"WHEN KNIGHTHOOD WAS IN FLOWER\n\nor, the Love Story of\nCharles Brandon and Mary Tudor\nthe King's Sister, and Happening\nin the Reign of\nHis August Majesty\nKing Henry the\nEighth\n\nRewritten and Rendered into Modern English from\nSir Edwin Caskoden's Memoir\n\nby\n\nEDWIN CASKODEN\n[Charles Major]\n\nJulia Marlowe Edition\nWith Scenes from the Play\n\n\n\n    _\"There lived a Knight, when Knighthood was in flow'r,\n    Who charmed alike the tilt-yard and the bow'r_.\"\n\n\n\n\nTo My Wife\n\n\nThe Play\n\n\nThe initial performance of the play was given in St. Louis on the\nevening of November 26, 1900, and the first New York production was on\nthe fourteenth of the following January.\n\nIts instant and continued success is well known. A prominent dramatic\ncritic of the press has said:\n\n\"Julia Marlowe fully realized the popular idea of the Mary described\nby the novelist. She seemed to revel in the role. With its\ninstantaneous changes from gay daring to anger and fear, from coyness\nto the dignity that hedges a princess, from resentment to ardent love,\nthe part of Mary Tudor gives Julia Marlowe full scope for the display\nof her talent. She has never appeared to better or as good advantage\nas in this play for the reason that it gives opportunity for broader\nand more effective lights and shades than anything she has hitherto\ngiven us.\"\n\n\n\n\nWhen Knighthood Was in Flower\n\n\n\n\nWhen Knighthood Was in Flower....\n\n_The Caskodens_\n\n\nWe Caskodens take great pride in our ancestry. Some persons, I know,\nhold all that to be totally un-Solomonlike and the height of vanity,\nbut they, usually, have no ancestors of whom to be proud. The man who\ndoes not know who his great-grandfather was, naturally enough would\nnot care what he was. The Caskodens have pride of ancestry because\nthey know both who and what.\n\nEven admitting that it is vanity at all, it is an impersonal sort of\nfailing, which, like the excessive love of country, leans virtueward;\nfor the man who fears to disgrace his ancestors is certainly less\nlikely to disgrace himself. Of course there are a great many excellent\npersons who can go no farther back than father and mother, who,\ndoubtless, eat and drink and sleep as well, and love as happily, as if\nthey could trace an unbroken lineage clear back to Adam or Noah, or\nsomebody of that sort. Nevertheless, we Caskodens are proud of our\nancestry, and expect to remain so to the end of the chapter,\nregardless of whom it pleases or displeases.\n\nWe have a right to be proud, for there is an unbroken male line from\nWilliam the Conqueror down to the present time. In this lineal list\nare fourteen Barons--the title lapsed when Charles I fell--twelve\nKnights of the Garter and forty-seven Knights of the Bath and other\norders. A Caskoden distinguished himself by gallant service under the\nGreat Norman and was given rich English lands and a fair Saxon bride,\nalbeit an unwilling one, as his reward. With this fair, unwilling\nSaxon bride and her long plait of yellow hair goes a very pretty,\npathetic story, which I may tell you at some future time if you take\nkindly to this. A Caskoden was seneschal to William Rufus, and sat at\nthe rich, half barbaric banquets in the first Great Hall. Still\nanother was one of the doughty barons who wrested from John the Great\nCharter, England's declaration of independence; another was high in\nthe councils of Henry V. I have omitted one whom I should not fail to\nmention: Adjodika Caskoden, who was a member of the Dunce Parliament\nof Henry IV, so called because there were no lawyers in it.\n\nIt is true that in the time of Edward IV a Caskoden did stoop to\ntrade, but it was trade of the most dignified, honorable sort; he was\na goldsmith, and his guild, as you know, were the bankers and\ninternational clearance house for people, king and nobles. Besides, it\nis stated on good authority that there was a great scandal wherein the\ngoldsmith's wife was mixed up in an intrigue with the noble King\nEdward; so we learn that even in trade the Caskodens were of honorable\nposition and basked in the smile of their prince. As for myself, I am\nnot one of those who object so much to trade; and I think it\ncontemptible in a man to screw his nose all out of place sneering at\nit, while enjoying every luxury of life from its profits.\n\nThis goldsmith was shrewd enough to turn what some persons might call\nhis ill fortune, in one way, into gain in another. He was one of those\nhappily constituted, thrifty philosophers who hold that even\nmisfortune should not be wasted, and that no evil is so great but the\nalchemy of common sense can transmute some part of it into good. So he\ncoined the smiles which the king shed upon his wife--he being\npowerless to prevent, for Edward smiled where he listed, and listed\nnearly everywhere--into nobles, crowns and pounds sterling, and left a\nglorious fortune to his son and to his son's son, unto about the\nfourth generation, which was a ripe old age for a fortune, I think.\nHow few of them live beyond the second, and fewer still beyond the\nthird! It was during the third generation of this fortune that the\nevents of the following history occurred.\n\nNow, it has been the custom of the Caskodens for centuries to keep a\nrecord of events, as they have happened, both private and public. Some\nare in the form of diaries and journals like those of Pepys and\nEvelyn; others in letters like the Pastons'; others again in verse and\nsong like Chaucer's and the Water Poet's; and still others in the\nmore pretentious form of memoir and chronicle. These records we always\nhave kept jealously within our family, thinking it vulgar, like the\nPastons, to submit our private affairs to public gaze.\n\nThere can, however, be no reason why those parts treating solely of\noutside matters should be so carefully guarded, and I have determined\nto choose for publication such portions as do not divulge family\nsecrets nor skeletons, and which really redound to family honor.\n\nFor this occasion I have selected from the memoir of my worthy\nancestor and namesake, Sir Edwin Caskoden--grandson of the goldsmith,\nand Master of the Dance to Henry VIII--the story of Charles Brandon\nand Mary Tudor, sister to the king.\n\nThis story is so well known to the student of English history that I\nfear its repetition will lack that zest which attends the development\nof an unforeseen denouement. But it is of so great interest, and is so\nfull, in its sweet, fierce manifestation, of the one thing insoluble\nby time, Love, that I will nevertheless rewrite it from old Sir\nEdwin's memoir. Not so much as an historical narrative, although I\nfear a little history will creep in, despite me, but simply as a\npicture of that olden long ago, which, try as we will to put aside the\nhazy, many-folded curtain of time, still retains its shadowy lack of\nsharp detail, toning down and mellowing the hard aspect of real\nlife--harder and more unromantic even than our own--into the blending\nsoftness of an exquisite mirage.\n\nI might give you the exact words in which Sir Edwin wrote, and shall\nnow and then quote from contemporaneous chronicles in the language of\nhis time, but should I so write at all, I fear the pleasure of perusal\nwould but poorly pay for the trouble, as the English of the Bluff King\nis almost a foreign tongue to us. I shall, therefore, with a few\nexceptions, give Sir Edwin's memoir in words, spelling and idiom which\nhis rollicking little old shade will probably repudiate as none of his\nwhatsoever. So, if you happen to find sixteenth century thought\nhob-nobbing in the same sentence with nineteenth century English, be\nnot disturbed; I did it. If the little old fellow grows grandiloquent\nor garrulous at times--_he_ did that. If you find him growing\nsuper-sentimental, remember that sentimentalism was the life-breath of\nchivalry, just then approaching its absurdest climax in the bombastic\nconscientiousness of Bayard and the whole mental atmosphere laden with\nits pompous nonsense.\n\n\n\n\n_CHAPTER I_\n\n_The Duel_\n\n\nIt sometimes happens, Sir Edwin says, that when a woman will she\nwon't, and when she won't she will; but usually in the end the adage\nholds good. That sentence may not be luminous with meaning, but I will\ngive you an illustration.\n\nI think it was in the spring of 1509, at any rate soon after the death\nof the \"Modern Solomon,\" as Queen Catherine called her old\nfather-in-law, the late King Henry VII, that his august majesty Henry\nVIII, \"The Vndubitate Flower and very Heire of both the sayd Linages,\"\ncame to the throne of England, and tendered me the honorable position\nof Master of the Dance at his sumptuous court.\n\nAs to \"worldly goods,\" as some of the new religionists call wealth, I\nwas very comfortably off; having inherited from my father, one of the\ncounselors of Henry VII, a very competent fortune indeed. How my\nworthy father contrived to save from the greedy hand of that rich old\nmiser so great a fortune, I am sure I can not tell. He was the only\nman of my knowledge who did it; for the old king had a reach as long\nas the kingdom, and, upon one pretext or another, appropriated to\nhimself everything on which he could lay his hands. My father,\nhowever, was himself pretty shrewd in money matters, having inherited\nalong with his fortune a rare knack at keeping it. His father was a\ngoldsmith in the time of King Edward, and enjoyed the marked favor of\nthat puissant prince.\n\nBeing thus in a position of affluence, I cared nothing for the fact\nthat little or no emolument went with the office; it was the honor\nwhich delighted me. Besides, I was thereby an inmate of the king's\npalace, and brought into intimate relations with the court, and above\nall, with the finest ladies of the land--the best company a man can\nkeep, since it ennobles his mind with better thoughts, purifies his\nheart with cleaner motives, and makes him gentle without detracting\nfrom his strength. It was an office any lord of the kingdom might have\nbeen proud to hold.\n\nNow, some four or five years after my induction into this honorable\noffice, there came to court news of a terrible duel fought down in\nSuffolk, out of which only one of the four combatants had come\nalive--two, rather, but one of them in a condition worse than death.\nThe first survivor was a son of Sir William Brandon, and the second\nwas a man called Sir Adam Judson. The story went that young Brandon\nand his elder brother, both just home from the continental wars, had\nmet Judson at an Ipswich inn, where there had been considerable\ngambling among them. Judson had won from the brothers a large sum of\nmoney which they had brought home; for, notwithstanding their youth,\nthe elder being but twenty-six and the younger about twenty-four years\nof age, they had gained great honor and considerable profit in wars,\nespecially the younger, whose name was Charles.\n\nIt is a little hard to fight for money and then to lose it by a single\nspot upon the die, but such is the fate of him who plays, and a\nphilosopher will swallow his ill luck and take to fighting for more.\nThe Brandons could have done this easily enough, especially Charles,\nwho was an offhand philosopher, rather fond of a good-humored fight,\nhad it not been that in the course of play one evening the secret of\nJudson's winning had been disclosed by a discovery that he cheated.\nThe Brandons waited until they were sure, and then trouble began,\nwhich resulted in a duel on the second morning following.\n\nThis Judson was a Scotch gentleman of whom very little was known,\nexcept that he was counted the most deadly and most cruel duelist of\nthe time. He was called the \"Walking Death,\" and it is said took pride\nin the appellation. He boasted that he had fought eighty-seven duels,\nin which he had killed seventy-five men, and it was considered certain\ndeath to meet him. I got the story of the duel afterwards from Brandon\nas I give it here.\n\nJohn was the elder brother, and when the challenge came was entitled\nto fight first,--a birthright out of which Charles tried in vain to\ntalk him. The brothers told their father, Sir William Brandon, and at\nthe appointed time father and sons repaired to the place of meeting,\nwhere they found Judson and his two seconds ready for the fight.\n\nSir William was still a vigorous man, with few equals in sword play,\nand the sons, especially the younger, were better men and more skilful\nthan their father had ever been, yet they felt that this duel meant\ncertain death, so great was Judson's fame for skill and cruelty.\nNotwithstanding they were so handicapped with this feeling of\nimpending evil, they met their duty without a tremor; for the motto of\ntheir house was, \"_Malo Mori Quam Fedrai_.\"\n\nIt was a misty morning in March. Brandon has told me since, that when\nhis elder brother took his stand, it was at once manifest that he was\nJudson's superior, both in strength and skill, but after a few strokes\nthe brother's blade bent double and broke off short at the hilt when\nit should have gone home. Thereupon, Judson, with a malignant smile of\ntriumph, deliberately selected his opponent's heart and pierced it\nwith his sword, giving the blade a twist as he drew it out in order to\ncut and mutilate the more.\n\nIn an instant Sir William's doublet was off, and he was in his dead\nson's tracks, ready to avenge him or to die. Again the thrust which\nshould have killed broke the sword, and the father died as the son had\ndied.\n\nAfter this, came young Charles, expecting, but, so great was his\nstrong heart, not one whit fearing, to lie beside his dead father and\nbrother. He knew he was the superior of both in strength and skill,\nand his knowledge of men and the noble art told him they had each been\nthe superior of Judson; but the fellow's hand seemed to be the hand of\ndeath. An opening came through Judson's unskilful play, which gave\nyoung Brandon an opportunity for a thrust to kill, but his blade, like\nhis father's and brother's, bent double without penetrating. Unlike\nthe others, however, it did not break, and the thrust revealed the\nfact that Judson's skill as a duelist lay in a shirt of mail which it\nwas useless to try to pierce. Aware of this, Brandon knew that victory\nwas his, and that soon he would have avenged the murders that had gone\nbefore. He saw that his adversary was strong neither in wind nor arm,\nand had not the skill to penetrate his guard in a week's trying, so he\ndetermined to fight on the defensive until Judson's strength should\nwane, and then kill him when and how he chose.\n\nAfter a time Judson began to breathe hard and his thrusts to lack\nforce.\n\n\"Boy, I would spare you,\" he said; \"I have killed enough of your\ntribe; put up your sword and call it quits.\"\n\nYoung Brandon replied: \"Stand your ground, you coward; you will be a\ndead man as soon as you grow a little weaker; if you try to run I will\nthrust you through the neck as I would a cur. Listen how you snort. I\nshall soon have you; you are almost gone. You would spare me, would\nyou? I could preach a sermon or dance a hornpipe while I am killing\nyou. I will not break my sword against your coat of mail, but will\nwait until you fall from weakness and then.... Fight, you bloodhound!\"\n\nJudson was pale from exhaustion, and his breath was coming in gasps as\nhe tried to keep the merciless sword from his throat. At last, by a\ndexterous twist of his blade, Brandon sent Judson's sword flying\nthirty feet away. The fellow started to run, but turned and fell upon\nhis knees to beg for life. Brandon's reply was a flashing circle of\nsteel, and his sword point cut lengthwise through Judson's eyes and\nthe bridge of his nose, leaving him sightless and hideous for life. A\nrevenge compared to which death would have been merciful.\n\nThe duel created a sensation throughout the kingdom, for although\nlittle was known as to who Judson was, his fame as a duelist was as\nbroad as the land. He had been at court upon several occasions, and,\nat one time, upon the king's birthday, had fought in the royal lists.\nSo the matter came in for its share of consideration by king and\ncourtiers, and young Brandon became a person of interest. He became\nstill more so when some gentlemen who had served with him in the\ncontinental wars told the court of his daring and bravery, and related\nstories of deeds at arms worthy of the best knight in Christendom.\n\nHe had an uncle at the court, Sir Thomas Brandon, the king's Master of\nHorse, who thought it a good opportunity to put his nephew forward\nand let him take his chance at winning royal favor. The uncle broached\nthe subject to the king, with favorable issue, and Charles Brandon,\nled by the hand of fate, came to London Court, where that same fate\nhad in keeping for him events such as seldom fall to the lot of man.\n\n\n\n\n_CHAPTER II_\n\n_How Brandon Came to Court_\n\n\nWhen we learned that Brandon was coming to court, every one believed\nhe would soon gain the king's favor. How much that would amount to\nnone could tell, as the king's favorites were of many sorts and taken\nfrom all conditions of men. There was Master Wolsey, a butcher's son,\nwhom he had first made almoner, then chief counselor and Bishop of\nLincoln, soon to be Bishop of York, and Cardinal of the Holy Roman\nChurch.\n\nFrom the other extreme of life came young Thomas, Lord Howard, heir to\nthe Earl of Surrey, and my Lord of Buckingham, premier peer of the\nrealm. Then sometimes would the king take a yeoman of the guard and\nmake him his companion in jousts and tournaments, solely because of\nhis brawn and bone. There were others whom he kept close by him in the\npalace because of their wit and the entertainment they furnished; of\nwhich class was I, and, I flatter myself, no mean member.\n\nTo begin with, being in no way dependent on the king for money, I\nnever drew a farthing from the royal treasury. This, you may be sure,\ndid me no harm, for although the king _sometimes_ delighted to give,\nhe always hated to pay. There were other good reasons, too, why I\nshould be a favorite with the king. Without meaning to be vain, I\nthink I may presume to say, with perfect truth, that my conversation\nand manners were far more pleasing and polished than were usual at\nthat day in England, for I made it a point to spend several weeks each\nyear in the noble French capital, the home and center of good-breeding\nand politeness.\n\nMy appointment as Master of the Dance, I am sure, was owing entirely\nto my manner. My brother, the baron, who stood high with the king, was\nnot friendly toward me because my father had seen fit to bequeath me\nso good a competency in place of giving it all to the first-born and\nleaving me dependent upon the tender mercies of an elder brother. So I\nhad no help from him nor from any one else. I was quite small of\nstature and, therefore, unable to compete, with lance and mace, with\nbulkier men; but I would bet with any man, of any size, on any game,\nat any place and time, in any amount; and, if I do say it, who perhaps\nshould not, I basked in the light of many a fair smile which larger\nmen had sighed for in vain.\n\nI did not know when Brandon first came to London. We had all remained\nat Greenwich while the king went up to Westminster to waste his time\nwith matters of state and quarrel with the Parliament, then sitting,\nover the amount of certain subsidies.\n\nMary, the king's sister, then some eighteen or nineteen years of age,\na perfect bud, just blossoming into a perfect flower, had gone over to\nWindsor on a visit to her elder sister, Margaret of Scotland, and the\npalace was dull enough. Brandon, it seems, had been presented to Henry\nduring this time, at Westminster, and had, to some extent at least,\nbecome a favorite before I met him. The first time I saw him was at a\njoust given by the king at Westminster, in celebration of the fact\nthat he had coaxed a good round subsidy out of Parliament.\n\nThe queen and her ladies had been invited over, and it was known that\nMary would be down from Windsor and come home with the king and the\ncourt to Greenwich when we should return. So we all went over to\nWestminster the night before the jousts, and were up bright and early\nnext morning to see all that was to be seen.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n[Here the editor sees fit to substitute a description of this\ntournament taken from the quaint old chronicler, Hall.]\n\n  The morow beyng after dynner, at tyme conuenenient, the Quene with\n  her Ladyes repaired to see the Iustes, the trompettes blewe vp,\n  and in came many a noble man and Gentleman, rychely appeareiled,\n  takynge vp thir horses, after whome folowed certayne lordes\n  appareiled, they and thir horses, in cloth of Golde and russet and\n  tynsell; Knyghtes in cloth of Golde, and russet Veluet. And a\n  greate nomber of Gentlemen on fote, in russet satyn and yealow,\n  and yomen in russet Damaske and yealow, all the nether parte of\n  euery mans hosen Skarlet, and yealow cappes.\n\n  Then came the kynge vnder a Pauilion of golde, and purpul Veluet\n  embroudered, the compass of the Pauilion about, and valenced with\n  a flat, gold beaten in wyre, with an Imperiall croune in the top,\n  of fyne Golde, his bases and trapper of cloth of Golde, fretted\n  with Damask Golde, the trapper pedant to the tail. A crane and\n  chafron of stele, in the front of the chafro was a goodly plume\n  set full of musers or trimbling spangles of golde. After folowed\n  his three aydes, euery of them vnder a Pauilion of Crymosyn\n  Damaske & purple. The nomber of Gentlemen and yomen a fote,\n  appareiled in russet and yealow was clxviii. Then next these\n  Pauilions came xii chyldren of honor, sitting euery one of them on\n  a greate courser, rychely trapped, and embroudered in seuerall\n  deuises and facions, where lacked neither brouderie nor\n  goldsmythes work, so that euery chyld and horse in deuice and\n  fascion was contrary to the other, which was goodly to beholde.\n\n  Then on the counter parte, entered a Straunger, fyrst on\n  horsebacke in a long robe of Russet satyne, like a recluse or a\n  religious, and his horse trapped in the same sewte, without dromme\n  or noyse of mynstrelsye, puttinge a byll of peticion to the Quene,\n  the effect whereof was, that if it would please her to license hym\n  to runne in her presence, he would do it gladly, and if not, then\n  he would departe as he came. After his request was graunted, then\n  he put off hys sayd habyte and was armed at all peces with ryche\n  bases & horse, also rychely trapped, and so did runne his horse to\n  the tylte end, where dieurs men on fote appareiled in Russet satyn\n  awaited on him. Thereupon the Heraulds cryed an Oyez! and the\n  grownd shoke with the trompe of rushynge stedes. Wonder it were to\n  write of the dedes of Armes which that day toke place, where a man\n  might haue seen many a horse raysed on highe with galop, turne and\n  stoppe, maruaylous to behold. C.xiv staves were broke and the\n  kynge being lusty, he and the straunger toke the prices.\n\nWhen the queen had given the stranger permission to run, and as he\nmoved away, there was a great clapping of hands and waving of\ntrophies among the ladies, for he was of such noble mien and comely\nface as to attract the gaze of every one away from even the glittering\nperson of his majesty the king.\n\nHis hair, worn in its natural length, fell in brown curls back from\nhis forehead almost to the shoulder, a style just then new, even in\nFrance. His eyes were a deep blue, and his complexion, though browned\nby exposure, held a tinge of beauty which the sun could not mar and a\ngirl might envy. He wore neither mustachio nor beard, as men now\ndisfigure their faces--since Francis I took a scar on his chin--and\nhis clear cut profile, dilating nostrils and mobile, though firm-set\nmouth, gave pleasing assurance of tenderness, gentleness, daring and\nstrength.\n\nI was standing near the queen, who called to me: \"Who is the handsome\nstranger that so gracefully asked our license to run?\"\n\n\"I can not inform your majesty. I never saw him until now. He is the\ngoodliest knight I have ever beheld.\"\n\n\"That he is,\" replied the queen; \"and we should like very much to know\nhim. Should we not, ladies?\" There was a chorus of assent from a dozen\nvoices, and I promised, after the running, to learn all about him and\nreport.\n\nIt was at this point the heralds cried their \"Oyes,\" and our\nconversation was at an end for the time.\n\nAs to height, the stranger was full six feet, with ample evidence of\nmuscle, though no great bulk. He was grace itself, and the king\nafterwards said he had never seen such strength of arm and skill in\nthe use of the lance--a sure harbinger of favor, if not of fortune,\nfor the possessor.\n\nAfter the jousting the Princess Mary asked me if I could yet give her\nan account of the stranger; and as I could not, she went to the king.\n\nI heard her inquire:\n\n\"Who was your companion, brother?\"\n\n\"That is a secret, sister. You will find out soon enough, and will be\nfalling in love with him, no doubt. I have always looked upon you as\nfull of trouble for me in that respect; you will not so much as glance\nat anyone I choose for you, but I suppose would be ready enough with\nyour smiles for some one I should not want.\"\n\n\"Is the stranger one whom you would not want?\" asked Mary, with a\ndimpling smile and a flash of her brown eyes.\n\n\"He most certainly is,\" returned the king.\n\n\"Then I will fall in love with him at once. In fact, I don't know but\nI have already.\"\n\n\"Oh, I have no doubt of that; if I wanted him, he might be Apollo\nhimself and you would have none of him.\" King Henry had been compelled\nto refuse several very advantageous alliances because this fair,\ncoaxing, self-willed sister would not consent to be a part of the\nmoving consideration.\n\n\"But can you not tell me who he is, and what his degree?\" went on Mary\nin a bantering tone.\n\n\"He has no degree; he is a plain, untitled soldier, not even a knight;\nthat is, not an English knight. I think he has a German or Spanish\norder of some sort.\"\n\n\"Not a duke; not an earl; not even a baron or knight? Now he has\nbecome interesting.\"\n\n\"Yes, I suppose so; but don't bother me.\"\n\n\"Will he be at the dance and banquet to-night?\"\n\n\"No! No! Now I must go; don't bother me, I say.\" And the king moved\naway.\n\nThat night we had a grand banquet and dance at Westminster, and the\nnext day we all, excepting Lady Mary, went back to Greenwich by boat,\npaying a farthing a head for our fare. This was just after the law\nfixing the boat fare, and the watermen were a quarreling lot, you may\nbe sure. One farthing from Westminster to Greenwich! Eight miles. No\nwonder they were angry.\n\nThe next day I went back to London on an errand, and over to Wolsey's\nhouse to borrow a book. While there Master Cavendish, Wolsey's\nsecretary, presented me to the handsome stranger, and he proved to be\nno other than Charles Brandon, who had fought the terrible duel down\nin Suffolk. I could hardly believe that so mild-mannered and boyish a\nperson could have taken the leading part in such a tragedy. But with\nall his gentleness there was an underlying dash of cool daring which\nintimated plainly enough that he was not all mildness.\n\nWe became friends at once, drawn together by that subtle human quality\nwhich makes one nature fit into another, resulting in friendship\nbetween men, and love between men and women. We soon found that we had\nmany tastes in common, chief among which was the strongest of all\ncongenial bonds, the love of books. In fact we had come to know each\nother through our common love of reading, for he also had gone to\nMaster Cavendish, who had a fine library, to borrow some volumes to\ntake with him down to Greenwich.\n\nBrandon informed me he was to go to Greenwich that day, so we\ndetermined to see a little of London, which was new to him, and then\ntake boat in time to be at the palace before dark.\n\nThat evening, upon arriving at Greenwich, we hunted up Brandon's\nuncle, the Master of Horse, who invited his nephew to stay with him\nfor the night. He refused, however, and accepted an invitation to take\na bed in my room.\n\nThe next day Brandon was installed as one of the captains of the\nking's guard, under his uncle, but with no particular duties, except\nsuch as should be assigned him from time to time. He was offered a\ngood room on one of the lower floors, but asked, instead, to be lodged\nin the attic next to me. So we arranged that each had a room opening\ninto a third that served us alike for drawing-room and armory.\n\nHere we sat and talked, and now and then one would read aloud some\nfavorite passage, while the other kept his own place with finger\nbetween the leaves. Here we discussed everything from court scandal to\nreligion, and settled to our own satisfaction, at least, many a great\nproblem with which the foolish world is still wrestling.\n\nWe told each other all our secrets, too, for all the world like a pair\nof girls. Although Brandon had seen so much of life, having fought on\nthe continent ever since he was a boy, and for all he was so much a\nman of the world, yet had he as fresh and boyish a heart as if he had\njust come from the clover fields and daisies. He seemed almost\ndiffident, but I soon learned that his manner was but the cool\ngentleness of strength.\n\nOf what use, let me ask, is a friend unless you can unload your heart\nupon him? It matters not whether the load be joy or sorrow; if the\nformer, the need is all the greater, for joy has an expansive power,\nas some persons say steam has, and must escape from the heart upon\nsome one else.\n\nSo Brandon told me of his hopes and aspirations, chief among which was\nhis desire to earn, and save, enough money to pay the debt against his\nfather's estate, which he had turned over to his younger brother and\nsisters. He, as the eldest, could have taken it all, for his father\nhad died without a will, but he said there was not enough to divide,\nso he had given it to them and hoped to leave it clear of debt; then\nfor New Spain, glory and fortune, conquest and yellow gold. He had\nread of the voyages of the great Columbus, the Cabots, and a host of\nothers, and the future was as rosy as a Cornish girl's cheek. Fortune\nheld up her lips to him, but--there's often a sting in a kiss.\n\n\n\n\n_CHAPTER III_\n\n_The Princess Mary_\n\n\nNow, at that time, Mary, the king's sister, was just ripening into her\ngreatest womanly perfection. Her skin was like velvet; a rich, clear,\nrosy snow, with the hot young blood glowing through it like the faint\nred tinge we sometimes see on the inner side of a white rose leaf. Her\nhair was a very light brown, almost golden, and fluffy, soft, and fine\nas a skein of Arras silk. She was of medium height, with a figure that\nVenus might have envied. Her feet and hands were small, and apparently\nmade for the sole purpose of driving mankind distracted. In fact, that\nseemed to be the paramount object in her creation, for she had the\nworld of men at her feet. Her greatest beauty was her glowing dark\nbrown eyes, which shone with an ever-changing luster from beneath the\nshade of the longest, blackest upcurving lashes ever seen.\n\nHer voice was soft and full, and, except when angry, which, alas, was\nnot infrequent, had a low and coaxing little note that made it\nirresistible; she was a most adroit coaxer, and knew her power full\nwell, although she did not always plead, having the Tudor temper and\npreferring to command--when she could. As before hinted, she had\ncoaxed her royal brother out of several proposed marriages for her,\nwhich would have been greatly to his advantage; and if you had only\nknown Henry Tudor, with his vain, boisterous, stubborn violence, you\ncould form some idea of Mary's powers by that achievement alone.\n\nWill Sommers, the fool, one day spread through court an announcement\nthat there would be a public exhibition in the main hall of the palace\nthat evening, when the Princess Mary would perform the somewhat\nalarming, but, in fact, harmless, operation of wheedling the king out\nof his ears. This was just after she had coaxed him to annul a\nmarriage contract which her father had made for her with Charles of\nGermany, then heir to the greatest inheritance that ever fell to the\nlot of one man--Spain, the Netherlands, Austria, and heaven only knows\nwhat else.\n\nShe had been made love to by so many men, who had lost their senses in\nthe dazzling rays of her thousand perfections--of whom, I am ashamed\nto say, that I, for a time, had been insane enough to be one--that\nlove had grown to be a sort of joke with her, and man, a poor,\ncontemptible creature, made to grovel at her feet. Not that she liked\nor encouraged it; for, never having been moved herself, she held love\nand its sufferings in utter scorn. Man's love was so cheap and\nplentiful that it had no value in her eyes, and it looked as if she\nwould lose the best thing in life by having too much of it.\n\nSuch was the royal maid to whose tender mercies, I now tell you\nfrankly, my friend Brandon was soon to be turned over. He, however,\nwas a blade of very different temper from any she had known; and when\nI first saw signs of a growing intimacy between them I felt, from what\nlittle I had seen of Brandon, that the tables were very likely to be\nturned upon her ladyship. Then thought I, \"God help her,\" for in a\nnature like hers, charged with latent force, strong and hot and fiery\nas the sun's stored rays, it needed but a flash to make it patent,\nwhen damage was sure to follow for somebody--probably Brandon.\n\nMary did not come home with us from Westminster the morning after the\njoustings, as we had expected, but followed some four or five days\nlater, and Brandon had fairly settled himself at court before her\narrival. As neither his duties nor mine were onerous, we had a great\ndeal of time on our hands, which we employed walking and riding, or\nsitting in our common room reading and talking. Of course, as with\nmost young men, that very attractive branch of natural history, woman,\nwas a favorite topic, and we accordingly discussed it a great deal;\nthat is, to tell the exact truth, _I_ did. Although Brandon had seen\nmany an adventure during his life on the continent, which would not do\nto write down here, he was as little of a boaster as any man I ever\nmet, and, while I am in the truth-telling business, I was as great a\nbraggart of my inches as ever drew the long-bow--in that line, I mean.\nGods! I flush up hot, even now, when I think of it. So I talked a\ngreat deal and found myself infinitely pleased with Brandon's\nconversational powers, which were rare; being no less than the\ncapacity for saying nothing, and listening politely to an infinite\ndeal of the same thing, in another form, from me.\n\nI remember that I told him I had known the Princess Mary from a time\nwhen she was twelve years old, and how I had made a fool of myself\nabout her. I fear I tried to convey the impression that it was her\nexalted rank only which made her look unfavorably upon my passion, and\nsuppressed the fact that she had laughed at me good humoredly, and put\nme off as she would have thrust a poodle from her lap. The truth is,\nshe had always been kind and courteous to me, and had admitted me to a\ndegree of intimacy much greater than I deserved. This, partly at\nleast, grew out of the fact that I helped her along the thorny path to\nknowledge; a road she traveled at an eager gallop, for she dearly\nloved to learn--from curiosity perhaps.\n\nI am sure she held me in her light, gentle heart as a dear friend, but\nwhile her heart was filled with this mild warmth for me, mine began to\nburn with the flame that discolors everything, and I saw her\nfriendliness in a very distorting light. She was much kinder to me\nthan to most men, but I did not see that it was by reason of my\nabsolute harmlessness; and, I suppose, because I was a vain fool, I\ngradually began to gather hope--which goes with every vain man's\nlove--and what is more, actually climbed to the very apex of idiocy\nand declared myself. I well knew the infinite distance between us; but\nlike every other man who came within the circle of this charming\nlodestone I lost my head, and, in short, made a greater fool of myself\nthan I naturally was--which is saying a good deal for that time in my\nlife, God knows!\n\nI knew vaguely but did not fairly realize how utterly beyond my reach\nin every way she was until I opened the flood-gates of my passion--as\nI thought it--and saw her smile, and try to check the coming laugh.\nThen came a look of offended dignity, followed by a quick softening\nglance.\n\n\"Leave me one friend, I pray you, Edwin. I value you too highly to\nlose, and esteem you too much to torment. Do not make of yourself one\nof those fools who feel, or pretend to feel, I care not which, such\npreference for me. You cannot know in what contempt a woman holds a\nman who follows her though she despises him. No man can beg a woman's\nlove; he must command it; do not join their ranks, but let us be good\nfriends. I will tell you the plain truth; it would be no different\nwere we both of the same degree; even then I could not feel toward you\nas you think you wish, but I can be your friend, and will promise to\nbe that always, if you will promise never again to speak of this to\nme.\"\n\nI promised solemnly and have always kept my word, as this true,\ngracious woman, so full of faults and beauties, virtues and failings,\nhas, ever since that day and moment, kept hers. It seemed that my\nlove, or what I supposed was love, left my heart at once, frozen in\nthe cold glint of her eyes as she smiled upon my first avowal;\nsomewhat as disease may leave the sickened body upon a great shock.\nAnd in its place came the restful flame of a friend's love, which so\nsoftly warms without burning. But the burning! There is nothing in\nlife worth having compared with it for all its pains and agonies. Is\nthere?\n\n\"Now if you must love somebody,\" continued the princess, \"there is\nLady Jane Bolingbroke, who is beautiful and good, and admires you,\nand, I think, could learn to----\" but here the lady in question ran\nout from behind the draperies, where, I believe, she had been\nlistening to it all, and put her hand over her mistress' mouth to\nsilence her.\n\n\"Don't believe one word she says, Sir Edwin,\" cried Lady Jane; \"if you\ndo I never _will_ like you.\" The emphasis on the \"will\" held out such\ninvoluntary promise in case I did not believe the princess, that I at\nonce protested total want of faith in a single syllable she had said\nabout her, and vowed that I knew it could not be true; that I dared\nnot hope for such happiness.\n\nYou see, I had begun to make love to Jane almost before I was off my\nknees to Mary, and, therefore, I had not been much hurt in Mary's\ncase. I had suffered merely a touch of the general epidemic, not the\nlingering, chronic disease that kills.\n\nThen I knew that the best cure for the sting which lies in a luckless\nlove is to love elsewhere, and Jane, as she stood there, so _petite_,\nso blushing and so fair, struck me as quite the most pleasing antidote\nI could possibly find, so I began at once to administer to myself the\ndelightful counter-irritant. It was a happy thought for me; one of\nthose which come to a man now and then, and for which he thanks his\nwits in every hour of his after life.\n\nBut the winning of Jane was not so easy a matter as my vanity had\nprompted me to think. I started with a handicap, since Jane had heard\nmy declaration to Mary, and I had to undo all that before I could do\nanything else. Try the same thing yourself with a spirited girl,\nnaturally laughter-loving and coy, if you think it a simple, easy\nundertaking. I began to fear I should need another antidote long\nbefore I heard her sweet soul-satisfying \"yes.\" I do not believe,\nhowever, I could have found in the whole world an antidote to my love\nfor Jane. You see I tell you frankly that I won her, and conceal\nnothing, so far as Jane and I are concerned, for the purpose of\nholding you in suspense. I have started out to tell you the history of\ntwo other persons--if I can ever come to it--but find a continual\ntendency on the part of my own story to intrude, for every man is a\nvery important personage to himself. I shall, however, try to keep it\nout.\n\nIn the course of my talk with Brandon I had, as I have said, told him\nthe story of Mary, with some slight variations and coloring, or rather\ndiscoloring, to make it appear a little less to my discredit than the\nbarefaced truth would have been. I told him also about Jane; and, I\ngrieve and blush to say, expressed a confidence in that direction I\nlittle felt.\n\nIt had been perhaps a year since my adventure with Mary, and I had\ntaken all that time trying to convince Jane that I did not mean a word\nI had said to her mistress, and that I was very earnest in everything\nI said to her. But Jane's ears would have heard just as much had they\nbeen the pair of beautiful little shells they so much resembled. This\ntroubled me a great deal, and the best I could hope was that she held\nme on probation.\n\nOn the evening of the day Mary came home to Greenwich, Brandon asked:\n\"Who and what on earth is this wonderful Mary I hear so much about?\nThey say she is coming home to-day, and the court seems to have gone\nmad about it; I hear nothing but 'Mary is coming! Mary is coming!\nMary! Mary!' from morning until night. They say Buckingham is beside\nhimself for love of her. He has a wife at home, if I am right, and is\nold enough to be her father. Is he not?\" I assented; and Brandon\ncontinued: \"A man who will make such a fool of himself about a woman\nis woefully weak. The men of the court must be poor creatures.\"\n\nHe had much to learn about the power of womanhood. There is nothing\non earth--but you know as much about it as I do.\n\n\"Wait until you see her,\" I answered, \"and you will be one of them,\nalso. I flatter you by giving you one hour with her to be heels over\nhead in love. With an ordinary man it takes one-sixtieth of that time;\nso you see I pay a compliment to your strength of mind.\"\n\n\"Nonsense!\" broke in Brandon. \"Do you think I left all my wits down in\nSuffolk? Why, man, she is the sister of the king, and is sought by\nkings and emperors. I might as well fall in love with a twinkling\nstar. Then, besides, my heart is not on my sleeve. You must think me a\nfool; a poor, enervated, simpering fool like--like--well, like one of\nthose nobles of England. Don't put me down with them, Caskoden, if you\nwould remain my friend.\"\n\nWe both laughed at this sort of talk, which was a little in advance of\nthe time, for a noble, though an idiot, to the most of England was a\nnoble still, God-created and to be adored.\n\nAnother great bond of sympathy between Brandon and myself was a\ncommunity of opinion concerning certain theories as to the equality of\nmen and tolerance of religious thought. We believed that these things\nwould yet come, in spite of kingcraft and priestcraft, but wisely kept\nour pet theories to ourselves: that is, between ourselves.\n\nOf what use is it to argue the equality of human kind to a man who\nhonestly thinks he is better than any one else, or to one who really\nbelieves that some one else is better than he; and why dispute about\nthe various ways of saving one's soul, when you are not even sure you\nhave a soul to save? When I open my mouth for public utterance, the\nking is the best man in Christendom, and his premier peer of the realm\nthe next best. When the king is a Catholic I go to Mass; since,\npraised be the Lord, I have brains enough not to let my head interfere\nwith the set ways of a stone wall.\n\nNow, when Mary returned the whole court rejoiced, and I was anxious\nfor Brandon to meet her and that they should become friends. There\nwould be no trouble in bringing this meeting about, since, as you\nknow, I was upon terms of intimate friendship with Mary, and was the\navowed, and, as I thought, at least hoped, all but accepted lover of\nher first lady in waiting and dearest friend, Lady Jane Bolingbroke.\nBrandon, it is true, was not noble; not even an English knight, while\nI was both knighted and noble; but he was of as old a family as\nEngland boasted, and near of kin to some of the best blood of the\nland. The meeting came about sooner than I expected, and was very near\na failure. It was on the second morning after Mary's arrival at\nGreenwich. Brandon and I were walking in the palace park when we met\nJane, and I took the opportunity to make these, my two best-loved\nfriends, acquainted.\n\n\"How do you do, Master Brandon?\" said Lady Jane, holding out her\nplump little hand, so white and soft, and dear to me. \"I have heard\nsomething of you the last day or so from Sir Edwin, but had begun to\nfear he was not going to give me the pleasure of knowing you. I hope I\nmay see you often now, and that I may present you to my mistress.\"\n\nWith this, her eyes, bright as overgrown dew-drops, twinkled with a\nmischievous little smile, as if to say: \"Ah, another large handsome\nfellow to make a fool of himself.\"\n\nBrandon acquiesced in the wish she had made, and, after the\ninterchange of a few words, Jane said her mistress was waiting at the\nother side of the grounds, and that she must go. She then ran off with\na laugh and a courtesy, and was soon lost to sight behind the\nshrubbery at the turning of the walk.\n\nIn a short time we came to a summer house near the marble\nboat-landing, where we found the queen and some of her ladies awaiting\nthe rest of their party for a trip down the river, which had been\nplanned the day before. Brandon was known to the queen and several of\nthe ladies, although he had not been formally presented at an\naudience. Many of the king's friends enjoyed a considerable intimacy\nwith the whole court without ever receiving the public stamp of\nrecognition, socially, which goes with a formal presentation.\n\nThe queen, seeing us, sent me off to bring the king. After I had\ngone, she asked if any one had seen the Princess Mary, and Brandon\ntold her Lady Jane had said she was at the other side of the grounds.\nThereupon her majesty asked Brandon to find the princess and to say\nthat she was wanted.\n\nBrandon started off and soon found a bevy of girls sitting on some\nbenches under a spreading oak, weaving spring flowers. He had never\nseen the princess, so could not positively know her. As a matter of\nfact, he did know her, as soon as his eyes rested on her, for she\ncould not be mistaken among a thousand--there was no one like her or\nanything near it. Some stubborn spirit of opposition, however,\nprompted him to pretend ignorance. All that he had heard of her\nwonderful power over men, and the servile manner in which they fell\nbefore her, had aroused in him a spirit of antagonism, and had\nbegotten a kind of distaste beforehand. He was wrong in this, because\nMary was not a coquette in any sense of the word, and did absolutely\nnothing to attract men, except to be so beautiful, sweet and winning\nthat they could not let her alone; for all of which surely the prince\nof fault-finders himself could in no way blame her.\n\nShe could not help that God had seen fit to make her the fairest being\non earth, and the responsibility would have to lie where it\nbelonged--with God; Mary would have none of it. Her attractiveness was\nnot a matter of volition or intention on her part. She was too young\nfor deliberate snare-setting--though it often begins very early in\nlife--and made no effort to attract men. Man's love was too cheap a\nthing for her to strive for, and I am sure, in her heart, she would\ninfinitely have preferred to live without it--that is, until the right\none should come. The right one is always on his way, and, first or\nlast, is sure to come to every woman--sometimes, alas! too late--and\nwhen he comes, be it late or early, she crowns him, even though he be\na long-eared ass. Blessed crown! and thrice-blessed blindness--else\nthere were fewer coronations.\n\nSo Brandon stirred this antagonism and determined not to see her\nmanifold perfections, which he felt sure were exaggerated; but to\ntreat her as he would the queen--who was black and leathery enough to\nfrighten a satyr--with all respect due to her rank, but with his own\nopinion of her nevertheless, safely stored away in the back of his\nhead.\n\nComing up to the group, Brandon took off his hat, and, with a graceful\nlittle bow that let the curls fall around his face, asked: \"Have I the\nhonor to find the Princess Mary among these ladies?\"\n\nMary, who I know you will at once say was thoroughly spoiled, without\nturning her face toward him, replied:\n\n\"Is the Princess Mary a person of so little consequence about the\ncourt that she is not known to a mighty captain of the guard?\"\n\nHe wore his guardsman's doublet, and she knew his rank by his\nuniform. She had not noticed his face.\n\nQuick as a flash came the answer: \"I can not say of what consequence\nthe Princess Mary is about the court; it is not my place to determine\nsuch matters. I am sure, however, she is not here, for I doubt not she\nwould have given a gentle answer to a message from the queen. I shall\ncontinue my search.\" With this, he turned to leave, and the ladies,\nincluding Jane, who was there and saw it all and told me of it,\nawaited the bolt they knew would come, for they saw the lightning\ngathering in Mary's eyes.\n\nMary sprang to her feet with an angry flush in her face, exclaiming:\n\"Insolent fellow, I am the Princess Mary; if you have a message,\ndeliver it and be gone.\" You may be sure this sort of treatment was\nsuch as the cool-headed, daring Brandon would repay with usury; so,\nturning upon his heel and almost presenting his back to Mary, he spoke\nto Lady Jane:\n\n\"Will your ladyship say to her highness that her majesty, the queen,\nawaits her coming at the marble landing?\"\n\n\"No need to repeat the message, Jane,\" cried Mary. \"I have ears and\ncan hear for myself.\" Then turning to Brandon: \"If your insolence will\npermit you to receive a message from so insignificant a person as the\nking's sister, I beg you to say to the queen that I shall be with her\npresently.\"\n\nHe did not turn his face toward Mary, but bowed again to Jane.\n\n\"May I ask your ladyship further to say for me that if I have been\nguilty of any discourtesy I greatly regret it. My failure to recognize\nthe Princess Mary grew out of my misfortune in never having been\nallowed to bask in the light of her countenance. I cannot believe the\nfault lies at my door, and I hope for her own sake that her highness,\non second thought, will realize how ungentle and unkind some one else\nhas been.\" And with a sweeping courtesy he walked quickly down the\npath.\n\n\"The insolent wretch!\" cried one.\n\n\"He ought to hold papers on the pillory,\" said another.\n\n\"Nothing of the sort,\" broke in sensible, fearless little Jane; \"I\nthink the Lady Mary was wrong. He could not have known her by\ninspiration.\"\n\n\"Jane is right,\" exclaimed Mary, whose temper, if short, was also\nshort-lived, and whose kindly heart always set her right if she but\ngave it a little time. Her faults were rather those of education than\nof nature. \"Jane is right; it was what I deserved. I did not think\nwhen I spoke, and did not really mean it as it sounded. He acted like\na man, and looked like one, too, when he defended himself. I warrant\nthe pope at Rome could not run over him with impunity. For once I have\nfound a real live man, full of manliness. I saw him in the lists at\nWindsor a week ago, but the king said his name was a secret, and I\ncould not learn it. He seemed to know you, Jane. Who is he? Now tell\nus all you know. The queen can wait.