)
LORD B. The Queen! God bless her!
(_He drains the glass, then breaks it against the pole of the tent, and
throws away the stem_.)
An old custom, Madam, observed by loyal defenders of the House of Stewart,
so that no lesser health might ever be drunk from the same glass. To my
old hand came a sudden access of youthful enthusiasm--an ardour which I
could not restrain. Your pardon, Madam!
QUEEN (_very gently_). Go and lie down, Lord Beaconsfield; you need
rest.
LORD B. Adieu, Madam.
QUEEN. Draw your curtains, and sleep well!
(_For a moment he stands gazing at her with a look of deep emotion; he
tries to speak. Ordinary words seem to fail; he falters into poetry_.)
"When pain and anguish wring the brow,
A ministering Angel, thou!"
(_It has been beautifully said, they both feel. Silent and slow, with
head reverentially bowed, he backs from the Presence_.)
(_The Queen sits and looks after the retreating figure, then at the
broken fragments of glass. She takes up the hand-bell and rings. The
Attendant_ ENTERS.)
QUEEN. Pick up that broken glass.
(_The Attendant collects it on the hand-tray which he carries_)
Bring it to me! ... Leave it!
(_The Attendant deposits the tray before her, and_ GOES. _Gently
the Queen handles the broken pieces. Then in a voice of tearful emotion
she speaks_.)
Such devotion! Most extraordinary! Oh! Albert! Albert!
(_And in the sixteenth year of her widowhood and the fortieth of her
reign the Royal Lady bends her head over the fragments of broken glass,
and weeps happy tears_.
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