had told on every one's nerves. It had been a moving and[434] palpitating drama, vivid, real and pulsating with love, the noble passion that makes the whole world kin. The same men and women who awhile ago had clamoured for the traitor's head, who had heaped opprobrium, invectives and curses upon him, were now quite prepared to demand his acquittal, with as little logic in their sympathy as they had shown in their unreasoning vituperations. The same primeval vices of bigotry and intolerance that had presided at the trials of Stailey and Coleman and sent them to the gallows, sat here in judgment, too, equally intolerant of contradiction, equally bigoted and peremptory. In the midst of this unprecedented turmoil which had turned stately Westminster Hall into an arena filled with wildly-excited spectators, the ushers' loud calls for silence were absolutely drowned. Nor could the Attorney-General and the Lord Chief Justice make themselves heard by the jury, even though his lordship did his best to admonish these twelve honourable gentlemen not to allow their sentiment to run away with their conscience. "Justice, good Masters, justice above all! Remember these people are all Papists. They will help one another through thick and thin. What is a papal dispensation, good Masters? It can be bought and bartered. 'Tis a true witness we want, an honourable witness to prove the truth of what may be but a fabulous concoction, devised to cheat the gallows of a traitor." "Nay, then odd's fish!" here interposed a loud voice from out the crowd; "since it must be, it shall be, and here, my Lord Justice, is a witness to your hand whose honourability I'll challenge you to doubt." The tones rang clear and loud; they were those of a man accustomed to be heard in large or small assemblies,[435] of a man who knew how to make his presence felt and his word obeyed. Instantly the waves of murmurs, of cries, of excited whispers were stilled. Eyes so long fixed on the moving spectacle at the foot of the bench were turned in the direction of the speaker. It was my Lord of Rochester, standing beside the king. He waited a moment, then taking the judge's silence for assent, and obviously encouraged by a nod from His Majesty himself, he made his way to the witness bar. "My Lord of Rochester," protested the Attorney-General sternly, "by what right do you come forward at this hour?" "By the right that every man hath in England, to bear testimony for or against a man or woman accused of crime," replied my Lord of Rochester. "I stand here as a witness on behalf of the prisoner, and called by the other witness—Rose Marie Legros—to corroborate what she already hath said." "Do you swear?" "I'll swear to tell all the truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God." "All on behalf of the accused?" sneered Sir William Jones. "Every word which I must utter will be in his favour, sir, seeing that on the nineteenth day of April, I too, in company with Mister Rupert Kestyon, then styled my Lord of Stowmaries and Rivaulx, and with Sir John Ayloffe, were present at the Church of St. Gervais where Mistress Rose Marie Legros did plight her troth to the accused. We witnessed their departure from the church to the house of Master Legros, tailor-in-chief to His Majesty the King of France, where great festivities were then the order of the[436] day. The accused and Mistress Rose Marie Legros did start for St. Denis on that selfsame afternoon in the presence of a vast number of spectators, from whom I had detailed account of the event. We—that is Mister Rupert Kestyon, Sir John Ayloffe and myself—did make for St. Denis less than an hour after the accused and the lady had left the tailor's house. We arrived at the inn of the 'Three Archangels' at ten of the clock and there found the accused all alone, and we did stay with him, and supped with him until far into the night. This do I swear on my most solemn oath, and, therefore, any one who says that the accused was in Paris on the evening of that nineteenth day of April is a liar and a perjurer—so help me God!"


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