\"\n\nAnd her majesty waited on a girl's curiosity.\n\nI had told Jane all I knew about Brandon, so she was prepared with\nfull information, and gave it. She told the princess who he was; of\nhis terrible duel with Judson; his bravery and adventures in the wars;\nhis generous gift to his brother and sisters, and lastly, \"Sir Edwin\nsays he is the best-read man in the court, and the bravest, truest\nheart in Christendom.\"\n\nAfter Jane's account of Brandon, they all started by a roundabout way\nfor the marble landing. In a few moments whom did they see, coming\ntoward them down the path, but Brandon, who had delivered his message\nand continued his walk. When he saw whom he was about to meet, he\nquickly turned in another direction. The Lady Mary had seen him,\nhowever, and told Jane to run forward and bring him to her. She soon\novertook him and said:\n\n\"Master Brandon, the princess wishes to see you.\" Then, maliciously:\n\"You will suffer this time. I assure you she is not used to such\ntreatment. It was glorious, though, to see you resent such an affront.\nMen usually smirk and smile foolishly and thank her when she smites\nthem.\"\n\nBrandon was disinclined to return.\n\n\"I am not in her highness's command,\" he answered, \"and do not care\nto go back for a reprimand when I am in no way to blame.\"\n\n\"Oh, but you must come; perhaps she will not scold this time,\" and she\nput her hand upon his arm, and laughingly drew him along. Brandon, of\ncourse, had to submit when led by so sweet a captor--anybody would. So\nfresh, and fair, and lovable was Jane, that I am sure anything\nmasculine _must_ have given way.\n\nComing up to the princess and her ladies, who were waiting, Jane said:\n\"Lady Mary, let me present Master Brandon, who, if he has offended in\nany way, humbly sues for pardon.\" That was the one thing Brandon had\nno notion on earth of doing, but he let it go as Jane had put it, and\nthis was his reward:\n\n\"It is not Master Brandon who should sue for pardon,\" responded the\nprincess, \"it is I who was wrong. I blush for what I did and said.\nForgive me, sir, and let us start anew.\" At this she stepped up to\nBrandon and offered him her hand, which he, dropping to his knee,\nkissed most gallantly.\n\n\"Your highness, you can well afford to offend when you have so sweet\nand gracious a talent for making amends. 'A wrong acknowledged,' as\nsome one has said, 'becomes an obligation.'\" He looked straight into\nthe girl's eyes as he said this, and his gaze was altogether too\nstrong for her, so the lashes fell. She flushed and said with a smile\nthat brought the dimples:\n\n\"I thank you; that is a real compliment.\" Then laughingly: \"Much\nbetter than extravagant comments on one's skin, and eyes, and hair. We\nare going to the queen at the marble landing. Will you walk with us,\nsir?\" And they strolled away together, while the other girls followed\nin a whispering, laughing group.\n\nWas there ever so glorious a calm after such a storm?\n\n\"Then those mythological compliments,\" continued Mary, \"don't you\ndislike them?\"\n\n\"I can't say that I have ever received many--none that I recall,\"\nreplied Brandon, with a perfectly straight face, but with a smile\ntrying its best to break out.\n\n\"Oh! you have not? Well! how would you like to have somebody always\ntelling you that Apollo was humpbacked and misshapen compared with\nyou; that Endymion would have covered his face had he but seen yours,\nand so on?\"\n\n\"I don't know, but I think I should like it--from some persons,\" he\nreplied, looking ever so innocent.\n\nThis savored of familiarity after so brief an acquaintance, and caused\nthe princess to glance up in slight surprise; but only for the\ninstant, for his innocent look disarmed her.\n\n\"I have a mind to see,\" she returned, laughing and throwing her head\nback, as she looked up at him out of the corner of her lustrous eyes.\n\"But I will pay you a better compliment. I positively thank you for\nthe rebuke. I do many things like that, for which I am always sorry.\nOh! you don't know how difficult it is to be a good princess.\" And she\nshook her head, with a gathering of little trouble-wrinkles in her\nforehead, as much as to say, \"There is no getting away from it,\nthough.\" Then she breathed a soft little sigh of tribulation as they\nwalked on.\n\n\"I know it must be a task to be good when everybody flatters even\none's shortcomings,\" said Brandon, and then continued in a way that, I\nam free to confess, was something priggish: \"It is almost impossible\nfor us to see our own faults, even when others are kind enough to\npoint them out, for they are right ugly things and unpleasant to look\nupon. But lacking those outside monitors, one must all the more\ncultivate the habit of constant inlooking and self-examination. If we\nare only brave enough to confront our faults and look them in the\nface, ugly as they are, we shall be sure to overcome the worst of\nthem. A striving toward good will achieve at least a part of it.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" returned the princess, \"but what _is_ good and what _is_ wrong?\nSo often we can not tell them apart until we look back at what we have\ndone, and then it is all too late. I truly wish to be good more than I\ndesire anything else in the world. I am so ignorant and helpless, and\nhave such strong inclinations to do wrong that sometimes I seem to be\nalmost all wrong. The priests say so much, but tell us so little.\nThey talk about St. Peter and St. Paul, and a host of other saints and\nholy fathers and what-nots, but fail to tell us what we need every\nmoment of our lives; that is, how to know the right when we see it,\nand how to do it; and how to know the wrong and how to avoid it. They\nask us to believe so much, and insist that faith is the sum of virtue,\nand the lack of it the sum of sin; that to faith all things are added;\nbut we might believe every syllable of their whole disturbing creed,\nand then spoil it all through blind ignorance of what is right and\nwhat is wrong.\"\n\n\"As to knowing right and wrong,\" replied Brandon, \"I think I can give\nyou a rule which, although it may not cover the whole ground, is\nexcellent for every-day use. It is this: Whatever makes others unhappy\nis wrong; whatever makes the world happier is good. As to how we are\nalways to do this, I can not tell you. One has to learn that by\ntrying. We can but try, and if we fail altogether, there is still\nvirtue in every futile effort toward the right.\"\n\nMary bent her head as she walked along in thought.\n\n\"What you have said is the only approach to a rule for knowing and\ndoing the right I have ever heard. Now what do you think of me as a\nflatterer? But it will do no good; the bad is in me too strong; it\nalways does itself before I can apply any rule, or even realize what\nis coming.\" And again she shook her head with a bewitching little look\nof trouble.\n\n\"Pardon me, your highness; but there is no bad _in_ you. It has been\nput _on_ you by others, and is all on the outside; there is none of it\nin your heart at all. That evil which you think comes out of you,\nsimply falls from you; your heart is all right, or I have greatly\nmisjudged you.\" He was treating her almost as if she were a child.\n\n\"I fear, Master Brandon, you are the most adroit flatterer of all,\"\nsaid Mary, shaking her head and looking up at him with a side glance,\n\"people have deluged me with all kinds of flattery--I have the\ndifferent sorts listed and labeled--but no one has ever gone to the\nextravagant length of calling me good. Perhaps they think I do not\ncare for that; but I like it best. I don't like the others at all. If\nI am beautiful or not, it is as God made me, and I have nothing to do\nwith it, and desire no credit, but if I could only be good it might be\nmy own doing, perhaps, and I ought to have praise. I wonder if there\nis really and truly any good in me, and if you have read me aright.\"\nThen looking up at him with a touch of consternation: \"Or are you\nlaughing at me?\"\n\nBrandon wisely let the last suggestion pass unnoticed.\n\n\"I am sure that I am right; you have glorious capacities for good, but\nalas! corresponding possibilities for evil. It will eventually all\ndepend upon the man you marry. He can make out of you a perfect woman,\nor the reverse.\" Again there was the surprised expression in Mary's\nface, but Brandon's serious look disarmed her.\n\n\"I fear you are right, as to the reverse, at any rate; and the worst\nof it is, I shall never be able to choose a man to help me, but shall\nsooner or later be compelled to marry the creature who will pay the\ngreatest price.\"\n\n\"God forbid!\" said Brandon reverently.\n\nThey were growing rather serious, so Mary turned the conversation\nagain into the laughing mood, and said, with a half sigh: \"Oh! I hope\nyou are right about the possibilities for good, but you do not know.\nWait until you have seen more of me.\"\n\n\"I certainly hope I shall not have long to wait.\"\n\nThe surprised eyes again glanced quickly up to the serious face, but\nthe answer came: \"That you shall not:--but here is the queen, and I\nsuppose we must have the benediction.\" Brandon understood her\nhint--that the preaching was over,--and taking it for his dismissal,\nplayfully lifted his hands in imitation of the old Bishop of\nCanterbury, and murmured the first line of the Latin benediction. Then\nthey both laughed and courtesied, and Brandon walked away.\n\n\n\n\n_CHAPTER IV_\n\n_A Lesson in Dancing_\n\n\nI laughed heartily when Jane told me of the tilt between Brandon and\nPrincess Mary, the latter of whom was in the habit of saying unkind\nthings and being thanked for them.\n\nBrandon was the wrong man to say them to, as Mary learned. He was not\nhot-tempered; in fact, just the reverse, but he was the last man to\nbrook an affront, and the quickest to resent, in a cool-headed,\ndangerous way, an intentional offense.\n\nHe respected himself and made others do the same, or seem to do so, at\nleast. He had no vanity--which is but an inordinate desire for those\nqualities that bring self-respect, and often the result of conscious\ndemerit--but he knew himself, and knew that he was entitled to his own\ngood opinion. He was every inch a man, strong, intelligent and brave\nto temerity, with a reckless disregard of consequences, which might\nhave been dangerous had it not been tempered by a dash of prudence and\ncaution that gave him ballast.\n\nI was not surprised when I heard of the encounter; for I knew enough\nof him to be sure that Mary's high-handedness would meet its\ncounterpart in my cool friend Brandon. It was, however, an unfortunate\nvictory, and what all Mary's beauty and brightness would have failed\nto do, her honest, open acknowledgment of wrong, following so quickly\nupon the heels of her fault, accomplished easily. It drew him within\nthe circle of her fatal attractions, and when Jane told me of it, I\nknew his fate was sealed, and that, sooner or later, his untouched\nheart and cool head would fall victim to the shafts that so surely\nwinged all others.\n\nIt might, and probably would, be \"later,\" since, as Brandon had said,\nhe was not one of those who wear the heart upon the sleeve. Then he\nhad that strong vein of prudence and caution, which, in view of Mary's\nunattainableness, would probably come to his help. But never was man's\nheart strong enough to resist Mary Tudor's smile for long.\n\nThere was this difference between Brandon and most others--he would be\nslow to love, but when love should once fairly take root in his\nintense nature, he would not do to trifle with.\n\nThe night after the meeting, Mary cuddled up to Jane, who slept with\nher, and whispered, half bashfully:\n\n\"Tell me all about Brandon; I am interested in him. I believe if I\nknew more persons like him I should be a better girl, notwithstanding\nhe is one of the boldest men I ever knew. He says anything he wishes,\nand, with all his modest manner, is as cool with me as if I were a\nburgher's daughter. His modesty is all on the outside, but it is\npretty, and pretty things must be on the outside to be useful. I\nwonder if Judson thought him modest?\"\n\nJane talked of Brandon to Mary, who was in an excellent humor, until\nthe girls fell asleep.\n\nWhen Jane told me of this I became frightened; for the surest way to\nany woman's heart is to convince her that you make her better, and\narouse in her breast purer impulses and higher aspirations. It would\nbe bad enough should Brandon fall in love with the princess, which was\nalmost sure to happen, but for them to fall in love with each other\nmeant Brandon's head upon the block, and Mary's heart bruised, broken\nand empty for life. Her strong nature, filled to the brim with latent\npassion, was the stuff of which love makes a conflagration that burns\nto destruction; and should she learn to love Brandon, she would move\nheaven and earth to possess him.\n\nShe whose every desire from childhood up had been gratified, whose\nevery whim seemed to her a paramount necessity, would stop at nothing\nwhen the dearest wish a woman's heart can coin was to be gained or\nlost. Brandon's element of prudence might help him, and might\nforestall any effort on his part to win her, but Mary had never heard\nof prudence, and man's caution avails but little when set against\nwoman's daring. In case they both should love, they were sure to try\nfor each other, and in trying were equally sure to find ruin and\ndesolation.\n\nA few evenings after this I met the princess in the queen's\ndrawing-room. She beckoned me to her, and, resting her elbows on the\ntop of a cabinet, her chin in her hands, said: \"I met your friend,\nCaptain Brandon, a day or two ago. Did he tell you?\"\n\n\"No,\" I answered; \"Jane told me, but he has not mentioned it.\"\n\nIt was true Brandon had not said a word of the matter, and I had not\nspoken of it, either. I wanted to see how long he would remain silent\nconcerning an adventure that would have set most men of the court\nboasting at a great rate. To have a tilt with the ever-victorious\nMary, and to come off victor, was enough, I think, to loosen any\ntongue less given to bragging than Brandon's.\n\n\"So,\" continued Mary, evidently somewhat piqued, \"he did not think his\npresentation to me a thing worth mentioning? We had a little\npassage-at-arms, and, to tell you the truth, I came off second best,\nand had to acknowledge it, too. Now, what do you think of this new\nfriend of yours? And he did not boast about having the better of me?\nAfter all, there is more virtue in his silence than I at first\nthought.\" And she threw back her head, and clapped her hands and\nlaughed with the most contagious little ripple you ever heard. She\nseemed not to grieve over her defeat, but dimpled as though it were a\nhuge joke, the thought of which rather pleased her than otherwise.\nVictory had grown stale for her, although so young.\n\n\"What do I think of my new friend?\" I repeated after her; and that\ngave me a theme upon which I could enlarge eloquently. I told her of\nhis learning, notwithstanding the fact that he had been in the\ncontinental wars ever since he was a boy. I repeated to her stories of\nhis daring and bravery, that had been told to me by his uncle, the\nMaster of the Horse, and others, and then I added what I knew Lady\nJane had already said. I had expected to be brief, but to my surprise\nfound a close and interested listener, even to the twice-told parts,\nand drew my story out a little, to the liking of us both.\n\n\"Your friend has an earnest advocate in you, Sir Edwin,\" said the\nprincess.\n\n\"That he has,\" I replied. \"There is nothing too good to say of him.\"\n\nI knew that Mary, with her better, clearer brain, held the king almost\nin the palm of her hand, so I thought to advance Brandon's fortune by\na timely word.\n\n\"I trust the king will see fit to favor him, and I hope that you will\nspeak a word in his behalf, should the opportunity occur.\"\n\n\"What in the name of heaven have we to give him?\" cried Mary\nimpatiently, for she kept an eye on things political, even if she were\nonly a girl--\"the king has given away everything that can be given,\nalready, and now that the war is over, and men are coming home, there\nare hundreds waiting for more. My father's great treasure is\nsquandered, to say nothing of the money collected from Empson,\nDudley, and the other commissioners. There is nothing to give unless\nit be the titles and estate of the late Duke of Suffolk. Perhaps the\nking will give these to your paragon, if you will paint him in as fair\na light as you have drawn him for me.\" Then throwing back her head\nwith a laugh, \"Ask him.\"\n\n\"It would be none too much for his deserts,\" I replied, falling in\nwith her humor.\n\n\"We will so arrange it then,\" went on Mary, banteringly; \"Captain\nBrandon no longer, but Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk. How sounds\nit, Master Caskoden?\"\n\n\"Sweet in my ears,\" I replied.\n\n\"I really believe you would have the king's crown for him, you absurd\nman, if you could get it. We must have so interesting a person at\ncourt; I shall at least see that he is presented to the queen at once.\nI wonder if he dances; I suppose not. He has probably been too busy\ncutting and thrusting.\" And she laughed again at her own pleasantry.\n\nWhen the mirth began to gather in her face and the dimples came\nresponsive to her smiles; when she threw back her perfectly poised\nhead, stretching her soft, white throat, so full and round and\nbeautiful, half closing her big brown eyes till they shone again from\nbeneath the shade of those long, black sweeping lashes; when her red\nlips parted, showing her teeth of pearl, and she gave the little clap\nof her hands--a sort of climax to the soft, low, rippling laugh--she\nmade a picture of such exquisite loveliness that it is no wonder men\nwere fools about her, and caught love as one catches a contagion. I\nhad it once, as you already know, and had recovered. All that\nprevented a daily relapse was my fair, sweet antidote, Jane, whose\nimage rested in my heart, a lasting safeguard.\n\n\"I wonder if your prodigy plays cards; that is, such as we ladies\nplay?\" asked Mary. \"You say he has lived much in France, where the\ngame was invented, but I have no doubt he would scorn to waste his\ntime at so frivolous a pursuit, when he might be slaughtering armies\nsingle-handed and alone.\"\n\n\"I do not know as to his dancing and card-playing, but I dare venture\na wager he does both,\" I replied, not liking her tone of sarcasm. She\nhad yet to learn who Brandon was.\n\n\"I will hazard ten crowns,\" said Mary quickly, for she loved a wager\nand was a born gambler.\n\n\"Taken,\" said I.\n\n\"We will try him on both to-morrow night in my drawing-room,\" she\ncontinued. \"You bring him up, but tell no one. I will have Jane there\nwith her lute, which will not frighten you away, I know, and we will\ntry his step. I will have cards, too, and we shall see what he can do\nat triumph. Just we four--no one else at all. You and Jane, the new\nDuke of Suffolk and I. Oh! I can hardly wait,\" and she fairly danced\nwith joyous anticipation.\n\nThe thing had enough irregularity to give it zest, for while Mary\noften had a few young people in her drawing-room, the companies were\nnever so small as two couples only, and the king and queen, to make up\nfor greater faults, were wonderful sticklers in the matter of little\nproprieties.\n\nThe ten-crown wager, too, gave spice to it, but to do her justice she\ncared very little for that. The princess loved gambling purely for\ngambling's sake, and with her, the next best thing to winning was\nlosing.\n\nWhen I went to my room that night, I awakened Brandon and told him of\nthe distinguished honor that awaited him.\n\n\"Well! I'll be\"--but he did not say what he would \"be.\" He always\nhalted before an oath, unless angry, which was seldom, but then\nbeware!--he had learned to swear in Flanders. \"How she did fly at me\nthe other morning. I never was more surprised in all my life. For once\nI was almost caught with my guard down, and did not know how to parry\nthe thrust. I mumbled over some sort of a lame retaliation and beat a\nretreat. It was so unjust and uncalled-for that it made me angry; but\nshe was so gracious in her amends that I was almost glad it happened.\nI like a woman who can be as savage as the very devil when it pleases\nher; she usually has in store an assortment of possibilities for the\nother extreme.\"\n\n\"She told me of your encounter,\" I returned, \"but said she had come\noff second best, and seemed to think her overthrow a huge joke.\"\n\n\"The man who learns to know what a woman thinks and feels will have a\ngreat deal of valuable information,\" he replied; and then turned over\nfor sleep, greatly pleased that one woman thought as she did.\n\nI was not sure he would be so highly flattered if he knew that he had\nbeen invited to settle a wager, and to help Mary to a little sport.\n\nAs to the former, I had an interest there myself, although I dared not\nsettle the question by asking Brandon if he played cards and danced;\nand, as to the matter of Mary's sport, I felt there was but little, if\nany, danger of her having too much of it at his expense, Brandon being\nwell able to care for himself in that respect.\n\nThe next evening, at the appointed time, we wended our way, by an\nunfrequented route, and presented ourselves, as secretly as possible,\nat the drawing-room of the princess.\n\nThe door was opened by Lady Jane, and we met the two girls almost at\nthe threshold. I had told Brandon of the bantering conversation about\nthe title and estates of the late Duke of Suffolk, and he had laughed\nover it in the best of humor. If quick to retaliate for an intentional\noffense, he was not thin-skinned at a piece of pleasantry, and had\nnone of that stiff, sensitive dignity, so troublesome to one's self\nand friends.\n\nNow, Jane and Mary were always bantering me because I was short, and\ninclined to be--in fact--round, but I did not care. It made them\nlaugh, and their laughing was so contagious it made me laugh, too, and\nwe all enjoyed it. I would give a pound sterling any time for a good\nlaugh; and that, I think, is why I have always been--round.\n\nSo, upon entering, I said:\n\n\"His grace, the Duke of Suffolk, ladies.\"\n\nThey each made a sweeping courtesy, with hand on breast, and gravely\nsaluted him:\n\n\"Your grace! good even'.\"\n\nBrandon's bow was as deep and graceful, if that were possible, as\ntheirs, and when he moved on into the room it was with a little halt\nin his step, and a big blowing out of the cheeks, in ludicrous\nimitation of his late lamented predecessor, that sent the girls into\npeals of soft laughter and put us all at our ease immediately.\n\nAh! what a thing it is to look back upon; that time of life when one\nfinds his heaven in a ready laugh!\n\n\"Be seated all,\" said the princess. \"This is to be without ceremony,\nand only we four. No one knows a word of it. Did you tell any one, Sir\nEdwin?\"\n\n\"Perish the thought,\" I exclaimed.\n\nShe turned her face toward Brandon, \"--but I know you did not. I've\nheard how discreet you were about another matter. Well, no one knows\nit then, and we can have a famous evening. You did not expect this,\nMaster Brandon, after my reception of you the other morning? Were you\nnot surprised when Sir Edwin told you?\"\n\n\"I think I can safely say that I was prepared not to be surprised at\nanything your highness might graciously conclude to do--after my first\nexperience,\" he answered, smiling.\n\n\"Indeed?\" returned Mary with elevated eyebrows, and a rising\ninflection on the last syllable of the word. It was now her turn for a\nlittle surprise. \"Well, we'll try to find some way to surprise you one\nof these days;\" and the time came when she was full of surprises for\nhim. Mary continued: \"But let us not talk about the other day. Of what\nuse are 'other days,' anyway? Before the evening is over, Master\nBrandon, we want you to give us another sermon,\" and she laughed,\nsetting off three other laughs as hearty and sincere as if she had\nuttered the rarest witticism on earth.\n\nThe princess had told Jane and Jane had told me of the \"Sermon in the\nPark,\" as Mary called it.\n\n\"Jane needs it as much as I,\" said the princess.\n\n\"I can't believe that,\" responded Brandon, looking at Jane with a\nsoftening glance quite too admiring and commendatory to suit me; for I\nwas a jealous little devil.\n\nThe eyebrows went up again.\n\n\"Oh! you think she doesn't? Well, in truth, Master Brandon, there is\none failing that can not be laid at your door; you are no flatterer.\"\nFor answer Brandon laughed, and that gave us the cue, and away we went\nin a rippling chorus, all about nothing. Some persons may call our\nlaughter foolish, but there are others who consider it the height of\nall wisdom. St. George! I'd give my Garter for just one other laugh\nlike that; for just one other hour of youth's dancing blood and\nglowing soul-warmth; of sweet, unconscious, happy heart-beat and\nparadise-creating joy in everything.\n\nAfter a few minutes of gay conversation, in which we all joined, Mary\nasked: \"What shall we do? Will one of you suggest something?\"\n\nJane sat there looking so demure you would have thought mischief could\nnot live within a league of her, but those very demure girls are\nnearly always dangerous. She said, oh! so innocently:\n\n\"Would you like to dance? If so, I will play.\" And she reached for her\nlute, which was by her side.\n\n\"Yes, that will be delightful. Master Brandon, will you dance with\nme?\" asked the princess, with a saucy little laugh, her invitation\nmeaning so much more to three of us than to Brandon. Jane and I joined\nin the laugh, and when Mary clapped her hands that set Brandon off,\ntoo, for he thought it the quaintest, prettiest little gesture in the\nworld, and was all unconscious that our laugh was at his expense.\n\nBrandon did not answer Mary's invitation--the fit of laughter had\nprobably put it out of his mind--so she, evidently anxious to win or\nlose her wager at once, again asked him if he danced.\n\n\"Oh, pardon me. Of course. Thank you.\" And he was on his feet beside\nher chair in an instant ready for the dance. This time the girl's\nlaugh, though equally merry, had another tone, for she knew she had\nlost.\n\nOut they stepped upon the polished floor, he holding her hand in his,\nawaiting the pause in the music to take the step. I shall never forget\nthe sight of those two standing there together--Mary, dark-eyed and\nglowing; Brandon, almost rosy, with eyes that held the color of a deep\nspring sky, and a wealth of flowing curls crowning his six feet of\nperfect manhood, strong and vigorous as a young lion. Mary, full of\nbeauty-curves and graces, a veritable Venus in her teens, and Brandon,\nan Apollo, with a touch of Hercules, were a complement each to the\nother that would surely make a perfect one.\n\nWhen the music started, off they went, heel and toe, bow and courtesy,\na step forward and a step back, in perfect time and rhythm--a poem of\nhuman motion. Could Brandon dance? The princess had her answer in the\nfirst ten steps. Nothing could be more graceful than Brandon's\ndancing, unless it were Mary's. Her slightest movement was grace\nitself. When she would throw herself backward in thrusting out her\ntoe, and then swing forward with her head a little to one side, her\nuplifted arm undulating like the white neck of a swan,--for her\nsleeve, which was slit to the shoulder, fell back and left it\nbare,--she was a sight worth a long journey to see. And when she\nlooked up to Brandon with a laugh in her brown eyes, and a curving\nsmile just parting her full, red lips, that a man would give his very\nluck to--but I had better stop.\n\n\"Was there ever a goodlier couple?\" I asked Jane, by whose side I sat.\n\n\"Never,\" she responded as she played, and, strange to say, I was\njealous because she agreed with me. I was jealous because I feared it\nwas Brandon's beauty to which she referred. That I thought would\nnaturally appeal to her. Had he been less handsome, I should perhaps\nhave thought nothing of it, but I knew what my feelings were toward\nMary, and I judged, or rather misjudged, Jane by myself. I supposed\nshe would think of Brandon as I could not help thinking of Mary. Was\nanything in heaven or earth ever so beautiful as that royal creature,\ndancing there, daintily holding up her skirts with thumb and first\nfinger, just far enough to show a distracting little foot and ankle,\nand make one wish he had been born a sheep rather than a sentient man\nwho had to live without Mary Tudor? Yet, strange as it may seem, I was\nreally and wholly in love with Jane; in fact, I loved no one but Jane,\nand my feeling of intense admiration for Mary was but a part of man's\ncomposite inconstancy.\n\nA woman--God bless her--if she really loves a man, has no thought of\nany other; one at a time is all-sufficient; but a man may love one\nwoman with the warmth of a simoon, and at the same time feel like a\ngood healthy south wind toward a dozen others. That is the difference\nbetween a man and a woman--the difference between the good and the\nbad. One average woman has enough goodness in her to supply an army of\nmen.\n\nMary and Brandon went on dancing long after Jane was tired of playing.\nIt was plain to see that the girl was thoroughly enjoying it. They\nkept up a running fire of small talk, and laughed, and smiled, and\nbowed, and courtesied, all in perfect time and grace.\n\nIt is more difficult than you may think, if you have never tried, to\nkeep up a conversation and dance La Galliard, at the same time--one is\napt to balk the other--but Brandon's dancing was as easy to him as\nwalking, and, although so small a matter, I could see it raised him\nvastly in the estimation of both girls.\n\n\"Do you play triumph?\" I heard Mary ask in the midst of the dancing.\n\n\"Oh! yes,\" replied Brandon, much to my delight, as the princess threw\na mischievous, knowing glance over her shoulder to see if I had heard.\nShe at once saw I had, and this, of course, settled the wager.\n\n\"And,\" continued Brandon, \"I also play the new game, 'honor and\nruff,' which is more interesting than triumph.\"\n\n\"Oh! do you?\" cried Mary. \"That will more than compensate for the loss\nof my ten crowns. Let us sit down at once; I have been wishing to\nlearn, but no one here seems to know it. In France, they say, it is\nthe only game. I suppose there is where you learned it? Perhaps you\nknow their new dances too! I have heard they are delightful!\"\n\n\"Yes, I know them,\" replied Brandon.\n\n\"Why, you are a perfect treasure; teach me at once. How now, Master of\nthe Dance? Here is your friend outdoing you in your own line.\"\n\n\"I am glad to hear it,\" I returned.\n\n\"If Lady Jane will kindly play some lively air, written in the time of\n'The Sailor Lass,' I will teach the Lady Mary the new dance,\" said\nBrandon.\n\nJane threw one plump little knee over the other and struck up \"The\nSailor Lass.\" After she had adjusted the playing to Brandon's\nsuggestion, he stepped deliberately in front of Mary, and, taking her\nright hand in his left, encircled her waist with his right arm. The\ngirl was startled at first and drew away. This nettled Brandon a\nlittle, and he showed it plainly.\n\n\"I thought you wished me to teach you the new dance?\" he said.\n\n\"I do, but--but I did not know it was danced that way,\" she replied\nwith a fluttering little laugh, looking up into his face with a half\nshy, half apologetic manner, and then dropping her lashes before\nhis gaze.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\"Oh, well!\" said Brandon, with a Frenchman's shrug of the shoulders,\nand then moved off as if about to leave the floor.\n\n\"But is that really the way you--they dance it? With your--their arm\naround my--a lady's waist?\"\n\n\"I should not have dared venture upon such a familiarity otherwise,\"\nanswered Brandon, with a glimmer of a smile playing around his lips\nand hiding in his eyes.\n\nMary saw this shadowy smile, and said: \"Oh! I fear your modesty will\ncause you hurt; I am beginning to believe you would dare do anything\nyou wish. I more than half suspect you are a very bold man,\nnotwithstanding your smooth, modest manner.\"\n\n\"You do me foul wrong, I assure you. I am the soul of modesty, and\ngrieve that you should think me bold,\" said Brandon, with a broadening\nsmile.\n\nMary interrupted him. \"Now, I do believe you are laughing at me--at my\nprudery, I suppose you think it.\"\n\nMary would rather have been called a fool than a prude, and I think\nshe was right. Prudery is no more a sign of virtue than a wig is of\nhair. It is usually put on to hide a bald place.\n\nThe princess stood irresolute for a moment, in evident hesitation and\nannoyance.\n\n\"You are grieving because I think you bold! And yet you stand there\nlaughing at me to my face. I think so more than ever now. I know it.\nOh, you make me angry! Don't! I do not like persons who anger me and\nthen laugh at me.\" This turned Brandon's smile into a laugh which he\ncould not hold back.\n\nMary's eyes shot fire, and she stamped her foot, exclaiming: \"Sir,\nthis goes beyond all bounds; I will not tolerate your boldness another\nmoment.\" I thought she was going to dismiss him, but she did not. The\ntime had come when he or she must be the master.\n\nIt was a battle royal between the forces on the floor, and I enjoyed\nit and felt that Brandon would come out all right.\n\nHe said good-humoredly: \"What, shall you have all the laugh in your\nsleeve at my expense? Do you expect to bring me here to win a wager\nfor you, made on the assumption of my stupidity and lack of social\naccomplishments, and then complain when it comes my turn to laugh? I\nthink I am the one who should be offended, but you see I am not.\"\n\n\"Caskoden, did you tell him?\" demanded Mary, evidently referring to\nthe wager.\n\n\"He said not a word of it,\" broke in Brandon, answering for me; \"I\nshould have been a dullard, indeed, not to have seen it myself after\nwhat you said about the loss of your ten crowns; so let us cry quits\nand begin again.\"\n\nMary reluctantly struck her flag.\n\n\"Very well, I am willing,\" she said laughingly; \"but as to your\nboldness, I still insist upon that; I forgive you, however, this\ntime.\" Then, half apologetically, \"After all, it is not such a\ngrievous charge to make. I believe it never yet injured any man with\nwomen; they rather like it, I am afraid, however angry it makes them.\nDon't they, Jane?\"\n\nJane, of course, \"did not know,\" so we all laughed, as usual, upon the\nslightest pretext, and Mary, that fair bundle of contradictions and\nquick transitions, stepped boldly up to Brandon, with her colors\nflying in her cheeks, ready for the first lesson in the new dance.\n\nShe was a little frightened at his arm around her waist, for the\nembrace was new to her--the first touch of man--and was shy and coy,\nthough willing, being determined to learn the dance. She was an apt\npupil and soon glided softly and gracefully around the room with\nunfeigned delight; yielding to the new situation more easily as she\nbecame accustomed to it.\n\nThis dance was livelier exercise than La Galliard, and Mary could not\ntalk much for lack of breath. Brandon kept the conversation going,\nthough, and she answered with glances, smiles, nods and\nmonosyllables--a very good vocabulary in its way, and a very good way,\ntoo, for that matter.\n\nOnce he said something to her, in a low voice, which brought a flush\nto her cheeks, and caused her to glance quickly up into his face. By\nthe time her answer came they were nearer us, and I heard her say: \"I\nam afraid I shall have to forgive you again if you are not careful.\nLet me see an exhibition of that modesty you so much boast,\" But a\nsmile and a flash of the eyes went with the words, and took all the\nsting out of them.\n\nAfter a time the dancers stopped, and Mary, with flushed face and\nsparkling eyes, sank into a chair, exclaiming: \"The new dance is\ndelightful, Jane. It is like flying; your partner helps you so. But\nwhat would the king say? And the queen? She would simply swoon with\nhorror. It is delightful, though.\" Then, with more confusion in her\nmanner than I had ever before seen: \"That is, it is delightful if one\nchooses her partner.\"\n\nThis only made matters worse, and gave Brandon an opportunity.\n\n\"Dare I hope?\" he asked, with a deferential bow.\n\n\"Oh, yes; you may hope. I tell you frankly it was delightful with you.\nNow, are you satisfied, my modest one? Jane, I see we have a forward\nbody here; no telling what he will be at next,\" said Mary, with\nevident impatience, rapidly swaying her fan. She spoke almost sharply,\nfor Brandon's attitude was more that of an equal than she was\naccustomed to, and her royal dignity, which was the artificial part of\nher, rebelled against it now and then in spite of her real\ninclinations. The habit of receiving only adulation, and living on a\npinnacle above everybody else, was so strong from continued practice,\nthat it appealed to her as a duty to maintain that elevation. She had\nnever before been called upon to exert herself in that direction, and\nthe situation was new. The servile ones with whom she usually\nassociated maintained it for her; so she now felt, whenever she\nthought of it, that she was in duty bound to clamber back, at least\npart of the way, to her dignity, however pleasant it was, personally,\ndown below in the denser atmosphere of informality.\n\nIn her heart the princess preferred, upon proper occasions, such as\nthis, to abate her dignity, and often requested others to dispense\nwith ceremony, as, in fact, she had done with us earlier in the\nevening. But Brandon's easy manner, although perfectly respectful and\nelegantly polite, was very different from anything she had ever known.\nShe enjoyed it, but every now and then the sense of her importance and\ndignity--for you must remember she was the first princess of the blood\nroyal--would supersede even her love of enjoyment, and the girl went\ndown and the princess came up. Besides, she half feared that Brandon\nwas amusing himself at her expense, and that, in fact, this was a new\nsort of masculine worm. Really, she sometimes doubted if it were a\nworm at all, and did not know what to expect, nor what she ought to\ndo.\n\nShe was far more girl than princess, and would have preferred to\nremain merely girl and let events take the course they were going,\nfor she liked it. But there was the other part of her which was\nprincess, and which kept saying: \"Remember who you are,\" so she was\nplainly at a loss between natural and artificial inclinations\ncontending unconsciously within her.\n\nReplying to Mary's remark over Jane's shoulder, Brandon said:\n\n\"Your highness asked us to lay aside ceremony for the evening, and if\nI have offended I can but make for my excuse my desire to please you.\nBe sure I shall offend no more.\" This was said so seriously that his\nmeaning could not be misunderstood. He did not care whether he pleased\nso capricious a person or not.\n\nMary made no reply, and it looked as if Brandon had the worst of it.\n\nWe sat a few minutes talking, Mary wearing an air of dignity. Cards\nwere proposed, and as the game progressed she gradually unbent again\nand became as affable and familiar as earlier in the evening. Brandon,\nhowever, was frozen. He was polite, dignified and deferential to the\nladies, but the spirit of the evening was gone, since he had furnished\nit all with his free, off-hand manner, full of life and brightness.\n\nAfter a short time, Mary's warming mood failing to thaw our frozen\nfun-maker, and in her heart infinitely preferring pleasure to dignity,\nshe said: \"Oh, this is wearisome. Your game is far less entertaining\nthan your new dance. Do something to make me laugh, Master Brandon.\"\n\n\"I fear you must call in Will Sommers,\" he replied, \"if you wish to\nlaugh. I can not please you in both ways, so will hold to the one\nwhich seems to suit the princess.\"\n\nMary's eyes flashed and she said ironically:\n\n\"That sounds very much as though you cared to please me in any way.\"\nHer lips parted and she evidently had something unkind ready to say;\nbut she held the breath she had taken to speak it with, and, after one\nor two false starts in as many different lines, continued: \"But\nperhaps I deserve it, I ask you to forgive me, and hereafter desire\nyou three, upon all proper occasions, when we are by ourselves, to\ntreat me as one of you--as a woman--a girl, I mean. Where is the\nvirtue of royalty if it only means being put upon a pinnacle above all\nthe real pleasures of life, like foolish old Stylites on his column?\nThe queen is always preaching to me about the strict maintenance of my\n'dignity royal,' as she calls it, and perhaps she is right; but out\nupon 'dignity royal' say I; it is a terrible nuisance. Oh, you don't\nknow how difficult it is to be a princess and not a fool. There!\" And\nshe sighed in apparent relief.\n\nThen turning to Brandon: \"You have taught me another good lesson, sir,\nand from this hour you are my friend, if you will be, so long as you\nare worthy--no, I do not mean that; I know you will always be\nworthy--but forever. Now we are at rights again. Let us try to remain\nso--that is, I will,\" and she laughingly gave him her hand, which he,\nrising to his feet, bowed low over and kissed, rather fervently and\nlingeringly, I thought.\n\nHand-kissing was new to us in England, excepting in case of the king\nand queen at public homage. It was a little startling to Mary, though\nshe permitted him to hold her hand much longer than there was any sort\nof need--a fact she recognized, as I could easily see from her\ntell-tale cheeks, which were rosy with the thought of it.\n\nSo it is when a woman goes on the defensive prematurely and without\ncause; it makes it harder to apply the check when the real need comes.\n\nAfter a little card-playing, I expressed regret to Jane that I could\nnot have a dance with her for lack of music.\n\n\"I will play, if the ladies permit,\" said Brandon; and he took Lady\nJane's lute and played and sang some very pretty little love songs and\nsome comic ones, too, in a style not often heard in England, so far\naway from the home of the troubadour and lute. He was full of\nsurprises, this splendid fellow, with his accomplishments and graces.\n\nWhen we had danced as long as we wished--that is, as Jane wished--as\nfor myself, I would have been dancing yet--Mary again asked us to be\nseated. Jane having rested, Brandon offered to teach her the new\ndance, saying he could whistle an air well enough to give her the\nstep. I at once grew uneasy with jealous suspense, for I did _not_\nwish Brandon to dance in that fashion with Jane, but to my great\nrelief she replied:\n\n\"No; thank you; not to-night.\" Then shyly glancing toward me: \"Perhaps\nSir Edwin will teach me when he learns. It is his business, you know.\"\n\nWould I? If a month, night and day, would conquer it, the new dance\nwas as good as done for already. That was the first real mark of favor\nI ever had from Jane.\n\nWe now had some songs from Mary and Jane; then I gave one, and Brandon\nsang again at Mary's request. We had duets and quartets and solos, and\nthe songs were all sweet, for they came from the heart of youth, and\nwent to the soul of youth, rich in its God-given fresh delight in\neverything. Then we talked, and Mary, and Jane, too, with a sly, shy,\nsoft little word now and then, drew Brandon out to tell of his travels\nand adventures. He was a pleasing talker, and had a smooth, easy flow\nof words, speaking always in a low, clear voice, and with perfect\ncomposure. He had a way of looking first one auditor and then another\nstraight in the eyes with a magnetic effect that gave to everything he\nsaid an added interest. Although at that time less than twenty-five\nyears old, he was really a learned man, having studied at Barcelona,\nSalamanca and Paris. While there had been no system in his education,\nhis mind was a sort of knowledge junk-shop, wherein he could find\nalmost anything he wanted. He spoke German, French and Spanish, and\nseemed to know the literature of all these languages.\n\nHe told us he had left home at the early age of sixteen as his uncle's\nesquire, and had fought in France, then down in Holland with the\nDutch; had been captured by the Spanish and had joined the Spanish\narmy, as it mattered not where he fought, so that there was a chance\nfor honorable achievement and a fair ransom now and then. He told us\nhow he had gone to Barcelona and Salamanca, where he had studied, and\nthence to Granada, among the Moors; of his fighting against the\npirates of Barbary, his capture by them, his slavery and adventurous\nescape; and his regret that now drowsy peace kept him mewed up in a\npalace.\n\n\"It is true,\" he said, \"there is a prospect of trouble with Scotland,\nbut I would rather fight a pack of howling, starving wolves than the\nScotch; they fight like very devils, which, of course, is well; but\nyou have nothing after you have beaten them, not even a good whole\nwolf skin.\"\n\nIn an unfortunate moment Mary said: \"Oh, Master Brandon, tell us of\nyour duel with Judson.\"\n\nThoughtful, considerate Jane frowned at the princess in surprise, and\nput her finger on her lips.\n\n\"Your ladyship, I fear I can not,\" he answered, and left his seat,\ngoing over to the window, where he stood, with his back toward us,\nlooking out into the darkness. Mary saw what she had done, and her\neyes grew moist, for, with all her faults, she had a warm, tender\nheart and a quick, responsive sympathy. After a few seconds of painful\nsilence, she went softly over to the window where Brandon stood.\n\n\"Sir, forgive me,\" she said, putting her hand prettily upon his arm.\n\"I should have known. Believe me, I would not have hurt you\nintentionally.\"\n\n\"Ah! my lady, the word was thoughtlessly spoken, and needs no\nforgiveness; but your heart shows itself in the asking, and I thank\nyou: I wanted but a moment to throw off the thought of that terrible\nday.\" Then they came back together, and the princess, who had tact\nenough when she cared to use it, soon put matters right again.\n\nI started to tell one of my best stories in order to cheer Brandon,\nbut in the midst of it, Mary, who, I had noticed, was restless and\nuneasy, full of blushes and hesitancy, and with a manner as new to her\nas the dawn of the first day was to the awakening world, abruptly\nasked Brandon to dance with her again. She had risen and was standing\nby her chair, ready to be led out.\n\n\"Gladly,\" answered Brandon, as he sprang to her side and took her\nhand. \"Which shall it be, La Galliard or the new dance?\" And Mary\nstanding there, the picture of waiting, willing modesty, lifted her\nfree hand to his shoulder, tried to raise her eyes to his, but\nfailed, and softly said: \"The new dance.\"\n\nThis time the dancing was more soberly done, and when Mary stopped it\nwas with serious, thoughtful eyes, for she had felt the tingling of a\nnew strange force in Brandon's touch. A man, not a worm, but a real\nman, with all the irresistible infinite attractions that a man may\nhave for a woman--the subtle drawing of the lodestone for the passive\niron--had come into her life. Doubly sweet it was to her intense,\nyoung virgin soul, in that it first revealed the dawning of that\ntwo-edged bliss which makes a heaven or a hell of earth--of earth,\nwhich owes its very existence to love.\n\nI do not mean that Mary was in love, but that she had met, and for the\nfirst time felt the touch, yes even the subtle, unconscious,\ndominating force so sweet to woman, of the man she could love, and had\nknown the rarest throb that pulses in that choicest of all God's\nperfect handiwork--a woman's heart--the throb that goes before--the\nJohn, the Baptist, as it were, of coming love.\n\nIt being after midnight, Mary filled two cups of wine, from each of\nwhich she took a sip, and handed them to Brandon and me. She then paid\nme the ten crowns, very soberly thanked us and said we were at liberty\nto go.\n\nThe only words Brandon ever spoke concerning that evening were just as\nwe retired:\n\n\"Jesu! she is perfect. But you were wrong, Caskoden. I can still\nthank God I am not in love with her. I would fall upon my sword if I\nwere.\"\n\nI was upon the point of telling him she had never treated any other\nman as she had treated him, but I thought best to leave it unsaid.\nTrouble was apt to come of its own accord soon enough.\n\nIn truth, I may as well tell you, that when the princess asked me to\nbring Brandon to her that she might have a little sport at his\nexpense, she looked for a laugh, but found a sigh.\n\n\n\n\n_CHAPTER V_\n\n_An Honor and an Enemy_\n\n\nA day or two after this, Brandon was commanded to an audience, and\npresented to the king and queen. He was now eligible to all palace\nentertainments, and would probably have many invitations, being a\nfavorite with both their majesties. As to his standing with Mary, who\nwas really the most important figure, socially, about the court, I\ncould not exactly say. She was such a mixture of contradictory\nimpulses and rapid transitions, and was so full of whims and caprice,\nthe inevitable outgrowth of her blood, her rank and the adulation amid\nwhich she had always lived, that I could not predict for a day ahead\nher attitude toward any one. She had never shown so great favor to any\nman as to Brandon, but just how much of her condescension was a mere\nwhim, growing out of the impulse of the moment, and subject to\nreaction, I could not tell. I believed, however, that Brandon stood\nupon a firmer foundation with this changing, shifting, quicksand of a\ngirl than with either of their majesties.\n\nIn fact, I thought he rested upon her heart itself. But to guess\ncorrectly what a girl of that sort will do, or think, or feel would\nrequire inspiration.\n\nOf course most of the entertainments given by the king and queen\nincluded as guests nearly all the court, but Mary often had little\nfêtes and dancing parties which were smaller, more select and\ninformal. These parties were really with the consent and encouragement\nof the king, to avoid the responsibility of not inviting everybody.\nThe larger affairs were very dull and smaller ones might give offense\nto those who were left out. The latter, therefore, were turned over to\nMary, who cared very little who was offended or who was not, and\ninvitations to them were highly valued.\n\nOne afternoon, a day or two after Brandon's presentation, a message\narrived from Mary, notifying me that she would have a little fête that\nevening in one of the smaller halls and directing me to be there as\nMaster of the Dance. Accompanying the message was a note from no less\na person than the princess herself, inviting Brandon.\n\nThis was an honor indeed--an autograph invitation from the hand of\nMary! But the masterful rascal did not seem to consider it anything\nunusual, and when I handed him the note upon his return from the hunt,\nhe simply read it carelessly over once, tore it in pieces and tossed\nit away. I believe the Duke of Buckingham would have given ten\nthousand crowns to receive such a note, and would doubtless have shown\nit to half the court in triumphant confidence before the middle of the\nnight. To this great Captain of the guard it was but a scrap of paper.\nHe was glad to have it nevertheless, and, with all his self-restraint\nand stoicism, could not conceal his pleasure.\n\nBrandon at once accepted the invitation in a personal note to the\nprincess. The boldness of this actually took my breath, and it seems\nat first to have startled Mary a little, also. As you must know by\nthis time, her \"dignity royal\" was subject to alarms, and quite her\nmost troublesome attribute--very apt to receive damage in her\nrelations with Brandon.\n\nMary did not destroy Brandon's note, despite the fact that her sense\nof dignity had been disturbed by it, but after she had read it slipped\noff into her private room, read it again and put it on her escritoire.\nSoon she picked it up, reread it, and, after a little hesitation, put\nit in her pocket. It remained in the pocket for a moment or two, when\nout it came for another perusal, and then she unfastened her bodice\nand put it in her bosom. Mary had been so intent upon what she was\ndoing that she had not seen Jane, who was sitting quietly in the\nwindow, and, when she turned and saw her, she was so angry she\nsnatched the note from her bosom and threw it upon the floor, stamping\nher foot in embarrassment and rage.\n\n\"How dare you watch me, hussy?\" she cried. \"You lurk around as still\nas the grave, and I have to look into every nook and corner, wherever\nI go, or have you spying on me.\"\n\n\"I did not spy upon you, Lady Mary,\" said Jane quietly.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\"Don't answer me; I know you did. I want you to be less silent after\nthis. Do you hear? Cough, or sing, or stumble; do something, anything,\nthat I may hear you.\"\n\nJane rose, picked up the note and offered it to her mistress, who\nsnatched it with one hand, while she gave her a sharp slap with the\nother. Jane ran out, and Mary, full of anger and shame, slammed the\ndoor and locked it. The note, being the cause of all the trouble, she\nimpatiently threw to the floor again, and went over to the window\nbench, where she threw herself down to pout. In the course of five\nminutes she turned her head for one fleeting instant and looked at the\nnote, and then, after a little hesitation, stole over to where she had\nthrown it and picked it up. Going back to the light at the window, she\nheld it in her hand a moment and then read it once, twice, thrice. The\nthird time brought the smile, and the note nestled in the bosom again.\n\nJane did not come off so well, for her mistress did not speak to her\nuntil she called her in that evening to make her toilet. By that time\nMary had forgotten about the note in her bosom; so when Jane began to\narray her for the dance, it fell to the floor, whereupon both girls\nbroke into a laugh, and Jane kissed Mary's bare shoulder, and Mary\nkissed the top of Jane's head, and they were friends again.\n\nSo Brandon accepted Mary's invitation and went to Mary's dance, but\nhis going made for him an enemy of the most powerful nobleman in the\nrealm, and this was the way of it.\n\nThese parties of Mary's had been going on once or twice a week during\nthe entire winter and spring, and usually included the same persons.\nIt was a sort of coterie, whose members were more or less congenial,\nand most of them very jealous of interlopers. Strange as it may seem,\nuninvited persons often attempted to force themselves in, and all\nsorts of schemes and maneuvers were adopted to gain admission. To\nprevent this, two guardsmen with halberds were stationed at the door.\nModesty, I might say, neither thrives nor is useful at court.\n\nWhen Brandon presented himself at the door his entrance was barred,\nbut he quickly pushed aside the halberds and entered. The Duke of\nBuckingham, a proud, self-important individual, was standing near the\ndoor and saw it all. Now Buckingham was one of those unfortunate\npersons who never lose an opportunity to make a mistake, and being\nanxious to display his zeal on behalf of the princess stepped up to\nprevent Brandon's entrance.\n\n\"Sir, you will have to move out of this,\" he said pompously. \"You are\nnot at a jousting bout. You have made a mistake and have come to the\nwrong place.\"\n\n\"My Lord of Buckingham is pleased to make rather more of an ass of\nhimself than usual this evening,\" replied Brandon with a smile, as he\nstarted across the room to Mary, whose eye he had caught. She had seen\nand heard it all, but instead of coming to his relief stood there\nlaughing to herself. At this Buckingham grew furious and ran around\nahead of Brandon, valiantly drawing his sword.\n\n\"Now, by heaven! fellow, make but another step and I will run you\nthrough,\" he said.\n\nI saw it all, but could hardly realize what was going on, it came so\nquickly and was over so soon. Like a flash Brandon's sword was out of\nits sheath, and Buckingham's blade was flying toward the ceiling.\nBrandon's sword was sheathed again so quickly that one could hardly\nbelieve it had been out at all, and, picking up Buckingham's, he said\nwith a half-smothered laugh:\n\n\"My lord has dropped his sword.\" He then broke its point with his heel\nagainst the hard floor, saying: \"I will dull the point, lest my lord,\nbeing unaccustomed to its use, wound himself.\" This brought peals of\nlaughter from everybody, including the king. Mary laughed also, but,\nas Brandon was handing Buckingham his blade, came up and demanded:\n\n\"My lord, is this the way you take it upon yourself to receive my\nguests? Who appointed you, let me ask, to guard my door? We shall have\nto omit your name from our next list, unless you take a few lessons in\ngood manners.\" This was striking him hard, and the quality of the man\nwill at once appear plain to you when I say that he had often\nreceived worse treatment, but clung to the girl's skirts all the more\ntenaciously. Turning to Brandon the princess said:\n\n\"Master Brandon, I am glad to see you, and regret exceedingly that our\nfriend of Buckingham should so thirst for your blood.\" She then led\nhim to the king and queen, to whom he made his bow, and the pair\ncontinued their walk about the room. Mary again alluded to the\nskirmish at the door, and said laughingly:\n\n\"I would have come to your help, but I knew you were amply able to\ntake care of yourself. I was sure you would worst the duke in some\nway. It was better than a mummery, and I was glad to see it. I do not\nlike him.\"\n\nThe king did not open these private balls, as he was supposed, at\nleast, not to be their patron, and the queen, who was considerably\nolder than Henry, was averse to such things. So the princess opened\nher own balls, dancing for a few minutes with the floor entirely to\nherself and partner. It was the honor of the evening to open the ball\nwith her, and quite curious to see how men put themselves in her way\nand stood so as to be easily observed and perchance chosen. Brandon,\nafter leaving Mary, had drifted into a corner of the room back of a\ngroup of people, and was talking to Wolsey--who was always very\nfriendly to him--and to Master Cavendish, a quaint, quiet, easy little\nman, full of learning and kindness, and a warm friend to the Princess\nMary.\n\nIt was time to open the ball, and, from my place in the musicians'\ngallery, I could see Mary moving about among the guests, evidently\nlooking for a partner, while the men resorted to some very transparent\nand amusing expedients to attract her attention. The princess,\nhowever, took none of the bidders, and soon, I noticed, she espied\nBrandon standing in the corner with his back toward her.\n\nSomething told me she was going to ask him to open the dance, and I\nregretted it, because I knew it would set every nobleman in the house\nagainst him, they being very jealous of the \"low-born favorites,\" as\nthey called the untitled friends of royalty. Sure enough, I was right.\nMary at once began to make her way over to the corner, and I heard her\nsay: \"Master Brandon, will you dance with me?\"\n\nIt was done prettily. The whole girl changed as soon as she found\nherself in front of him. In place of the old-time confidence, strongly\ntinged with arrogance, she was almost shy, and blushed and stammered\nwith quick coming breath, like a burgher maid before her new-found\ngallant. At once the courtiers made way for her, and out she walked,\nleading Brandon by the hand. Upon her lips and in her eyes was a rare\ntriumphant smile, as if to say:\n\n\"Look at this handsome new trophy of my bow and spear.\"\n\nI was surprised and alarmed when Mary chose Brandon, but when I turned\nto the musicians to direct their play, imagine, if you can, my\nsurprise when the leader said:\n\n\"Master, we have our orders for the first dance from the princess.\"\n\nImagine, also, if you can, my double surprise and alarm, nay, almost\nmy terror, when the band struck up Jane's \"Sailor Lass.\" I saw the\nlook of surprise and inquiry which Brandon gave Mary, standing there\ndemurely by his side, when he first heard the music, and I heard her\nnervous little laugh as, she nodded her head, \"Yes,\" and stepped\ncloser to him to take position for the dance. The next moment she was\nin Brandon's arms, flying like a sylph about the room. A buzz of\nastonishment and delight greeted them before they were half way\naround, and then a great clapping of hands, in which the king himself\njoined. It was a lovely sight, although, I think, a graceful woman is\nmore beautiful in La Galliard than any other dance, or, in fact, any\nother situation in which she can place herself.\n\nAfter a little time the Dowager Duchess of Kent, first lady in waiting\nto the queen, presented herself at the musicians' gallery and said\nthat her majesty had ordered the music stopped, and the musicians, of\ncourse, ceased playing at once. Mary thereupon turned quickly to me:\n\n\"Master, are our musicians weary that they stop before we are\nthrough?\"\n\nThe queen answered for me in a high-voiced Spanish accent: \"I ordered\nthe music stopped; I will not permit such an indecent exhibition to go\non longer.\"\n\nFire sprang to Mary's eyes and she exclaimed: \"If your majesty does\nnot like the way we do and dance at my balls you can retire as soon as\nyou see fit. Your face is a kill-mirth anyway.\" It never took long to\nrouse her ladyship.\n\nThe queen turned to Henry, who was laughing, and angrily demanded:\n\n\"Will your majesty permit me to be thus insulted in your very\npresence?\"\n\n\"You got yourself into it; get out of it as best you can. I have often\ntold you to let her alone; she has sharp claws.\" The king was really\ntired of Catherine's sour frown before he married her. It was her\ndower of Spanish gold that brought her a second Tudor husband.\n\n\"Shall I not have what music and dances I want at my own balls?\" asked\nthe princess.\n\n\"That you shall, sister mine; that you shall,\" answered the king. \"Go\non master, and if the girl likes to dance that way, in God's name let\nher have her wish. It will never hurt her; we will learn it ourself,\nand will wear the ladies out a-dancing.\"\n\nAfter Mary had finished the opening dance there was a great demand for\ninstruction. The king asked Brandon to teach him the steps, which he\nsoon learned to perform with a grace perhaps equaled by no living\ncreature other than a fat brown bear. The ladies were at first a\nlittle shy and inclined to stand at arm's length, but Mary had set the\nfashion and the others soon followed. I had taken a fiddler to my room\nand had learned the dance from Brandon; and was able to teach it also,\nthough I lacked practice to make my step perfect. The princess had\nneeded no practice, but had danced beautifully from the first, her\nstrong young limbs and supple body taking as naturally to anything\nrequiring grace of movement as a cygnet to water.\n\nThis, thought I, is my opportunity to teach Jane the new dance. I\nwanted to go to her first, but was afraid, or for some reason did not,\nand took several other ladies as they came. After I had shown the step\nto them I sought out my sweetheart. Jane was not a prude, but I\nhonestly believe she was the most provoking girl that ever lived. I\nnever had succeeded in holding her hand even the smallest part of an\ninstant, and yet I was sure she liked me very much; almost sure she\nloved me. She feared I might unhinge it and carry it away, or\nsomething of that sort, I suppose. When I went up and asked her to let\nme teach her the new dance, she said:\n\n\"I thank you, Edwin; but there are others who are more anxious to\nlearn than I, and you had better teach them first.\"\n\n\"But I want to teach you. When I wish to teach them I will go to\nthem.\"\n\n\"You did go to several others before you thought of coming to me,\"\nanswered Jane, pretending to be piqued. Now that was the unkindest\nthing I ever knew a girl to do--refuse me what she knew I so wanted,\nand then put the refusal on the pretended ground that I did not care\nmuch about it. I so told her, and she saw she had carried things too\nfar, and that I was growing angry in earnest. She then made another\nfalse, though somewhat flattering, excuse:\n\n\"I could not bear to go through that dance before so large a company.\nI should not object so much if no one else could see--that is, with\nyou--Edwin.\" \"Edwin!\" Oh! so soft and sweet! The little jade! to think\nthat she could hoodwink me so easily, and talk me into a good humor\nwith her soft, purring \"Edwin.\" I saw through it all quickly enough,\nand left her without another word. In a few minutes she went into an\nadjoining room where I knew she was alone. The door was open and the\nmusic could be heard there, so I followed.\n\n\"My lady, there is no one to see us here; I can teach you now, if you\nwish,\" said I.\n\nShe saw she was cornered, and replied, with a toss of her saucy little\nhead: \"But what if I do not wish?\"\n\nNow this was more than I could endure with patience, so I answered:\n\"My young lady, you shall ask me before I teach you.\"\n\n\"There are others who can dance it much better than you,\" she\nreturned, without looking at me.\n\n\"If you allow another to teach you that dance,\" I responded, \"you will\nhave seen the last of me.\" She had made me angry, and I did not speak\nto her for more than a week. When I did--but I will tell you of that\nlater on. There was one thing about Jane and the new step: so long as\nshe did not know it, she would not dance it with any other man, and\nfoolish as my feeling may have been, I could not bear the thought of\nher doing it. I resolved that if she permitted another man to teach\nher that dance it should be all over between us. It was a terrible\nthought to me, that of losing Jane, and it came like a very stroke\nupon my heart. I would think of her sweet little form, so compact and\ngraceful; of her gray, calm eyes, so full of purity and mischief; of\nher fair oval face, almost pale, and wonder if I could live without\nthe hope of her. I determined, however, that if she learned the new\ndance with any other man I would throw that hope to the winds, whether\nI lived or died. St. George! I believe I should have died.\n\nThe evening was devoted to learning the new dance, and I saw Mary\nbusily engaged imparting information among the ladies. As we were\nabout to disperse I heard her say to Brandon:\n\n\"You have greatly pleased the king by bringing him a new amusement. He\nasked me where I learned it, and I told him you had taught it to\nCaskoden, and that I had it from him. I told Caskoden so that he can\ntell the same story.\"\n\n\"Oh! but that is not true. Don't you think you should have told him\nthe truth, or have evaded it in some way?\" asked Brandon, who was\nreally a great lover of the truth, \"when possible,\" but who, I fear on\nthis occasion, wished to appear more truthful than he really was. If a\nman is to a woman's taste, and she is inclined to him, he lays up\ngreat stores in her heart by making her think him good; and shameful\nimpositions are often practiced to this end.\n\nMary flushed a little and answered, \"I can't help it. You do not know.\nHad I told Henry that we four had enjoyed such a famous time in my\nrooms he would have been very angry, and--and--you might have been the\nsufferer.\"\n\n\"But might you not have compromised matters by going around the truth\nsome way, and leaving the impression that others were of the party\nthat evening?\"\n\nThat was a mistake, for it gave Mary an opportunity to retaliate: \"The\nbest way to go around the truth, as you call it, is by a direct lie.\nMy lie was no worse than yours. But I did not stop to argue about such\nmatters. There is something else I wished to say. I want to tell you\nthat you have greatly pleased the king with the new dance. Now teach\nhim 'honor and ruff' and your fortune is made. He has had some Jews\nand Lombards in of late to teach him new games at cards, but yours is\nworth all of them.\" Then, somewhat hastily and irrelevantly, \"I did\nnot dance the new dance with any other gentleman--but I suppose you\ndid not notice it,\" and she was gone before he could thank her.\n\n\n\n\n_CHAPTER VI_\n\n_A Rare Ride to Windsor_\n\n\nThe princess knew her royal brother. A man would receive quicker\nreward for inventing an amusement or a gaudy costume for the king than\nby winning him a battle. Later in life the high road to his favor was\nin ridding him of his wife and helping him to a new one--a dangerous\nway though, as Wolsey found to his sorrow when he sank his glory in\npoor Anne Boleyn.\n\nBrandon took the hint and managed to let it be known to his\nplay-loving king that he knew the latest French games. The French Duc\nde Longueville had for some time been an honored prisoner at the\nEnglish court, held as a hostage from Louis XII, but de Longueville\nwas a blockhead, who could not keep his little black eyes off our fair\nladies, who hated him, long enough to tell the deuce of spades from\nthe ace of hearts. So Brandon was taken from his duties, such as they\nwere, and placed at the card table. This was fortunate at first; for\nbeing the best player the king always chose him as his partner, and,\nas in every other game, the king always won. If he lost there would\nsoon be no game, and the man who won from him too frequently was in\ndanger at any moment of being rated guilty of the very highest sort of\ntreason. I think many a man's fall, under Henry VIII, was owing to\nthe fact that he did not always allow the king to win in some trivial\nmatter of game or joust. Under these conditions everybody was anxious\nto be the king's partner. It is true he frequently forgot to divide\nhis winnings, but his partner had this advantage, at least: there was\nno danger of losing. That being the case, Brandon's seat opposite the\nking was very likely to excite envy, and the time soon came, Henry\nhaving learned the play, when Brandon had to face someone else, and\nthe seat was too costly for a man without a treasury. It took but a\nfew days to put Brandon _hors de combat_, financially, and he would\nhave been in a bad plight had not Wolsey come to his relief. After\nthat, he played and paid the king in his own coin.\n\nThis great game of \"honor and ruff\" occupied Henry's mind day and\nnight during a fortnight. He feasted upon it to satiety as he did with\neverything else; never having learned not to cloy his appetite by\nover-feeding. So we saw little of Brandon while the king's fever\nlasted, and Mary said she wished she had remained silent about the\ncards. You see, she could enjoy this new plaything as well as her\nbrother; but the king, of course, must be satisfied first. They both\nhad enough eventually; Henry in one way, Mary in another.\n\nOne day the fancy struck the king that he would rebuild a certain\nchapel at Windsor; so he took a number of the court, including Mary,\nJane, Brandon and myself, and went with us up to London, where we\nlodged over night at Bridewell House. The next morning--as bright and\nbeautiful a June day as ever gladdened the heart of a rose--we took\nhorse for Windsor; a delightful seven-league ride over a fair road.\n\nMary and Jane traveled side by side, with an occasional companion or\ntwo, as the road permitted. I was angry with Jane, as you know, so did\nnot go near the girls; and Brandon, without any apparent intention one\nway or the other, allowed events to adjust themselves, and rode with\nCavendish and me.\n\nWe were perhaps forty yards behind the girls, and I noticed after a\ntime that the Lady Mary kept looking backward in our direction, as if\nfearing rain from the east. I was in hopes that Jane, too, would fear\nthe rain, but you would have sworn her neck was stiff, so straight\nahead did she keep her face. We had ridden perhaps three leagues, when\nthe princess stopped her horse and turned in her saddle. I heard her\nvoice, but did not understand what she said.\n\nIn a moment some one called out: \"Master Brandon is wanted.\" So that\ngentleman rode forward, and I followed him. When we came up with the\ngirls, Mary said: \"I fear my girth is loose.\"\n\nBrandon at once dismounted to tighten it, and the others of our\nimmediate party began to cluster around.\n\nBrandon tried the girth.\n\n\"My lady, it is as tight as the horse can well bear,\" he said.\n\n\"It is loose, I say,\" insisted the princess, with a little irritation;\n\"the saddle feels like it. Try the other.\" Then turning impatiently to\nthe persons gathered around: \"Does it require all of you, standing\nthere like gaping bumpkins, to tighten my girth? Ride on; we can\nmanage this without so much help.\" Upon this broad hint everybody rode\nahead while I held the horse for Brandon, who went on with his search\nfor the loose girth. While he was looking for it Mary leaned over her\nhorse's neck and asked: \"Were you and Cavendish settling all the\nphilosophical points now in dispute, that you found him so\ninteresting?\"\n\n\"Not all,\" answered Brandon, smiling.\n\n\"You were so absorbed, I supposed it could be nothing short of that.\"\n\n\"No,\" replied Brandon again. \"But the girth is not loose.\"\n\n\"Perhaps I only imagined it,\" returned Mary carelessly, having lost\ninterest in the girth.\n\nI looked toward Jane, whose eyes were bright with a smile, and turned\nBrandon's horse over to him. Jane's smile gradually broadened into a\nlaugh, and she said: \"Edwin, I fear my girth is loose also.\"\n\n\"As the Lady Mary's was?\" asked I, unable to keep a straight face any\nlonger.\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Jane, with a vigorous little nod of her head, and a\npeal of laughter.\n\n\"Then drop back with me,\" I responded.\n\nThe princess looked at us with a half smile, half frown, and remarked:\n\"Now you doubtless consider yourselves very brilliant and witty.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" returned Jane maliciously, nodding her head in emphatic assent,\nas the princess and Brandon rode on before us.\n\n\"I hope she is satisfied now,\" said Jane _sotto voce_ to me.\n\n\"So you want me to ride with you?\" I replied.\n\n\"Yes,\" nodded Jane.\n\n\"Why?\" I asked.\n\n\"Because I want you to,\" was the enlightening response.\n\n\"Then why did you not dance with me the other evening?\"\n\n\"Because I did _not_ want to.\"\n\n\"Short but comprehensive,\" thought I, \"but a sufficient reason for a\nmaiden.\"\n\nI said nothing, however, and after a time Jane spoke: \"The dance was\none thing and riding with you is another. I did not wish to dance with\nyou, but I do wish to ride with you. You are the only gentleman to\nwhom I would have said what I did about my girth being loose. As to\nthe new dance, I do not care to learn it because I would not dance it\nwith any man but you, and not even with you--yet.\" This made me glad,\nand coming from coy, modest Jane meant a great deal. It meant that\nshe cared for me, and would, some day, be mine; but it also meant that\nshe would take her own time and her own sweet way in being won. This\nwas comforting, if not satisfying, and loosened my tongue: \"Jane, you\nknow my heart is full of love for you--\"\n\n\"Will the universe crumble?\" she cried with the most provoking little\nlaugh. Now that sentence was my rock ahead, whenever I tried to give\nJane some idea of the state of my affections. It was a part of the\nspeech which I had prepared and delivered to Mary in Jane's hearing,\nas you already know. I had said to the princess: \"The universe will\ncrumble and the heavens roll up as a scroll ere my love shall alter or\npale.\" It was a high-sounding sentence, but it was not true, as I was\nforced to admit, almost with the same breath that spoke it. Jane had\nheard it, and had stored it away in that memory of hers, so tenacious\nin holding to everything it should forget. It is wonderful what a fund\nof useless information some persons accumulate and cling to with a\npersistent determination worthy of a better cause. I thought Jane\nnever would forget that unfortunate, abominable sentence spoken so\ngrandiloquently to Mary. I wonder what she would have thought had she\nknown that I had said substantially the same thing to a dozen others.\nI never should have won her in that case. She does not know it yet,\nand never shall if I can prevent. Although dear Jane is old now, and\nthe roses on her cheeks have long since paled, her gray eyes are still\nthere, with their mischievous little twinkle upon occasion, and--in\nfact, Jane can be as provoking as ever when she takes the fancy, for\nshe is as sure of my affection now as upon the morning of that rare\nride to Windsor. Aye, surer, since she knows that in all these years\nit has changed only to grow greater and stronger and truer in the\nfructifying light of her sweet face, and the nurturing warmth of her\npure soul. What a blessed thing it is for a man to love his wife and\nbe satisfied with her, and to think her the fairest being in all the\nworld; and how thrice happy is he who can stretch out the sweetest\nseason of his existence, the days of triumphant courtship, through the\nflying years of all his life, and then lie down to die in the quieted\necstasy of a first love.\n\nSo Jane halted my effort to pour out my heart, as she always did.\n\n\"There is something that greatly troubles me,\" she said.\n\n\"What is it?\" I asked in some concern.\n\n\"My mistress,\" she answered, nodding in the direction of the two\nriding ahead of us. \"I never saw her so much interested in any one as\nshe is in your friend, Master Brandon. Not that she is really in love\nwith him as yet perhaps, but I fear it is coming and I dread to see\nit. She has never been compelled to forego anything she wanted, and\nher desires are absolutely imperative. They drive her, and she is\nhelpless against them. She would not and could not make the smallest\neffort to overcome them. I think it never occurred to her that such a\nthing could be necessary; everything she wants she naturally thinks is\nhers by divine right. There has been no great need of such an effort\nuntil now, but your friend Brandon presents it. I wish he were at the\nother side of the world. I think she feels that she ought to keep away\nfrom him before it is too late, both for his sake and her own, but she\nis powerless to deny herself the pleasure of being with him, and I do\nnot know what is to come of it all. That incident of the loose girth\nis an illustration. Did you ever know anything so bold and\ntransparent? Any one could see through it, and the worst of all is she\nseems not to care if every one does see. Now look at them ahead of us!\nNo girl is so happy riding beside a man unless she is interested in\nhim. She was dull enough until he joined her. He seemed in no hurry to\ncome, so she resorted to the flimsy excuse of the loose girth to bring\nhim. I am surprised that she even sought the shadow of an excuse, but\ndid not order him forward without any pretense of one. Oh! I don't\nknow what to do. It troubles me greatly. Do you know the state of his\nfeelings?\"\n\n\"No,\" I answered, \"but I think he is heart-whole, or nearly so. He\ntold me he was not fool enough to fall in love with the king's sister,\nand I really believe he will keep his heart and head, even at that\ndizzy height. He is a cool fellow, if there ever was one.\"\n\n\"He certainly is different from other men,\" returned Jane. \"I think he\nhas never spoken a word of love to her. He has said some pretty\nthings, which she has repeated to me; has moralized to some extent,\nand has actually told her of some of her faults. I should like to see\nanyone else take that liberty. She seems to like it from him, and says\nhe inspires her with higher, better motives and a yearning to be good;\nbut I am sure he has made no love to her.\"\n\n\"Perhaps it would be better if he did. It might cure her,\" I replied.\n\n\"Oh! no! no! not now; at first, perhaps, but not now. What I fear is\nthat if he remains silent much longer she will take matters in hand\nand speak herself. I don't like to say that--it doesn't sound\nwell--but she is a princess, and it would be different with her from\nwhat it would be with an ordinary girl; she might have to speak first,\nor there might be no speaking from one who thought his position too\nfar beneath hers. She whose smallest desires drive her so, will never\nforego so great a thing as the man she loves only for the want of a\nword or two.\"\n\nThen it was that Jane told me of the scene with the note, of the\nlittle whispered confidence upon their pillows, and a hundred other\nstraws that showed only too plainly which way this worst of ill winds\nwas blowing--with no good in it for any one. Now who could have\nforetold this? It was easy enough to prophesy that Brandon would learn\nto love Mary, excite a passing interest, and come off crestfallen, as\nall other men had done. But that Mary should love Brandon, and he\nremain heart-whole, was an unlooked-for event--one that would hardly\nhave been predicted by the shrewdest prophet.\n\nWhat Lady Jane said troubled me greatly, as it was but the\nconfirmation of my own fears. Her opportunity to know was far better\nthan mine, but I had seen enough to set me thinking.\n\nBrandon, I believe, saw nothing of Mary's growing partiality at all.\nHe could not help but find her wonderfully attractive and interesting,\nand perhaps it needed only the thought that she might love him, to\nkindle a flame in his own breast. But at the time of our ride to\nWindsor, Charles Brandon was not in love with Mary Tudor, however near\nit he may unconsciously have been. He would whistle and sing, and was\nas light-hearted as a lark--I mean when away from the princess as well\nas with her--a mood that does not go with a heart full of heavy love,\nof impossible, fatal love, such as his would have been for the first\nprincess of the first blood royal of the world.\n\nBut another's trouble could not dim the sunlight in my own heart, and\nthat ride to Windsor was the happiest day of my life up to that time.\nEven Jane threw off the little cloud our forebodings had gathered,\nand chatted and laughed like the creature of joy and gladness she was.\nNow and then her heart would well up so full of the sunlight and the\nflowers, and the birds in the hedge, aye, and of the contagious love\nin my heart, too, that it poured itself forth in a spontaneous little\nsong which thrills me even now.\n\nAhead of us were the princess and Brandon. Every now and then her\nvoice came back to us in a stave of a song, and her laughter, rich and\nlow, wafted on the wings of the soft south wind, made the glad birds\nhush to catch its silvery note. It seemed that the wild flowers had\ntaken on their brightest hue, the trees their richest Sabbath-day\ngreen, and the sun his softest radiance, only to gladden the heart of\nMary that they might hear her laugh. The laugh would have come quite\nas joyously had the flowers been dead and the sun black, for flowers\nand sunlight, south wind, green pastures and verdant hills, all were\nriding by her side. Poor Mary! Her days of laughter were numbered.\n\nWe all rode merrily on to Windsor, and when we arrived it was curious\nto see the great nobles, Buckingham, both the Howards, Seymour and a\ndozen others stand back for plain Charles Brandon to dismount the\nfairest maiden and the most renowned princess in Christendom. It was\ndone most gracefully. She was but a trifle to his strong arms, and he\nlifted her to the sod as gently as if she were a child. The nobles\nenvied Brandon his evident favor with this unattainable Mary and hated\nhim accordingly, but they kept their thoughts to themselves for two\nreasons: First, they knew not to what degree the king's favor, already\nmarked, with the help of the princess might carry him; and second,\nthey did not care to have a misunderstanding with the man who had cut\nout Adam Judson's eyes.\n\nWe remained at Windsor four or five days, during which time the king\nmade several knights. Brandon would probably have been one of them, as\neverybody expected, had not Buckingham related to Henry the episode of\nthe loose girth, and adroitly poisoned his mind as to Mary's\npartiality. At this the king began to cast a jealous eye on Brandon.\nHis sister was his chief diplomatic resource, and when she loved or\nmarried, it should be for Henry's benefit, regardless of all else.\n\nBrandon and the Lady Mary saw a great deal of each other during this\nlittle stay at Windsor, as she always had some plan to bring about a\nmeeting, and although very delightful to him, it cost him much in\nroyal favor. He could not trace this effect to its proper cause and it\ntroubled him. I could have told him the reason in two words, but I\nfeared to put into his mind the thought that the princess might learn\nto love him. As to the king, he would not have cared if Brandon or\nevery other man, for that matter, should go stark mad for love of his\nsister, but when she began to show a preference he grew interested,\nand it was apt sooner or later to go hard with the fortunate one. When\nwe went back to Greenwich Brandon was sent on a day ahead.\n\n\n\n\n_CHAPTER VII_\n\n_Love's Fierce Sweetness_\n\n\nAfter we had all returned to Greenwich the princess and Brandon were\ntogether frequently. Upon several occasions he was invited, with\nothers, to her parlor for card playing. But we spent two evenings,\nwith only four of us present, prior to the disastrous events which\nchanged everything, and of which I am soon to tell you. During these\ntwo evenings the \"Sailor Lass\" was in constant demand.\n\nThis pair, who should have remained apart, met constantly in and about\nthe palace, and every glance added fuel to the flame. Part of the time\nit was the princess with her troublesome dignity, and part of the time\nit was Mary--simply girl. Notwithstanding these haughty moods, anyone\nwith half an eye could see that the princess was gradually succumbing\nto the budding woman; that Brandon's stronger nature had dominated her\nwith that half fear which every woman feels who loves a strong\nman--stronger than herself.\n\nOne day the rumor spread through the court that the old French king,\nLouis XII, whose wife, Anne of Brittany, had just died, had asked\nMary's hand in marriage. It was this, probably, which opened Brandon's\neyes to the fact that he had been playing with the very worst sort of\nfire; and first made him see that in spite of himself, and almost\nwithout his knowledge, the girl had grown wonderfully sweet and dear\nto him. He now saw his danger, and struggled to keep himself beyond\nthe spell of her perilous glances and siren song. This modern Ulysses\nmade a masterful effort, but alas! had no ships to carry him away, and\nno wax with which to fill his ears. Wax is a good thing, and no one\nshould enter the Siren country without it. Ships, too, are good, with\nmasts to tie one's self to, and sails and rudder, and a gust of wind\nto waft one quickly past the island. In fact, one cannot take too many\nprecautions when in those enchanted waters.\n\nMatters began to look dark to me. Love had dawned in Mary's breast,\nthat was sure, and for the first time, with all its fierce sweetness.\nNot that it had reached its noon, or anything like it. In truth, it\nmight, I hoped, die in the dawning, for my lady was as capricious as a\nMay day; but it was love--love as plain as the sun at rising. She\nsought Brandon upon all occasions, and made opportunities to meet him;\nnot openly--at any rate, not with Brandon's knowledge, nor with any\nconnivance on his part, but apparently caring little what he or any\none else might see. Love lying in her heart had made her a little more\nshy than formerly in seeking him, but her straightforward way of\ntaking whatever she wanted made her transparent little attempts at\nconcealment very pathetic.\n\nAs for Brandon, the shaft had entered his heart, too, poor fellow, as\nsurely as love had dawned in Mary's, but there was this difference:\nWith our princess--at least I so thought at the time--the sun of love\nmight dawn and lift itself to mid-heaven and glow with the fervent\nardor of high noon--for her blood was warm with the spark of her\ngrandfather's fire--and then sink into the west and make room for\nanother sun to-morrow. But with Brandon's stronger nature the sun\nwould go till noon and there would burn for life. The sun, however,\nhad not reached its noon with Brandon, either; since he had set his\nbrain against his heart, and had done what he could to stay the\nall-consuming orb at its dawning. He knew the hopeless misery such a\npassion would bring him, and helped the good Lord, in so far as he\ncould, to answer his prayer, and lead him not into temptation. As soon\nas he saw the truth, he avoided Mary as much as possible.\n\nAs I said, we had spent several evenings with Mary after we came home\nfrom Windsor, at all of which her preference was shown in every\nmovement. Some women are so expressive under strong emotion that every\ngesture, a turn of the head, a glance of the eyes, the lifting of a\nhand or the poise of the body, speaks with a tongue of eloquence, and\nsuch was Mary. Her eyes would glow with a soft fire when they rested\nupon him, and her whole person told all too plainly what, in truth, it\nseemed she did not care to hide. When others were present she would\nrestrain herself somewhat, but with only Jane and myself, she could\nhardly maintain a seemly reserve. During all this time Brandon\nremained cool and really seemed unconscious of his wonderful\nattraction for her. It is hard to understand why he did not see it,\nbut I really believe he did not. Although he was quite at ease in her\npresence, too much so, Mary sometimes thought, and strangely enough\nsometimes told him in a fit of short-lived, quickly repented anger\nthat always set him laughing, yet there was never a word or gesture\nthat could hint of undue familiarity. It would probably have met a\nrebuff from the princess part of her; for what a perversity, both\nroyal and feminine, she wanted all the freedom for herself. In short,\nlike any other woman, she would rather love than be loved, that is,\nuntil surrender day should come; then of course....\n\nAfter these last two meetings, although the invitations came\nfrequently, none was accepted. Brandon had contrived to have his\nduties, ostensibly at least, occupy his evenings, and did honestly\nwhat his judgment told him was the one thing to do; that is, remain\naway from a fire that could give no genial warmth, but was sure to\nburn him to the quick. I saw this only too plainly, but never a word\nof it was spoken between us.\n\nThe more I saw of this man, the more I respected him, and this curbing\nof his affections added to my already high esteem. The effort was\ndoubly wise in Brandon's case. Should love with his intense nature\nreach its height, his recklessness would in turn assert itself, and\nthese two would inevitably try to span the impassable gulf between\nthem, when Brandon, at least, would go down in the attempt. His\ntrouble, however, did not make a mope of him, and he retained a great\ndeal of his brightness and sparkle undimmed by what must have been an\nache in his heart. Though he tried, without making it too marked, to\nsee as little of Mary as possible, their meeting once in a while could\nnot be avoided, especially when one of them was always seeking to\nbring it about. After a time, Mary began to suspect his attempts to\navoid her, and she grew cold and distant through pique. Her manner,\nhowever, had no effect upon Brandon, who did not, or at least appeared\nnot to notice it. This the girl could not endure, and lacking strength\nto resist her heart, soon returned to the attack.\n\nMary had not seen Brandon for nearly two weeks, and was growing\nanxious, when one day she and Jane met him in a forest walk near the\nriver. Brandon was sauntering along reading when they overtook him.\nJane told me afterwards that Mary's conduct upon coming up to him was\npretty and curious beyond the naming. At first she was inclined to be\ndistant, and say cutting things, but when Brandon began to grow\nrestive under them and showed signs of turning back, she changed front\nin the twinkling of an eye and was all sweetness. She laughed and\nsmiled and dimpled, as only she could, and was full of bright glances\nand gracious words.\n\nShe tried a hundred little schemes to get him to herself for a\nmoment--the hunting of a wild flower or a four-leaved clover, or the\nexploration of some little nook in the forest toward which she would\nlead him--but Jane did not at first take the hint and kept close at\nher heels. Mary's impulsive nature was not much given to hinting--she\nusually nodded and most emphatically at that--so after a few failures\nto rid herself of her waiting lady she said impatiently: \"Jane, in the\nname of heaven don't keep so close to us. You won't move out of reach\nof my hand, and you know how often it inclines to box your ears.\"\n\nJane did know, I am sorry for Mary's sake to say, how often the fair\nhand was given to such spasms; so with this emphasized hint she walked\non ahead, half sulky at the indignity put upon her, and half amused at\nher whimsical mistress.\n\nMary lost no time, but began the attack at once.\n\n\"Now, sir, I want you to tell me the truth; why do you refuse my\ninvitations and so persistently keep away from me? I thought at first\nI would simply let you go your way, and then I thought I--would not.\nDon't deny it. I know you won't. With all your faults, you don't tell\neven little lies; not even to a woman--I believe. Now there is a fine\ncompliment--is it not?--when I intended to scold you!\" She gave a\nfluttering little laugh, and, with hanging head, continued: \"Tell me,\nis not the king's sister of quality sufficient to suit you? Perhaps\nyou must have the queen or the Blessed Virgin? Tell me now?\" And she\nlooked up at him, half in banter, half in doubt.\n\n\"My duties--,\" began Brandon.\n\n\"Oh! bother your duties. Tell me the truth.\"\n\n\"I will, if you let me,\" returned Brandon, who had no intention\nwhatever of doing anything of the sort. \"My duties now occupy my time\nin the evening----\"\n\n\"That will not do,\" interrupted Mary, who knew enough of a guardsman's\nduty to be sure it was not onerous. \"You might as well come to it and\ntell the truth; that you do not like our society.\" And she gave him a\nvicious little glance without a shadow of a smile.\n\n\"In God's name, Lady Mary, that is not it,\" answered Brandon, who was\non the rack. \"Please do not think it. I cannot bear to have you say\nsuch a thing when it is so far from the real truth.\"\n\n\"Then tell me the real truth.\"\n\n\"I cannot; I cannot. I beg of you not to ask. Leave me! or let me\nleave you. I refuse to answer further.\" The latter half of this\nsentence was uttered doggedly and sounded sullen and ill-humored,\nalthough, of course, it was not so intended. He had been so perilously\nnear speaking words which would probably have lighted, to their\ndestruction--to his, certainly--the smoldering flames within their\nbreast that it frightened him, and the manner in which he spoke was\nbut a tone giving utterance to the pain in his heart.\n\nMary took it as it sounded, and, in unfeigned surprise, exclaimed\nangrily: \"Leave you? Do I hear aright? I never thought that I, the\ndaughter and sister of a king, would live to be dismissed by a--by\na--any one.\"\n\n\"Your highness--\" began Brandon; but she was gone before he could\nspeak.\n\nHe did not follow her to explain, knowing how dangerous such an\nexplanation would be, but felt that it was best for them both that she\nshould remain offended, painful as the thought was to him.\n\nOf course, Mary's womanly self-esteem, to say nothing of her royal\npride, was wounded to the quick, and no wonder.\n\nPoor Brandon sat down upon a stone, and, as he longingly watched her\nretiring form, wished in his heart he were dead. This was the first\ntime he really knew how much he loved the girl, and he saw that, with\nhim at least, it was a matter of bad to worse; and at that rate would\nsoon be--worst.\n\nNow that he had unintentionally offended her, and had permitted her to\ngo without an explanation, she was dearer to him than ever, and, as he\nsat there with his face in his hands, he knew that if matters went on\nas they were going, the time would soon come when he would throw\ncaution to the dogs and would try the impossible--to win her for his\nown. Caution and judgment still sat enthroned, and they told him now\nwhat he knew full well they would not tell him after a short\ntime--that failure was certain to follow the attempt, and disaster\nsure to follow failure. First, the king would, in all probability, cut\noff his head upon an intimation of Mary's possible fondness for him;\nand, second, if he should be so fortunate as to keep his head, Mary\ncould not, and certainly would not, marry him, even if she loved him\nwith all her heart. The distance between them was too great, and she\nknew too well what she owed to her position. There was but one thing\nleft--New Spain; and he determined while sitting there to sail with\nthe next ship.\n\nThe real cause of Brandon's manner had never occurred to Mary.\nAlthough she knew her beauty and power, as she could not help but know\nit--not as a matter of vanity, but as a matter of fact--yet love had\nblinded her where Brandon was concerned, and that knowledge failed to\ngive her light as to his motives, however brightly it might illumine\nthe conduct of other men toward whom she was indifferent.\n\nSo Mary was angry this time; angry in earnest, and Jane felt the\nirritable palm more than once. I, too, came in for my share of her ill\ntemper, as most certainly would Brandon, had he allowed himself to\ncome within reach of her tongue, which he was careful not to do. An\nangry porcupine would have been pleasant company compared with Mary\nduring this time. There was no living with her in peace. Even the king\nfought shy of her, and the queen was almost afraid to speak. Probably\nso much general disturbance was never before or since collected within\none small body as in that young Tartar-Venus, Mary. She did not tell\nJane the cause of her vexation, but only said she \"verily hated\nBrandon,\" and that, of course, was the key to the whole situation.\n\nAfter a fortnight, this ill-humor began to soften in the glowing\nwarmth of her heart, which was striving to reassert itself, and the\ndesire to see Brandon began to get the better of her sense of injury.\n\nBrandon, tired of this everlasting watchfulness to keep himself out of\ntemptation, and, dreading at any moment that lapse from strength which\nis apt to come to the strongest of us, had resolved to quit his place\nat court and go to New Spain at once. He had learned, upon inquiry,\nthat a ship would sail from Bristol in about twenty days, and another\nsix weeks later. So he chose the former and was making his\narrangements to leave as soon as possible.\n\nHe told me of his plans and spoke of his situation: \"You know the\nreason for my going,\" he said, \"even if I have never spoken of it. I\nam not much of a Joseph, and am very little given to running away from\na beautiful woman, but in this case I am fleeing from death itself.\nAnd to think what a heaven it would be. You are right, Caskoden; no\nman can withstand the light of that girl's smile. I am unable to tell\nhow I feel toward her. It sometimes seems that I can not live another\nhour without seeing her; yet, thank God, I have reason enough left to\nknow that every sight of her only adds to an already incurable malady.\nWhat will it be when she is the wife of the king of France? Does it\nnot look as if wild life in New Spain is my only chance?\"\n\nI assented as we joined hands, and our eyes were moist as I told him\nhow I should miss him more than anyone else in all the earth--excepting\nJane, in mental reservation.\n\nI told Jane what Brandon was about to do, knowing full well she would\ntell Mary; which she did at once.\n\nPoor Mary! The sighs began to come now, and such small vestiges of her\nill-humor toward Brandon as still remained were frightened off in a\nhurry by the fear that she had seen the last of him.\n\nShe had not before fully known that she loved him. She knew he was the\nmost delightful companion she had ever met, and that there was an\nexhilaration about his presence which almost intoxicated her and made\nlife an ecstasy, yet she did not know it was love. It needed but the\nthought that she was about to lose him to make her know her malady,\nand meet it face to face.\n\nUpon the evening when Mary learned all this, she went into her chamber\nvery early and closed the door. No one interrupted her until Jane\nwent in to robe her for the night, and to retire. She then found that\nMary had robed herself and was lying in bed with her head covered,\napparently asleep. Jane quietly prepared to retire, and lay down in\nher own bed. The girls usually shared one couch, but during Mary's\nill-temper she had forced Jane to sleep alone.\n\nAfter a short silence Jane heard a sob from the other bed, then\nanother, and another.\n\n\"Mary, are you weeping?\" she asked.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"What is the matter, dear?\"\n\n\"Nothing,\" with a sigh.\n\n\"Do you wish me to come to your bed?\"\n\n\"Yes, I do.\" So Jane went over and lay beside Mary, who gently put her\narms about her neck.\n\n\"When will he leave?\" whispered Mary, shyly confessing all by her\nquestion.\n\n\"I do not know,\" responded Jane, \"but he will see you before he goes.\"\n\n\"Do you believe he will?\"\n\n\"I know it;\" and with this consolation Mary softly wept herself to\nsleep.\n\nAfter this, for a few days, Mary was quiet enough. Her irritable mood\nhad vanished, but Jane could see that she was on the lookout for some\none all the time, although she made the most pathetic little efforts\nto conceal her watchfulness.\n\nAt last a meeting came about in this way: Next to the king's\nbed-chamber was a luxuriously furnished little apartment with a\nwell-selected library. Here Brandon and I often went, afternoons, to\nread, as we were sure to be undisturbed.\n\nLate one day Brandon had gone over to this quiet retreat, and having\nselected a volume, took his place in a secluded little alcove half\nhidden in arras draperies. There was a cushioned seat along the wall\nand a small diamond-shaped window to furnish light.\n\nHe had not been there long when in came Mary. I can not say whether\nshe knew Brandon was there or not, but she was there and he was there,\nwhich is the only thing to the point, and finding him, she stepped\ninto the alcove before he was aware of her presence.\n\nBrandon was on his feet in an instant, and with a low bow was backing\nhimself out most deferentially, to leave her in sole possession if she\nwished to rest.\n\n\"Master Brandon, you need not go. I will not hurt you. Besides, if\nthis place is not large enough for us both, I will go. I would not\ndisturb you.\" She spoke with a tremulous voice and a quick, uneasy\nglance, and started to move backward out of the alcove.\n\n\"Lady Mary, how can you speak so? You know--you must know--oh! I beg\nyou--\" But she interrupted him by taking his arm and drawing him to a\nseat beside her on the cushion. She could have drawn down the Colossus\nof Rhodes with the look she gave Brandon, so full was it of command,\nentreaty and promise.\n\n\"That's it; I don't know, but I want to know; and I want you to sit\nhere beside me and tell me. I am going to be reconciled with you,\ndespite the way you treated me when last we met. I am going to be\nfriends with you whether you will or not. Now what do you say to that,\nsir?\" She spoke with a fluttering little laugh of uneasy\nnon-assurance, which showed that her heart was not nearly so confident\nnor so bold as her words would make believe. Poor Brandon, usually so\nready, had nothing \"to say to that,\" but sat in helpless silence.\n\nWas this the sum total of all his wise determinations made at the cost\nof so much pain and effort? Was this the answer to all his prayers,\n\"Lead me not into temptation\"? He had done his part, for he had done\nall he could. Heaven had not helped him, since here was temptation\nthrust upon him when least expected, and when the way was so narrow he\ncould not escape, but must meet it face to face.\n\nMary soon recovered her self-possession--women are better skilled in\nthis art than men--and continued:\n\n\"I am not intending to say one word about your treatment of me that\nday over in the forest, although it was very bad, and you have acted\nabominably ever since. Now is not that kind in me?\" And she softly\nlaughed as she peeped up at the poor fellow from beneath those\nsweeping lashes, with the premeditated purpose of tantalizing him, I\nsuppose. She was beginning to know her power over him, and it was\nnever greater than at this moment. Her beauty had its sweetest\nquality, for the princess was sunk and the woman was dominant, with\nflushed face and flashing eyes that caught a double luster from the\nglowing love that made her heart beat so fast. Her gown, too, was the\nbest she could have worn to show her charms. She must have known\nBrandon was there, and must have dressed especially to go to him. She\nwore her favorite long flowing outer sleeve, without the close fitting\ninner one. It was slit to the shoulder, and gave entrancing glimpses\nof her arms with every movement, leaving them almost bare when she\nlifted her hands, which was often, for she was as full of gestures as\na Frenchwoman. Her bodice was cut low, both back and front, showing\nher large perfectly molded throat and neck, like an alabaster pillar\nof beauty and strength, and disclosing her bosom just to its shadowy\nincurving, white and billowy as drifted snow. Her hair was thrown back\nin an attempt at a coil, though, like her own rebellious nature, it\ncould not brook restraint, and persistently escaped in a hundred\nlittle curls that fringed her face and lay upon the soft white nape of\nher neck like fluffy shreds of sun-lit floss on new cut ivory.\n\nWith the mood that was upon her, I wonder Brandon maintained his\nself-restraint even for a moment. He felt that his only hope lay in\nsilence, so he sat beside her and said nothing. He told me long\nafterwards that while sitting there in the intervals between her\nspeech, the oddest, wildest thoughts ran through his brain. He\nwondered how he could escape. He thought of the window, and that\npossibly he might break away through it, and then he thought of\nfeigning illness, and a hundred other absurd schemes, but they all\ncame to nothing, and he sat there to let events take their own course\nas they seemed determined to do in spite of him.\n\nAfter a short silence, Mary continued, half banteringly: \"Answer me,\nsir! I will have no more of this. You shall treat me at least with the\ncourtesy you would show a bourgeoise girl.\"\n\n\"Oh, that you were only a burgher's daughter.\"\n\n\"Yes, I know all that; but I am not. It can't be helped, and you shall\nanswer me.\"\n\n\"There is no answer, dear lady--I beg you--oh, do you not see--\"\n\n\"Yes, yes; but answer my question; am I not kind--more than you\ndeserve?\"\n\n\"Indeed, yes; a thousand times. You have always been so kind, so\ngracious and so condescending to me that I can only thank you, thank\nyou, thank you,\" answered Brandon, almost shyly; not daring to lift\nhis eyes to hers.\n\nMary saw the manner quickly enough--what woman ever missed it, much\nless so keen-eyed a girl as she--and it gave her confidence, and\nbrought back the easy banter of her old time manner.\n\n\"How modest we have become! Where is the boldness of which we used to\nhave so much? Kind? Have I always been so? How about the first time I\nmet you? Was I kind then? And as to condescension, don't--don't use\nthat word between us.\"\n\n\"No,\" returned Brandon, who, in his turn, was recovering himself, \"no,\nI can't say that you were very kind at first. How you did fly out at\nme and surprise me. It was so unexpected it almost took me off my\nfeet,\" and they both laughed in remembering the scene of their first\nmeeting. \"No, I can't say your kindness showed itself very strongly in\nthat first interview, but it was there nevertheless, and when Lady\nJane led me back, your real nature asserted itself, as it always does,\nand you were kind to me; kind as only you can be.\"\n\nThat was getting very near to the sentimental; dangerously near, he\nthought; and he said to himself: \"If this does not end quickly I shall\nhave to escape.\"\n\n\"You are easily satisfied if you call that good,\" laughingly returned\nMary. \"I can be ever so much better than that if I try.\"\n\n\"Let me see you try,\" said Brandon.\n\n\"Why, I'm trying now,\" answered Mary with a distracting little pout.\n\"Don't you know genuine out-and-out goodness when you see it? I'm\ndoing my very best now. Can't you tell?\"\n\n\"Yes, I think I recognize it; but--but--be bad again.\"\n\n\"No, I won't! I will not be bad even to please you; I have determined\nnot to be bad and I will not--not even to be good. This,\" placing her\nhand over her heart, \"is just full of 'good' to-day,\" and her lips\nparted as she laughed at her own pleasantry.\n\n\"I am afraid you had better be bad--I give you fair warning,\" said\nBrandon huskily. He felt her eyes upon him all the time, and his\nstrength and good resolves were oozing out like wine from an\nill-coppered cask. After a short silence Mary continued, regardless of\nthe warning:\n\n\"But the position is reversed with us; at first I was unkind to you,\nand you were kind to me, but now I am kind to you and you are unkind\nto me.\"\n\n\"I can come back at you with your own words,\" responded Brandon. \"You\ndon't know when I am kind to you. I should be kinder to myself, at\nleast, were I to leave you and take myself to the other side of the\nworld.\"\n\n\"Oh! that is one thing I wanted to ask you about. Jane tells me you\nare going to New Spain?\"\n\nShe was anxious to know, but asked the question partly to turn the\nconversation which was fast becoming perilous. As a girl, she loved\nBrandon, and knew it only too well, but she knew also that she was a\nprincess, standing next to the throne of the greatest kingdom on\nearth; in fact, at that time, the heir apparent--Henry having no\nchildren--for the people would not have the Scotch king's imp--and the\npossibility of such a thing as a union with Brandon had never entered\nher head, however passionate her feelings toward him. She also knew\nthat speaking a thought vitalizes it and gives it force; so, although\nshe could not deny herself the pleasure of being near him, of seeing\nhim, and hearing the tones of his voice, and now and then feeling the\nthrill of an accidental touch, she had enough good sense to know that\na mutual confession, that is, taking it for granted Brandon loved her,\nas she felt almost sure he did, must be avoided at all hazards. It was\nnot to be thought of between people so far apart as they. The brink\nwas a delightful place, full of all the sweet ecstasies and thrilling\njoys of a seventh heaven, but over the brink--well! there should be no\n\"over,\" for who was she? And who was he? Those two dreadfully stubborn\nfacts could not be forgotten, and the gulf between them could not be\nspanned; she knew that only too well. No one better.\n\nBrandon answered her question: \"I do not know about going; I think I\nshall. I have volunteered with a ship that sails in two or three weeks\nfrom Bristol, and I suppose I shall go.\"\n\n\"Oh, no! do you really mean it?\" It gave her a pang to hear that he\nwas actually going, and her love pulsed higher; but she also felt a\nsense of relief, somewhat as a conscientious house-breaker might feel\nupon finding the door securely locked against him. It would take away\na temptation which she could not resist, and yet dared not yield to\nmuch longer.\n\n\"I think there is no doubt that I mean it,\" replied Brandon. \"I should\nlike to remain in England until I can save enough money out of the\nking's allowance to pay the debt against my father's estate, so that I\nmay be able to go away and feel that my brother and sisters are secure\nin their home--my brother is not strong--but I know it is better for\nme to go now, and I hope to find the money out there. I could have\npaid it with what I lost to Judson before I discovered him cheating.\"\nThis was the first time he had ever alluded to the duel, and the\nthought of it, in Mary's mind, added a faint touch of fear to her\nfeeling toward him.\n\nShe looked up with a light in her eyes and asked: \"What is the debt?\nHow much? Let me give you the money. I have so much more than I need.\nLet me pay it. Please tell me how much it is and I will hand it to\nyou. You can come to my rooms and get it or I will send it to you. Now\ntell me that I may. Quickly.\" And she was alive with enthusiastic\ninterest.\n\n\"There now! you are kind again; as kind as even you can be. Be sure, I\nthank you, though I say it only once,\" and he looked into her eyes\nwith a gaze she could not stand even for an instant. This was growing\ndangerous again, so, catching himself, he turned the conversation\nback into the bantering vein.\n\n\"Ah! you want to pay the debt that I may have no excuse to remain? Is\nthat it? Perhaps you are not so kind after all.\"\n\n\"No! no! you know better. But let me pay the debt. How much is it and\nto whom is it owing? Tell me at once, I command you.\"\n\n\"No! no! Lady Mary, I cannot.\"\n\n\"Please do. I beg--if I cannot command. Now I know you will; you would\nnot make me _beg_ twice for anything?\" She drew closer to him as she\nspoke and put her hand coaxingly upon his arm. With an irresistible\nimpulse he took the hand in his and lifted it to his lips in a\nlingering caress that could not be mistaken. It was all so quick and\nso full of fire and meaning that Mary took fright, and the princess,\nfor the moment, came uppermost.\n\n\"Master Brandon!\" she exclaimed sharply, and drew away her hand.\nBrandon dropped the hand and moved over on the seat. He did not speak,\nbut turned his face from her and looked out of the window toward the\nriver. Thus they sat in silence, Brandon's hand resting listlessly\nupon the cushion between them. Mary saw the eloquent movement away\nfrom her and his speaking attitude, with averted face; then the\nprincess went into eclipse, and the imperial woman was ascendant once\nmore. She looked at him for a brief space with softening eyes, and,\nlifting her hand, put it back in his, saying:\n\n\"There it is again--if you want it.\"\n\nWant it? Ah! this was too much! The hand would not satisfy now; it\nmust be all, all! And he caught her to his arms with a violence that\nfrightened her.\n\n\"Please don't, please! Not this time. Ah! have mercy, Charl--Well!\nThere!... There!... Mary mother, forgive me.\" Then her woman spirit\nfell before the whirlwind of his passion, and she was on his breast\nwith her white arms around his neck, paying the same tribute to the\nlittle blind god that he would have exacted from the lowliest maiden\nof the land. Just as though it were not the blood of fifty kings and\nqueens that made so red and sweet, aye, sweet as nectar thrice\ndistilled, those lips which now so freely paid their dues in coined\nbliss.\n\nBrandon held the girl for a moment or two, then fell upon his knees\nand buried his face in her lap.\n\n\"Heaven help me!\" he cried.\n\nShe pushed the hair back from his forehead with her hand and as she\nfondled the curls, leaned over him and softly whispered:\n\n\"Heaven help us both; for I love you!\"\n\nHe sprang to his feet. \"Don't! don't! I pray you,\" he said wildly, and\nalmost ran from her.\n\nMary followed him nearly to the door of the room, but when he turned\nhe saw that she had stopped, and was standing with her hands over her\nface, as if in tears.\n\nHe went back to her and said: \"I tried to avoid this, and if you had\nhelped me, it would never--\" But he remembered how he had always\ndespised Adam for throwing the blame upon Eve, no matter how much she\nmay have deserved it, and continued: \"No; I do not mean that. It is\nall my fault. I should have gone away long ago. I could not help it; I\ntried. Oh! I tried.\"\n\nMary's eyes were bent upon the floor, and tears were falling over her\nflushed cheeks, unheeded and unchecked.\n\n\"There is no fault in any one; neither could I help it,\" she murmured.\n\n\"No, no; it is not that there is any fault in the ordinary sense; it\nis like suicide or any other great, self-inflicted injury with me. I\nam different from other men. I shall never recover.\"\n\n\"I know only too well that you are different from other men, and--and\nI, too, am different from other women--am I not?\"\n\n\"Ah, different! There is no other woman in all this wide, long world,\"\nand they were in each other's arms again. She turned her shoulder to\nhim and rested with the support of his arms about her. Her eyes were\ncast down in silence, and she was evidently thinking as she toyed with\nthe lace of his doublet. Brandon knew her varying expressions so well\nthat he saw there was something wanting, so he asked:\n\n\"Is there something you wish to say?\"\n\n\"Not I,\" she responded with emphasis on the pronoun.\n\n\"Then is it something you wish me to say?\"\n\nShe nodded her head slowly: \"Yes.\"\n\n\"What is it? Tell me and I will say it.\"\n\nShe shook her head slowly: \"No.\"\n\n\"What is it? I cannot guess.\"\n\n\"Did you not like to hear me say that--that I--loved you?\"\n\n\"Ah, yes; you know it. But--oh!--do you wish to hear me say it?\"\n\nThe head nodded rapidly two or three times: \"Yes.\" And the black\ncurving lashes were lifted for a fleeting, luminous instant.\n\n\"It is surely not necessary; you have known it so long already, but I\nam only too glad to say it. I love you.\"\n\nShe nestled closer to him and hid her face on his breast.\n\n\"Now that I have said it, what is my reward?\" he asked--and the fair\nface came up, red and rosy, with \"rewards,\" any one of which was worth\na king's ransom.\n\n\"But this is worse than insanity,\" cried Brandon, as he almost pushed\nher from him. \"We can never belong to each other; never.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Mary, with a despairing shake of the head, as the tears\nbegan to flow again; \"no! never.\" And falling upon his knees, he\ncaught both her hands in his, sprang to his feet and ran from the\nroom.\n\nHer words showed him the chasm anew. She saw the distance between them\neven better than he. Evidently it seemed farther looking down than\nlooking up. There was nothing left now but flight.\n\nHe sought refuge in his own apartments and wildly walked the floor,\nexclaiming, \"Fool! fool that I am to lay up this store of agony to\nlast me all my days. Why did I ever come to this court? God pity\nme--pity me!\" And he fell upon his knees at the bed, burying his face\nin his arms, his mighty man's frame shaking as with a palsy.\n\nThat same night Brandon told me how he had committed suicide, as he\nput it, and of his intention to go to Bristol and there await the\nsailing of the ship, and perhaps find a partial resurrection in New\nSpain.\n\nUnfortunately, he could not start for Bristol at once, as he had given\nsome challenges for a tournament at Richmond, and could furnish no\ngood excuse to withdraw them; but he would not leave his room, nor\nagain see \"that girl who was driving him mad.\"\n\nIt was better, he thought, and wisely too, that there be no\nleave-taking, but that he should go without meeting her.\n\n\"If I see her again,\" he said, \"I shall have to kill some one, even if\nit is only myself.\"\n\nI heard him tossing in his bed all night, and when morning came he\narose looking haggard enough, but with his determination to run away\nand see Mary no more, stronger than ever upon him.\n\nBut providence, or fate, or some one, ordered it differently, and\nthere was plenty of trouble ahead.\n\n\n\n\n_CHAPTER VIII_\n\n_The Trouble in Billingsgate Ward_\n\n\nAbout a week after Brandon's memorable interview with Mary an incident\noccurred which changed everything and came very near terminating his\ncareer in the flower of youth. It also brought about a situation of\naffairs that showed the difference in the quality of these two persons\nthrown so marvelously together from their far distant stations at each\nend of the ladder of fortune, in a way that reflected very little\ncredit upon the one from the upper end. But before I tell you of that\nI will relate briefly one or two other matters that had a bearing upon\nwhat was done, and the motives prompting it.\n\nTo begin with, Brandon had kept himself entirely away from the\nprincess ever since the afternoon at the king's ante-chamber. The\nfirst day or so she sighed, but thought little of his absence; then\nshe wept, and as usual began to grow piqued and irritable.\n\nWhat was left of her judgment told her it was better for them to\nremain apart, but her longing to see Brandon grew stronger as the\nprospect of it grew less, and she became angry that it could not be\ngratified. Jane was right; an unsatisfied desire with Mary was\ntorture. Even her sense of the great distance between them had begun\nto fade, and when she so wished for him and he did not come, their\npositions seemed to be reversed. At the end of the third day she sent\nfor him to come to her rooms, but he, by a mighty effort, sent back a\nbrief note saying that he could not and ought not to go. This, of\ncourse, threw Mary into a great passion, for she judged him by\nherself--a very common but dangerous method of judgment--and thought\nthat if he felt at all as she did, he would throw prudence to the\nwinds and come to her, as she knew she would go to him if she could.\nIt did not occur to her that Brandon knew himself well enough to be\nsure he would never go to New Spain if he allowed another grain of\ntemptation to fall into the balance against him, but would remain in\nLondon to love hopelessly, to try to win a hopeless cause, and end it\nall by placing his head upon the block.\n\nIt required all his strength, even now, to hold fast his determination\nto go to New Spain. He had reached his limit. He had a fund of that\nmost useful of all wisdom, knowledge of self, and knew his\nlimitations; a little matter concerning which nine men out of ten go\nall their lives in blissless ignorance.\n\nMary, who was no more given to self-analysis than her pet linnet, did\nnot appreciate Brandon's potent reasons, and was in a flaming passion\nwhen she received his answer. Rage and humiliation completely\nsmothered, for the time, her affection, and she said to herself, over\nand over again: \"I hate the low-born wretch. Oh! to think what I have\npermitted!\" And tears of shame and repentance came in a flood, as they\nhave come from yielding woman's eyes since the world was born. Then\nshe began to doubt his motives. As long as she thought she had given\nher gift to one who offered a responsive passion, she was glad and\nproud of what she had done, but she had heard of man's pretense in\norder to cozen woman out of her favors, and she began to think she had\nbeen deceived. To her the logic seemed irresistible; that if the same\nmotive lived in his heart, and prompted him, that burned in her\nbreast, and induced her, who was virgin to her very heart-core, and\nwhose hand had hardly before been touched by the hand of man, to give\nso much, no power of prudence could keep him away from her. So she\nconcluded she had given her gold for his dross. This conclusion was\nmore easily arrived at owing to the fact that she had never been\nentirely sure of the state of his heart. There had always been a\nlove-exciting grain of doubt; and when the thought came to her that\nshe had been obliged to ask him to tell her of his affection, and that\nthe advances had really all been made by her, that confirmed her\nsuspicions. It seemed only too clear that she had been too quick to\ngive--no very comforting thought to a proud girl, even though a\nmistaken one.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nAs the days went by and Brandon did not come, her anger cooled, as\nusual, and again her heart began to ache; but her sense of injury grew\nstronger day by day, and she thought she was, beyond a doubt, the most\nill-used of women.\n\nThe other matter I wish to tell you is, that the negotiations for\nMary's marriage with old Louis XII of France were beginning to be an\nopen secret about the court. The Duc de Longueville, who had been held\nby Henry for some time as a sort of hostage from the French king, had\nopened negotiations by inflaming the flickering passions of old Louis\nwith descriptions of Mary's beauty. As there was a prospect of a new\nemperor soon, and as the imperial bee had of late been making a most\nvehement buzzing in Henry's bonnet, he encouraged de Longueville, and\nthought it would be a good time to purchase the help of France at the\ncost of his beautiful sister and a handsome dower. Mary, of course,\nhad not been consulted, and although she had coaxed her brother out of\nother marriage projects, Henry had gone about this as if he were in\nearnest, and it was thought throughout the court that Mary's coaxings\nwould be all in vain--a fear which she herself had begun to share,\nnotwithstanding her usual self-confidence.\n\nShe hated the thought of the marriage, and dreaded it as she would\ndeath itself, though she said nothing to any one but Jane, and was\nholding her forces in reserve for the grand attack. She was preparing\nthe way by being very sweet and kind to Henry.\n\nNow, all of this, coming upon the heels of her trouble with Brandon,\nmade her most wretched indeed. For the first time in her life she\nbegan to feel suffering; that great broadener, in fact, maker, of\nhuman character.\n\nAbove all, there was an alarming sense of uncertainty in everything.\nShe could hardly bring herself to believe that Brandon would really go\nto New Spain, and that she would actually lose him, although she did\nnot want him, as yet; that is, as a prospective husband. Flashes of\nall sorts of wild schemes had begun to shoot through her anger and\ngrief when she stared in the face the prospect of her double\nseparation from him--her marriage to another, and the countless miles\nof fathomless sea that would be between them. She could endure\nanything better than uncertainty. A menacing future is the keenest of\nall tortures for any of us to bear, but especially for a girl like\nMary. Death itself is not so terrible as the fear of it.\n\nNow about this time there lived over in Billingsgate Ward--the worst\npart of London--a Jewish soothsayer named Grouche. He was also an\nastrologer, and had of late grown into great fame as prophet of the\nfuture--a fortune-teller.\n\nHis fame rested on several remarkable predictions which had been\nfulfilled to the letter, and I really think the man had some wonderful\npowers. They said he was half Jew, half gypsy, and, if there is\nalchemy in the mixing of blood, that combination should surely produce\nsomething peculiar. The city folk were said to have visited him in\ngreat numbers, and, notwithstanding the priests and bishops all\ncondemned him as an imp of Satan and a follower of witchcraft, many\nfine people, including some court ladies, continued to go there by\nstealth in order to take a dangerous, inquisitive peep into the\nfuture. I say by stealth; because his ostensible occupation of\nsoothsaying and fortune-telling was not his only business. His house\nwas really a place of illicit meeting, and the soothsaying was often\nbut an excuse for going there. Lacking this ostensible occupation, he\nwould not have been allowed to keep his house within the wall, but\nwould have been relegated to his proper place--Bridge Ward Without.\n\nMary had long wanted to see this Grouche, at first out of mere\ncuriosity; but Henry, who was very moral--with other people's\nconsciences--would not think of permitting it. Two ladies, Lady\nChesterfield and Lady Ormond, both good and virtuous women, had been\ndetected in such a visit, and had been disgraced and expelled from\ncourt in the most cruel manner by order of the king himself.\n\nNow, added to Mary's old-time desire to see Grouche, came a longing to\nknow the outcome of the present momentous complication of affairs that\ntouched her so closely.\n\nShe could not wait for Time to unfold himself, and drop his budget of\nevents as he traveled, but she must plunge ahead of him, and know,\nbeforehand, the stores of the fates--an intrusion they usually resent.\nI need not tell you that was Mary's only object in going, nor that her\nheart was as pure as a babe's--quite as chaste and almost as innocent.\nIt is equally true that the large proportion of persons who visited\nGrouche made his soothsaying an excuse. The thought of how wretched\nlife would be with Louis had put into Mary's mind the thought of how\nsweet it would be with Brandon. Then came the wish that Brandon had\nbeen a prince, or even a great English nobleman; and then leaped up,\nall rainbow-hued, the hope that he might yet, by reason of his own\ngreat virtues, rise to all of these, and she become his wife. But at\nthe threshold of this fair castle came knocking the thought that\nperhaps he did not care for her, and had deceived her to gain her\nfavors. Then she flushed with anger and swore to herself she hated\nhim, and hoped never to see his face again. And the castle faded and\nwas wafted away to the realms of airy nothingness.\n\nAh! how people will sometimes lie to themselves; and sensible people\nat that.\n\nSo Mary wanted to see Grouche; first, through curiosity, in itself a\nstronger motive than we give it credit for; second, to learn if she\nwould be able to dissuade Henry from the French marriage and perhaps\ncatch a hint how to do it; and last, but by no means least, to\ndiscover the state of Brandon's heart toward her.\n\nBy this time the last-named motive was strong enough to draw her any\nwhither, although she would not acknowledge it, even to herself, and\nin truth hardly knew it; so full are we of things we know not of.\n\nSo she determined to go to see Grouche secretly, and was confident she\ncould arrange the visit in such a way that it would never be\ndiscovered.\n\nOne morning I met Jane, who told me, with troubled face, that she and\nMary were going to London to make some purchases, would lodge at\nBridewell House, and go over to Billingsgate that evening to consult\nGrouche. Mary had taken the whim into her wilful head, and Jane could\nnot dissuade her.\n\nThe court was all at Greenwich, and nobody at Bridewell, so Mary\nthought they could disguise themselves as orange girls and easily make\nthe trip without any one being the wiser.\n\nIt was then, as now, no safe matter for even a man to go unattended\nthrough the best parts of London after dark, to say nothing of\nBillingsgate, that nest of water-rats and cut-throats. But Mary did\nnot realize the full danger of the trip, and would, as usual, allow\nnobody to tell her.\n\nShe had threatened Jane with all sorts of vengeance if she divulged\nher secret, and Jane was miserable enough between her fears on either\nhand; for Mary, though the younger, held her in complete subjection.\nDespite her fear of Mary, Jane asked me to go to London and follow\nthem at a distance, unknown to the princess. I was to be on duty that\nnight at a dance given in honor of the French envoys who had just\narrived, bringing with them commission of special ambassador to de\nLongueville to negotiate the treaty of marriage, and it was impossible\nfor me to go. Mary was going partly to avoid this ball, and her wilful\npersistency made Henry very angry. I regretted that I could not go,\nbut I promised Jane I would send Brandon in my place, and he would\nanswer the purpose of protection far better than I. I suggested that\nBrandon take with him a man, but Jane, who was in mortal fear of Mary,\nwould not listen to it. So it was agreed that Brandon should meet Jane\nat a given place and learn the particulars, and this plan was carried\nout.\n\nBrandon went up to London and saw Jane, and before the appointed time\nhid himself behind a hedge near the private gate through which the\ngirls intended to take their departure from Bridewell.\n\nThey would leave about dusk and return, so Mary said, before it grew\ndark.\n\nThe citizens of London at that time paid very little attention to the\nlaw requiring them to hang out their lights, and when it was dark it\n_was_ dark.\n\nScarcely was Brandon safely ensconced behind a clump of arbor vitæ\nwhen whom should he see coming down the path toward the gate but his\ngrace, the Duke of Buckingham. He was met by one of the Bridewell\nservants who was in attendance upon the princess.\n\n\"Yes, your grace, this is the gate,\" said the girl. \"You can hide\nyourself and watch them as they go. They will pass out on this path.\nAs I said, I do not know where they are going; I only overheard them\nsay they would go out at this gate just before dark. I am sure they go\non some errand of gallantry, which your grace will soon learn, I make\nno doubt.\"\n\nHe replied that he \"would take care of that.\"\n\nBrandon did not see where Buckingham hid himself, but soon the two\ninnocent adventurers came down the path, attired in the short skirts\nand bonnets of orange girls, and let themselves out at the gate.\nBuckingham followed them and Brandon quickly followed him. The girls\npassed through a little postern in the wall opposite Bridewell House,\nand walked rapidly up Fleet Ditch; climbed Ludgate Hill; passed Paul's\nchurch; turned toward the river down Bennett Hill; to the left on\nThames street; then on past the Bridge, following Lower Thames street\nto the neighborhood of Fish-street Hill, where they took an alley\nleading up toward East Cheap to Grouche's house.\n\nIt was a brave thing for the girl to do, and showed the determined\nspirit that dwelt in her soft white breast. Aside from the real\ndangers, there was enough to deter any woman, I should think.\n\nJane wept all the way over, but Mary never flinched.\n\nThere were great mud-holes where one sank ankle-deep, for no one paved\nthe street at that time, strangely enough preferring to pay the\nsixpence fine per square yard for leaving it undone. At one place,\nBrandon told me, a load of hay blocked the streets, compelling them to\nsqueeze between the houses and the hay. He could hardly believe the\ngirls had passed that way, as he had not always been able to keep them\nin view, but had sometimes to follow them by watching Buckingham. He,\nhowever, kept as close as possible, and presently saw them turn down\nGrouche's alley and enter his house.\n\nUpon learning where they had stopped, Buckingham hurriedly took\nhimself off, and Brandon waited for the girls to come out. It seemed a\nvery long time that they were in the wretched place, and darkness had\nwell descended upon London when they emerged.\n\nMary soon noticed that a man was following them, and as she did not\nknow who he was, became greatly alarmed. The object of her journey had\nbeen accomplished now, so the spur of a strong motive to keep her\ncourage up was lacking.\n\n\"Jane, some one is following us,\" she whispered.\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Jane, with an unconcern that surprised Mary, for she\nknew Jane was a coward from the top of her brown head to the tip of\nher little pink heels.\n\n\"Oh, if I had only taken your advice, Jane, and had never come to this\nwretched place; and to think, too, that I came here only to learn the\nworst. Shall we ever get home alive, do you think?\"\n\nThey hurried on, the man behind them taking less care to remain unseen\nthan he did when coming. Mary's fears grew upon her as she heard his\nstep and saw his form persistently following them, and she clutched\nJane by the arm.\n\n\"It is all over with us, I know. I would give everything I have or\never expect to have on earth for--for Master Brandon at this moment.\"\nShe thought of him as the one person best able to defend her.\n\nThis was only too welcome an opportunity, and Jane said: \"That is\nMaster Brandon following us. If we wait a few seconds he will be\nhere,\" and she called to him before Mary could interpose.\n\nNow this disclosure operated in two ways. Brandon's presence was, it\nis true, just what Mary had so ardently wished, but the danger, and,\ntherefore, the need, was gone when she found that the man who was\nfollowing them had no evil intent. Two thoughts quickly flashed\nthrough the girl's mind. She was angry with Brandon for having cheated\nher out of so many favors and for having slighted her love, as she had\nsucceeded in convincing herself was the case, all of which Grouche had\nconfirmed by telling her he was false. Then she had been discovered in\ndoing what she knew she should have left undone, and what she was\nanxious to conceal from every one; and, worst of all, had been\ndiscovered by the very person from whom she was most anxious to hide\nit.\n\nSo she turned upon Jane angrily: \"Jane Bolingbroke, you shall leave me\nas soon as we get back to Greenwich for this betrayal of my\nconfidence.\"\n\nShe was not afraid now that the danger was over, and feared no new\ndanger with Brandon at hand to protect her, for in her heart she felt\nthat to overcome a few fiery dragons and a company or so of giants\nwould be a mere pastime to him; yet see how she treated him. The girls\nhad stopped when Jane called Brandon, and he was at once by their side\nwith uncovered head, hoping for, and, of course, expecting, a warm\nwelcome. But even Brandon, with his fund of worldly philosophy, had\nnot learned not to put his trust in princesses, and his surprise was\nbenumbing when Mary turned angrily upon him.\n\n\"Master Brandon, your impudence in following us shall cost you dearly.\nWe do not desire your company, and will thank you to leave us to our\nown affairs, as we wish you to attend exclusively to yours.\"\n\nThis from the girl who had given him so much within less than a week!\nPoor Brandon!\n\nJane, who had called him up, and was the cause of his following them,\nbegan to weep.\n\n\"Sir,\" said she, \"forgive me; it was not my fault; she had just\nsaid--\" Slap! came Mary's hand on Jane's mouth; and Jane was marched\noff, weeping bitterly.\n\nThe girls had started up toward East Cheap when they left Grouche's,\nintending to go home by an upper route, and now they walked rapidly in\nthat direction. Brandon continued to follow them, notwithstanding what\nMary had said, and she thanked him and her God ever after that he did.\n\nThey had been walking not more than five minutes, when, just as the\ngirls turned a corner into a secluded little street, winding its way\namong the fish warehouses, four horsemen passed Brandon in evident\npursuit of them. Brandon hurried forward, but before he reached the\ncorner heard screams of fright, and as he turned into the street\ndistinctly saw that two of the men had dismounted and were trying to\novertake the fleeing girls. Fright lent wings to their feet, and their\nshort skirts affording freedom to their limbs, they were giving the\npursuers a warm little race, screaming at every step to the full limit\nof their voices. How they did run and scream! It was but a moment till\nBrandon came up with the pursuers, who, all unconscious that they in\nturn were pursued, did not expect an attack from the rear. The men\nremaining on horseback shouted an alarm to their comrades, but so\nintent were the latter in their pursuit that they did not hear. One of\nthe men on foot fell dead, pierced through the back of the neck by\nBrandon's sword, before either was aware of his presence. The other\nturned, but was a corpse before he could cry out. The girls had\nstopped a short distance ahead, exhausted by their flight. Mary had\nstumbled and fallen, but had risen again, and both were now leaning\nagainst a wall, clinging to each other, a picture of abject terror.\nBrandon ran to the girls, but by the time he reached them the two men\non horseback were there also, hacking away at him from their saddles.\nBrandon did his best to save himself from being cut to pieces and the\ngirls from being trampled under foot by the prancing horses. A narrow\njutting of the wall, a foot or two in width, a sort of flying\nbuttress, gave him a little advantage, and up into the slight shelter\nof the corner thus formed he thrust the girls, and with his back to\nthem, faced his unequal foe with drawn sword. Fortunately the position\nallowed only one horse to attack them. Two men on foot would have been\nless in each other's way and much more effective. The men, however,\nstuck to their horses, and one of them pressed the attack, striking at\nBrandon most viciously. It being dark, and the distance deceptive, the\nhorseman's sword at last struck the wall, a flash of sparks flying in\nits trail, and lucky it was, or this story would have ended here.\nThereupon Brandon thrust his sword into the horse's throat, causing it\nto rear backward, plunging and lunging into the street, where it fell,\nholding its rider by the leg against the cobble-stones of a little\ngutter.\n\nA cry from the fallen horseman brought his companion to his side, and\ngave Brandon an opportunity to escape with the girls. Of this he took\nadvantage, you may be sure, for one of his mottoes was, that the\ngreatest fool in the world is he who does not early in life learn how\nand when to run.\n\nIn the light of the sparks from the sword-stroke upon the wall, brief\nas it was, Brandon recognized the face of Buckingham, from which the\nmask had fallen. Of this he did not speak to any one till long\nafterward, and his silence was almost his undoing.\n\nHow often a word spoken or unspoken may have the very deuce in it\neither way!\n\nThe girls were nearly dead from fright, and in order to make any sort\nof progress Brandon had to carry the princess and help Jane until he\nthought they were out of danger. Jane soon recovered, but Mary did not\nseem anxious to walk, and lay with her head upon Brandon's shoulder,\napparently contented enough.\n\nIn a few minutes Jane said, \"If you can walk now, my lady, I think you\nhad better. We shall soon be near Fishmonger's Hall, where some one is\nsure to be standing at this hour.\"\n\nMary said nothing in reply to Jane, but, as Brandon fell a step or two\nbehind at a narrow crossing, whispered:\n\n\"Forgive me, forgive me; I will do any penance you ask; I am unworthy\nto speak your name. I owe you my life and more--and more a thousand\ntimes.\" At this she lifted her arm and placed her hand upon his cheek\nand neck. She then learned for the first time that he was wounded, and\nthe tears came softly as she slipped from his arms to the ground. She\nwalked beside him quietly for a little time, then, taking his hand in\nboth of hers, gently lifted it to her lips and laid it upon her\nbreast. Half an hour afterward Brandon left the girls at Bridewell\nHouse, went over to the Bridge where he had left his horse at a\nhostelry, and rode down to Greenwich.\n\nSo Mary had made her trip to Grouche's, but it was labor worse than\nlost. Grouche had told her nothing she wanted to know, though much\nthat he supposed she would like to learn. He had told her she had many\nlovers, a fact which her face and form would make easy enough to\ndiscover. He informed her also that she had a low-born lover, and in\norder to put a little evil in with the good fortune, and give what he\nsaid an air of truth, he added to Mary's state of unrest more than he\nthought by telling her that her low-born lover was false. He thought\nto flatter her by predicting that she would soon marry a very great\nprince or nobleman, the indications being in favor of the former, and,\nin place of this making her happy, she wished the wretched soothsayer\nin the bottomless pit--he and all his prophecies; herself, too, for\ngoing to him. His guesses were pretty shrewd; that is, admitting he\ndid not know who Mary was, which she at least supposed was the case.\nSo Mary wept that night and moaned and moaned because she had gone to\nGrouche's. It had added infinitely to the pain of which her heart was\nalready too full, and made her thoroughly wretched and unhappy. As\nusual though, with the blunders of stubborn, self-willed people, some\none else had to pay the cost of her folly. Brandon was paymaster in\nthis case, and when you see how dearly he paid, and how poorly she\nrequited the debt, I fear you will despise her. Wait, though! Be not\nhasty. The right of judgment belongs to--you know whom. No man knows\nanother man's heart, much less a woman's, so how can he judge? We\nshall all have more than enough of judging by and by. So let us put\noff for as many to-morrows as possible the thing that should be left\nundone to-day.\n\n\n\n\n_CHAPTER IX_\n\n_Put not your Trust in Princesses_\n\n\nI thought the king's dance that night would never end, so fond were\nthe Frenchmen of our fair ladies, and I was more than anxious to see\nBrandon and learn the issue of the girls' escapade, as I well knew the\ndanger attending it.\n\nAll things, however, must end, so early in the morning I hastened to\nour rooms, where I found Brandon lying in his clothes, everything\nsaturated with blood from a dozen sword cuts. He was very weak, and I\nat once had in a barber, who took off his shirt of mail and dressed\nhis wounds. He then dropped into a deep sleep, while I watched the\nnight out. Upon awakening Brandon told me all that had happened, but\nasked me to say nothing of his illness, as he wished to keep the fact\nof his wounds secret in order that he might better conceal the cause\nof them. But, as I told you, he did not speak of Buckingham's part in\nthe affray.\n\nI saw the princess that afternoon, and expected, of course, she would\ninquire for her defender. One who had given such timely help and who\nwas suffering so much on her account was surely worth a little\nsolicitude; but not a word did she ask. She did not come near me, but\nmade a point of avoidance, as I could plainly see. The next morning\nshe, with Jane, went over to Scotland Palace without so much as a\nbreath of inquiry from either of them. This heartless conduct enraged\nme; but I was glad to learn afterward that Jane's silence was at\nMary's command--that bundle of selfishness fearing that any\nsolicitude, however carefully shown upon her part, might reveal her\nsecret.\n\nIt seems that Mary had recent intelligence of the forward state of\naffairs in the marriage negotiations, and felt that a discovery by her\nbrother of what she had done, especially in view of the disastrous\nresults, would send her to France despite all the coaxing she could do\nfrom then till doomsday.\n\nIt was a terrible fate hanging over her, doubly so in view of the fact\nthat she loved another man; and looking back at it all from the\nvantage point of time, I cannot wonder that it drove other things out\nof her head and made her seem selfish in her frightened desire to save\nherself.\n\nAbout twelve o'clock of the following night I was awakened by a knock\nat my door, and, upon opening, in walked a sergeant of the sheriff of\nLondon, with four yeomen at his heels.\n\nThe sergeant asked if one Charles Brandon was present, and upon my\naffirmative answer demanded that he be forthcoming. I told the\nsergeant that Brandon was confined to his bed with illness, whereupon\nhe asked to be shown to his room.\n\nIt was useless to resist or to evade, so I awakened Brandon and took\nthe sergeant in. Here he read his warrant to arrest Charles Brandon,\nEsquire, for the murder of two citizens of London, perpetrated, done\nand committed upon the night of such and such a day, of this year of\nour Lord, 1514. Brandon's hat had been found by the side of the dead\nmen, and the authorities had received information from a high source\nthat Brandon was the guilty person. That high source was evidently\nBuckingham.\n\nWhen the sergeant found Brandon covered with wounds there was no\nlonger any doubt, and although hardly able to lift his hand he was\nforced to dress and go with them. A horse litter was procured and we\nall started to London.\n\nWhile Brandon was dressing, I said I would at once go and awaken the\nking, who I knew would pardon the offense when he heard my story, but\nBrandon asked the sergeant to leave us to ourselves for a short time,\nand closed the door.\n\n\"Please do nothing of the sort, Caskoden,\" said he; \"if you tell the\nking I will declare there is not one word of truth in your story.\nThere is only one person in the world who may tell of that night's\nhappenings, and if she does not they shall remain untold. She will\nmake it all right at once, I know. I would not do her the foul wrong\nto think for one instant that she will fail. You do not know her; she\nsometimes seems selfish, but it is thoughtlessness fostered by\nflattery, and her heart is right. I would trust her with my life. If\nyou breathe a word of what I have told you, you may do more harm than\nyou can ever remedy, and I ask you to say nothing to any one. If the\nprincess would not liberate me ... but that is not to be thought of.\nNever doubt that she can and will do it better than you think. She is\nall gold.\"\n\nThis, of course, silenced me, as I did not know what new danger I\nmight create, nor how I might mar the matter I so much wished to mend.\nI did not tell Brandon that the girls had left Greenwich, nor of my\nundefined, and, perhaps, unfounded fear that Mary might not act as he\nthought she would in a great emergency, but silently helped him to\ndress and went to London along with him and the sheriff's sergeant.\n\nBrandon was taken to Newgate, the most loathsome prison in London at\nthat time, it being used for felons, while Ludgate was for debtors.\nHere he was thrown into an underground dungeon foul with water that\nseeped through the old masonry from the moat, and alive with every\nnoisome thing that creeps. There was no bed, no stool, no floor, not\neven a wisp of a straw; simply the reeking stone walls, covered with\nfungus, and the windowless arch overhead. One could hardly conceive a\nmore horrible place in which to spend even a moment. I had a glimpse\nof it by the light of the keeper's lantern as they put him in, and it\nseemed to me a single night in that awful place would have killed me\nor driven me mad. I protested and begged and tried to bribe, but it\nwas all of no avail; the keeper had been bribed before I arrived.\nAlthough it could do no possible good, I was glad to stand outside the\nprison walls in the drenching rain, all the rest of that wretched\nnight, that I might be as near as possible to my friend and suffer a\nlittle with him.\n\nWas not I, too, greatly indebted to him? Had he not imperiled his life\nand given his blood to save the honor of Jane as well as of\nMary--Jane, dearer to me a thousand-fold than the breath of my\nnostrils? And was he not suffering at that moment because of this\ngreat service, performed at my request and in my place? If my whole\nsoul had not gone out to him I should have been the most ungrateful\nwretch on earth; worse even than a pair of selfish, careless girls.\nBut it did go out to him, and I believe I would have bartered my life\nto have freed him from another hour in that dungeon.\n\nAs soon as the prison gates were opened next morning, I again\nimportuned the keeper to give Brandon a more comfortable cell, but his\nreply was that such crimes had of late become so frequent in London\nthat no favor could be shown those who committed them, and that men\nlike Brandon, who ought to know and act better, deserved the maximum\npunishment.\n\nI told him he was wrong in this case; that I knew the facts, and\neverything would be clearly explained that very day and Brandon\nreleased.\n\n\"That's all very well,\" responded the stubborn creature; \"nobody is\nguilty who comes here; they can every one prove innocence clearly and\nat once. Notwithstanding, they nearly all hang, and frequently, for\nvariety's sake, are drawn and quartered.\"\n\nI waited about Newgate until nine o'clock, and as I passed out met\nBuckingham and his man Johnson, a sort of lawyer-knight, going in. I\nwent down to the palace at Greenwich, and finding that the girls were\nstill at Scotland Palace, rode over at once to see them.\n\nUpon getting Mary and Jane to myself, I told them of Brandon's arrest\non the charge of murder, and of his condition, lying half dead from\nwounds and loss of blood, in that frightful dungeon. The tale moved\nthem greatly, and they both gave way to tears. I think Mary had heard\nof the arrest before, as she did not seem surprised.\n\n\"Do you think he will tell the cause of the killing?\" she asked.\n\n\"I know he will not,\" I answered; \"but I also know that he knows you\nwill,\" and I looked straight into her face.\n\n\"Certainly we will,\" said Jane; \"we will go to the king at once,\" and\nshe was on the _qui vive_ to start immediately.\n\nMary did not at once consent to Jane's proposition, but sat in a\nreverie, looking with tearful eyes into vacancy, apparently absorbed\nin thought. After a little pressing from us she said: \"I suppose it\nwill have to be done; I can see no other way; but blessed Mother\nMary!... help me!\"\n\nThe girls made hasty preparations, and we all started back to\nGreenwich that Mary might tell the king. On the road over, I stopped\nat Newgate to tell Brandon that the princess would soon have him out,\nknowing how welcome liberty would be at her hands; but I was not\npermitted to see him.\n\nI swallowed my disappointment, and thought it would be only a matter\nof a few hours' delay--the time spent in riding down to Greenwich and\nsending back a messenger. So, light-hearted enough at the prospect, I\nsoon joined the girls, and we cantered briskly home.\n\nAfter waiting a reasonable time for Mary to see the king, I sought her\nagain to learn where and from whom I should receive the order for\nBrandon's release, and when I should go to London to bring him.\n\nWhat was my surprise and disgust when Mary told me she had not yet\nseen the king--that she had waited to \"eat, and bathe, and dress,\" and\nthat \"a few moments more or less could make no difference.\"\n\n\"My God! your highness, did I not tell you that the man who saved your\nlife and honor--who is covered with wounds received in your defense,\nand almost dead from loss of blood, spilled that you might be saved\nfrom worse than death--is now lying in a rayless dungeon, a place of\nfrightful filth, such as you would not walk across for all the wealth\nof London Bridge; is surrounded by loathsome, creeping things that\nwould sicken you but to think of; is resting under a charge whose\npenalty is that he be hanged, drawn and quartered? And yet you stop to\neat and bathe and dress. In God's name, Mary Tudor, of what stuff are\nyou made? If he had waited but one little minute; had stopped for the\ndrawing of a breath; had held back for but one faltering thought from\nthe terrible odds of four swords to one, what would you now be? Think,\nprincess, think!\"\n\nI was a little frightened at the length to which my feeling had driven\nme, but Mary took it all very well, and said slowly and\nabsent-mindedly:\n\n\"You are right; I will go at once; I despise my selfish neglect. There\nis no other way; I have racked my brain--there _is_ no other way. It\nmust be done, and I will go at once and do it.\"\n\n\"And I will go with you,\" said I.\n\n\"I do not blame you,\" she said, \"for doubting me, since I have failed\nonce; but you need not doubt me now. It shall be done, and without\ndelay, regardless of the cost to me. I have thought and thought to\nfind some other way to liberate him, but there is none; I will go this\ninstant.\"\n\n\"And I will go with you, Lady Mary,\" said I, doggedly.\n\nShe smiled at my persistency, and took me by the hand, saying,\n\"Come!\"\n\nWe at once went off to find the king, but the smile had faded from\nMary's face, and she looked as if she were going to execution. Every\nshade of color had fled, and her lips were the hue of ashes.\n\nWe found the king in the midst of his council, with the French\nambassadors, discussing the all-absorbing topic of the marriage\ntreaty; and Henry, fearing an outbreak, refused to see the princess.\nAs usual, opposition but spurred her determination, so she sat down in\nthe ante-room and said she would not stir until she had seen the king.\n\nAfter we had waited a few minutes, one of the king's pages came up and\nsaid he had been looking all over the palace for me, and that the king\ndesired my presence immediately. I went in with the page to the king,\nleaving Mary alone and very melancholy in the ante-chamber.\n\nUpon entering the king's presence he asked, \"Where have you been, Sir\nEdwin? I have almost killed a good half-dozen pages hunting you. I\nwant you to prepare immediately to go to Paris with an embassy to his\nmajesty, King Louis. You will be the interpreter. The ambassador you\nneed not know. Make ready at once. The embassy will leave London from\nthe Tabard Inn one hour hence.\"\n\nCould a command to duty have come at a more inopportune time? I was\ndistracted; and upon leaving the king went at once to seek the Lady\nMary where I had left her in the ante-room. She had gone, so I went\nto her apartments, but could not find her. I went to the queen's\nsalon, but she was not there, and I traversed that old rambling palace\nfrom one end to the other without finding her or Lady Jane.\n\nThe king had told me the embassy would be a secret one, and that I was\nto speak of it to nobody, least of all to the Lady Mary. No one was to\nknow that I was leaving England, and I was to communicate with no one\nat home while in France.\n\nThe king's command was not to be disobeyed; to do so would be as much\nas my life was worth, but besides that, the command of the king I\nserved was my highest duty, and no Caskoden ever failed in that. I may\nnot be as tall as some men, but my fidelity and honor--but you will\nsay I boast.\n\nI was to make ready my bundle and ride six miles to London in one\nhour; and almost half that time was spent already. I was sure to be\nlate, so I could not waste another minute.\n\nI went to my room and got together a few things necessary for my\njourney, but did not take much in the way of clothing, preferring to\nbuy that new in Paris, where I could find the latest styles in pattern\nand fabric.\n\nI tried to assure myself that Mary would see the king at once and tell\nhim all, and not allow my dear friend Brandon to lie in that terrible\nplace another night; yet a persistent fear gnawed at my heart, and a\nsort of intuition, that seemed to have the very breath of certainty\nin its foreboding, made me doubt her.\n\nAs I could find neither Mary nor Jane, I did the next best thing: I\nwrote a letter to each of them, urging immediate action, and left them\nto be delivered by my man Thomas, who was one of those trusty souls\nthat never fail. I did not tell the girls I was about to start for\nFrance, but intimated that I was compelled to leave London for a time,\nand said: \"I leave the fate of this man, to whom we all owe so much,\nin your hands, knowing full well how tender you will be of him.\"\n\nI was away from home nearly a month, and as I dared not write, and\neven Jane did not know where I was, I did not receive, nor expect, any\nletters. The king had ordered secrecy, and if I have mingled with all\nmy faults a single virtue it is that of faithfulness to my trust. So I\nhad no news from England and sent none home.\n\nDuring all that time the same old fear lived in my heart that Mary\nmight fail to liberate Brandon. She knew of the negotiations\nconcerning the French marriage, as we all did, although only by an\nindefinite sort of hearsay, and I was sure the half-founded rumors\nthat had reached her ears had long since become certainties, and that\nher heart was full of trouble and fear of her violent brother. She\nwould certainly be at her coaxing and wheedling again and on her best\nbehavior, and I feared she might refrain from telling Henry of her\ntrip to Grouche's, knowing how severe he was in such matters and how\nfurious he was sure to become at the discovery. I was certain it was\nthis fear which had prevented Mary from going directly to the king on\nour return to Greenwich from Scotland Palace, and I knew that her\neating, bathing and dressing were but an excuse for a breathing spell\nbefore the dreaded interview.\n\nThis fear remained with me all the time I was away, but when I\nreasoned with myself I would smother it as well as I could with\nargumentative attempts at self-assurance. I would say over and over to\nmyself that Mary could not fail, and that even if she did, there was\nJane, dear, sweet, thoughtful, unselfish Jane, who would not allow her\nto do so. But as far as they go, our intuitions--our \"feelings,\" as we\ncall them--are worth all the logic in the world, and you may say what\nyou will, but my presentiments--I speak for no one else--are well to\nbe minded. There is another sense hidden about us that will develop as\nthe race grows older. I speak to posterity.\n\nIn proof of this statement, I now tell you that when I returned to\nLondon I found Brandon still in the terrible dungeon; and, worse\nstill, he had been tried for murder, and had been condemned to be\nhanged, drawn and quartered on the second Friday following. Hanged!\nDrawn! Quartered! It is time we were doing away with such barbarity.\n\nWe will now go back a month for the purpose of looking up the doings\nof a friend of ours, his grace, the Duke of Buckingham.\n\nOn the morning after the fatal battle of Billingsgate, the barber who\nhad treated Brandon's wounds had been called to London to dress a\nbruised knee for his grace, the duke. In the course of the operation,\nan immense deal of information oozed out of the barber, one item of\nwhich was that he had the night before dressed nine wounds, great and\nsmall, for Master Brandon, the king's friend. This established the\nidentity of the man who had rescued the girls, a fact of which\nBuckingham had had his suspicions all along. So Brandon's arrest\nfollowed, as I have already related to you.\n\nI afterward learned from various sources how this nobleman began to\navenge his mishap with Brandon at Mary's ball when the latter broke\nhis sword point. First, he went to Newgate and gave orders to the\nkeeper, who was his tool, to allow no communication with the prisoner,\nand it was by his instructions that Brandon had been confined in the\nworst dungeon in London. Then he went down to Greenwich to take care\nof matters there, knowing that the king would learn of Brandon's\narrest and probably take steps for his liberation at once.\n\nThe king had just heard of the arrest when Buckingham arrived, and the\nlatter found he was right in his surmise that his majesty would at\nonce demand Brandon's release.\n\nWhen the duke entered the king's room Henry called to him: \"My Lord,\nyou are opportunely arrived. So good a friend of the people of London\ncan help us greatly this morning. Our friend Brandon has been arrested\nfor the killing of two men night before last in Billingsgate ward. I\nam sure there is some mistake, and that the good sheriff has the wrong\nman; but right or wrong, we want him out, and ask your good offices.\"\n\n\"I shall be most happy to serve your majesty, and will go to London at\nonce to see the lord mayor.\"\n\nIn the afternoon the duke returned and had a private audience with the\nking.\n\n\"I did as your majesty requested in regard to Brandon's release,\" he\nsaid, \"but on investigation, I thought it best to consult you again\nbefore proceeding further. I fear there is no doubt that Brandon is\nthe right man. It seems he was out with a couple of wenches concerning\nwhom he got into trouble and stabbed two men in the back. It is a very\naggravated case and the citizens are much incensed about it, owing\npartly to the fact that such occurrences have been so frequent of\nlate. I thought, under the circumstances, and in view of the fact that\nyour majesty will soon call upon the city for a loan to make up the\nLady Mary's dower, it would be wise not to antagonize them in this\nmatter, but to allow Master Brandon to remain quietly in confinement\nuntil the loan is completed and then we can snap our fingers at\nthem.\"\n\n\"We will snap our fingers at the scurvy burghers now and have the\nloan, too,\" returned Henry, angrily. \"I want Brandon liberated at\nonce, and I shall expect another report from you immediately, my\nlord.\"\n\nBuckingham felt that his revenge had slipped through his fingers this\ntime, but he was patient where evil was to be accomplished, and could\nwait. Then it was that the council was called during the progress of\nwhich Mary and I had tried to obtain an audience of the king.\n\nBuckingham had gone to pay his respects to the queen, and on his way\nback espied Mary waiting for the king in the ante-room, and went to\nher.\n\nAt first she was irritated at the sight of this man, whom she so\ndespised, but a thought came to her that she might make use of him.\nShe knew his power with the citizens and city authorities of London,\nand also knew, or thought she knew, that a smile from her could\naccomplish everything with him. She had ample evidence of his\ninfatuation, and she hoped that she could procure Brandon's liberty\nthrough Buckingham without revealing her dangerous secret.\n\nMuch to the duke's surprise, she smiled upon him and gave a cordial\nwelcome, saying: \"My lord, you have been unkind to us of late and have\nnot shown us the light of your countenance. I am glad to see you once\nmore; tell me the news.\"\n\n\"I cannot say there is much of interest. I have learned the new dance\nfrom Caskoden, if that is news, and hope for a favor at our next ball\nfrom the fairest lady in the world.\"\n\n\"And quite welcome,\" returned Mary, complacently appropriating the\ntitle, \"and welcome to more than one, I hope, my lord.\"\n\nThis graciousness would have looked suspicious to one with less vanity\nthan Buckingham, but he saw no craft in it. He did see, however, that\nMary did not know who had attacked her in Billingsgate, and he felt\ngreatly relieved.\n\nThe duke smiled and smirked, and was enchanted at her kindness. They\nwalked down the corridor, talking and laughing, Mary awaiting an\nopportunity to put the important question without exciting suspicion.\nAt last it came, when Buckingham, half inquiringly, expressed his\nsurprise that Mary should be found sitting at the king's door.\n\n\"I am waiting to see the king,\" said she. \"Little Caskoden's friend,\nBrandon, has been arrested for a brawl of some sort over in London,\nand Sir Edwin and Lady Jane have importuned me to obtain his release,\nwhich I have promised to do. Perhaps your grace will allow me to\npetition you in place of carrying my request to the king. You are\nquite as powerful as his majesty in London, and I should like to ask\nyou to obtain for Master Brandon his liberty at once. I shall hold\nmyself infinitely obliged, if your lordship will do this for me.\" She\nsmiled upon him her sweetest smile, and assumed an indifference that\nwould have deceived any one but Buckingham. Upon him, under the\ncircumstances, it was worse than wasted. Buckingham at once consented,\nand said, that notwithstanding the fact that he did not like Brandon,\nto oblige her highness, he would undertake to befriend a much more\ndisagreeable person.\n\n\"I fear,\" he said, \"it will have to be done secretly--by conniving at\nhis escape rather than by an order for his release. The citizens are\ngreatly aroused over the alarming frequency of such occurrences, and\nas many of the offenders have lately escaped punishment by reason of\ncourt interference, I fear this man Brandon will have to bear the\nbrunt, in the London mind, of all these unpunished crimes. It will be\nnext to impossible to liberate him, except by arranging privately with\nthe keeper for his escape. He could go down into the country and wait\nin seclusion until it is all blown over, or until London has a new\nvictim, and then an order can be made pardoning him, and he can\nreturn.\"\n\n\"Pardoning him! What are you talking of, my lord? He has done nothing\nto be pardoned for. He should be, and shall be, rewarded.\" Mary spoke\nimpetuously, but caught herself and tried to remedy her blunder. \"That\nis, if I have heard the straight of it. I have been told that the\nkilling was done in the defense of two--women.\" Think of this poor\nunconscious girl, so full of grief and trouble, talking thus to\nBuckingham, who knew so much more about the affair than even she, who\nhad taken so active a part in it.\n\n\"Who told you of it?\" asked the duke.\n\nMary saw she had made a mistake, and, after hesitating for a moment,\nanswered: \"Sir Edwin Caskoden. He had it from Master Brandon, I\nsuppose.\" Rather adroit this was, but equidistant from both truth and\neffectiveness.\n\n\"I will go at once to London and arrange for Brandon's escape,\" said\nBuckingham, preparing to leave. \"But you must not divulge the fact\nthat I do it. It would cost me all the favor I enjoy with the people\nof London, though I would willingly lose that favor, a thousand times\nover, for a smile from you.\"\n\nShe gave the smile, and as he left, followed his retiring figure with\nher eyes, and thought: \"After all, he has a kind heart.\"\n\nShe breathed a sigh of relief, too, for she felt she had accomplished\nBrandon's release, and still retained her dangerous secret, the\ndivulging of which, she feared, would harden Henry's heart against her\nblandishments and strand her upon the throne of France.\n\nBut she was not entirely satisfied with the arrangement. She knew that\nher obligation to Brandon was such as to demand of her that she should\nnot leave the matter of his release to any other person, much less to\nan enemy such as Buckingham. Yet the cost of his freedom by a direct\nact of her own would be so great that she was tempted to take\nwhatever risk there might be in the way that had opened itself to her.\nNot that she would not have made the sacrifice willingly, or would not\nhave told Henry all if that were the only chance to save Brandon's\nlife, but the other way, the one she had taken by Buckingham's help,\nseemed safe, and, though not entirely satisfying, she could not see\nhow it could miscarry. Buckingham was notably jealous of his knightly\nword, and she had unbounded faith in her influence over him. In short,\nlike many another person, she was as wrong as possible just at the\ntime when she thought she was entirely right, and when the cost of a\nmistake was at its maximum.\n\nShe recoiled also from the thought of Brandon's \"escape,\" and it hurt\nher that he should be a fugitive from the justice that should reward\nhim, yet she quieted these disturbing suggestions with the thought\nthat it would be only for a short time, and Brandon, she knew, would\nbe only too glad to make the sacrifice if it purchased for her freedom\nfrom the worse than damnation that lurked in the French marriage.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nAll this ran quickly through Mary's mind, and brought relief; but it\ndid not cure the uneasy sense, weighing like lead upon her heart, that\nshe should take up chance with this man's life, and should put no\nfurther weight of sacrifice upon him, but should go to the king and\ntell him a straightforward story, let it hurt where it would. With\na little meditation, however, came a thought which decided the\nquestion and absolutely made everything bright again for her, so great\nwas her capability for distilling light. She would go at once to\nWindsor with Jane, and would dispatch a note to Brandon, at Newgate,\ntelling him upon his escape to come to her. He might remain in hiding\nin the neighborhood of Windsor, and she could see him every day. The\ntime had come to Mary when to \"see him every day\" would turn Plutonian\nshades into noonday brightness and weave sunbeams out of utter\ndarkness. With Mary, to resolve was to act; so the note was soon\ndispatched by a page, and one hour later the girls were on their road\nto Windsor.\n\nBuckingham went to Newgate, expecting to make a virtue, with Mary, out\nof the necessity imposed by the king's command, in freeing Brandon. He\nhad hoped to induce Brandon to leave London stealthily and\nimmediately, by representing to him the evil consequences of a break\nbetween the citizens and the king, liable to grow out of his release,\nand relied on Brandon's generosity to help him out; but when he found\nthe note which Mary's page had delivered to the keeper of Newgate, he\nread it and all his plans were changed.\n\nHe caused the keeper to send the note to the king, suppressing the\nfact that he, Buckingham, had any knowledge of it. The duke then at\nonce started to Greenwich, where he arrived and sought the king a few\nminutes before the time he knew the messenger with Mary's note would\ncome. The king was soon found, and Buckingham, in apparent anger, told\nhim that the city authorities refused to deliver Brandon except upon\nan order under the king's seal.\n\nHenry and Buckingham were intensely indignant at the conduct of the\nscurvy burghers, and an immense amount of self-importance was\ndisplayed and shamefully wasted. This manifestation was at its highest\nwhen the messenger from Newgate arrived with Mary's poor little note\nas intended by the duke.\n\nThe note was handed to Henry, who read aloud as follows:\n\n\n  \"_To Master Charles Brandon_\":\n\n  \"Greeting--Soon you will be at liberty; perhaps ere this is to\n  your hand. Surely would I not leave you long in prison. I go to\n  Windsor at once, there to live in the hope that I may see you\n  speedily.\n\n  \"MARY.\"\n\n\"What is this?\" cried Henry. \"My sister writing to Brandon? God's\ndeath! My Lord of Buckingham, the suspicions you whispered in my ear\nmay have some truth. We will let this fellow remain in Newgate, and\nallow our good people of London to take their own course with him.\"\n\nBuckingham went to Windsor next day and told Mary that arrangements\nhad been made the night before for Brandon's escape, and that he had\nheard that Brandon had left for New Spain.\n\nMary thanked the duke, but had no smiles for any one. Her supply was\nexhausted.\n\nShe remained at Windsor nursing her love for the sake of the very pain\nit brought her, and dreading the battle for more than life itself\nwhich she knew she should soon be called upon to fight.\n\nAt times she would fall into one of her old fits of anger because\nBrandon had not come to see her before he left, but soon the anger\nmelted into tears, and the tears brought a sort of joy when she\nthought that he had run away from her because he loved her. After\nBrandon's defense of her in Billingsgate, Mary had begun to see the\nwhole situation differently, and everything was changed. She still saw\nthe same great distance between them as before, but with this\ndifference, she was looking up now. Before that event he had been\nplain Charles Brandon, and she the Princess Mary. She was the princess\nstill, but he was a demi-god. No mere mortal, thought she, could be so\nbrave and strong and generous and wise; and above all, no mere mortal\ncould vanquish odds of four to one. In the night she would lie on\nJane's arm, and amid smothered sobs, would softly talk of her lover,\nand praise his beauty and perfections, and pour her pathetic little\ntale over and over again into Jane's receptive ear and warm responsive\nheart; and Jane answered with soft little kisses that would have\nconsoled Niobe herself. Then Mary would tell how the doors of her\nlife, at the ripe age of eighteen, were closed forever and forever,\nand that her few remaining years would be but years of waiting for the\nend. At other times she would brighten, and repeat what Brandon had\ntold her about New Spain; how fortune's door was open there to those\nwho chose to come, and how he, the best and bravest of them all, would\nsurely win glory and fortune, and then return to buy her from her\nbrother Henry with millions of pounds of yellow gold. Ah, she would\nwait! She would wait! Like Bayard she placed her ransom at a high\nfigure, and honestly thought herself worth it. And so she was--to\nBrandon, or rather had been. But at this particular time the market\nwas down, as you will shortly hear.\n\nSo Mary remained at Windsor and grieved and wept and dreamed, and\nlonged that she might see across the miles of billowy ocean to her\nlove! her love! her love! Meanwhile Brandon had his trial in secret\ndown in London, and had been condemned to be hanged, drawn and\nquartered for having saved to her more than life itself.\n\nPut not your trust in princesses!\n\n\n\n\n_CHAPTER X_\n\n_Justice, O King!_\n\n\nSuch was the state of affairs when I returned from France.\n\nHow I hated myself because I had not faced the king's displeasure and\nhad not refused to go until Brandon was safely out of his trouble. It\nwas hard for me to believe that I had left such a matter to two\nfoolish girls, one of them as changeable as the wind, and the other\ncompletely under her control. I could but think of the difference\nbetween myself and Brandon, and well knew, had I been in his place, he\nwould have liberated me or stormed the very walls of London\nsingle-handed and alone.\n\nWhen I learned that Brandon had been in that dungeon all that long\nmonth, I felt that it would surely kill him, and my self-accusation\nwas so strong and bitter, and my mental pain so great, that I resolved\nif my friend died, either by disease contracted in the dungeon or by\nexecution of his sentence, that I would kill myself. But that is a\nmatter much easier sincerely to resolve upon than to execute when the\ntime comes.\n\nNext to myself, I condemned those wretched girls for leaving Brandon\nto perish--Brandon, to whom they both owed so much. Their selfishness\nturned me against all womankind.\n\nI did not dally this time. I trusted to no Lady Jane nor Lady Mary. I\ndetermined to go to the king at once and tell him all. I did not care\nif the wretched Mary and Jane both had to marry the French king, or\nthe devil himself. I did not care if they and all the host of their\nperfidious sisterhood went to the nether side of the universe, there\nto remain forever. I would retrieve my fault, in so far as it was\nretrievable, and save Brandon, who was worth them all put together. I\nwould tell Mary and Jane what I thought of them, and that should end\nmatters between us. I felt as I did toward them not only because of\ntheir treatment of Brandon, but because they had made me guilty of a\ngrievous fault, for which I should never, so long as I lived, forgive\nmyself. I determined to go to the king, and go I did within five\nminutes of the time I heard that Brandon was yet in prison.\n\nI found the king sitting alone at public dinner, and, of course, was\ndenied speech with him. I was in no humor to be balked, so I thrust\naside the guards, and, much to everybody's fright, for I was wild with\ngrief, rage and despair, and showed it in every feature, rushed to the\nking and fell upon my knees at his feet.\n\n\"Justice, O king!\" I cried, and all the courtiers heard. \"Justice, O\nking! for the worst used man and the bravest, truest soul that ever\nlived and suffered.\" Here the tears began to stream down my face and\nmy voice choked in my throat. \"Charles Brandon, your majesty's\none-time friend, lies in a loathsome, rayless dungeon, condemned to\ndeath, as your majesty may know, for the killing of two men in\nBillingsgate Ward. I will tell you all: I should be thrust out from\nthe society of decent men for not having told you before I left for\nFrance, but I trusted it to another who has proved false. I will tell\nyou all. Your sister, the Lady Mary, and Lady Jane Bolingbroke were\nreturning alone, after dark, from a visit to the soothsayer Grouche,\nof whom your majesty has heard. I had been notified of the Lady Mary's\nintended visit to him, although she had enjoined absolute secrecy upon\nmy informant. I could not go, being detained upon your majesty's\nservice--it was the night of the ball to the ambassadors--and I asked\nBrandon to follow them, which he did, without the knowledge of the\nprincess. Upon returning, the ladies were attacked by four ruffians,\nand would have met with worse than death had not the bravest heart and\nthe best sword in England defended them victoriously against such\nfearful odds. He left them at Bridewell without hurt or injury, though\ncovered with wounds himself. This man is condemned to be hanged, drawn\nand quartered, but I know not your majesty's heart if he be not at\nonce reprieved and richly rewarded. Think, my king! He saved the royal\nhonor of your sister, who is so dear to you, and has suffered so\nterribly for his loyalty and bravery. The day I left so hurriedly for\nFrance the Lady Mary promised she would tell you all and liberate\nthis man who had so nobly served her; but she is a woman, and was born\nto betray.\"\n\nThe king laughed a little at my vehemence.\n\n\"What is this you are telling me, Sir Edwin? I know of Brandon's death\nsentence, but much as I regret it, I cannot interfere with the justice\nof our good people of London for the murder of two knights in their\nstreets. If Brandon committed such a crime, and, I understand he does\nnot deny it, I cannot help him, however much I should like to do so.\nBut this nonsense about my sister! It cannot be true. It must be\ntrumped up out of your love in order to save your friend. Have a care,\ngood master, how you say such a thing. If it were true, would not\nBrandon have told it at his trial?\"\n\n\"It is as true as that God lives, my king! If the Lady Mary and Lady\nJane do not bear me out in every word I have said, let my life pay the\nforfeit. He would not tell of the great reason for killing the men,\nfearing to compromise the honor of those whom he had saved, for, as\nyour majesty is aware, persons sometimes go to Grouche's for purposes\nother than to listen to his soothsaying. Not in this case, God knows,\nbut there are slanderous tongues, and Brandon was willing to die with\nclosed lips, rather than set them wagging against one so dear to you.\nIt seems that these ladies, who owe so much to him, are also willing\nthat he should die rather than themselves bear the consequences of\ntheir own folly. Do not delay, I beseech your majesty. Eat not\nanother morsel, I pray you, until this brave man, who has so truly\nserved you, be taken from his prison and freed from his sentence of\ndeath. Come, come, my king! this moment, and all that I have, my\nwealth, my life, my honor, are yours for all time.\"\n\nThe king remained a moment in thought with knife in hand.\n\n\"Caskoden, I have never detected you in a lie in all the years I have\nknown you; you are not very large in body, but your honor is great\nenough to stock a Goliath. I believe you are telling the truth. I will\ngo at once to liberate Brandon; and that little hussy, my sister,\nshall go to France and enjoy life as best she can with her old beauty,\nKing Louis. I know of no greater punishment to inflict upon her. This\ndetermines me; she shall coax me out of it no longer. Sir Thomas\nBrandon, have my horses ready, and I will go to the lord mayor, then\nto my lord bishop of Lincoln and arrange to close this French treaty\nat once. Let everybody know that the Princess Mary will, within the\nmonth, be queen of France.\" This was said to the courtiers, and was\nall over London before night.\n\nI followed closely in the wake of the king, though uninvited, for I\nhad determined to trust to no one, not even his majesty, until Brandon\nshould be free. Henry had said he would go first to the lord mayor and\nthen to Wolsey, but after we crossed the Bridge he passed down Lower\nThames street and turned up Fish-street Hill into Grace Church street\non toward Bishopsgate. He said he would stop at Mistress Cornwallis's\nand have a pudding; and then on to Wolsey, who at that time lodged in\na house near the wall beyond Bishopsgate.\n\nI well knew if the king once reached Wolsey's, it would be wine and\nquoits and other games, interspersed now and then with a little\nblustering talk on statecraft, for the rest of the day. Then the good\nbishop would have in a few pretty London women and a dance would\nfollow with wine and cards and dice, and Henry would spend the night\nat Wolsey's, and Brandon lie another night in the mire of his Newgate\ndungeon.\n\nI resolved to raise heaven and earth, and the other place, too, if\nnecessary, before this should happen. So I rode boldly up to the king,\nand with uncovered head addressed him: \"Your majesty gave me your\nroyal word that you would go to the lord mayor first, and this is the\nroad to my lord bishop of Lincoln. In all the years I have known your\nmajesty, both as gallant prince and puissant king, this is the first\nrequest I ever proffered, and now I only ask of you to save your own\nnoble honor, and do your duty as man and king.\"\n\nThese were bold words, but I did not care one little farthing whether\nthey pleased him or not. The king stared at me and said:\n\n\"Caskoden, you are a perfect hound at my heels. But you are right; I\nhad forgotten my errand. You disturbed my dinner, and my stomach\ncalled loudly for one of Mistress Cornwallis's puddings; but you are\nright to stick to me. What a friend you are in case of need. Would I\nhad one like you.\"\n\n\"Your majesty has two of whom I know; one riding humbly by your royal\nside, and the other lying in the worst dungeon in Christendom.\"\n\nWith this the king wheeled about and started west toward Guildhall.\n\nOh, how I hated Henry for that cold-blooded, selfish forgetfulness\nworse than crime; and how I hoped the Blessed Virgin would forget him\nin time to come, and leave his soul an extra thousand years in purging\nflames, just to show him how it goes to be forgotten--in hell.\n\nTo the lord mayor we accordingly went without further delay. He was\nonly too glad to liberate Brandon when he heard my story, which the\nking had ordered me to repeat. The only hesitancy was from a doubt of\nits truth.\n\nThe lord mayor was kind enough to say that he felt little doubt of my\nword, but that friendship would often drive a man to any extremity,\neven falsehood, to save a friend.\n\nThen I offered to go into custody myself and pay the penalty, death,\nfor helping a convicted felon to escape, if I told not the truth, to\nbe confirmed or denied by the princess and her first lady in waiting.\nI knew Jane and was willing to risk her truthfulness without a\ndoubt--it was so pronounced as to be troublesome at times--and as to\nMary--well, I had no doubt of her, either. If she would but stop to\nthink out the right she was sure to do it.\n\nI have often wondered how much of the general fund of evil in this\nworld comes from thoughtlessness. Cultivate thought and you make\nvirtue--I believe. But this is no time to philosophize.\n\nMy offer was satisfactory, for what more can a man do than pledge his\nlife for his friend? We have scripture for that, or something like it.\n\nThe lord mayor did not require my proffered pledge, but readily\nconsented that the king should write an order for Brandon's pardon and\nrelease. This was done at once, and we, that is, I, together with a\nsheriff's sergeant and his four yeomen, hastened to Newgate, while\nHenry went over to Wolsey's to settle Mary's fate.\n\nBrandon was brought up with chains and manacles at his ankles and\nwrists. When he entered the room and saw me, he exclaimed: \"Ah!\nCaskoden, is that you? I thought they had brought me up to hang me,\nand was glad for the change; but I suppose you would not come to help\nat that, even if you have left me here to rot; God only knows how\nlong; I have forgotten.\"\n\nI could not restrain the tears at sight of him.\n\n\"Your words are more than just,\" I said; and, being anxious that he\nshould know at once that my fault had not been so great as it looked,\ncontinued hurriedly: \"The king sent me to France upon an hour's\nnotice, the day after your arrest. I know only too well I should not\nhave gone without seeing you out of this, but you had enjoined silence\nupon me, and--and I trusted to the promises of another.\"\n\n\"I thought as much. You are in no way to blame, my friend; all I ask\nis that you never mention the subject again.\"\n\n\"My friend!\" Ah! the words were dear to me as words of love from a\nsweetheart's lips.\n\nI hardly recognized him, he was so frightfully covered with filth and\ndirt and creeping things. His hair and beard were unkempt and matted,\nand his eyes and cheeks were lusterless and sunken; but I will\ndescribe him no further. Suffering had well-nigh done its work, and\nnothing but the hardihood gathered in his years of camp life and war\ncould have saved him from death. I bathed and reclothed him as well as\nI could at Newgate, and then took him home to Greenwich in a horse\nlitter, where my man and I thoroughly washed, dressed and sheared the\npoor fellow and put him to bed.\n\n\"Ah! this bed is a foretaste of paradise,\" he said, as he lay upon the\nmattress.\n\nIt was a pitiful sight, and I could hardly refrain from tears. I sent\nmy man to fetch a certain Moor, a learned scholar, though a hated\nforeigner, who lived just off Cheap and sold small arms, and very soon\nhe was with us. Brandon and I both knew him well, and admired his\nlearning and gentleness, and loved him for his sweet philosophy of\nlife, the leaven of which was charity--a modest little plant too\noften overshadowed by the rank growth of pompous dogmatism.\n\nThe Moor was learned in the healing potions of the east, and insisted,\nprivately, of course, that all the shrines and relics in Christendom\nput together could not cure an ache in a baby's little finger. This,\nperhaps, was going too far, for there are some relics that have\nundoubted potency, but in cases where human agency can cure, the\npeople of the east are unquestionably far in advance of us in\nknowledge of remedies. The Moor at once gave Brandon a soothing drink,\nwhich soon put him into a sweet sleep. He then bathed him as he slept,\nwith some strengthening lotion, made certain learned signs, and spoke\na few cabalistic words, and, sure enough, so strong were the healing\nremedies and incantations that the next morning Brandon was another\nman, though very far from well and strong. The Moor recommended\nnutritious food, such as roast beef and generous wine, and, although\nthis advice was contrary to the general belief, which is, with\napparent reason, that the evil spirit of disease should be starved and\ndriven out, yet so great was our faith in him that we followed his\ndirections, and in a few days Brandon had almost regained his old-time\nstrength.\n\nI will ask you to go back with me for a moment.\n\nDuring the week, between Brandon's interview with Mary in the\nante-room of the king's bed-chamber and the tragedy at Billingsgate,\nhe and I had many conversations about the extraordinary situation in\nwhich he found himself.\n\nAt one time, I remember, he said: \"I was safe enough before that\nafternoon. I believe I could have gone away and forgotten her\neventually, but our mutual avowal seems to have dazed me and paralyzed\nevery power for effort. I sometimes feel helpless, and, although I\nhave succeeded in keeping away from her since then, I often find\nmyself wavering in my determination to leave England. That was what I\nfeared if I allowed the matter to go to the point of being sure of her\nlove. I only wanted it before, and very easily made myself believe it\nwas impossible, and not for me. But now that I know she loves me it is\nlike holding my breath to live without her. I feel every instant that\nI can hold it no longer. I know only too well that if I but see her\nface once more I shall breathe. She is the very breath of life for me.\nShe is mine by the gift of God. Curses upon those who keep us apart.\"\nThen musingly and half interrogatively: \"She certainly does love me.\nShe could not have treated me as she did unless her love was so strong\nthat she could not resist it.\"\n\n\"Let no doubt of that trouble you,\" I answered.\n\n\"A woman like Mary cannot treat two men as she treated you. Many a\nwoman may love, or think she loves many times, but there is only one\nman who receives the full measure of her best. Other women, again,\nhave nothing to give but their best, and when they have once given\nthat, they have given all. Unless I have known her in vain, Mary, with\nall her faults, is such a woman. Again I say, let no doubt of that\ntrouble you.\"\n\nBrandon answered with a sad little smile from the midst of his\nreverie. \"It is really not so much the doubt as the certainty of it\nthat troubles me.\" Then, starting to his feet: \"If I thought she had\nlied to me; if I thought she could wantonly lead me on to suffer so\nfor her, I would kill her, so help me God.\"\n\n\"Do not think that. Whatever her faults, and she has enough, there is\nno man on earth for her but you. Her love has come to her through a\nstruggle against it because it was her master. That is the strongest\nand best, in fact the only, love; worth all the self-made passions in\nthe world.\"\n\n\"Yes, I believe it. I know she has faults; even my partiality cannot\nblind me to them, but she is as pure and chaste as a child, and as\ngentle, strong and true as--as--a woman. I can put it no stronger. She\nhas these, her redeeming virtues, along with her beauty, from her\nplebeian grandmother, Elizabeth Woodville, who, with them, won a royal\nhusband and elevated herself to the throne beside the chivalrous\nEdward. This sweet plebeian heritage bubbles up in the heart of Mary,\nand will not down, but neutralizes the royal poison in her veins and\nmakes a goddess of her.\" Then with a sigh: \"But if her faults were a\nthousand times as many, and if each fault were a thousand times as\ngreat, her beauty would atone for all. Such beauty as hers can afford\nto have faults. Look at Helen and Cleopatra, and Agnes Sorel. Did\ntheir faults make them less attractive? Beauty covereth more sins than\ncharity--and maketh more grief than pestilence.\"\n\nThe last clause was evidently an afterthought.\n\nAfter his month in Newgate with the hangman's noose about his neck all\nbecause of Mary's cruel neglect, I wondered if her beauty would so\neasily atone for her faults. I may as well tell you that he changed\nhis mind concerning this particular doctrine of atonement.\n\n\n\n\n_CHAPTER XI_\n\n_Louis XII a Suitor_\n\n\nAs soon as I could leave Brandon, I had intended to go down to Windsor\nand give vent to my indignation toward the girls, but the more I\nthought about it, the surer I felt there had, somehow, been a mistake.\nI could not bring myself to believe that Mary had deliberately\npermitted matters to go to such an extreme when it was in her power to\nprevent it. She might have neglected her duty for a day or two, but,\nsooner or later, her good impulses always came to her rescue, and,\nwith Jane by her side to urge her on, I was almost sure she would have\nliberated Brandon long ago--barring a blunder of some sort.\n\nSo I did not go to Windsor until a week after Brandon's release, when\nthe king asked me to go down with him, Wolsey and de Longueville, the\nFrench ambassador-special, for the purpose of officially offering to\nMary the hand of Louis XII, and the honor of becoming queen of France.\n\nThe princess had known of the projected arrangement for many weeks,\nbut had no thought of the present forward condition of affairs, or she\nwould have brought her energies to bear upon Henry long before. She\ncould not bring herself to believe that her brother would really force\nher into such wretchedness, and possibly he would never have done so,\nmuch as he desired it from the standpoint of personal ambition, had it\nnot been for the petty excuse of that fatal trip to Grouche's.\n\nAll the circumstances of the case were such as to make Mary's marriage\na veritable virgin sacrifice. Louis was an old man, and an old\nFrenchman at that; full of French notions of morality and immorality;\nand besides, there were objections that cannot be written, but of\nwhich Henry and Mary had been fully informed. She might as well marry\na leper. Do you wonder she was full of dread and fear, and resisted\nwith the desperation of death?\n\nSo Mary, the person most interested, was about the last to learn that\nthe treaty had been signed.\n\nWindsor was nearly eight leagues from London, and at that time was\noccupied only by the girls and a few old ladies and servants, so that\nnews did not travel fast in that direction from the city. It is also\nprobable that, even if the report of the treaty and Brandon's release\nhad reached Windsor, the persons hearing it would have hesitated to\nrepeat it to Mary. However that may be, she had no knowledge of either\nuntil she was informed of the fact that the king and the French\nambassador would be at Windsor on a certain day to make the formal\nrequest for her hand and to offer the gifts of King Louis.\n\nI had no doubt Mary was in trouble, and felt sure she had been making\naffairs lively about her. I knew her suffering was keen, but was glad\nof it in view of her treatment of Brandon.\n\nA day or two after Brandon's liberation I had begun to speak to him of\nthe girls, but he interrupted me with a frightful oath: \"Caskoden, you\nare my friend, but if you ever mention their names again in my hearing\nyou are my friend no longer. I will curse you.\"\n\nI was frightened, so much stronger did his nature show than mine, and\nI took good care to remain silent on that subject until--but I am\ngoing too fast again; I will tell you of that hereafter.\n\nUpon the morning appointed, the king, Wolsey, de Longueville and\nmyself, with a small retinue, rode over to Windsor, where we found\nthat Mary, anticipating us, had barricaded herself in her bedroom and\nrefused to receive the announcement. The king went up stairs to coax\nthe fair young besieged through two inches of oak door, and to induce\nher, if possible, to come down. We below could plainly hear the king\npleading in the voice of a Bashan bull, and it afforded us some\namusement behind our hands. Then his majesty grew angry and threatened\nto break down the door, but the fair besieged maintained a most\npersistent and provoking silence throughout it all, and allowed him to\ncarry out his threat without so much as a whimper. He was thoroughly\nangry, and called to us to come up to see him \"compel obedience from\nthe self-willed hussy,\"--a task the magnitude of which he underrated.\n\nThe door was soon broken down, and the king walked in first, with de\nLongueville and Wolsey next, and the rest of us following in close\nprocession. But we marched over broken walls to the most laughable\ndefeat ever suffered by besieging army. Our foe, though small, was\naltogether too fertile in expedients for us. There seemed no way to\nconquer this girl; her resources were so inexhaustible that in the\nmoment of your expected victory success was turned into defeat; nay,\nmore, ridiculous disaster.\n\nWe found Jane crouching on the floor in a corner half dead with fright\nfrom the noise and tumult--and where do you think we found her\nmistress? Frightened? Not at all; she was lying in bed with her face\nto the wall as cool as a January morning; her clothing in a little\nheap in the middle of the room.\n\nWithout turning her head, she exclaimed: \"Come in, brother; you are\nquite welcome. Bring in your friends; I am ready to receive them,\nthough not in court attire, as you see.\" And she thrust her bare arm\nstraight up from the bed to prove her words. You should have seen the\nFrenchman's little black eyes gloat on its beauty.\n\nMary went on, still looking toward the wall: \"I will arise and receive\nyou all informally, if you will but wait.\"\n\nThis disconcerted the imperturbable Henry, who was about at his wit's\nend.\n\n\"Cover that arm, you hussy,\" he cried in a flaming rage.\n\n\"Be not impatient, brother mine! I will jump out in just a moment.\"\n\nA little scream from Jane startled everybody, and she quickly ran up\nto the king, saying: \"I beg your majesty to go. She will do as she\nsays so sure as you remain; you don't know her; she is very angry.\nPlease go; I will bring her down stairs somehow.\"\n\n\"Ah, indeed! Jane Bolingbroke,\" came from the bed. \"I will receive my\nguests myself when they are kind enough to come to my room.\" The\ncover-lid began to move, and, whether or not she was really going to\ncarry out her threat, I cannot say, but Henry, knowing her too well to\nrisk it, hurried us all out of the room and marched down stairs at the\nhead of his defeated cohorts. He was swearing in a way to make a\npriest's flesh creep, and protesting by everything holy that Mary\nshould be the wife of Louis or die. He went back to Mary's room at\nintervals, but there was enough persistence in that one girl to stop\nthe wheels of time, if she but set herself to do it, and the king came\naway from each visit the victim of another rout.\n\nFinally his anger cooled and he became amused. From the last visit he\ncame down laughing:\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\"I shall have to give up the fight or else put my armor on with visor\ndown,\" said he; \"it is not safe to go near her without it; she is a\nvery vixen, and but now tried to scratch my eyes out.\"\n\nWolsey, who had a wonderful knack for finding the easiest means to a\ndifficult end, took Henry off to a window where they held a whispered\nconversation.\n\nIt was pathetic to see a mighty king and his great minister of state\nconsulting and planning against one poor girl; and, as angry as I felt\ntoward Mary, I could not help pitying her, and admired, beyond the\npower of pen to write, the valiant and so far impregnable defense she\nhad put up against an array of strength that would have made a king\ntremble on his throne.\n\nPresently Henry gave one of his loud laughs, and slapped his thigh as\nif highly satisfied with some proposition of Wolsey's.\n\n\"Make ready at once,\" he said. \"We will go back to London.\"\n\nIn a short time we were all at the main stairway ready to mount for\nthe return trip.\n\nThe Lady Mary's window was just above, and I saw Jane watching us as\nwe rode away.\n\nAfter we were well out of Mary's sight the king called me to him, and\nhe, together with de Longueville, Wolsey and myself, turned our\nhorses' heads, rode rapidly by a circuitous path back to another door\nof the castle and re-entered without the knowledge of any of the\ninmates.\n\nWe four remained in silence, enjoined by the king, and in the course\nof an hour, the princess, supposing every one had gone, came down\nstairs and walked into the room where we were waiting.\n\nIt was a scurvy trick, and I felt a contempt for the men who had\nplanned it. I could see that Mary's first impulse was to beat a hasty\nretreat back into her citadel, the bed, but in truth she had in her\nmake-up very little disposition to retreat. She was clear grit. What a\nman she would have made! But what a crime it would have been in nature\nto have spoiled so perfect a woman. How beautiful she was! She threw\none quick, surprised glance at her brother and his companions, and\nlifting up her exquisite head carelessly hummed a little tune under\nher breath as she marched to the other end of the room with a gait\nthat Juno herself could not have improved upon.\n\nI saw the king smile, half in pride of her, and half in amusement, and\nthe Frenchman's little eyes feasted upon her beauty with a relish that\ncould not be mistaken.\n\nHenry and the ambassador spoke a word in whispers, when the latter\ntook a box from a huge side pocket and started across the room toward\nMary with the king at his heels.\n\nHer side was toward them when they came up, but she kept her attitude\nas if she had been of bronze. She had taken up a book that was lying\non the table and was examining it as they approached.\n\nDe Longueville held the box in his hand, and bowing and scraping said\nin broken English: \"Permit to me, most gracious princess, that I may\nhave the honor to offer on behalf of my august master, this little\ntestament of his high admiration and love.\" With this he bowed again,\nsmiled like a crack in a piece of old parchment, and held his box\ntoward Mary. It was open, probably in the hope of enticing her with a\nsight of its contents--a beautiful diamond necklace.\n\nShe turned her face ever so little and took it all in with one\ncontemptuous, sneering glance out of the corners of her eyes. Then\nquietly reaching out her hand she grasped the necklace and\ndeliberately dashed it in poor old de Longueville's face.\n\n\"There is my answer, sir! Go home and tell your imbecile old master I\nscorn his suit and hate him--hate him--hate him!\" Then with the tears\nfalling unheeded down her cheeks, \"Master Wolsey, you butcher's cur!\nThis trick was of your conception; the others had not brains enough to\nthink of it. Are you not proud to have outwitted one poor heart-broken\ngirl? But beware, sir; I tell you now I will be quits with you yet, or\nmy name is not Mary.\"\n\nThere is a limit to the best of feminine nerve, and at that limit\nshould always be found a flood of healthful tears. Mary had reached it\nwhen she threw the necklace and shot her bolt at Wolsey, so she broke\ndown and hastily left the room.\n\nThe king, of course, was beside himself with rage.\n\n\"By God's soul,\" he swore, \"she shall marry Louis of France, or I will\nhave her whipped to death on the Smithfield pillory.\" And in his\nwicked heart--so impervious to a single lasting good impulse--he\nreally meant it.\n\nImmediately after this, the king, de Longueville and Wolsey set out\nfor London.\n\nI remained behind hoping to see the girls, and after a short time a\npage plucked me by the sleeve, saying the princess wished to see me.\n\nThe page conducted me to the same room in which had been fought the\nbattle with Mary in bed. The door had been placed on its hinges again,\nbut the bed was tumbled as Mary had left it, and the room was in great\ndisorder.\n\n\"Oh, Sir Edwin,\" began Mary, who was weeping, \"was ever woman in such\nfrightful trouble? My brother is killing me. Can he not see that I\ncould not live through a week of this marriage? And I have been\ndeserted by all my friends, too, excepting Jane. She, poor thing,\ncannot leave.\"\n\n\"You know I would not go,\" said Jane, parenthetically. Mary continued:\n\"You, too, have been home an entire week and have not been near me.\"\n\nI began to soften at the sight of her grief, and concluded, with\nBrandon, that, after all, her beauty could well cover a multitude of\nsins; perhaps even this, her great transgression against him.\n\nThe princess was trying to check her weeping, and in a moment took up\nthe thread of her unfinished sentence: \"And Master Brandon, too, left\nwithout so much as sending me one little word--not a line nor a\nsyllable. He did not come near me, but went off as if I did not\ncare--or he did not. Of course _he_ did not care, or he would not have\nbehaved so, knowing I was in so much trouble. I did not see him at all\nafter--one afternoon in the king's--about a week before that awful\nnight in London, except that night, when I was so frightened I could\nnot speak one word of all the things I wished to say.\"\n\nThis sounded strange enough, and I began more than ever to suspect\nsomething wrong. I, however, kept as firm a grasp as possible upon the\nstock of indignation I had brought with me.\n\n\"How did you expect to see or hear from him,\" asked I, \"when he was\nlying in a loathsome dungeon without one ray of light, condemned to be\nhanged, drawn and quartered, because of your selfish neglect to save\nhim who, at the cost of half his blood, and almost his life, had saved\nso much for you?\"\n\nHer eyes grew big, and the tears were checked by genuine surprise.\n\nI continued: \"Lady Mary, no one could have made me believe that you\nwould stand back and let the man, to whom you owed so great a debt,\nlie so long in such misery, and be condemned to such a death for the\nact that saved you. I could never have believed it!\"\n\n\"Imp of hell!\" screamed Mary; \"what tale is this you bring to torture\nme? Have I not enough already? Tell me it is a lie, or I will have\nyour miserable little tongue torn out by the root.\"\n\n\"It is no lie, princess, but an awful truth, and a frightful shame to\nyou.\"\n\nI was determined to tell her all and let her see herself as she was.\n\nShe gave a hysterical laugh, and throwing up her hands, with her\naccustomed little gesture, fell upon the bed in utter abandonment,\nshaking as with a spasm. She did not weep; she could not; she was past\nthat now. Jane went over to the bed and tried to soothe her.\n\nIn a moment Mary sprang to her feet, exclaiming: \"Master Brandon\ncondemned to death and you and I here talking and moaning and weeping?\nCome, come, we will go to the king at once. We will start to walk,\nEdwin--I must be doing something--and Jane can follow with the horses\nand overtake us. No; I will not dress; just as I am; this will do.\nBring me a hat, Jane; any one, any one.\" While putting on hat and\ngloves she continued: \"I will see the king at once and tell him all!\nall! I will do anything; I will marry that old king of France, or\nforty kings, or forty devils; it's all one to me; anything! anything!\nto save him. Oh! to think that he has been in that dungeon all this\ntime.\" And the tears came unheeded in a deluge.\n\nShe was under such headway, and spoke and moved so rapidly, that I\ncould not stop her until she was nearly ready to go. Then I held her\nby the arm while I said:\n\n\"It is not necessary now; you are too late.\"\n\nA look of horror came into her face, and I continued slowly: \"I\nprocured Brandon's release nearly a week ago; I did what you should\nhave done, and he is now at our rooms in Greenwich.\"\n\nMary looked at me a moment, and, turning pale, pressed her hands to\nher heart and leaned against the door frame.\n\nAfter a short silence she said: \"Edwin Caskoden--fool! Why could you\nnot have told me that at first? I thought my brain would burn and my\nheart burst.\"\n\n\"I should have told you had you given me time. As to the pain it gave\nyou\"--this was the last charge of my large magazine of indignation--\"I\ncare very little about that. You deserve it. I do not know what\nexplanation you have to offer, but nothing can excuse you. An\nexplanation, however good, would have been little comfort to you had\nBrandon failed you in Billingsgate that night.\"\n\nShe had fallen into a chair by this time and sat in reverie, staring\nat nothing. Then the tears came again, but more softly.\n\n\"You are right; nothing can excuse me. I am the most selfish,\nungrateful, guilty creature ever born. A whole month in that dungeon!\"\nAnd she covered her drooping face with her hands.\n\n\"Go away for awhile, Edwin, and then return; we shall want to see you\nagain,\" said Jane.\n\nUpon my return Mary was more composed. Jane had dressed her hair, and\nshe was sitting on the bed in her riding habit, hat in hand. Her\nfingers were nervously toying at the ribbons and her eyes cast down.\n\n\"You are surely right, Sir Edwin. I have no excuse. I can have none;\nbut I will tell you how it was. You remember the day you left me in\nthe waiting-room of the king's council?--when they were discussing my\nmarriage without one thought of me, as if I were but a slave or a dumb\nbrute that could not feel.\" She began to weep a little, but soon\nrecovered herself. \"While waiting for you to return, the Duke of\nBuckingham came in. I knew Henry was trying to sell me to the French\nking, and my heart was full of trouble--from more causes than you can\nknow. All the council, especially that butcher's son, were urging him\non, and Henry himself was anxious that the marriage should be brought\nabout. He thought it would strengthen him for the imperial crown. He\nwants everything, and is ambitious to be emperor. Emperor! He would\ncut a pretty figure! I hoped, though, I should be able to induce him\nnot to sacrifice me to his selfish interests, as I have done before,\nbut I knew only too well it would tax my powers to the utmost this\ntime. I knew that if I did anything to anger or to antagonize him, it\nwould be all at an end with me. You know he is so exacting with other\npeople's conduct, for one who is so careless of his own--so virtuous\nby proxy. You remember how cruelly he disgraced and crushed poor Lady\nChesterfield, who was in such trouble about her husband, and who went\nto Grouche's only to learn if he were true to her. Henry seems to be\nparticularly sensitive in that direction. One would think it was in\nthe commandments: 'Thou shalt not go to Grouche's.' It may be that\nsome have gone there for other purposes than to have their fortunes\ntold--to meet, to--but I need not say that I--\" and she stopped short,\nblushing to her hair.\n\n\"Well, I knew I could do nothing with Henry if he once learned of that\nvisit, especially as it resulted so fatally. Oh! why did I go? Why\n_did_ I go? That was why I hesitated to tell Henry at once. I was\nhoping some other way would open whereby I might save Charles--Master\nBrandon. While I was waiting, along came the Duke of Buckingham, and\nas I knew he was popular in London, and had almost as much influence\nthere as the king, a thought came to me that he might help us.\n\n\"I knew that he and Master Brandon had passed a few angry words at one\ntime in my ball-room--you remember--but I also knew that the duke was\nin--in love with me, you know, or pretended to be--he always said he\nwas--and I felt sure I could, by a little flattery, induce him to do\nanything. He was always protesting that he would give half his blood\nto serve me. As if anybody wanted a drop of his wretched blood. Poor\nMaster Brandon! his blood ...\" and the tears came, choking her words\nfor the moment. \"So I told the duke I had promised you and Jane to\nprocure Master Brandon's liberty, and asked him to do it for me. He\ngladly consented, and gave me his knightly word that it should be\nattended to without an hour's delay. He said it might have to be done\nsecretly in the way of an escape--not officially--as the Londoners\nwere very jealous of their rights and much aroused on account of the\nkilling. Especially, he said that at that time great caution must be\nused, as the king was anxious to conciliate the city in order to\nprocure a loan for some purpose--my dower, I suppose.\n\n\"The duke said it should be as I wished; that Master Brandon should\nescape, and remain away from London for a few weeks until the king\nprocured his loan, and then be freed by royal proclamation.\n\n\"I saw Buckingham the next day, for I was very anxious, you may be\nsure, and he said the keeper of Newgate had told him it had been\narranged the night before as desired. I had come to Windsor because it\nwas more quiet, and my heart was full. It is quite a distance from\nLondon, and I thought it might afford a better opportunity to--to\nsee--I thought, perhaps Master Brandon might come--might want\nto--to--see Jane and me; in fact I wrote him before I left Greenwich\nthat I should be here. Then I heard he had gone to New Spain. Now you\nsee how all my troubles have come upon me at once; and this the\ngreatest of them, because it is my fault. I can ask no forgiveness\nfrom any one, for I cannot forgive myself.\"\n\nShe then inquired about Brandon's health and spirits, and I left out\nno distressing detail you may be sure.\n\nDuring my recital she sat with downcast eyes and tear-stained face,\nplaying with the ribbons of her hat.\n\nWhen I was ready to go she said: \"Please say to Master Brandon I\nshould like--to--see--him, if he cares to come, if only that I may\ntell him how it happened.\"\n\n\"I greatly fear, in fact, I know he will not come,\" said I. \"The\ncruelest blow of all, worse even than the dungeon, or the sentence of\ndeath, was your failure to save him. He trusted you so implicitly. At\nthe time of his arrest he refused to allow me to tell the king, saying\nhe knew you would see to it--that you were pure gold.\"\n\n\"Ah, did he say that?\" she asked, as a sad little smile lighted her\nface.\n\n\"His faith was so entirely without doubt, that his recoil from you is\ncorrespondingly great. He goes to New Spain as soon as his health is\nrecovered sufficiently for him to travel.\"\n\nThis sent the last fleck of color from her face, and with the words\nalmost choking her throat: \"Then tell him what I have said to you and\nperhaps he will not feel so--\"\n\n\"I cannot do that either, Lady Mary. When I mentioned your name the\nother day he said he would curse me if I ever spoke it again in his\nhearing.\"\n\n\"Is it so bad as that?\" Then, meditatively: \"And at his trial he did\nnot tell the reason for the killing? Would not compromise me, who had\nserved him so ill, even to save his own life? Noble, noble!\" And her\nlips went together as she rose to her feet. No tears now; nothing but\nglowing, determined womanhood.\n\n\"Then I will go to him wherever he may be. He shall forgive me, no\nmatter what my fault.\"\n\nSoon after this we were on our way to London at a brisk gallop.\n\nWe were all very silent, but at one time Mary spoke up from the midst\nof a reverie: \"During the moment when I thought Master Brandon had\nbeen executed--when you said it was too late--it seemed that I was\nborn again and all made over; that I was changed in the very texture\nof my nature by the shock, as they say the grain of the iron cannon is\nsometimes changed by too violent an explosion.\" And this proved to be\ntrue in some respects.\n\nWe rode on rapidly and did not stop in London except to give the\nhorses drink.\n\nAfter crossing the bridge, Mary said, half to Jane and half to\nherself: \"I will never marry the French king--never.\" Mary was but a\ngirl pitted against a body of brutal men, two of them rulers of the\ntwo greatest nations on earth--rather heavy odds, for one woman.\n\nWe rode down to Greenwich and entered the palace without exciting\ncomment, as the princess was in the habit of coming and going at will.\n\nThe king and queen and most of the courtiers were in London--at\nBridewell House and Baynard's Castle--where Henry was vigorously\npushing the loan of five hundred thousand crowns for Mary's dower, the\nonly business of state in which, at that time, he took any active\ninterest. Subsequently, as you know, he became interested in the\ndivorce laws, and the various methods whereby a man, especially a\nking, might rid himself of a distasteful wife; and after he saw the\ntruth in Anne Boleyn's eyes, he adopted a combined policy of church\nand state craft that has brought us a deal of senseless trouble ever\nsince--and is like to keep it up.\n\nAs to Mary's dower, Henry was to pay Louis only four hundred thousand\ncrowns, but he made the marriage an excuse for an extra hundred\nthousand, to be devoted to his own private use.\n\nWhen we arrived at the palace, the girls went to their apartments and\nI to mine, where I found Brandon reading. There was only one window\nto our common room--a dormer-window, set into the roof, and reached by\na little passage as broad as the window itself, and perhaps a yard and\na half long. In the alcove thus formed was a bench along the wall,\ncushioned by Brandon's great campaign cloak. In this window we often\nsat and read, and here was Brandon with his book. I had intended to\ntell him the girls were coming, for when Mary asked me if I thought he\nwould come to her at the palace, and when I had again said no, she\nreiterated her intention of going to him at once; but my courage\nfailed me and I did not speak of it.\n\nI knew that Mary ought not to come to our room, and that if news of it\nshould reach the king's ears there would be more and worse trouble\nthan ever, and, as usual, Brandon would pay the penalty for all. Then\nagain, if it were discovered it might seriously compromise both Mary\nand Jane, as the world is full of people who would rather say and\nbelieve an evil thing of another than to say their prayers or to\nbelieve the holy creed.\n\nI had said as much to the Lady Mary when she expressed her\ndetermination to go to Brandon. She had been in the wrong so much of\nlate that she was humbled; and I was brave enough to say whatever I\nfelt; but she said she had thought it all over, and as every one was\naway from Greenwich it would not be found out if done secretly.\n\nShe told Jane she need not go; that she, Mary, did not want to take\nany risk of compromising her.\n\nYou see, trouble was doing a good work in the princess, and had made\nit possible for a generous thought for another to find spontaneous\nlodgment in her heart. What a great thing it is, this human suffering,\nwhich so sensitizes our sympathy, and makes us tender to another's\npain. Nothing else so fits us for earth or prepares us for heaven.\n\nJane would have gone, though, had she known that all her fair name\nwould go with her. She was right, you see, when she told me, while\nriding over to Windsor, that should Mary's love blossom into a\nfull-blown passion she would wreck everything and everybody, including\nherself perhaps, to attain the object of so great a desire.\n\nIt looked now as if she were on the high road to that end. Nothing\nshort of chains and fetters could have kept her from going to Brandon\nthat evening. There was an inherent force about her that was\nirresistible and swept everything before it.\n\nIn our garret she was to meet another will, stronger and infinitely\nbetter controlled than her own, and I did not know how it would all\nturn out.\n\n\n\n\n_CHAPTER XII_\n\n_Atonement_\n\n\nI had not been long in the room when a knock at the door announced the\ngirls. I admitted them, and Mary walked to the middle of the floor. It\nwas just growing dark and the room was quite dim, save at the window\nwhere Brandon sat reading. Gods! those were exciting moments; my heart\nbeat like a woman's. Brandon saw the girls when they entered, but\nnever so much as looked up from his book. You must remember he had a\ngreat grievance. Even looking at it from Mary's side of the case,\ncertainly its best point of view, he had been terribly misused, and it\nwas all the worse that the misuse had come from one who, from his\nstandpoint, had _pretended_ to love him, and had wantonly led him on,\nas he had the best of right to think, to love her, and to suffer the\nkeenest pangs a heart can know. Then you must remember he did not know\neven the best side of the matter, bad as it was, but saw only the\nnaked fact, that in recompense for his great help in time of need,\nMary had deliberately allowed him to lie in that dungeon a long,\nmiserable month, and would have suffered him to die. So it was no\nwonder his heart was filled with bitterness toward her. Jane and I had\nremained near the door, and poor Mary was a pitiable princess,\nstanding there so full of doubt in the middle of the room. After a\nmoment she stepped toward the window, and, with quick-coming breath,\nstopped at the threshold of the little passage.\n\n\"Master Brandon, I have come, not to make excuses, for nothing can\nexcuse me, but to tell you how it all happened--by trusting to\nanother.\"\n\nBrandon arose, and marking the place in his book with his finger,\nfollowed Mary, who had stepped backward into the room.\n\n\"Your highness is very gracious and kind thus to honor me, but as our\nways will hereafter lie as far apart as the world is broad, I think it\nwould have been far better had you refrained from so imprudent a\nvisit; especially as anything one so exalted as yourself may have to\nsay can be no affair of such as I--one just free of the hangman's\nnoose.\"\n\n\"Oh! don't! I pray you. Let me tell you, and it may make a difference.\nIt must pain you, I know, to think of me as you do, after--after--you\nknow; after what has passed between us.\"\n\n\"Yes, that only makes it all the harder. If you could give your\nkisses\"--and she blushed red as blood--\"to one for whom you care so\nlittle that you could leave him to die like a dog, when a word from\nyou would have saved him, what reason have I to suppose they are not\nfor every man?\"\n\nThis gave Mary an opening of which she was quick enough to take\nadvantage, for Brandon was in the wrong.\n\n\"You know that is not true. You are not honest with me nor with\nyourself, and that is not like you. You know that no other man ever\nhad, or could have, any favor from me, even the slightest. Wantonness\nis not among my thousand faults. It is not that which angers you. You\nare sure enough of me in that respect. In truth, I had almost come to\nbelieve you were too sure, that I had grown cheap in your eyes, and\nyou did not care so much as I thought and hoped for what I had to\ngive, for after that day you came not near me at all. I know it was\nthe part of wisdom and prudence that you should remain away; but had\nyou cared as much as I, your prudence would not have held you.\"\n\nShe hung her head a moment in silence; then, looking at him, almost\nready for tears, continued: \"A man has no right to speak in that way\nof a woman whose little favors he has taken, and make her regret that\nshe has given a gift only that it may recoil upon her. 'Little,' did I\nsay? Sir, do you know what that--first--kiss was to me? Had I\npossessed all the crowns of all the earth I would have given them to\nyou as willingly. Now you know the value I placed on it, however\nworthless it was to you. Yet I was a cheerful giver of that great\ngift, was I not? And can you find it in your heart to make of it a\nshame to me--that of which I was so proud?\"\n\nShe stood there with head inclined a little to one side, looking at\nhim inquiringly as if awaiting an answer. He did not speak, but looked\nsteadily at his book. I felt, however, that he was changing, and I was\nsure her beauty, never more exquisite than in its present humility,\nwould yet atone for even so great a fault as hers. Err, look\nbeautiful, and receive remission! Such a woman as Mary carries her\nindulgence in her face.\n\nI now began to realize for the first time the wondrous power of this\ngirl, and ceased to marvel that she had always been able to turn even\nthe king, the most violent, stubborn man on earth, to her own wishes.\nHer manner made her words eloquent, and already, with true feminine\ntactics, she had put Brandon in the wrong in everything because he was\nwrong in part.\n\nThen she quickly went over what she had said to me. She told of her\ngreat dread lest the king should learn of the visit to Grouche's and\nits fatal consequences, knowing full well it would render Henry\nimpervious to her influence and precipitate the French marriage. She\ntold him of how she was going to the king the day after the arrest to\nask his release, and of the meeting with Buckingham, and his promise.\n\nStill Brandon said nothing, and stood as if politely waiting for her\nto withdraw.\n\nShe remained silent a little time, waiting for him to speak, when\ntears, partly of vexation, I think, moistened her eyes.\n\n\"Tell me at least,\" she said, \"that you know I speak the truth. I have\nalways believed in you, and now I ask for your faith. I would not lie\nto you in the faintest shading of a thought--not for heaven\nitself--not even for your love and forgiveness, much as they are to\nme, and I want to know that you are sure of my truthfulness, if you\ndoubt all else. You see I speak plainly of what your love is to me,\nfor although, by remaining away, you made me fear I had been too\nlavish with my favors--that is every woman's fear--I knew in my heart\nyou loved me; that you could not have done and said what you did\notherwise. Now you see what faith I have in you, and you a man, whom a\nwoman's instinct prompts to doubt. How does it compare with your faith\nin me, a woman, whom all the instincts of a manly nature should\ndispose to trust? It seems to be an unwritten law that a man may lie\nto a woman concerning the most important thing in life to her, and be\nproud of it, but you see even now I have all faith in your love for\nme, else I surely should not be here. You see I trust even your\nunspoken word, when it might, without much blame to you, be a spoken\nlie; yet you do not trust me, who have no world-given right to speak\nfalsely about such things, and when that which I now do is full of\nshame for me, and what I have done full of guilt, if inspired by aught\nbut the purest truth from my heart of hearts. Your words mean so\nmuch--so much more, I think, than you realize--and are so cruel in\nturning to evil the highest, purest impulse a woman can feel--the\nglowing pride in self-surrender, and the sweet, delightful privilege\nof giving where she loves. How can you? How can you?\"\n\nHow eloquent she was! It seemed to me this would have melted the\nfrozen sea, but I think Brandon felt that now his only hope lay in the\nsafeguard of his constantly upheld indignation.\n\nWhen he spoke he ignored all she had said.\n\n\"You did well to employ my Lord of Buckingham. It will make matters\nmore interesting when I tell you it was he who attacked you and was\ncaught by the leg under his wounded horse; he was lame, I am told, for\nsome time afterward. I had watched him following you from the gate at\nBridewell, and at once recognized him when his mask fell off during\nthe fight by the wall. You have done well at every step, I see.\"\n\n\"Oh, God; to think of it! Had I but known! Buckingham shall pay for\nthis with his head; but how could I know? I was but a poor, distracted\ngirl, sure to make some fatal error. I was in such agony--your\nwounds--believe me, I suffered more from them than you could. Every\npain you felt was a pang for me--and then that awful marriage! I was\nbeing sold like a wretched slave to that old satyr, to be gloated over\nand feasted upon. No man can know the horror of that thought to a\nwoman--to any woman, good or bad. To have one's beauty turn to curse\nher and make her desirable only--only as well-fed cattle are prized. No\nmatter how great the manifestation of such so-called love, it all the\nmore repels a woman and adds to her loathing day by day. Then there was\nsomething worse than all,\"--she was almost weeping now--\"I might have\nbeen able to bear the thought even of that hideous marriage--others\nhave lived through the like--but--but after--that--that day--when\nyou--it seemed that your touch was a spark dropped into a heart full of\ntinder, which had been lying there awaiting it all these years. In that\none moment the flame grew so intense I could not withstand it. My\nthroat ached; I could scarcely breathe, and it seemed that my heart\nwould burst.\" Here the tears gushed forth as she took a step toward him\nwith outstretched arms, and said between her sobs: \"I wanted you, you!\nfor my husband--for my husband, and I could not bear the torturing\nthought of losing you or enduring any other man. I could not give you\nup after that--it was all too late, too late; it had gone too far. I\nwas lost! lost!\"\n\nHe sprang to where she stood leaning toward him, and caught her to his\nbreast.\n\nShe held him from her while she said: \"Now you know--now you know that\nI would not have left you in that terrible place, had I known it. No,\nnot if it had taken my life to buy your freedom.\"\n\n\"I do know; I do know. Be sure of that; I know it and shall know it\nalways, whatever happens; nothing can change me. I will never doubt\nyou again. It is my turn to ask forgiveness now.\"\n\n\"No, no; just forgive me; that is all I ask,\" and her head was on his\nbreast.\n\n\"Let us step out into the passage-way, Edwin,\" said Jane, and we did.\nThere were times when Jane seemed to be inspired.\n\nWhen we went back into the room Mary and Brandon were sitting in the\nwindow-way on his great cloak. They rose and came to us, holding each\nother's hands, and Mary asked, looking up to him:\n\n\"Shall we tell them?\"\n\n\"As you like, my lady.\"\n\nMary was willing, and looked for Brandon to speak, so he said: \"This\nlady whom I hold by the hand and myself have promised each other\nbefore the good God to be husband and wife, if fortune ever so favor\nus that it be possible.\"\n\n\"No, that is not it,\" interrupted Mary. \"There is no 'if' in it; it\nshall be, whether it is possible or not. Nothing shall prevent.\" At\nthis she kissed Jane and told her how she loved her, and gave me her\nhand, for her love was so great within her that it overflowed upon\nevery one. She, however, always had a plenitude of love for Jane, and\nthough she might scold her and apparently misuse her, Jane was as dear\nas a sister, and was always sure of her steadfast, tried and lasting\naffection.\n\nAfter Mary had said there should be no \"if,\" Brandon replied:\n\n\"Very well, Madame Destiny.\" Then turning to us: \"What ought I to do\nfor one who is willing to stoop from so high an estate to honor me and\nbe my wife?\"\n\n\"Love her, and her alone, with your whole heart, as long as you live.\nThat is all she wants, I am sure,\" volunteered Jane, sentimentally.\n\n\"Jane, you are a Madam Solomon,\" said Mary, with a tone of her\nold-time laugh. \"Is the course you advise as you would wish to be done\nby?\" And she glanced mischievously from Jane to me, as the laugh\nbubbled up from her heart, merry and soft as if it had not come from\nwhat was but now the home of grief and pain.\n\n\"I know nothing about how I should like to be done by,\" said Jane,\nwith a pout, \"but if you have such respect for my wisdom I will offer\na little more; I think it is time we should be going.\"\n\n\"Now, Jane, you are growing foolish again; I will not go yet,\" and\nMary made manifest her intention by sitting down. She could not bring\nherself to forego the pleasure of staying, dangerous as she knew it to\nbe, and could not bear the pain of parting, even for a short time, now\nthat she had Brandon once more. The time was soon coming--but I am too\nfast again.\n\nAfter a time Brandon said: \"I think Jane's wisdom remains with her,\nMary. It is better that you do not stay, much as I wish to have you.\"\n\nShe was ready to obey him at once.\n\nWhen she arose to go she took both his hands in hers and whispered:\n\"'Mary.' I like the name on your lips,\" and then glancing hurriedly\nover her shoulder to see if Jane and I were looking, lifted her face\nto him and ran after us.\n\nWe were a little in advance of the princess, and, as we walked along,\nJane said under her breath: \"Now look out for trouble; it will come\nquickly, and I fear for Master Brandon more than any one. He has made\na noble fight against her and against himself, and it is no wonder she\nloves him.\"\n\nThis made me feel a little jealous.\n\n\"Jane, you could not love him, could you?\" I asked.\n\n\"No matter what I could do, Edwin; I do not, and that should satisfy\nyou.\" Her voice and manner said more than her words. The hall was\nalmost dark, and--I have always considered that occasion one of my\nlost opportunities; but they are not many.\n\nThe next evening Brandon and I, upon Lady Mary's invitation, went up\nto her apartments, but did not stay long, fearing some one might find\nus there and cause trouble. We would not have gone at all had not the\nwhole court been absent in London, for discovery would have been a\nserious matter to one of us at least.\n\nAs I told you once before, Henry did not care how much Brandon might\nlove his sister, but Buckingham had whispered suspicions of the state\nof Mary's heart, and his own observations, together with the\nintercepted note, had given these suspicions a stronger coloring, so\nthat a very small matter might turn them into certainties.\n\nThe king had pardoned Brandon for the killing of the two men in\nBillingsgate, as he was forced to do under the circumstances, but\nthere his kindness stopped. After a short time he deprived him of his\nplace at court, and all that was left for him of royal favor was\npermission to remain with me and live at the palace until such time as\nhe should sail for New Spain.\n\n\n\n\n_CHAPTER XIII_\n\n_A Girl's Consent_\n\n\nThe treaty had been agreed upon, and as to the international\narrangement, at least, the marriage of Louis de Valois and Mary Tudor\nwas a settled fact. All it needed was the consent of an\neighteen-year-old girl--a small matter, of course, as marriageable\nwomen are but commodities in statecraft, and theoretically, at least,\nacquiesce in everything their liege lords ordain. Lady Mary's consent\nhad been but theoretical, but it was looked upon by every one as\namounting to an actual, vociferated, sonorous \"yes;\" that is to say,\nby every one but the princess, who had no more notion of saying \"yes\"\nthan she had of reciting the Sanscrit vocabulary from the pillory of\nSmithfield.\n\nWolsey, whose manner was smooth as an otter's coat, had been sent to\nfetch the needed \"yes\"; but he failed.\n\nJane told me about it.\n\nWolsey had gone privately to see the princess, and had thrown out a\nsort of skirmish line by flattering her beauty, but had found her not\nin the best humor.\n\n\"Yes, yes, my lord of Lincoln, I know how beautiful I am; no one knows\nbetter; I know all about my hair, eyes, teeth, eyebrows and skin. I\ntell you I am sick of them. Don't talk to me about them; it won't\nhelp you to get my consent to marry that vile old creature. That is\nwhat you have come for, of course. I have been expecting you; why did\nnot my brother come?\"\n\n\"I think he was afraid; and, to tell you the truth, I was afraid\nmyself,\" answered Wolsey, with a smile. This made Mary smile, too, in\nspite of herself, and went a long way toward putting her in a good\nhumor. Wolsey continued: \"His majesty could not have given me a more\ndisagreeable task. You doubtless think I am in favor of this marriage,\nbut I am not.\"\n\nThis was as great a lie as ever fell whole out of a bishop's mouth. \"I\nhave been obliged to fall in with the king's views on the matter, for\nhe has had his mind set on it from the first mention by de\nLongueville.\"\n\n\"Was it that bead-eyed little mummy who suggested it?\"\n\n\"Yes, and if you marry the king of France you can repay him with\nusury.\"\n\n\"'Tis an inducement, by my troth.\"\n\n\"I do not mind saying to you in confidence that I think it an outrage\nto force a girl like you to marry a man like Louis of France, but how\nare we to avoid it?\"\n\nBy the \"we\" Wolsey put himself in alliance with Mary, and the move was\ncertainly adroit.\n\n\"How are we to avoid it? Have no fear of that, my lord; I will show\nyou.\"\n\n\"Oh! but my dear princess; permit me; you do not seem to know your\nbrother; you cannot in any way avoid this marriage. I believe he will\nimprison you and put you on bread and water to force your consent. I\nam sure you had better do willingly that which you will eventually be\ncompelled to do anyway; and besides, there is another thought that has\ncome to me; shall I speak plainly before Lady Jane Bolingbroke?\"\n\n\"I have no secrets from her.\"\n\n\"Very well; it is this: Louis is old and very feeble; he cannot live\nlong, and it may be that you can, by a ready consent now, exact a\npromise from your brother to allow you your own choice in the event of\na second marriage. You might in that way purchase what you could not\nbring about in any other way.\"\n\n\"How do you know that I want to purchase aught in any way, Master\nWolsey? I most certainly do not intend to do so by marrying France.\"\n\n\"I do not know that you wish to purchase anything, but a woman's heart\nis not always under her full control, and it sometimes goes out to one\nvery far beneath her in station, but the equal of any man on earth in\ngrandeur of soul and nobleness of nature. It might be that there is\nsuch a man whom any woman would be amply justified in purchasing at\nany sacrifice--doubly so if it were buying happiness for two.\"\n\nHis meaning was too plain even to pretend to misunderstand, and Mary's\neyes flashed at him, as her face broke into a dimpling smile in spite\nof her.\n\nWolsey thought he had won, and to clinch the victory said, in his\nforceful manner: \"Louis XII will not live a year; let me carry to the\nking your consent, and I guarantee you his promise as to a second\nmarriage.\"\n\nIn an instant Mary's eyes shot fire, and her face was like the\nblackest storm cloud.\n\n\"Carry this to the king: that I will see him and the whole kingdom\nsunk in hell before I will marry Louis of France. That is my answer\nonce and for all. Good even', Master Wolsey.\" And she swept out of the\nroom with head up and dilating nostrils, the very picture of defiance.\n\nSt. George! She must have looked superb. She was one of the few\npersons whom anger and disdain and the other passions which we call\nungentle seemed to illumine--they were so strong in her, and yet not\nviolent. It seemed that every deep emotion but added to her beauty and\nbrought it out, as the light within a church brings out the exquisite\nfiguring on the windows.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nAfter Wolsey had gone, Jane said to Mary: \"Don't you think it would\nhave been better had you sent a softer answer to your brother? I\nbelieve you could reach his heart even now if you were to make the\neffort. You have not tried in this matter as you did in the others.\"\n\n\"Perhaps you are right, Jane. I will go to Henry.\"\n\nMary waited until she knew the king was alone, and then went to him.\n\nOn entering the room, she said: \"Brother, I sent a hasty message to\nyou by the Bishop of Lincoln this morning, and have come to ask your\nforgiveness.\"\n\n\"Ah! little sister; I thought you would change your mind. Now you are\na good girl.\"\n\n\"Oh! do not misunderstand me; I asked your forgiveness for the\nmessage; as to the marriage, I came to tell you that it would kill me\nand that I could not bear it. Oh! brother, you are not a woman--you\ncannot know.\" Henry flew into a passion, and with oaths and curses\nordered her to leave him unless she was ready to give her consent. She\nhad but two courses to take, so she left with her heart full of hatred\nfor the most brutal wretch who ever sat upon a throne--and that is\nmaking an extreme case. As she was going, she turned upon him like a\nfury, and exclaimed:\n\n\"Never, never! Do you hear? Never!\"\n\nPreparations went on for the marriage just as if Mary had given her\nsolemn consent. The important work of providing the trousseau began at\nonce, and the more important matter of securing the loan from the\nLondon merchants was pushed along rapidly. The good citizens might\ncling affectionately to their angels, double angels, crowns and pounds\nsterling, but the fear in which they held the king, and a little\npatting of the royal hand upon the plebeian head, worked the charm,\nand out came the yellow gold, never to be seen again, God wot. Under\nthe stimulus of the royal smile they were ready to shout themselves\nhoarse, and to eat and drink themselves red in the face in celebration\nof the wedding day. In short, they were ready to be tickled nearly to\ndeath for the honor of paying to a wretched old lecher a wagon-load of\ngold to accept, as a gracious gift, the most beautiful heart-broken\ngirl in the world. That is, she would have been heart-broken had she\nnot been inspired with courage. As it was, she wasted none of her\nenergy in lamentations, but saved it all to fight with. Heavens! how\nshe did fight! If a valiant defense ever deserved victory, it was in\nher case. When the queen went to her with silks and taffetas and fine\ncloths, to consult about the trousseau, although the theme was one\nwhich would interest almost any woman, she would have none of it, and\nwhen Catherine insisted upon her trying on a certain gown, she called\nher a blackamoor, tore the garment to pieces, and ordered her to leave\nthe room.\n\nHenry sent Wolsey to tell her that the 13th day of August had been\nfixed upon as the day of the marriage, de Longueville to act as the\nFrench king's proxy, and Wolsey was glad to come off with his life.\n\nMatters were getting into a pretty tangle at the palace. Mary would\nnot speak to the king, and poor Catherine was afraid to come within\narm's length of her; Wolsey was glad to keep out of her way, and she\nflew at Buckingham with talons and beak upon first sight. As to the\nbattle with Buckingham, it was short but decisive, and this was the\nway it came about: There had been a passage between the duke and\nBrandon, in which the latter had tried to coax the former into a duel,\nthe only way, of course, to settle the weighty matters between them.\nBuckingham, however, had had a taste of Brandon's nimble sword play,\nand, bearing in mind Judson's fate, did not care for any more. They\nhad met by accident, and Brandon, full of smiles and as polite as a\nFrenchman, greeted him.\n\n\"Doubtless my lord, having crossed swords twice with me, will do me\nthe great honor to grant that privilege the third time, and will\nkindly tell me where my friend can wait upon a friend of his grace.\"\n\n\"There is no need for us to meet over that little affair. You had the\nbest of it, and if I am satisfied you should be. I was really in the\nwrong, but I did not know the princess had invited you to her ball.\"\n\n\"Your lordship is pleased to evade,\" returned Brandon. \"It is not the\nball-room matter that I have to complain of; as you have rightly said,\nif you are satisfied, I certainly should be; but it is that your\nlordship, in the name of the king, instructed the keeper of Newgate\nprison to confine me in an underground cell, and prohibited\ncommunication with any of my friends. You so arranged it that my trial\nshould be secret, both as to the day thereof and the event, in order\nthat it should not be known to those who might be interested in my\nrelease. You promised the Lady Mary that you would procure my liberty,\nand thereby prevented her going to the king for that purpose, and\nafterwards told her that it had all been done, as promised, and that I\nhad escaped to New Spain. It is because of this, my Lord Buckingham,\nthat I now denounce you as a liar, a coward and a perjured knight, and\ndemand of you such satisfaction as one man can give to another for\nmortal injury. If you refuse, I will kill you as I would a cut-throat\nthe next time I meet you.\"\n\n\"I care nothing for your rant, fellow, but out of consideration for\nthe feelings which your fancied injuries have put into your heart, I\ntell you that I did what I could to liberate you, and received from\nthe keeper a promise that you should be allowed to escape. After that\na certain letter addressed to you was discovered and fell into the\nhands of the king--a matter in which I had no part. As to your\nconfinement and non-communication with your friends, that was at his\nmajesty's command after he had seen the letter, as he will most\ncertainly confirm to you. I say this for my own sake, not that I care\nwhat you may say or think.\"\n\nThis offer of confirmation by the king made it all sound like the\ntruth, so much will even a little truth leaven a great lie; and part\nof Brandon's sails came down against the mast. The whole statement\nsurprised him, and, most of all, the intercepted letter. What letter\ncould it have been? It was puzzling, and yet he dared not ask.\n\nAs the duke was about to walk away, Brandon stopped him: \"One moment,\nyour grace; I am willing to admit what you have said, for I am not now\nprepared to contradict it; but there is yet another matter we have to\nsettle. You attacked me on horseback, and tried to murder me in order\nto abduct two ladies that night over in Billingsgate. That you cannot\ndeny. I watched you follow the ladies from Bridewell to Grouche's, and\nsaw your face when your mask fell off during the mêleé as plainly as I\nsee it now. If other proof is wanting, there is that sprained knee\nupon which your horse fell, causing you to limp even yet. I am sure\nnow that my lord will meet me like a man; or would he prefer that I\nshould go to the king and tell him and the world the whole shameful\nstory? I have concealed it heretofore, thinking it my personal right\nand privilege to settle with you.\"\n\nBuckingham turned a shade paler as he replied: \"I do not meet such as\nyou on the field of honor, and have no fear of your slander injuring\nme.\"\n\nHe felt secure in the thought that the girls did not know who had\nattacked them, and could not corroborate Brandon in his accusation, or\nMary, surely, never would have appealed to him for help.\n\nI was with Brandon--at a little distance, that is--when this occurred,\nand after Buckingham had left, we went to find the girls in the\nforest. We knew they would be looking for us, although they would\npretend surprise when they saw us. We soon met them, and the very\nleaves of the trees gave a soft, contented rustle in response to\nMary's low, mellow laugh of joy.\n\nAfter perhaps half an hour, we encountered Buckingham with his\nlawyer-knight, Johnson. They had evidently walked out to this quiet\npath to consult about the situation. As they approached, Mary spoke to\nthe duke with a vicious sparkle in her eyes.\n\n\"My Lord Buckingham, this shall cost you your head; remember my words\nwhen you are on the scaffold, just when your neck fits into the hollow\nof the block.\"\n\nHe stopped, with an evident desire to explain, but Mary pointed down\nthe path and said: \"Go, or I will have Master Brandon spit you on his\nsword. Two to one would be easy odds compared with the four to one you\nput against him in Billingsgate. Go!\" And the battle was over, the foe\nnever having struck a blow. It hurt me that Mary should speak of the\nodds being two to one against Brandon when I was at hand. It is true I\nwas not very large, but I could have taken care of a lawyer.\n\nNow it was that the lawyer-knight earned his bread by his wits, for it\nwas he, I know, who instigated the next move--a master stroke in its\nway, and one which proved a checkmate to us. It was this: the duke\nwent at once to the king, and, in a tone of injured innocence, told\nhim of the charge made by Brandon with Mary's evident approval, and\ndemanded redress for the slander. Thus it seemed that the strength of\nour position was about to be turned against us. Brandon was at once\nsummoned and promptly appeared before the king, only too anxious to\nconfront the duke. As to the confinement of Brandon and his secret\ntrial, the king did not care to hear; that was a matter of no\nconsequence to him; the important question was, did Buckingham attack\nthe princess?\n\nBrandon told the whole straight story, exactly as it was, which\nBuckingham as promptly denied, and offered to prove by his almoner\nthat he was at his devotions on the night and at the hour of the\nattack. So here was a conflict of evidence which called for new\nwitnesses, and Henry asked Brandon if the girls had seen and\nrecognized the duke. To this question, of course, he was compelled to\nanswer no, and the whole accusation, after all, rested upon Brandon's\nword, against which, on the other hand, was the evidence of the Duke\nof Buckingham and his convenient almoner.\n\nAll this disclosed to the full poor Mary's anxiety to help Brandon,\nand the duke having adroitly let out the fact that he had just met the\nprincess with Brandon at a certain secluded spot in the forest,\nHenry's suspicion of her partiality received new force, and he began\nto look upon the unfortunate Brandon as a partial cause, at least, of\nMary's aversion to the French marriage.\n\nHenry grew angry and ordered Brandon to leave the court, with the\nsullen remark that it was only his services to the Princess Mary that\nsaved him from a day with papers on the pillory.\n\nThis was not by any means what Brandon had expected. There seemed to\nbe a fatality for him about everything connected with that unfortunate\ntrip to Grouche's. He had done his duty, and this was his recompense.\nVirtue is sometimes a pitiful reward for itself, notwithstanding much\nwisdom to the contrary.\n\nHenry was by no means sure that his suspicions concerning Mary's heart\nwere correct, and in all he had heard he had not one substantial fact\nupon which to base conviction. He had not seen her with Brandon since\ntheir avowal, or he would have had a fact in every look, the truth in\nevery motion, a demonstration in every glance. She seemed powerless\neven to attempt concealment. In Brandon's handsome manliness and\nevident superiority, the king thought he saw a very clear possibility\nfor Mary to love, and where there is such a possibility for a girl,\nshe usually fails to fulfill expectations. I suppose there are more\nwrong guesses as to the sort of man a given woman will fall in love\nwith than on any other subject of equal importance in the whole range\nof human surmising. It did not, however, strike the king that way, and\nhe, in common with most other sons of Adam, supposing that he knew all\nabout it, marked Brandon as a very possible and troublesome personage.\nFor once in the history of the world a man had hit upon the truth in\nthis obscure matter, although he had no idea how correct he was.\n\nNow, all this brought Brandon into the deep shadow of the royal frown,\nand, like many another man, he sank his fortune in the fathomless\ndepths of a woman's heart, and thought himself rich in doing it.\n\n\n\n\n_CHAPTER XIV_\n\n_In the Siren Country_\n\n\nWith the king, admiration stood for affection, a mistake frequently\nmade by people not given to self-analysis, and in a day or two a\nreaction set in toward Brandon which inspired a desire to make some\namends for his harsh treatment. This he could not do to any great\nextent, on Buckingham's account; at least, not until the London loan\nwas in his coffers, but the fact that Brandon was going to New Spain\nso soon and would be out of the way, both of Mary's eyes and Mary's\nmarriage, stimulated that rare flower in Henry's heart, a good\nresolve, and Brandon was offered his old quarters with me until such\ntime as he should sail for New Spain.\n\nHe had never abandoned this plan, and now that matters had taken this\nturn with Mary and the king, his resolution was stronger than ever, in\nthat the scheme held two recommendations and a possibility.\n\nThe recommendations were, first, it would take him away from Mary,\nwith whom--when out of the inspiring influence of her buoyant\nhopefulness--he knew marriage to be utterly impossible; and second,\nadmitting and facing that impossibility, he might find at least\npartial relief from his heartache in the stirring events and\nadventures of that faraway land of monsters, dragons, savages and\ngold. The possibility lay in the gold, and a very faintly burning\nflame of hope held out the still more faintly glimmering chance that\nfortune, finding him there almost alone, might, for lack of another\nlover, smile upon him by way of squaring accounts. She might lead him\nto a cavern of gold, and gold would do anything; even, perhaps,\npurchase so priceless a treasure as a certain princess of the blood\nroyal. He did not, however, dwell much on this possibility, but kept\nthe delightful hope well neutralized with a constantly present sense\nof its improbability, in order to save the pain of a long fall when\ndisappointment should come.\n\nBrandon at once accepted the king's offer of lodging in the palace,\nfor now that he felt sure of himself in the matter of New Spain, and\nhis separation from Mary, he longed to see as much as possible of her\nbefore the light went out forever, even though it were playing with\ndeath itself to do so.\n\nPoor fellow, his suffering was so acute during this period that it\naffected me like a contagion.\n\nIt did not make a mope of him, but came in spasms that almost drove\nhim wild. He would at times pace the room and cry out: \"Jesu!\nCaskoden, what shall I do? She will be the wife of the French king,\nand I shall sit in the wilderness and try every moment to imagine what\nshe is doing and thinking. I shall find the bearing of Paris, and\nlook in her direction until my brain melts in my effort to see her,\nand then I shall wander in the woods, a suffering imbecile, feeding on\nroots and nuts. Would to God one of us might die. If it were not\nselfish, I should wish I might be the one.\"\n\nI said nothing in answer to these outbursts, as I had no consolation\nto offer.\n\nWe had two or three of our little meetings of four, dangerous as they\nwere, at which Mary, feeling that each time she saw Brandon might be\nthe last, would sit and look at him with glowing eyes that in turn\nsoftened and burned as he spoke. She did not talk much, but devoted\nall her time and energies to looking with her whole soul. Never before\nor since was there a girl so much in love. A young girl thoroughly in\nlove is the most beautiful object on earth--beautiful even in\nugliness. Imagine, then, what it made of Mary!\n\nGrowing partly, perhaps, out of his unattainability--for he was as far\nout of her reach as she out of his--she had long since begun to\nworship him. She had learned to know him so well, and his valiant\ndefense of her in Billingsgate, together with his noble self-sacrifice\nin refusing to compromise her in order to save himself, had presented\nhim to her in so noble a light that she had come to look up to him as\nher superior. Her surrender had been complete, and she found in it a\njoy far exceeding that of any victory or triumph she could imagine.\n\nI could not for the life of me tell what would be the outcome of it\nall. Mary was one woman in ten thousand, so full was she of feminine\nforce and will--a force which we men pretend to despise, but to which\nin the end we always succumb.\n\nLike most women, the princess was not much given to analysis; and, I\nthink, secretly felt that this matter of so great moment to her would,\nas everything else always had, eventually turn itself to her desire.\nShe could not see the way, but, to her mind, there could be no doubt\nabout it; fate was her friend; always had been, and surely always\nwould be.\n\nWith Brandon it was different; experience as to how the ardently hoped\nfor usually turns out to be the sadly regretted, together with a\nthorough face-to-face analysis of the situation, showed him the truth,\nall too clearly, and he longed for the day when he should go, as a\nsufferer longs for the surgeon's knife that is to relieve him of an\naching limb. The hopelessness of the outlook had for the time\ndestroyed nearly all of his combativeness, and had softened his nature\nalmost to apathetic weakness. It would do no good to struggle in a\nboundless, fathomless sea; so he was ready to sink and was going to\nNew Spain to hope no more.\n\nMary did not see what was to prevent the separation, but this did not\ntrouble her as much as one would suppose, and she was content to let\nevents take their own way, hoping and believing that in the end it\nwould be hers. Events, however, continued in this wrong course so\nlong and persistently that at last the truth dawned upon her and she\nbegan to doubt; and as time flew on and matters evinced a disposition\nto grow worse instead of better, she gradually, like the sundial in\nthe moonlight, awakened to the fact that there was something wrong; a\ncog loose somewhere in the complicated machinery of fate--the fate\nwhich had always been her tried, trusted and obedient servant.\n\nThe trouble began in earnest with the discovery of our meetings in\nLady Mary's parlor. There was nothing at all unusual in the fact that\nsmall companies of young folk frequently spent their evenings with\nher, but we knew well enough that the unusual element in our parties\nwas their exceeding smallness. A company of eight or ten young persons\nwas well enough, although it, of course, created jealousy on the part\nof those who were left out; but four--two of each sex--made a\ndifference in kind, however much we might insist it was only in\ndegree; and this we soon learned was the king's opinion.\n\nYou may be sure there was many a jealous person about the court ready\nto carry tales, and that it was impossible long to keep our meetings\nsecret among such a host as then lived in Greenwich palace.\n\nOne day the queen summoned Jane and put her to the question. Now, Jane\nthought the truth was made only to be told, a fallacy into which many\ngood people have fallen, to their utter destruction; since the truth,\nlike every other good thing, may be abused.\n\nWell! Jane told it all in a moment, and Catherine was so horrified\nthat she was like to faint. She went with her hair-lifting horror to\nthe king, and poured into his ears a tale of imprudence and debauchery\nwell calculated to start his righteous, virtue-prompted indignation\ninto a threatening flame.\n\nMary, Jane, Brandon and myself were at once summoned to the presence\nof both their majesties and soundly reprimanded. Three of us were\nordered to leave the court before we could speak a word in\nself-defense, and Jane had enough of her favorite truth for once.\nMary, however, came to our rescue with her coaxing eloquence and\npotent, feminine logic, and soon convinced Henry that the queen, who\nreally counted for little with him, had made a mountain out of a very\nsmall mole-hill. Thus the royal wrath was appeased to such an extent\nthat the order for expulsion was modified to a command that there be\nno more quartette gatherings in Princess Mary's parlor. This leniency\nwas more easy for the princess to bring about, by reason of the fact\nthat she had not spoken to her brother since the day she went to see\nhim after Wolsey's visit, and had been so roughly driven off. At\nfirst, upon her refusal to speak to him--after the Wolsey visit--Henry\nwas angry on account of what he called her insolence; but as she did\nnot seem to care for that, and as his anger did nothing toward\nunsealing her lips, he pretended indifference. Still the same stubborn\nsilence was maintained. This soon began to amuse the king, and of late\nhe had been trying to be on friendly terms again with his sister\nthrough a series of elephantine antics and bear-like pleasantries,\nwhich were the most dismal failures--that is, in the way of bringing\nabout a reconciliation. They were more successful from a comical point\nof view. So Henry was really glad for something that would loosen the\ntongue usually so lively, and for an opportunity to gratify his sister\nfrom whom he was demanding such a sacrifice, and for whom he expected\nto receive no less a price than the help of Louis of France, the most\npowerful king of Europe, to the imperial crown.\n\nThus our meetings were broken up, and Brandon knew his dream was over,\nand that any effort to see the princess would probably result in\ndisaster for them both; for him certainly.\n\nThe king upon that same day told Mary of the intercepted letter sent\nby her to Brandon at Newgate, and accused her of what he was pleased\nto term an improper feeling for a low-born fellow.\n\nMary at once sent a full account of the communication in a letter to\nBrandon, who read it with no small degree of ill comfort as the\nharbinger of trouble.\n\n\"I had better leave here soon, or I may go without my head,\" he\nremarked. \"When that thought gets to working in the king's brain, he\nwill strike, and I--shall fall.\"\n\nLetters began to come to our rooms from Mary, at first begging Brandon\nto come to her, and then upbraiding him because of his coldness and\ncowardice, and telling him that if he cared for her as she did for\nhim, he would see her, though he had to wade through fire and blood.\nThat was exactly where the trouble lay; it was not fire and blood\nthrough which he would have to pass; they were small matters, mere\nnothings that would really have added zest and interest to the\nachievement. But the frowning laugh of the tyrant, who could bind him\nhand and foot, and a vivid remembrance of the Newgate dungeon, with a\ndangling noose or a hollowed-out block in the near background, were\nmatters that would have taken the adventurous tendency out of even the\ncracked brain of chivalry itself. Brandon cared only to fight where\nthere was a possible victory or ransom, or a prospect of some sort, at\nleast, of achieving success. Bayard preferred a stone wall, and\nthought to show his brains by beating them out against it, and in a\nsense he could do it. * * * What a pity this senseless, stiff-kneed,\nlight-headed chivalry did not beat its brains out several centuries\nbefore Bayard put such an absurd price upon himself.\n\nSo every phase of the question which his good sense presented told\nBrandon, whose passion was as ardent though not so impatient as\nMary's, that it would be worse than foolhardy to try to see her. He,\nhowever, had determined to see her once more before he left, but as it\ncould, in all probability, be only once, he was reserving the meeting\nuntil the last, and had written Mary that it was their best and only\nchance.\n\nThis brought to Mary a stinging realization of the fact that Brandon\nwas about to leave her and that she would lose him if something were\nnot done quickly. Now for Mary, after a life of gratified whims, to\nlose the very thing she wanted most of all--that for which she would\nwillingly have given up every other desire her heart had ever\ncoined--was a thought hardly to be endured. She felt that the world\nwould surely collapse. It could not, would not, should not be.\n\nHer vigorous young nerves were too strong to be benumbed by an\noverwhelming agony, as is sometimes the case with those who are\nfortunate enough to be weaker, so she had to suffer and endure. Life\nitself, yes, life a thousand times, was slipping away from her. She\nmust be doing something or she would perish. Poor Mary! How a grand\nsoul like hers, full of faults and weakness, can suffer! What an\ninfinite disproportion between her susceptibility to pain and her\npower to combat it! She had the maximum capacity for one and the\nminimum strength for the other. No wonder it drove her almost\nmad--that excruciating pang of love.\n\nShe could not endure inaction, so she did the worst thing possible.\nShe went alone, one afternoon, just before dusk, to see Brandon at our\nrooms. I was not there when she first went in, but, having seen her on\nthe way, suspected something and followed, arriving two or three\nminutes after her. I knew it was best that I should be present, and\nwas sure Brandon would wish it. When I entered they were holding each\nother's hands, in silence. They had not yet found their tongues, so\nfull and crowded were their hearts. It was pathetic to see them,\nespecially the girl, who had not Brandon's hopelessness to deaden the\npain by partial resignation.\n\nUpon my entrance, she dropped his hands and turned quickly toward me\nwith a frightened look, but was reassured upon seeing who it was.\nBrandon mechanically walked away from her and seated himself on a\nstool. Mary, as mechanically, moved to his side and placed her hand on\nhis shoulder. Turning her face toward me, she said: \"Sir Edwin, I know\nyou will forgive me when I tell you that we have a great deal to say\nand wish to be alone.\"\n\nI was about to go when Brandon stopped me.\n\n\"No, no; Caskoden, please stay; it would not do. It would be bad\nenough, God knows, if the princess should be found here with both of\nus; but, with me alone, I should be dead before morning. There is\ndanger enough as it is, for they will watch us.\"\n\nMary knew he was right, but she could not resist a vicious little\nglance toward me, who was in no way to blame.\n\nPresently we all moved into the window-way, where Brandon and Mary sat\nupon the great cloak and I on a camp-stool in front of them,\ncompletely filling up the little passage.\n\n\"I can bear this no longer,\" exclaimed Mary. \"I will go to my brother\nto-night and tell him all; I will tell him how I suffer, and that I\nshall die if you are allowed to go away and leave me forever. He loves\nme, and I can do anything with him when I try. I know I can obtain his\nconsent to our--our--marriage. He cannot know how I suffer, else he\nwould not treat me so. I will let him see--I will convince him. I have\nin my mind everything I want to say and do. I will sit on his knee and\nstroke his hair and kiss him.\" And she laughed softly as her spirit\nrevived in the breath of a growing hope. \"Then I will tell him how\nhandsome he is, and how I hear the ladies sighing for him, and he will\ncome around all right by the third visit. Oh, I know how to do it; I\nhave done it so often. Never fear! I wish I had gone at it long ago.\"\n\nHer enthusiastic fever of hope was really contagious, but Brandon,\nwhose life was at stake, had his wits quickened by the danger.\n\n\"Mary, would you like to see me a corpse before to-morrow noon?\" he\nasked.\n\n\"Why! of course not; why do you ask such a dreadful question?\"\n\n\"Because, if you wish to make sure of it, do what you have just\nsaid--go to the king and tell him all. I doubt if he could wait till\nmorning. I believe he would awaken me at midnight to put me to sleep\nforever--at the end of a rope or on a block pillow.\"\n\n\"Oh! no! you are all wrong; I know what I can do with Henry.\"\n\n\"If that is the case, I say good-bye now, for I shall be out of\nEngland, if possible, by midnight. You must promise me that you will\nnot only not go to the king at all about this matter, but that you\nwill guard your tongue, jealous of its slightest word, and remember\nwith every breath that on your prudence hangs my life, which, I know,\nis dear to you. Do you promise? If you do not, I must fly; so you will\nlose me one way or the other, if you tell the king; either by my\nflight or by my death.\"\n\n\"I promise,\" said Mary, with drooping head; the embodiment of despair;\nall life and hope having left her again.\n\nAfter a few minutes her face brightened, and she asked Brandon what\nship he would sail in for New Spain, and whence.\n\n\"We sail in the Royal Hind, from Bristol,\" he replied.\n\n\"How many go out in her; and are there any women?\"\n\n\"No! no!\" he returned; \"no woman could make the trip, and, besides, on\nships of that sort, half pirate, half merchant, they do not take\nwomen. The sailors are superstitious about it and will not sail with\nthem. They say they bring bad luck--adverse winds, calms, storms,\nblackness, monsters from the deep and victorious foes.\"\n\n\"The ignorant creatures!\" cried Mary.\n\nBrandon continued: \"There will be a hundred men, if the captain can\ninduce so many to enlist.\"\n\n\"How does one procure passage?\" inquired Mary.\n\n\"By enlisting with the captain, a man named Bradhurst, at Bristol,\nwhere the ship is now lying. There is where I enlisted by letter. But\nwhy do you ask?\"\n\n\"Oh! I only wanted to know.\"\n\nWe talked awhile on various topics, but Mary always brought the\nconversation back to the same subject, the Royal Hind and New Spain.\nAfter asking many questions, she sat in silence for a time, and then\nabruptly broke into one of my sentences--she was always interrupting\nme as if I were a parrot.\n\n\"I have been thinking and have made up my mind what I will do, and you\nshall not dissuade me. I will go to New Spain with you. That will be\nglorious--far better than the humdrum life of sitting at home--and\nwill solve the whole question.\"\n\n\"But that would be impossible, Mary,\" said Brandon, into whose face\nthis new evidence of her regard had brought a brightening look;\n\"utterly impossible. To begin with, no woman could stand the voyage;\nnot even you, strong and vigorous as you are.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes I can, and I will not allow you to stop me for that reason. I\ncould bear any hardship better than the torture of the last few weeks.\nIn truth, I cannot bear this at all; it is killing me, so what would\nit be when you are gone and I am the wife of Louis? Think of that,\nCharles Brandon; think of that, when I am the wife of Louis. Even if\nthe voyage kills me, I might as well die one way as another; and then\nI should be with you, where it were sweet to die.\" And I had to sit\nthere and listen to all this foolish talk!\n\nBrandon insisted: \"But no women are going; as I told you, they would\nnot take one; besides, how could you escape? I will answer the first\nquestion you ever asked me. You are of 'sufficient consideration about\nthe court' for all your movements to attract notice. It is impossible;\nwe must not think of it; it cannot be done. Why build up hopes only to\nbe cast down?\"\n\n\"Oh! but it can be done; never doubt it. I will go, not as a woman,\nbut as a man. I have planned all the details while sitting here.\nTo-morrow I will send to Bristol a sum of money asking a separate room\nin the ship for a young nobleman who wishes to go to New Spain\n_incognito_, and will go aboard just before they sail. I will buy a\nman's complete outfit, and will practice being a man before you and\nSir Edwin.\" Here she blushed so that I could see the scarlet even in\nthe gathering gloom. She continued: \"As to my escape, I can go to\nWindsor, and then perhaps on to Berkeley Castle, over by Reading,\nwhere there will be no one to watch me. You can leave at once, and\nthere will be no cause for them to spy upon me when you are gone, so\nit can be done easily enough. That is it; I will go to my sister, who\nis now at Berkeley Castle, the other side of Reading, you know, and\nthat will make a shorter ride to Bristol when we start.\"\n\nThe thought, of course, could not but please Brandon, to whom, in the\nwarmth of Mary's ardor, it had almost begun to offer hope; and he said\nmusingly: \"I wonder if it could be done? If it could--if we could\nreach New Spain, we might build ourselves a home in the beautiful\ngreen mountains and hide ourselves safely away from all the world, in\nthe lap of some cosy valley, rich with nature's bounteous gift of\nfruit and flowers, shaded from the hot sun and sheltered from the\nblasts, and live in a little paradise all our own. What a glorious\ndream! but it is only a dream, and we had better awake from it.\"\n\nBrandon must have been insane!\n\n\"No! no! It is not a dream,\" interrupted downright, determined Mary;\n\"it is not a dream; it shall be a reality. How glorious it will be! I\ncan see our little house now nestling among the hills, shaded by great\nspreading trees with flowers and vines and golden fruit all about it,\nrich plumaged birds and gorgeous butterflies. Oh! I can hardly wait.\nWho would live in a musty palace when one has within reach such a\nhome, and that, too, with you?\"\n\nHere it was again. I thought that interview would be the death of me.\n\nBrandon held his face in his hands, and then looking up said: \"It is\nonly a question of your happiness, and hard as the voyage and your\nlife over there would be, yet I believe it would be better than life\nwith Louis of France; nothing could be so terrible as that to both of\nus. If you wish to go, I will try to take you, though I die in the\nattempt. There will be ample time to reconsider, so that you can turn\nback if you wish.\"\n\nHer reply was inarticulate, though satisfactory; and she took his hand\nin hers as the tears ran gently down her cheeks; this time tears of\njoy--the first she had shed for many a day.\n\nIn the Siren country again without wax! Overboard and lost!\n\nYes, Brandon's resolution not to see Mary was well taken, if it could\nonly have been as well kept. Observe, as we progress, into what the\nbreaking of it led him.\n\nHe had known that if he should but see her once more, his already\ntoppling will would lose its equipoise, and he would be led to attempt\nthe impossible and invite destruction. At first this scheme appeared\nto me in its true light, but Mary's subtle feminine logic made it\nseem such plain and easy sailing that I soon began to draw enthusiasm\nfrom her exhaustless store, and our combined attack upon Brandon\neventually routed every vestige of caution and common sense that even\nhe had left.\n\nSiren logic has always been irresistible and will continue so, no\ndoubt, despite experience.\n\nI cannot define what it was about Mary that made her little speeches,\nhalf argumentative, all-pleading, so wonderfully persuasive. Her facts\nwere mere fancies, and her logic was not even good sophistry. As to\nreal argument and reasoning, there was nothing of either in them. It\nmust have been her native strength of character and intensely vigorous\npersonality; some unknown force of nature, operating through her\noccultly, that turned the channels of other persons' thoughts and\nfilled them with her own will. There was magic in her power, I am\ncertain, but unconscious magic to Mary, I am equally sure. She never\nwould have used it knowingly.\n\nThere was still another obstacle to which Mary administered her\nfavorite remedy, the Gordian knot treatment. Brandon said: \"It cannot\nbe; you are not my wife, and we dare not trust a priest here to unite\nus.\"\n\n\"No,\" replied Mary, with hanging head, \"but we can--can find one over\nthere.\"\n\n\"I do not know how that will be; we shall probably not find one; at\nleast, I fear; I do not know.\"\n\nAfter a little hesitation she answered: \"I will go with you\nanyway--and--and risk it. I hope we may find a priest,\" and she\nflushed scarlet from her throat to her hair.\n\nBrandon kissed her and said: \"You shall go, my brave girl. You make me\nblush for my faint-heartedness and prudence. I will make you my wife\nin some way as sure as there is a God.\"\n\nSoon after this Brandon forced himself to insist on her departure, and\nI went with her, full of hope and completely blinded to the dangers of\nour cherished scheme. I think Brandon never really lost sight of the\ndanger, and almost infinite proportion of chance against this wild,\nreckless venture, but was daring enough to attempt it even in the face\nof such clearly seen and deadly consequences.\n\nWhat seems to be bravery, as in Mary's case, for example, is often but\na lack of perception of the real danger. True bravery is that which\ndares a danger fully seeing it. A coward may face an unseen danger,\nand his act may shine with the luster of genuine heroism. Mary was\nbrave, but it was the feminine bravery that did not see. Show her a\ndanger and she was womanly enough--that is, if you could make her see\nit. Her wilfulness sometimes extended to her mental vision and she\nwould not see. In common with many others, she needed mental\nspectacles at times.\n\n\n\n\n_CHAPTER XV_\n\n_To Make a Man of Her_\n\n\nSo it was all arranged, and I converted part of Mary's jewels into\nmoney. She said she was sorry now she had not taken de Longueville's\ndiamonds, as they would have added to her treasure; I, however,\nprocured quite a large sum, to which I secretly added a goodly portion\nout of my own store. At Mary's request I sent part to Bradhurst at\nBristol, and retained the rest for Brandon to take with him.\n\nA favorable answer soon came from Bristol, giving the young nobleman a\nseparate room in consideration of the large purse he had sent.\n\nThe next step was to procure the gentleman's wardrobe for Mary. This\nwas a little troublesome at first, for, of course, she could not be\nmeasured in the regular way. We managed to overcome this difficulty by\nhaving Jane take the measurements under instructions received from the\ntailor, which measurements, together with the cloth, I took to the\nfractional little man who did my work.\n\nHe looked at the measurements with twinkling eyes, and remarked: \"Sir\nEdwin, that be the curiousest shaped man ever I see the measures of.\nSure it would make a mighty handsome woman, or I know nothing of human\ndimensions.\"\n\n\"Never you mind about dimensions; make the garments as they are\nordered and keep your mouth shut, if you know what is to your\ninterest. Do you hear?\"\n\nHe delivered himself of a labored wink. \"I do hear and understand,\ntoo, and my tongue is like the tongue of an obelisk.\"\n\nIn due time I brought the suits to Mary, and they were soon adjusted\nto her liking.\n\nThe days passed rapidly, till it was a matter of less than a fortnight\nuntil the Royal Hind would sail, and it really looked as if the\nadventure might turn out to our desire.\n\nJane was in tribulation, and thought she ought to be taken along.\nThis, you may be sure, was touching me very closely, and I began to\nwish the whole infernal mess at the bottom of the sea. If Jane went,\nhis august majesty, King Henry VIII, would be without a Master of the\nDance, just as sure as the stars twinkled in the firmament. It was,\nhowever, soon decided that Brandon would have his hands more than full\nto get off with one woman, and that two would surely spoil the plan.\nSo Jane was to be left behind, full of tribulation and indignation,\nfirmly convinced that she was being treated very badly.\n\nAlthough at first Jane was violently opposed to the scheme, she soon\ncaught the contagious ardor of Mary's enthusiasm, and knowing that her\ndear lady's every chance of happiness was staked upon the throw, grew\nmore reconciled. To a person of Jane's age, this venture for love\noffers itself as the last and only cast--the cast for all--and in this\nparticular case there was enough of romance to catch the fancy of any\ngirl. Nothing was lacking to make it truly romantic. The exalted\nstation of at least one of the lovers; the rough road of their true\nlove; the elopement, and, above all, the elopement to a new world,\nwith a cosy hut nestling in fragrant shades and glad with the notes of\nlove from the throats of countless song-birds--what more could a\nromantic girl desire? So, to my surprise, Jane became more than\nreconciled, and her fever of anticipation and excitement grew apace\nwith Mary's as the time drew on.\n\nMary's vanity was delighted with her elopement _trousseau_, for of\ncourse it was of the finest. Not that the quality was better than her\nusual wear, but doublet and hose were so different on her. She paraded\nfor an hour or so before Jane, and as she became accustomed to the new\ngarb, and as the steel reflected a most beautiful image, she\ndetermined to show herself to Brandon and me. She said she wanted to\nbecome accustomed to being seen in her doublet and hose, and would\nbegin with us. She thought if she could not bear our gaze she would\nsurely make a dismal failure on shipboard among so many strange men.\nThere was some good reasoning in this, and it, together with her\nvanity, overruled her modesty, and prompted her to come to see us in\nher character of young nobleman. Jane made one of her mighty\nprotests, so infinitely disproportionate in size to her little\nladyship, but the self-willed princess would not listen to her, and\nwas for coming alone if Jane would not come with her. Once having\ndetermined, as usual with her, she wasted no time about it, but\nthrowing a long cloak over her shoulders, started for our rooms, with\nangry, weeping, protesting Jane at her heels.\n\nWhen I heard the knock I was sure it was the girls, for though Mary\nhad promised Brandon she would not, under any circumstances, attempt\nanother visit, I knew so well her utter inability to combat her\ndesire, and her reckless disregard of danger where there was a motive\nsufficient to furnish the nerve tension, that I was sure she would\ncome, or try to come, again.\n\nI have spoken before about the quality of bravery. What is it, after\nall, and how can we analyze it? Women, we say, are cowardly, but I\nhave seen a woman take a risk that the bravest man's nerve would turn\non edge against. How is it? Can it be possible that they are braver\nthan we? That our bravery is of the vaunting kind that telleth of\nitself? My answer, made up from a long life of observation, is: \"Yes!\nGiven the motive, and women are the bravest creatures on earth.\" Yet\nhow foolishly timid they are at times!\n\nI admitted the girls, and when the door was shut Mary unclasped the\nbrooch at her throat and the great cloak fell to her heels. Out she\nstepped, with a little laugh of delight, clothed in doublet, hose and\nconfusion, the prettiest picture mortal eyes ever rested on. Her hat,\nsomething on the broad, flat style with a single white plume\nencircling the crown, was of purple velvet trimmed in gold braid and\ntouched here and there with precious stones. Her doublet was of the\nsame purple velvet as her hat, trimmed in lace and gold braid. Her\nshort trunks were of heavy black silk slashed by yellow satin, with\nhose of lavender silk; and her little shoes were of russet French\nleather. Quite a rainbow, you will say--but such a rainbow!\n\nBrandon and I were struck dumb with admiration and could not keep from\nshowing it. This disconcerted the girl, and increased her\nembarrassment until we could not tell which was the prettiest--the\ngarments, the girl or the confusion; but this I know, the whole\npicture was as sweet and beautiful as the eyes of man could behold.\n\nFine feathers will not make fine birds, and Mary's masculine attire\ncould no more make her look like a man than harness can disguise the\ngraces of a gazelle. Nothing could conceal her intense, exquisite\nwomanhood. With our looks of astonishment and admiration Mary's\nblushes deepened.\n\n\"What is the matter? Is anything wrong?\" she asked.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\"Nothing is wrong,\" answered Brandon, smiling in spite of himself;\n\"nothing on earth is wrong with you, you may be sure. You are\nperfect--that is, for a woman; and one who thinks there is anything\nwrong about a perfect woman is hard to please. But if you flatter\nyourself that you, in any way, resemble a man, or that your dress in\nthe faintest degree conceals your sex, you are mistaken. It makes it\nonly more apparent.\"\n\n\"How can that be?\" asked Mary, in comical tribulation; \"is not this a\nman's doublet and hose, and this hat--is it not a man's hat? They are\nall for a man; then why do I not look like one, I ask? Tell me what is\nwrong. Oh! I thought I looked just like a man; I thought the disguise\nwas perfect.\"\n\n\"Well,\" returned Brandon, \"if you will permit me to say so, you are\nentirely too symmetrical and shapely ever to pass for a man.\"\n\nThe flaming color was in her cheeks, as Brandon went on: \"Your feet\nare too small, even for a boy's feet. I don't think you could be made\nto look like a man if you worked from now till doomsday.\"\n\nBrandon spoke in a troubled tone, for he was beginning to see in\nMary's perfect and irrepressible womanhood an insurmountable\ndifficulty right across his path.\n\n\"As to your feet, you might find larger shoes, or, better still,\njack-boots; and, as to your hose, you might wear longer trunks, but\nwhat to do about the doublet I am sure I do not know.\"\n\nMary looked up helpless and forlorn, and the hot face went into her\nbended elbow as a realization of the situation seemed to dawn upon\nher.\n\n\"Oh! I wish I had not come. But I wanted to grow accustomed so that I\ncould wear them before others. I believe I could bear it more easily\nwith any one else. I did not think of it in that way,\" and she\nsnatched her cloak from where it had fallen on the floor and threw it\naround her.\n\n\"What way, Mary?\" asked Brandon gently, and receiving no answer. \"But\nyou will have to bear my looking at you all the time if you go with\nme.\"\n\n\"I don't believe I can do it.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" answered he, bravely attempting cheerfulness; \"we may as\nwell give it up. I have had no hope from the first. I knew it could\nnot be done, and it should not. I was both insane and criminal to\nthink of permitting you to try it.\"\n\nBrandon's forced cheerfulness died out with his words, and he sank\ninto a chair with his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands.\nMary ran to him at once. There had been a little moment of faltering,\nbut there was no real surrender in her.\n\nDropping on her knee beside him, she said coaxingly: \"Don't give up;\nyou are a man; you must not surrender, and let me, a girl, prove the\nstronger. Shame upon you when I look up to you so much and expect you\nto help me be brave. I will go. I will arrange myself in some way. Oh!\nwhy am I not different; I wish I were as straight as the queen,\" and\nfor that first time in her life she bewailed her beauty, because it\nstood between her and Brandon.\n\nShe soon coaxed him out of his despondency, and we began again to plan\nthe matter in detail.\n\nThe girls sat on Brandon's cloak and he and I on the camp-stool and a\nbox.\n\nMary's time was well occupied in vain attempts to keep herself covered\nwith the cloak, which seemed to have a right good will toward Brandon\nand me, but she kept track of our plans, which, in brief, were as\nfollows: As to her costume, we would substitute long trunks and\njack-boots for shoes and hose, and as to doublet, Mary laughed and\nblushingly said she had a plan which she would secretly impart to\nJane, but would not tell us. She whispered it to Jane, who, as serious\nas the Lord Chancellor, gave judgment, and \"thought it would do.\" We\nhoped so, but were full of doubts.\n\nThis is all tame enough to write and read about, but I can tell you it\nwas sufficiently exciting at the time. Three of us at least were\nplaying with that comical old fellow, Death, and he gave the game\ninterest and point to our hearts' content.\n\nThrough the thick time-layers of all these years, I can still see the\ngroup as we sat there, haloed by a hazy cloud of tear-mist. The\nfigures rise before my eyes, so young and fair and rich in life and\nyet so pathetic in their troubled earnestness that a great flood of\npity wells up in my heart for the poor young souls, so danger-bound\nand suffering, and withal so daring and so recklessly confident in the\nmight and right of love, and the omnipotence of youth. Ah! If God had\nseen fit in his infinite wisdom to save just one treasure from the\nwreck of Eden, what a race of thankful hearts this earth would bear,\nhad he saved us youth alone therewith to compensate us for every other\nill.\n\nAs to the elopement, it was determined that Brandon should leave\nLondon the following day for Bristol, and make all arrangements along\nthe line. He would carry with him two bundles, his own and Mary's\nclothing, and leave them to be taken up when they should go\na-shipboard. Eight horses would be procured; four to be left as a\nrelay at an inn between Berkeley Castle and Bristol, and four to be\nkept at the rendezvous some two leagues the other side of Berkeley for\nthe use of Brandon, Mary and the two men from Bristol who were to act\nas an escort on the eventful night. There was one disagreeable little\nfeature that we could not provide against nor entirely eliminate. It\nwas the fact that Jane and I should be suspected as accomplices before\nthe fact of Mary's elopement; and, as you know, to assist in the\nabduction of a princess is treason--for which there is but one remedy.\nI thought I had a plan to keep ourselves safe if I could only stifle\nfor the once Jane's troublesome and vigorous tendency to preach the\ntruth to all people, upon all subjects and at all times and places.\nShe promised to tell the story I would drill into her, but I knew the\ntruth would seep out in a thousand ways. She could no more hold it\nthan a sieve can hold water. We were playing for great stakes, which,\nif I do say it, none but the bravest hearts, bold and daring as the\ntruest knights of chivalry, would think of trying for. Nothing less\nthan the running away with the first princess of the first blood royal\nof the world. Think of it! It appalls me even now. Discovery meant\ndeath to one of us surely--Brandon; possibly to two others--Jane and\nme; certainly, if Jane's truthfulness should become unmanageable, as\nit was so apt to do.\n\nAfter we had settled everything we could think of, the girls took\ntheir leave; Mary slyly kissing Brandon at the door. I tried to induce\nJane to follow her lady's example, but she was as cool and distant as\nthe new moon.\n\nI saw Jane again that night and told her in plain terms what I thought\nof her treatment of me. I told her it was selfish and unkind to take\nadvantage of my love for her and treat me so cruelly. I told her that\nif she had one drop of generous blood she would tell me of her love,\nif she had any, or let me know it in some way; and if she cared\nnothing for me she was equally bound to be honest and tell me plainly,\nso that I should not waste my time and energy in a hopeless cause. I\nthought it rather clever in me to force her into a position where her\nrefusal to tell me that she did not care for me would drive her to a\nhalf avowal. Of course, I had little fear of the former, or perhaps I\nshould not have been so anxious to precipitate the issue.\n\nShe did not answer me directly, but said: \"From the way you looked at\nMary to-day, I was led to think you cared little for any other girl's\nopinion.\"\n\n\"Ah! Mistress Jane!\" cried I joyfully; \"I have you at last; you are\njealous.\"\n\n\"I give you to understand, sir, that your vanity has led you into a\ngreat mistake.\"\n\n\"As to your caring for me, or your jealousy? Which?\" I asked\nseriously. Adroit, wasn't that?\n\n\"As to the jealousy, Edwin. There, now; I think that is saying a good\ndeal. Too much,\" she said pleadingly; but I got something more before\nshe left, even if it was against her will; something that made it\nalmost impossible for me to hold my feet to the ground.\n\nJane pouted, gave me a sharp little slap and then ran away, but at the\ndoor she turned and threw back a rare smile that was priceless to me;\nfor it told me she was not angry; and furthermore shed an illuminating\nray upon a fact which I was blind not to have seen long before; that\nis, that Jane was one of those girls who must be captured _vi et\narmis_.\n\nSome women cannot be captured at all; they must give themselves; of\nthis class pre-eminently was Mary. Others again will meet you half way\nand kindly lend a helping hand; while some, like Jane, are always on\nthe run, and are captured only by pursuit. They are usually well worth\nthe trouble though, and make docile captives. After that smile from\nthe door I felt that Jane was mine; all I had to do was to keep off\noutside enemies, charge upon her defenses when the times were ripe and\naccept nothing short of her own sweet self as ransom.\n\nThe next day Brandon paid his respects to the king and queen, made his\nadieus to his friends and rode off alone to Bristol. You may be sure\nthe king showed no signs of undue grief at his departure.\n\n\n\n\n_CHAPTER XVI_\n\n_A Hawking Party_\n\n\nA few days after Brandon's departure, Mary, with the king's consent,\norganized a small party to go over to Windsor for a few weeks during\nthe warm weather.\n\nThere were ten or twelve of us, including two chaperons, the old Earl\nof Hertford and the dowager Duchess of Kent. Henry might as well have\nsent along a pair of spaniels to act as chaperons--it would have taken\nan army to guard Mary alone--and to tell you the truth our old\nchaperons needed watching more than any of us. It was scandalous. Each\nof them had a touch of gout, and when they made wry faces it was a\nstanding inquiry among us whether they were leering at each other or\nfelt a twinge--whether it was their feet or their hearts, that\ntroubled them.\n\nMary led them a pretty life at all times, even at home in the palace,\nand I know they would rather have gone off with a pack of imps than\nwith us. The inducement was that it gave them better opportunities to\nbe together--an arrangement connived at by the queen, I think--and\nthey were satisfied. The earl had a wife, but he fancied the old\ndowager and she fancied him, and probably the wife fancied somebody\nelse, so they were all happy. It greatly amused the young people, you\nmay be sure, and Mary said, probably without telling the exact truth,\nthat every night she prayed God to pity and forgive their ugliness.\nOne day the princess said she was becoming alarmed; their ugliness was\nso intense she feared it might be contagious and spread. Then, with a\nmost comical seriousness, she added:\n\n\"Mon Dieu! Sir Edwin, what if I should catch it? Master Charles would\nnot take me.\"\n\n\"No danger of that, my lady; he is too devoted to see anything but\nbeauty in you, no matter how much you might change.\"\n\n\"Do you really think so? He says so little about it that sometimes I\nalmost doubt.\"\n\nTherein she spoke the secret of Brandon's success with her, at least\nin the beginning; for there is wonderful potency in the stimulus of a\nhealthy little doubt.\n\nWe had a delightful canter over to Windsor, I riding with Mary most of\nthe way. I was not averse to this arrangement, as I not only relished\nMary's mirth and joyousness, which was at its height, but hoped I\nmight give my little Lady Jane a twinge or two of jealousy perchance\nto fertilize her sentiments toward me.\n\nMary talked, and laughed, and sang, for her soul was a fountain of\ngladness that bubbled up the instant pressure was removed. She spoke\nof little but our last trip over this same road, and, as we passed\nobjects on the way, told me of what Brandon had said at this place\nand that. She laughed and dimpled exquisitely in relating how she had\ndeliberately made opportunities for him to flatter her, until, at\nlast, he smiled in her face and told her she was the most beautiful\ncreature living, but that \"after all, 'beauty was as beauty did!'\"\n\n\"That made me angry,\" said she. \"I pouted for a while, and, two or\nthree times, was on the point of dismissing him, but thought better of\nit and asked him plainly wherein I did so much amiss. Then what do you\nthink the impudent fellow said?\"\n\n\"I cannot guess.\"\n\n\"He said: 'Oh, there is so much it would take a lifetime to tell it.'\n\n\"This made me furious, but I could not answer, and a moment later he\nsaid: 'Nevertheless I should be only too glad to undertake the task.'\n\n\"The thought never occurred to either of us then that he would be\ntaken at his word. Bold? I should think he was; I never saw anything\nlike it! I have not told you a tenth part of what he said to me that\nday; he said anything he wished, and it seemed that I could neither\nstop him nor retaliate. Half the time I was angry and half the time\namused, but by the time we reached Windsor there never was a girl more\nhopelessly and desperately in love than Mary Tudor.\" And she laughed\nas if it were a huge joke on Mary.\n\nShe continued: \"That day settled matters with me for all time. I don't\nknow how he did it. Yes I do....\" and she launched forth into an\naccount of Brandon's perfections, which I found somewhat dull, and so\nwould you.\n\nWe remained a day or two at Windsor, and then, over the objections of\nour chaperons, moved on to Berkeley Castle, where Margaret of Scotland\nwas spending the summer.\n\nWe had another beautiful ride up the dear old Thames to Berkeley, but\nMary had grown serious and saw none of it.\n\nOn the afternoon of the appointed day, the princess suggested a\nhawking party, and we set out in the direction of the rendezvous. Our\nparty consisted of myself, three other gentlemen and three ladies\nbesides Mary. Jane did not go; I was afraid to trust her. She wept,\nand, with difficulty, forced herself to say something about a\nheadache, but the rest of the inmates of the castle of course had no\nthought that possibly they were taking their last look upon Mary\nTudor.\n\nThink who this girl was we were running away with! What reckless fools\nwe were not to have seen the utter hopelessness, certain failure, and\ndeadly peril of our act; treason black as Plutonian midnight. But\nProvidence seems to have an especial care for fools, while wise men\nare left to care for themselves, and it does look as if safety lies in\nfolly.\n\nWe rode on and on, and although I took two occasions, in the presence\nof others, to urge Mary to return, owing to the approach of night and\nthreatened rain, she took her own head, as everybody knew she always\nwould, and continued the hunt.\n\nJust before dark, as we neared the rendezvous, Mary and I managed to\nride ahead of the party quite a distance. At last we saw a heron rise,\nand the princess uncapped her hawk.\n\n\"This is my chance,\" she said; \"I will run away from you now and lose\nmyself; keep them off my track for five minutes and I shall be safe.\nGood-bye, Edwin; you and Jane are the only persons I regret to leave.\nI love you as my brother and sister. When we are settled in New Spain\nwe will have you both come to us. Now, Edwin, I shall tell you\nsomething: don't let Jane put you off any longer. She loves you; she\ntold me so. There! Good-bye, my friend; kiss her a thousand times for\nme.\" And she flew her bird and galloped after it at headlong speed.\n\nAs I saw the beautiful young form receding from me, perhaps forever,\nthe tears stood in my eyes, while I thought of the strong heart that\nso unfalteringly braved such dangers and was so loyal to itself and\ndaring for its love. She had shown a little feverish excitement for a\nday or two, but it was the fever of anticipation, not of fear or\nhesitancy.\n\nSoon the princess was out of sight, and I waited for the others to\novertake me. When they came up I was greeted in chorus: \"Where is the\nprincess?\" I said she had gone off with her hawk, and had left me to\nbring them after her. I held them talking while I could, and when we\nstarted to follow took up the wrong scent. A short ride made this\napparent, when I came in for my full share of abuse and ridicule, for\nI had led them against their judgment. I was credited with being a\nblockhead, when in fact they were the dupes.\n\nWe rode hurriedly back to the point of Mary's departure and wound our\nhorns lustily, but my object had been accomplished, and I knew that\nwithin twenty minutes from the time I last saw her, she would be with\nBrandon, on the road to Bristol, gaining on any pursuit we could make\nat the rate of three miles for two. We scoured the forest far and\nnear, but of course found no trace. After a time rain set in and one\nof the gentlemen escorted the ladies home, while three of us remained\nto prowl about the woods and roads all night in a soaking drizzle. The\ntask was tiresome enough for me, as it lacked motive; and when we rode\ninto Berkeley Castle next day, a sorrier set of bedraggled,\nrain-stained, mud-covered knights you never saw. You may know the\ncastle was wild with excitement. There were all sorts of conjectures,\nbut soon we unanimously concluded it had been the work of highwaymen,\nof whom the country was full, and by whom the princess had certainly\nbeen abducted.\n\nThe chaperons forgot their gout and each other, and Jane, who was the\nmost affected of all, had a genuine excuse for giving vent to her\ngrief and went to bed--by far the safest place for her.\n\nWhat was to be done? First we sent a message to the king, who would\nprobably have us all flayed alive--a fear which the chaperons shared\nto the fullest extent. Next, an armed party rode back to look again\nfor Mary, and, if possible, rescue her.\n\nThe fact that I had been out the entire night before, together with\nthe small repute in which I was held for deeds of arms, excused me\nfrom taking part in this bootless errand, so again I profited by the\nsmall esteem in which I was held. I say I profited, for I stayed at\nthe castle with Jane, hoping to find my opportunity in the absence of\neverybody else. All the ladies but Jane had ridden out, and the\nknights who had been with me scouring the forest were sleeping, since\nthey had not my incentive to remain awake. They had no message to\ndeliver; no duty to perform for an absent friend. A thousand! Only\nthink of it! I wished it had been a million, and so faithful was I to\nmy trust that I swore in my soul I would deliver them, every one.\n\nAnd Jane loved me! No more walking on the hard, prosaic earth now;\nfrom this time forth I would fly; that was the only sensible method of\nlocomotion. Mary had said: \"She told me so.\" Could it really be true?\nYou will at once see what an advantage this bit of information was to\nme.\n\nI hoped that Jane would wish to see me to talk over Mary's escape--so\nI sent word to her that I was waiting, and she quickly enough\nrecovered her health and came down. I suggested that we walk out to a\nsecluded little summer-house by the river, and Jane was willing. Ah!\nmy opportunity was here at last.\n\nShe found her bonnet, and out we went. What an enchanting walk was\nthat, and how rich is a man who has laid up such treasures of memory\nto grow the sweeter as he feeds upon them. A rich memory is better\nthan hope, for it lasts after fruition, and serves us at a time when\nhope has failed and fruition is but--a memory. Ah! how we cherish it\nin our hearts, and how it comes at our beck and call to thrill us\nthrough and through and make us thank God that we have lived, and\nwonder in our hearts why he has given poor undeserving us so much.\n\nAfter we arrived at the summer-house, Jane listened, half the time in\ntears, while I told her all about Mary's flight.\n\nShall I ever forget that summer day? A sweet briar entwined our\nenchanted bower, and, when I catch its scent even now, time-vaulting\nmemory carries me back, making years seem as days, and I see it all as\nI saw the light of noon that moment--and all was Jane. The softly\nlapping river, as it gently sought the sea, sang in soothing cadence\nof naught but Jane; the south wind from his flowery home breathed\nzephyr-voiced her name again, and, as it stirred the rustling leaves\non bush and tree, they whispered back the same sweet strain; and\nevery fairy voice found its echo in my soul; for there it was as 'twas\nwith me, \"Jane! Jane! Jane!\" I have heard men say they would not live\ntheir lives over and take its meager grains of happiness, in such\ninfinite disproportion to its grief and pain, but, as for me, thanks\nto one woman, I almost have the minutes numbered all along the way,\nand know them one from the other; and when I sit alone to dream, and\nlive again some portion of the happy past, I hardly know what time to\nchoose or incident to dwell upon, my life is so much crowded with them\nall. Would I live again my life? Aye, every moment except perhaps when\nJane was ill--and therein even was happiness, for what a joy there was\nat her recovery. I do not even regret that it is closing; it would be\nungrateful; I have had so much more than my share that I simply fall\nupon my knees and thank God for what He has given.\n\nJane's whole attitude toward me was changed, and she seemed to cling\nto me in a shy, unconscious manner, that was sweet beyond the naming,\nas the one solace for all her grief.\n\nAfter I had answered all her questions, and had told her over and over\nagain every detail of Mary's flight, and had assured her that the\nprincess was, at that hour, breasting the waves with Brandon, on their\nhigh road to paradise, I thought it time to start myself in the same\ndirection and to say a word in my own behalf. So I spoke very freely\nand told Jane what I felt and what I wanted.\n\n\"Oh! Sir Edwin,\" she responded, \"let us not think of anything but my\nmistress. Think of the trouble she is in.\"\n\n\"No! no! Jane; Lady Mary is out of her trouble by now, and is as happy\nas a lark, you may be sure. Has she not won everything her heart\nlonged for? Then let us make our own paradise, since we have helped\nthem make theirs. You have it, Jane, just within your lips; speak the\nword and it will change everything--if you love me, and I know you\ndo.\"\n\nJane's head was bowed and she remained silent.\n\nThen I told her of Lady Mary's message, and begged, if she would not\nspeak in words what I so longed to hear, she would at least tell it by\nallowing me to deliver only one little thousandth part of the message\nMary had sent; but she drew away and said she would return to the\ncastle if I continued to behave in that manner. I begged hard, and\ntried to argue the point, but logic seems to lose its force in such a\nsituation, and all I said availed nothing. Jane was obdurate, and was\nfor going back at once. Her persistence was beginning to look like\nobstinacy, and I soon grew so angry that I asked no permission, but\ndelivered Mary's message, or a good part of it, at least, whether she\nwould or no, and then sat back and asked her what she was going to do\nabout it.\n\nPoor little Jane thought she was undone for life. She sat there half\npouting, half weeping, and said she could do nothing about it; that\nshe was alone now, and if I, her only friend, would treat her that\nway, she did not know where to look.\n\n\"Where to look?\" I demanded. \"Look _here_, Jane, here; you might as\nwell understand, first as last, that I will not be trifled with\nlonger, and that I intend to continue treating you that way as long as\nwe both live. I have determined not to permit you to behave as you\nhave for so long; for I know you love me. You have half told me so a\ndozen times, and even your half words are whole truths; there is not a\nfraction of a lie in you. Besides, Mary told me that you told her so.\"\n\n\"She did not tell you that?\"\n\n\"Yes; upon my knightly honor.\" Of course there was but one answer to\nthis--tears. I then brought the battle to close quarters at once, and,\nwith my arm uninterrupted at my lady's waist, asked:\n\n\"Did you not tell her so? I know you will speak nothing but the truth.\nDid you not tell her? Answer me, Jane.\" The fair head nodded as she\nwhispered between the hands that covered her face:\n\n\"Yes; I--I--d-did;\" and I--well, I delivered the rest of Mary's\nmessage, and that, too, without a protest from Jane.\n\nTruthfulness is a pretty good thing after all.\n\nSo Jane was conquered at last, and I heaved a sigh as the battle\nended, for it had been a long, hard struggle.\n\nI asked Jane when we should be married, but she said she could not\nthink of that now--not until she knew that Mary was safe; but she\nwould promise to be my wife sometime. I told her that her word was as\ngood as gold to me; and so it was and always has been; as good as fine\ngold thrice refined. I then told her I would bother her no more about\nit, now that I was sure of her, but when she was ready she should tell\nme of her own accord and make my happiness complete. She said she\nwould, and I told her I believed her and was satisfied. I did,\nhowever, suggest that the intervening time would be worse than\nwasted--happiness thrown right in the face of Providence, as it\nwere--and begged her not to waste any more than necessary; to which\nshe seriously and honestly answered that she would not.\n\nWe went back to the castle, and as we parted Jane said timidly: \"I am\nglad I told you, Edwin; glad it is over.\"\n\nShe had evidently dreaded it; but--I was glad, too; very glad. Then I\nwent to bed.\n\n\n\n\n_CHAPTER XVII_\n\n_The Elopement_\n\n\nWhatever the king might think, I knew Lord Wolsey would quickly enough\nguess the truth when he heard that the princess was missing, and would\nhave a party in pursuit. The runaways, however, would have at least\ntwenty-four hours the start, and a ship leaves no tracks. When Mary\nleft me she was perhaps two-thirds of a league from the rendezvous,\nand night was rapidly falling. As her road lay through a dense forest\nall the way, she would have a dark, lonely ride of a few minutes, and\nI was somewhat uneasy for that part of the journey. It had been agreed\nthat if everything was all right at the rendezvous, Mary should turn\nloose her horse, which had always been stabled at Berkeley Castle and\nwould quickly trot home. To further emphasize her safety a thread\nwould be tied in his forelock. The horse took his time in returning,\nand did not arrive until the second morning after the flight, but when\nhe came I found the thread, and, unobserved, removed it. I quickly\ntook it to Jane, who has it yet, and cherishes it for the mute message\nof comfort it brought her. In case the horse should not return, I was\nto find a token in a hollow tree near the place of meeting; but the\nthread in the forelock told us our friends had found each other.\n\nWhen we left the castle, Mary wore under her riding habit a suit of\nman's attire, and, as we rode along, she would shrug her shoulders and\nlaugh as if it were a huge joke; and by the most comical little\npantomime, call my attention to her unusual bulk. So when she found\nBrandon, the only change necessary to make a man of her was to throw\noff the riding habit and pull on the jack-boots and slouch hat, both\nof which Brandon had with him.\n\nThey wasted no time you may be sure, and were soon under way. In a few\nminutes they picked up the two Bristol men who were to accompany them,\nand, when night had fairly fallen, left the by-paths and took to the\nmain road leading from London to Bath and Bristol. The road was a fair\none; that is, it was well defined and there was no danger of losing\nit; in fact, there was more danger of losing one's self in its\nfathomless mud-holes and quagmires. Brandon had recently passed over\nit twice, and had made mental note of the worst places, so he hoped to\navoid them.\n\nSoon the rain began to fall in a soaking drizzle; then the lamps of\ntwilight went out, and even the shadows of the night were lost among\nthemselves in blinding darkness. It was one of those black nights fit\nfor witch traveling; and, no doubt, every witch in England was out\nbrewing mischief. The horses' hoofs sucked and splashed in the mud\nwith a sound that Mary thought might be heard at Land's End; and the\nhoot of an owl, now and then disturbed by a witch, would strike upon\nher ear with a volume of sound infinitely disproportionate to the size\nof any owl she had ever seen or dreamed of before.\n\nBrandon wore our cushion, the great cloak, and had provided a like one\nof suitable proportions for the princess. This came in good play, as\nher fine gentleman's attire would be but poor stuff to turn the water.\nThe wind, which had arisen with just enough force to set up a dismal\nwail, gave the rain a horizontal slant and drove it in at every\nopening. The flaps of the comfortable great cloak blew back from\nMary's knees, and she felt many a chilling drop through her fine new\nsilk trunks that made her wish for buckram in their place. Soon the\nwater began to trickle down her legs and find lodgment in the\njack-boots, and as the rain and wind came in tremulous little whirs,\nshe felt wretched enough--she who had always been so well sheltered\nfrom every blast. Now and then mud and water would fly up into her\nface--striking usually in the eyes or mouth--and then again her horse\nwould stumble and almost throw her over his head, as he sank, knee\ndeep, into some unexpected hole. All of this, with the thousand and\none noises that broke the still worse silence of the inky night soon\nbegan to work upon her nerves and make her fearful. The road was full\nof dangers aside from stumbling horses and broken necks, for many\nwere the stories of murder and robbery committed along the route they\nwere traveling. It is true they had two stout men, and all were armed,\nyet they might easily come upon a party too strong for them; and no\none could tell what might happen, thought the princess. There was that\npitchy darkness through which she could hardly see her horse's head--a\nthing of itself that seemed to have infinite powers for mischief, and\nwhich no amount of argument ever induced any normally constituted\nwoman to believe was the mere negative absence of light, and not a\nterrible entity potent for all sorts of mischief. Then that wailing\nhowl that rose and fell betimes; no wind ever made such a noise she\nfelt sure. There were those shining white gleams which came from the\nlittle pools of water on the road, looking like dead men's faces\nupturned and pale; perhaps they were water and perhaps they were not.\nMary had all confidence in Brandon, but that very fact operated\nagainst her. Having that confidence and trust in him, she felt no need\nto waste her own energy in being brave; so she relaxed completely, and\nhad the feminine satisfaction of allowing herself to be thoroughly\nfrightened.\n\nIs it any wonder Mary's gallant but womanly spirit sank low in the\nface of all those terrors? She held out bravely, however, and an\noccasional clasp from Brandon's hand under cover of the darkness\ncomforted her. When all those terrors would not suggest even a\nthought of turning back, you may judge of the character of this girl\nand her motive.\n\nThey traveled on, galloping when they could, trotting when they could\nnot gallop, and walking when they must.\n\nAt one time they thought they heard the sound of following horses, and\nhastened on as fast as they dared go, until, stopping to listen and\nhearing nothing, they concluded they were wrong. About eleven o'clock,\nhowever, right out of the black bank of night in front of them they\nheard, in earnest, the sucking splash of horses' hoofs. In an instant\nthe sound ceased and the silence was worse than the noise. The cry\n\"Hollo!\" brought them all to a stand, and Mary thought her time had\ncome.\n\nBoth sides shouted, \"Who comes there?\" to which there was a\nsimultaneous and eager answer, \"A friend,\" and each party passed its\nown way, only too glad to be rid of the other. Mary's sigh of relief\ncould be heard above even the wind and the owls, and her heart beat as\nif it had a task to finish within a certain time.\n\nAfter this they rode on as rapidly as they dared, and about midnight\narrived at the inn where the relay of horses was awaiting them.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThe inn was a rambling old thatched-roofed structure, half mud, half\nwood, and all filth. There are many inns in England that are tidy\nenough, but this one was a little off the main road--selected for that\nreason--and the uncleanness was not the least of Mary's trials that\nhard night. She had not tasted food since noon, and felt the keen\nhunger natural to youth and health such as hers, after twelve hours of\nfasting and eight hours of riding. Her appetite soon overcame her\nrepugnance, and she ate, with a zest that was new to her, the humblest\nfare that had ever passed her lips. One often misses the zest of\nlife's joys by having too much of them. One must want a thing before\nit can be appreciated.\n\nA hard ride of five hours brought our travelers to Bath, which place\nthey rode around just as the sun began to gild the tile roofs and\nsteeples, and another hour brought them to Bristol.\n\nThe ship was to sail at sunrise, but as the wind had died out with the\nnight, there was no danger of its sailing without them. Soon the gates\nopened, and the party rode to the Bow and String, where Brandon had\nleft their chests. The men were then paid off; quick sale was made of\nthe horses; breakfast was served, and they started for the wharf, with\ntheir chests following in the hands of four porters.\n\nA boat soon took them aboard the Royal Hind, and now it looked as if\ntheir daring scheme, so full of improbability as to seem impossible,\nhad really come to a successful issue.\n\nFrom the beginning, I think, it had never occurred to Mary to doubt\nthe result. There had never been with her even a suggestion of\npossible failure, unless it was that evening in our room, when,\nprompted by her startled modesty, she had said she could not bear for\nus to see her in the trunk hose. Now that fruition seemed about to\ncrown her hopes she was happy to her heart's core; and when once to\nherself wept for sheer joy. It is little wonder she was happy. She was\nleaving behind no one whom she loved excepting Jane, and perhaps, me.\nNo father nor mother; only a sister whom she barely knew, and a\nbrother whose treatment of her had turned her heart against him. She\nwas also fleeing with the one man in all the world for her, and from a\nmarriage that was literally worse than death.\n\nBrandon, on the other hand, had always had more desire than hope. The\nmany chances against success had forced upon him a haunting sense of\ncertain failure, which, one would think, should have left him now. It\ndid not, however, and even when on shipboard, with a score of men at\nthe windlass ready to heave anchor at the first breath of wind, it was\nas strong as when Mary first proposed their flight, sitting in the\nwindow on his great cloak. Such were their opposite positions. Both\nwere without doubt, but with this difference; Mary had never doubted\nsuccess; Brandon never doubted failure. He had a keen analytical\nfaculty that gave him truthfully the chances for and against, and, in\nthis case, they were overwhelmingly unfavorable. Such hope as he had\nbeen able to distil out of his desire was sadly dampened by an\never-present premonition of failure, which he could not entirely\nthrow off. Too keen an insight for the truth often stands in a man's\nway, and too clear a view of an overwhelming obstacle is apt to\nparalyze effort. Hope must always be behind a hearty endeavor.\n\nOur travelers were, of course, greatly in need of rest; so Mary went\nto her room, and Brandon took a berth in the cabin set apart for the\ngentlemen.\n\nThey had both paid for their passage, although they had enlisted and\nwere part of the ship's company. They were not expected to do sailor's\nwork, but would be called upon in case of fighting to do their part at\nthat. Mary was probably as good a fighter, in her own way, as one\ncould find in a long journey, but how she was to do her part with\nsword and buckler Brandon did not know. That, however, was a bridge to\nbe crossed when they should come to it.\n\nThey had gone aboard about seven o'clock, and Brandon hoped the ship\nwould be well down Bristol channel before he should leave his berth.\nBut the wind that had filled Mary's jack-boots with rain and had\nhowled so dismally all night long would not stir, now that it was\nwanted. Noon came, yet no wind, and the sun shone as placidly as if\nCaptain Charles Brandon were not fuming with impatience on the poop of\nthe Royal Hind. Three o'clock and no wind. The captain said it would\ncome with night, but sundown was almost at hand and no wind yet.\nBrandon knew this meant failure if it held a little longer, for he\nwas certain the king, with Wolsey's help, would long since have\nguessed the truth.\n\nBrandon had not seen the princess since morning, and the delicacy he\nfelt about going to her cabin made the situation somewhat difficult.\nAfter putting it off from hour to hour in hope that she would appear\nof her own accord, he at last knocked at her door, and, of course,\nfound the lady in trouble.\n\nThe thought of the princess going on deck caused a sinking at his\nheart every time it came, as he felt that it was almost impossible to\nconceal her identity. He had not seen her in her new male attire, for\nwhen she threw off her riding habit on meeting him the night before,\nhe had intentionally busied himself about the horses, and saw her only\nafter the great cloak covered her as a gown. He felt that however well\nher garments might conceal her form, no man on earth ever had such\nbeauty in his face as her transcendent eyes, rose-tinted cheeks, and\ncoral lips, with their cluster of dimples; and his heart sank at the\nprospect. She might hold out for a while with a straight face, but\nwhen the smiles should come--it were just as well to hang a placard\nabout her neck: \"This is a woman.\" The tell-tale dimples would be\nworse than Jane for outspoken, untimely truthfulness and\ntrouble-provoking candor.\n\nUpon entering, Brandon found Mary wrestling with the problem of her\ncomplicated male attire; the most beautiful picture of puzzled\ndistress imaginable. The port was open and showed her rosy as the morn\nwhen she looked up at him. The jack-boots were in a corner, and her\nlittle feet seemed to put up a protest all their own, against going\ninto them, that ought to have softened every peg. She looked up at\nBrandon with a half-hearted smile, and then threw her arms about his\nneck and sobbed like the child that she was.\n\n\"Do you regret coming, Lady Mary?\" asked Brandon, who, now that she\nwas alone with him, felt that he must take no advantage of the fact to\nbe familiar.\n\n\"No! no! not for one moment; I am glad--only too glad. But why do you\ncall me 'Lady'? You used to call me 'Mary.'\"\n\n\"I don't know; perhaps because you are alone.\"\n\n\"Ah! that is good of you; but you need not be quite so respectful.\"\n\nThe matter was settled by mute but satisfactory arbitration, and\nBrandon continued: \"You must make yourself ready to go on deck. It\nwill be hard, but it must be done.\"\n\nHe helped her with the heavy jack-boots and handed her the\nrain-stained slouch hat which she put on, and stood a complete man\nready for the deck--that is, as complete as could be evolved from her\nutter femininity.\n\nWhen Brandon looked her over, all hope went out of him. It seemed that\nevery change of dress only added to her bewitching beauty by showing\nit in a new phase.\n\n\"It will never do; there is no disguising you. What is it that despite\neverything shows so unmistakably feminine? What shall we do? I have\nit; you shall remain here under the pretense of illness until we are\nwell at sea, and then I will tell the captain all. It is too bad; and\nyet I would not have you one whit less a woman for all the world. A\nman loves a woman who is so thoroughly womanly that nothing can hide\nit.\"\n\nMary was pleased at his flattery, but disappointed at the failure in\nherself. She had thought that surely these garments would make a man\nof her in which the keenest eye could not detect a flaw.\n\nThey were discussing the matter when a knock came at the door with the\ncry, \"All hands on deck for inspection.\" Inspection! Jesu! Mary would\nnot safely endure it a minute. Brandon left her at once and went to\nthe captain.\n\n\"My lord is ill, and begs to be excused from deck inspection,\" he\nsaid.\n\nBradhurst, a surly old half pirate of the saltiest pattern, answered:\n\"Ill? Then he had better go ashore as soon as possible. I will refund\nhis money. We cannot make a hospital out of the ship. If his lordship\nis too ill to stand inspection, see that he goes ashore at once.\"\n\nThis last was addressed to one of the ship's officers, who answered\nwith the usual \"Aye, aye, sir,\" and started for Mary's cabin.\n\nThat was worse than ever; and Brandon quickly said he would have his\nlordship up at once. He then returned to Mary, and after buckling on\nher sword and belt they went on deck and climbed up the poop ladder to\ntake their places with those entitled to stand aft.\n\nBrandon has often told me since that it was as much as he could do to\nkeep back the tears when he saw Mary's wonderful effort to appear\nmanly. It was both comical and pathetic. She was a princess to whom\nall the world bowed down, yet that did not help her here. After all\nshe was only a girl, timid and fearful, following at Brandon's heels;\nfrightened lest she should get out of arm's reach of him among those\nrough men, and longing with all her heart to take his hand for moral\nas well as physical support. It must have been both laughable and\npathetic in the extreme. That miserable sword persisted in tripping\nher, and the jack-boots, so much too large, evinced an alarming\ntendency to slip off with every step. How insane we all were not to\nhave foreseen this from the very beginning. It must have been a unique\nfigure she presented climbing up the steps at Brandon's heels,\njack-boots and all. So unique was it that the sailors working in the\nship's waist stopped their tasks to stare in wonderment, and the\ngentlemen on the poop made no effort to hide their amusement. Old\nBradhurst stepped up to her.\n\n\"I hope your lordship is feeling better;\" and then, surveying her from\nhead to foot, with a broad grin on his features, \"I declare, you look\nthe picture of health, if I ever saw it. How old are you?\"\n\nMary quickly responded, \"Fourteen years.\"\n\n\"Fourteen,\" returned Bradhurst: \"well, I don't think you will shed\nmuch blood. You look more like a deuced handsome girl than any man I\never saw.\" At this the men all laughed, and were very impertinent in\nthe free and easy manner of such gentry, most of whom were\nprofessional adventurers, with every finer sense dulled and debased by\nyears of vice.\n\nThese fellows, half of them tipsy, now gathered about Mary to inspect\nher personally, each on his own account. Their looks and conduct were\nvery disconcerting, but they did nothing insulting until one fellow\ngave her a slap on the back, accompanying it by an indecent remark.\nBrandon tried to pay no attention to them, but this was too much, so\nhe lifted his arm and knocked the fellow off the poop into the waist.\nThe man was back in a moment, and swords were soon drawn and clicking\naway at a great rate. The contest was brief, however, as the fellow\nwas no sort of match for Brandon, who, with his old trick, quickly\ntwisted his adversary's sword out of his grasp, and with a flash of\nhis own blade flung it into the sea. The other men were now talking\ntogether at a little distance in whispers, and in a moment one drunken\nbrute shouted: \"It is no man; it is a woman; let us see more of her.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\nBefore Brandon could interfere, the fellow had unbuckled Mary's\ndoublet at the throat, and with a jerk, had torn it half off, carrying\naway the sleeve and exposing Mary's shoulder, almost throwing her to\nthe deck.\n\nHe waved his trophy on high, but his triumph was short-lived, for\nalmost instantly it fell to the deck, and with it the offending hand\nsevered at the wrist by Brandon's sword. Three or four friends of the\nwounded man rushed upon Brandon; whereupon Mary screamed and began to\nweep, which of course told the whole story.\n\nA great laugh went up, and instantly a general fight began. Several of\nthe gentlemen, seeing Brandon attacked by such odds, took up his\ndefense, and within twenty seconds all were on one side or the other,\nevery mother's son of them fighting away like mad.\n\nYou see how quickly and completely one woman without the slightest act\non her part, except a modest effort to be let alone, had set the whole\ncompany by the ears, cutting and slashing away at each other like very\ndevils. The sex must generate mischief in some unknown manner, and\nthrow it off, as the sun throws off its heat. However, Jane is an\nexception to that rule--if it is a rule.\n\nThe officers soon put a stop to this lively little fight, and took\nBrandon and Mary, who was weeping as any right-minded woman would,\ndown into the cabin for consultation.\n\nWith a great oath Bradhurst exclaimed: \"It is plain enough that you\nhave brought a girl on board under false colors, and you may as well\nmake ready to put her ashore. You see what she has already done--a\nhand lost to one man and wounds for twenty others--and she was on deck\nless than five minutes. Heart of God! At that rate she would have the\nship at the bottom of Davy Jones's locker before we could sail half\ndown the channel.\"\n\n\"It was not my fault,\" sobbed Mary, her eyes flashing fire; \"I did\nnothing; all I wanted was to be left alone; but those brutes of\nmen--you shall pay for this; remember what I say. Did you expect\nCaptain Brandon to stand back and not defend me, when that wretch was\ntearing my garments off?\"\n\n\"Captain Brandon, did you say?\" asked Bradhurst, with his hat off\ninstantly.\n\n\"Yes,\" answered that individual. \"I shipped under an assumed name, for\nvarious reasons, and desire not to be known. You will do well to keep\nmy secret.\"\n\n\"Do I understand that you are Master Charles Brandon, the king's\nfriend?\" asked Bradhurst.\n\n\"I am,\" was the answer.\n\n\"Then, sir, I must ask your pardon for the way you have been treated.\nWe, of course, could not know it, but a man must expect trouble when\nhe attaches himself to a woman.\" It is a wonder the flashes from\nMary's eyes did not strike the old sea-dog dead. He, however, did not\nsee them, and went on: \"We are more than anxious that so valiant a\nknight as Sir Charles Brandon should go with us, and hope your\nreception will not drive you back, but as to the lady--you see already\nthe result of her presence, and much as we want you, we cannot take\nher. Aside from the general trouble which a woman takes with her\neverywhere\"--Mary would not even look at the creature--\"on shipboard\nthere is another and greater objection. It is said, you know, among\nsailors, that a woman on board draws bad luck to certain sorts of\nships, and every sailor would desert, before we could weigh anchor, if\nit were known this lady was to go with us. Should they find it out in\nmid-ocean, a mutiny would be sure to follow, and God only knows what\nwould happen. For her sake, if for no other reason, take her ashore at\nonce.\"\n\nBrandon saw only too plainly the truth that he had really seen all the\ntime, but to which he had shut his eyes, and throwing Mary's cloak\nover her shoulders, prepared to go ashore. As they went over the side\nand pulled off, a great shout went up from the ship far more derisive\nthan cheering, and the men at the oars looked at each other askance\nand smiled. What a predicament for a princess! Brandon cursed himself\nfor having been such a knave and fool as to allow this to happen. He\nhad known the danger all the time, and his act could not be\nchargeable to ignorance or a failure to see the probable consequences.\nTemptation, and selfish desire, had given him temerity in place of\njudgment. He had attempted what none but an insane man would have\ntried, without even the pitiable excuse of insanity. He had seen it\nall only too clearly from the very beginning, and he had deliberately\nand with open eyes brought disgrace, ruin, and death--unless he could\nescape--upon himself, and utter humiliation to her whom his love\nshould have prompted him to save at all cost. If Mary could only have\ndisguised herself to look like a man they might have succeeded, but\nthat little \"if\" was larger than Paul's church, and blocked the road\nas completely as if it had been a word of twenty syllables.\n\nWhen the princess stepped ashore it seemed to her as if the heart in\nher breast was a different and separate organ from the one she had\ncarried aboard.\n\nAs the boat put off again for the ship, its crew gave a cheer coupled\nwith some vile advice, for which Brandon would gladly have run them\nthrough, each and every one. He had to swallow his chagrin and anger,\nand really blamed no one but himself, though it was torture to him\nthat this girl should be subjected to such insults, and he powerless\nto avenge them. The news had spread from the wharf like wildfire, and\non their way back to the Bow and String, there came from small boys\nand hidden voices such exclamations as: \"Look at the woman in man's\nclothing;\" \"Isn't he a beautiful man?\" \"Look at him blush;\" and others\ntoo coarse to be repeated. Imagine the humiliating situation, from\nwhich there was no escape.\n\nAt last they reached the inn, whither their chests soon followed them,\nsent by Bradhurst, together with their passage money, which he very\nhonestly refunded.\n\nMary soon donned her woman's attire, of which she had a supply in her\nchest, and at least felt more comfortable without the jack-boots. She\nhad made her toilet alone for the first time in her life, having no\nmaid to help her, and wept as she dressed, for this disappointment was\nlike plucking the very heart out of her. Her hope had been so high\nthat the fall was all the harder. Nay, even more; hope had become\nfruition to her when they were once a-shipboard, and failure right at\nthe door of success made it doubly hard to bear. It crushed her, and,\nwhere before had been hope and confidence, was nothing now but\ndespair. Like all people with a great capacity for elation, when she\nsank she touched the bottom. Alas! Mary, the unconquerable, was down\nat last.\n\nThis failure meant so much to her; it meant that she would never be\nBrandon's wife, but would go to France to endure the dreaded old\nFrenchman. At that thought a recoil came. Her spirit asserted itself,\nand she stamped her foot and swore upon her soul it should never be;\nnever! never! so long as she had strength to fight or voice to cry,\n\"No.\" The thought of this marriage and of the loss of Brandon was\npainful enough, but there came another, entirely new to her and\ninfinitely worse.\n\nHastily arranging her dress, she went in search of Brandon, whom she\nquickly found and took to her room.\n\nAfter closing the door she said: \"I thought I had reached the pinnacle\nof disappointment and pain when compelled to leave the ship, for it\nmeant that I should lose you and have to marry Louis of France. But I\nhave found that there is still a possible pain more poignant than\neither, and I cannot bear it; so I come to you--you who are the great\ncure for all my troubles. Oh! that I could lay them here all my life\nlong,\" and she put her head upon his breast, forgetting what she had\nintended to say.\n\n\"What is the trouble, Mary?\"\n\n\"Oh! yes! I thought of that marriage and of losing you, and then, oh!\nMary Mother! I thought of some other woman having you to herself. I\ncould see her with you, and I was jealous--I think they call it. I\nhave heard of the pangs of jealousy, and if the fear of a rival is so\ngreat what would the reality be? It would kill me; I could not endure\nit. I cannot endure even this, and I want you to swear that----\"\n\nBrandon took her in his arms as she began to weep.\n\n\"I will gladly swear by everything I hold sacred that no other woman\nthan you shall ever be my wife. If I cannot have you, be sure you have\nspoiled every other woman for me. There is but one in all the\nworld--but one. I can at least save you that pain.\"\n\nShe then stood on tip-toes to lift her lips to him, and said: \"I give\nyou the same promise. How you must have suffered when you thought I\nwas to wed another.\"\n\nAfter a pause she went on: \"But it might have been worse--that is, it\nwould be worse if you should marry some other woman; but that is all\nsettled now and I feel easier. Then I might have married the old\nFrench king, but that, too, is settled; and we can endure the lesser\npain. It always helps us when we are able to think it might have been\nworse.\"\n\nHer unquestioning faith in Brandon was beautiful, and she never\ndoubted that he spoke the unalterable truth when he said he would\nnever marry any other woman. She had faith in herself, too, and was\nconfident that her promise to marry no man but Brandon ended that\nimportant matter likewise, and put the French marriage totally out of\nthe question for all time to come.\n\nAs for Brandon, he was safe enough in his part of the contract. He\nknew only too well that no woman could approach Mary in her inimitable\nperfections, and he had tested his love closely enough, in his\nstruggle against it, to feel that it had taken up its abode in his\nheart to stay, whether he wanted it or not. He knew that he was safe\nin making her a promise which he was powerless to break. All this he\nfully explained to Mary, as they sat looking out of the window at the\ndreary rain which had come on again with the gathering gloom of night.\n\nBrandon did not tell her that his faith in her ultimate ability to\nkeep her promise was as small as it was great in his own. Neither did\nhe dampen her spirits by telling her that there was a reason, outside\nof himself, which in all probability would help him in keeping his\nword, and save her from the pangs of that jealousy she so much feared;\nnamely, that he would most certainly wed the block and ax should the\nking get possession of him. He might have escaped from England in the\nRoyal Hind, for the wind had come up shortly after they left the ship,\nand they could see the sails indistinctly through the gloom as she got\nunder way. But he could not leave Mary alone, and had made up his mind\nto take her back to London and march straight into the jaws of death\nwith her, if the king's men did not soon come.\n\nHe knew that a debt to folly bears no grace, and was ready with his\nprincipal and usance.\n\n\n\n\n_CHAPTER XVIII_\n\n_To the Tower_\n\n\nWhether or not Brandon would have found some way to deliver the\nprincess safely home, and still make his escape, I cannot say, as he\nsoon had no choice in the matter. At midnight a body of yeomen from\nthe tower took possession of the Bow and String, and carried Brandon\noff to London without communication with Mary. She did, not know of\nhis arrest until next morning, when she was informed that she was to\nfollow immediately, and her heart was nearly broken.\n\nHere again was trouble for Mary. She felt, however, that the two great\nquestions, the marriage of herself to Louis, and Brandon to any other\nperson, were, as she called it, \"settled\"; and was almost content to\nendure this as a mere putting off of her desires--a meddlesome and\nimpertinent interference of the Fates, who would soon learn with whom\nthey were dealing, and amend their conduct.\n\nShe did not understand the consequences for Brandon, nor that the\nFates would have to change their purpose very quickly or something\nwould happen worse, even, than his marriage to another woman.\n\nOn the second morning after leaving Bristol, Brandon reached London,\nand, as he expected, was sent to the Tower. The next evening Lady\nMary arrived and was taken down to Greenwich.\n\nThe girl's fair name was, of course, lost--but, fortunately, that goes\nfor little with a princess--since no one would believe that Brandon\nhad protected her against himself as valiantly and honorably as he\nwould against another. The princess being much more unsophisticated\nthan the courtiers were ready to believe, never thought of saying\nanything to establish her innocence or virtue, and her silence was put\ndown to shame and taken as evidence against her.\n\nJane met Mary at Windsor, and, of course, there was a great flood of\ntears.\n\nUpon arriving at the palace, the girls were left to themselves, upon\nMary's promise not to leave her room; but, by the next afternoon, she,\nhaving been unable to learn anything concerning Brandon, broke her\nparole and went out to see the king.\n\nIt never occurred to Mary that Brandon might suffer death for\nattempting to run away with her. She knew only too well that she alone\nwas to blame, not only for that, but for all that had taken place\nbetween them, and never for one moment thought that he might be\npunished for her fault, even admitting there was fault in any one,\nwhich she was by no means ready to do.\n\nThe trouble in her mind, growing out of a lack of news from Brandon,\nwas of a general nature, and the possibility of his death had no place\nin her thoughts. Nevertheless, for the second time, Brandon had been\ncondemned to die for her sake. The king's seal had stamped the warrant\nfor the execution, and the headsman had sharpened his ax and could\nalmost count the golden fee for his butchery.\n\nMary found the king playing cards with de Longueville. There was a\nroomful of courtiers, and as she entered she was the target for every\neye; but she was on familiar ground now, and did not care for the\nglances nor the observers, most of whom she despised. She was the\nprincess again and full of self-confidence; so she went straight to\nthe object of her visit, the king. She had not made up her mind just\nwhat to say first, there was so much; but Henry saved her the trouble.\nHe, of course, was in a great rage, and denounced Mary's conduct as\nunnatural and treasonable; the latter, in Henry's mind, being a crime\nmany times greater than the breaking of all the commandments put\ntogether, in one fell, composite act. All this the king had\ncommunicated to Mary by the lips of Wolsey the evening before, and\nMary had received it with a silent scorn that would have withered any\none but the worthy bishop of York. As I said, when Mary approached her\nbrother, he saved her the trouble of deciding where to begin by\nspeaking first himself, and his words were of a part with his\nnature--violent, cruel and vulgar. He abused her and called her all\nthe vile names in his ample vocabulary of billingsgate. The queen was\npresent and aided and abetted with a word now and then, until Henry,\nwith her help, at last succeeded in working himself into a towering\npassion, and wound up by calling Mary a vile wanton in plainer terms\nthan I like to write. This aroused all the antagonism in the girl, and\nthere was plenty of it. She feared Henry no more than she feared me.\nHer eyes flashed a fire that made even the king draw back as she\nexclaimed: \"You give me that name and expect me to remember you are my\nbrother? There are words that make a mother hate her first-born, and\nthat is one. Tell me what I have done to deserve it? I expected to\nhear of ingratitude and disobedience and all that, but supposed you\nhad at least some traces of brotherly feeling--for ties of blood are\nhard to break--even if you have of late lost all semblance to man or\nking.\"\n\nThis was hitting Henry hard, for it was beginning to be the talk in\nevery mouth that he was leaving all the affairs of state to Wolsey and\nspending his time in puerile amusement. \"The toward hope which at all\npoyntes appeared in the younge Kynge\" was beginning to look, after\nall, like nothing more than the old-time royal cold fire, made to\nconsume but not to warm the nation.\n\nHenry looked at Mary with the stare of a baited bull.\n\n\"If running off in male attire, and stopping at inns and boarding\nships with a common Captain of the guard doesn't justify my\naccusation and stamp you what you are, I do not know what would.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\nEven Henry saw her innocence in her genuine surprise. She was silent\nfor a little time, and I, standing close to her, could plainly see\nthat this phase of the question had never before presented itself.\n\nShe hung her head for a moment and then spoke: \"It may be true, as you\nsay, that what I have done will lose me my fair name--I had never\nthought of it in that light--but it is also true that I am innocent\nand have done no wrong. You may not believe me, but you can ask Master\nBrandon\"--here the king gave a great laugh, and of course the\ncourtiers joined in.\n\n\"It is all very well for you to laugh, but Master Brandon would not\ntell you a lie for your crown--\" Gods! I could have fallen on my knees\nto a faith like that--\"What I tell you is true. I trusted him so\ncompletely that the fear of dishonor at his hands never suggested\nitself to me. I knew he would care for and respect me. I trusted him,\nand my trust was not misplaced. Of how many of these creatures who\nlaugh when the king laughs could I say as much?\" And Henry knew she\nspoke the truth, both concerning herself and the courtiers.\n\nWith downcast eyes she continued: \"I suppose, after all, you are\npartly right in regard to me; for it was his honor that saved me, not\nmy own; and if I am not what you called me I have Master Brandon to\nthank--not myself.\"\n\n\"We will thank him publicly on Tower Hill, day after to-morrow, at\nnoon,\" said the king, with his accustomed delicacy, breaking the news\nof Brandon's sentence as abruptly as possible.\n\nWith a look of terror in her eyes, Mary screamed: \"What! Charles\nBrandon.... Tower Hill?... You are going to kill him?\"\n\n\"I think we will,\" responded Henry; \"it usually has that effect, to\nseparate the head from the body and quarter the remains to decorate\nthe four gates. We will take you up to London in a day or two and let\nyou see his beautiful head on the bridge.\"\n\n\"Behead--quarter--bridge! Lord Jesu!\" She could not grasp the thought;\nshe tried to speak, but the words would not come. In a moment she\nbecame more coherent, and the words rolled from her lips as a mighty\nflood tide pours back through the arches of London Bridge.\n\n\"You shall not kill him; he is blameless; you do not know. Drive these\ngawking fools out of the room, and I will tell you all.\" The king\nordered the room cleared of everybody but Wolsey, Jane and myself, who\nremained at Mary's request. When all were gone, the princess\ncontinued: \"Brother, this man is in no way to blame; it is all my\nfault--my fault that he loves me; my fault that he tried to run away\nto New Spain with me. It may be that I have done wrong and that my\nconduct has been unmaidenly, but I could not help it. From the first\ntime I ever saw him in the lists with you at Windsor there was a\ngnawing hunger in my heart beyond my control. I supposed, of course,\nthat day he would contrive some way to be presented to me....\"\n\n\"You did?\"\n\n\"Yes, but he made no effort at all, and when we met he treated me as\nif I were an ordinary girl.\"\n\n\"He did?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Horrible.\"\n\nMary was too intent on her story to heed the sarcasm, and continued:\n\"That made me all the more interested in him since it showed that he\nwas different from the wretches who beset you and me with their\nflattery, and I soon began to seek him on every occasion. This is an\nunmaidenly history I am giving, I know, but it is the truth, and must\nbe told. I was satisfied at first if I could only be in the same room\nwith him, and see his face, and hear his voice. The very air he\nbreathed was like an elixir for me. I made every excuse to have him\nnear me; I asked him to my parlor--you know about that--and--and did\nall I could to be with him. At first he was gentle and kind, but soon,\nI think, he saw the dawning danger in both our hearts, as I too saw\nit, and he avoided me in every way he could, knowing the trouble it\nheld for us both. Oh! he was the wiser--and to think to what I have\nbrought him. Brother, let me die for him--I who alone am to blame;\ntake my life and spare him--spare him! He was the wiser, but I doubt\nif all the wisdom in the world could have saved us. He almost insulted\nme once in the park--told me to leave him--when it hurt him more than\nme, I am now sure; but he did it to keep matters from growing worse\nbetween us. I tried to remember the affront, but could not, and had he\nstruck me I believe I should have gone back to him sooner or later.\nOh! it was all my fault; I would not let him save himself. So strong\nwas my feeling that I could bear his silence no longer, and one day I\nwent to him in your bed-chamber ante-room and fairly thrust myself and\nmy love upon him. Then, after he was liberated from Newgate, I could\nnot induce him to come to me, so I went to him and begged for his\nlove. Then I coaxed him into taking me to New Spain, and would listen\nto no excuse and hear no reason. Now lives there another man who would\nhave taken so much coaxing?\"\n\n\"No! by heaven! your majesty,\" said Wolsey, who really had a kindly\nfeeling for Brandon and would gladly save his life, if, by so doing,\nhe would not interfere with any of his own plans and interests.\nWolsey's heart was naturally kind when it cost him nothing, and much\nhas been related of him, which, to say the least, tells a great deal\nmore than the truth. Ingratitude always recoils upon the ingrate, and\nHenry's loss was greater than Wolsey's when Wolsey fell.\n\nHenry really liked, or, rather, admired, Brandon, as had often been\nshown, but his nature was incapable of real affection. The highest\npoint he ever reached was admiration, often quite extravagant for a\ntime, but usually short-lived, as naked admiration is apt to be. If he\nhad affection for any one it was for Mary. He could not but see the\njustice of his sister's position, but he had no intention of allowing\njustice, in the sense of right, to interfere with justice in the sense\nof the king's will.\n\n\"You have been playing the devil at a great rate,\" he said, \"You have\ndisobeyed your brother and your king; have disgraced yourself; have\nprobably made trouble between us and France, for if Louis refuses to\ntake you now I will cram you down his throat; and by your own story\nhave led a good man to the block. Quite a budget of evils for one\nwoman to open. But I have noticed that the trouble a woman can make is\nin proportion to her beauty, and no wonder my little sister has made\nso much disturbance. It is strange, though, that he should so affect\nyou. Master Wolsey, surely there has been witchery here. He must have\nused it abundantly to cast such a spell over my sister.\" Then turning\nto the princess: \"Was it at any time possible for him to have given\nyou a love powder; or did he ever make any signs or passes over you?\"\n\n\"Oh, no! nothing of that sort. I never ate or drank anything which he\ncould possibly have touched. And as to signs and passes, I know he\nnever made any. Sir Edwin, you were always present when I was with him\nuntil after we left for Bristol; did you ever see anything of the\nsort?\"\n\nI answered \"No,\" and she went on. \"Besides, I do not believe much in\nsigns and passes. No one can affect others unless he can induce them\nto eat or drink something in which he has placed a love powder or\npotion. Then again, Master Brandon did not want me to love him, and\nsurely would not have used such a method to gain what he could have\nhad freely without it.\"\n\nI noticed that Henry's mind had wandered from what Mary was saying,\nand that his eyes were fixed upon me with a thoughtful, half vicious,\ninquiring stare that I did not like. I wondered what was coming next,\nbut my curiosity was more than satisfied when the king asked: \"So\nCaskoden was present at all your interviews?\"\n\nAh! Holy Mother! I knew what was coming now, and actually began to\nshrivel with fright. The king continued: \"I suppose he helped you to\nescape?\"\n\nI thought my day had come, but Mary's wit was equal to the occasion.\nWith an expression on her face of the most dove-like innocence, she\nquickly said:\n\n\"Oh! no! neither he nor Jane knew anything of it. We were afraid they\nmight divulge it.\"\n\nShade of Sapphira!\n\nA lie is a pretty good thing, too, now and then, and the man who says\nthat word of Mary's was not a blessed lie, must fight me with lance,\nbattle-ax, sword and dagger till one or the other of us bites the dust\nin death, be he great or small.\n\n\"I am glad to learn that you knew nothing of it,\" said Henry,\naddressing me; and I was glad, too, for him to learn it, you may be\nsure.\n\nThen spoke Wolsey: \"If your majesty will permit, I would say that I\nquite agree with you; there has been witchery here--witchery of the\nmost potent kind; the witchery of lustrous eyes, of fair skin and rosy\nlips; the witchery of all that is sweet and intoxicating in womanhood,\nbut Master Brandon has been the victim of this potent spell, not the\nuser of it. One look upon your sister standing there, and I know your\nmajesty will agree that Brandon had no choice against her.\"\n\n\"Perhaps you are right,\" returned Henry.\n\nThen spoke Mary, all unconscious of her girlish egotism: \"Of course he\nhad not. Master Brandon could not help it.\" Which was true beyond all\ndoubt.\n\nHenry laughed at her naïveté, and Wolsey's lips wore a smile, as he\nplucked the king by the sleeve and took him over to the window, out of\nour hearing.\n\nMary began to weep and show signs of increasing agitation.\n\nAfter a short whispered conversation, the king and Wolsey came back\nand the former said: \"Sister, if I promise to give Brandon his life,\nwill you consent decently and like a good girl to marry Louis of\nFrance?\"\n\nMary almost screamed, \"Yes, yes; gladly; I will do anything you ask,\"\nand fell at his feet hysterically embracing his knees.\n\nAs the king stooped and lifted her to her feet, he kissed her, saying:\n\"His life shall be spared, my sweet sister.\" After this, Henry felt\nthat he had done a wonderfully gracious act and was the\nkindest-hearted prince in all Christendom.\n\nPoor Mary! Two mighty kings and their great ministers of state had at\nlast conquered you, but they had to strike you through your love--the\nvulnerable spot in every woman.\n\nJane and I led Mary away through a side door and the king called for\nde Longueville to finish the interrupted game of cards.\n\nBefore the play was resumed Wolsey stepped softly around to the king\nand asked: \"Shall I affix your majesty's seal to Brandon's pardon?\"\n\n\"Yes, but keep him in the Tower until Mary is off for France.\"\n\nWolsey had certainly been a friend to Brandon in time of need, but, as\nusual, he had value received for his friendliness. He was an ardent\nadvocate of the French marriage, notwithstanding the fact he had told\nMary he was not; having no doubt been bribed thereto by the French\nking.\n\nThe good bishop had, with the help of de Longueville, secretly sent\nMary's miniature to the French court in order that it might, as if by\naccident, fall into the hands of Louis, and that worthy's little, old,\nshriveled heart began to flutter, just as if there could be kindled in\nit a genuine flame.\n\nLouis had sent to de Longueville, who was then in England, for\nconfirmation of Mary's beauty, and de Longueville grew so eloquent on\nthe theme that his French majesty at once authorized negotiations.\n\nAs reports came in Louis grew more and more impatient. This did not,\nhowever, stand in the way of his driving a hard bargain in the matter\nof dower, for \"The Father of the People\" had the characteristics of\nhis race, and was intensely practical as well as inflammable. They\nnever lose sight of the _dot_--but I do not find fault.\n\nLouis little knew what thorns this lovely rose had underneath her\nvelvet leaves, and what a veritable Tartar she would be, linked to the\nman she did not love; or he would have given Henry four hundred\nthousand crowns to keep her at home.\n\n\n\n\n_CHAPTER XIX_\n\n_Proserpina_\n\n\nSo the value received for Wolsey's friendship to Brandon was Mary's\npromise to marry Louis.\n\nMary wanted to send a message at once to Brandon, telling him his life\nwould be spared, and that she had made no delay this time--a fact of\nwhich she was very proud--but the Tower gates would not open until\nmorning, so she had to wait. She compensated herself as well as she\ncould by writing a letter, which I should like to give you here, but\nit is too long. She told him of his pardon, but not one word upon the\ntheme he so wished yet feared to hear of--her promise never to wed any\nother man. Mary had not told him of her final surrender in the matter\nof the French marriage, for the reason that she dreaded to pain him,\nand feared he might refuse the sacrifice.\n\n\"It will almost kill him, I know,\" she said to Jane that night, \"and I\nfear it is a false kindness I do him. He would, probably, rather die\nthan that I should marry another; I know that I should rather die, or\nhave anything else terrible to happen, than for another woman to\npossess him. He promised me he never would; but suppose he should fail\nin his word, as I have to-day failed in mine? The thought of it\nabsolutely burns me.\" And she threw herself into Jane's arms, and that\nlittle comforter tried to soothe her by making light of her fears.\n\n\"Oh! but suppose he should?\"\n\n\"Well! there is no need to borrow trouble. You said he promised you,\nand you know he is one who keeps his word.\"\n\n\"But I promised, too, and think of what I am about to do. Mary in\nheaven, help me! But he is made of different stuff from me. I can and\ndo trust his word, and when I think of all my troubles, and when it\nseems that I cannot bear them, the one comforting thought comes that\nno other woman will ever possess him; no other woman; no other woman.\nI am glad that my only comfort comes from him.\"\n\n\"I hoped that I might have been some comfort to you; I have tried hard\nenough,\" said Jane, who was jealous.\n\n\"Oh! yes! my sweet Jane; you do comfort me; you are like a soothing\nbalm to an aching pain,\" and she kissed the hands that held hers. This\nwas all that modest little Jane required. She was content to be an\nhumble balm and did not aspire to the dignity of an elixir.\n\nThe girls then said their prayers in concert and Mary gently wept\nherself to sleep. She lay dreaming and tossing nervously until\nsunrise, when she got up and added more pages to her letter, until I\ncalled to take it.\n\nI was on hand soon after the Tower gates had opened and was permitted\nto see Brandon at once. He read Mary's letter and acted like every\nother lover, since love-letters first began. He was quick to note the\nabsence of the longed for, but not expected assurance, and when he did\nnot see it went straight to the point.\n\n\"She has promised to marry the French king to purchase my life. Is\nthat not true?\"\n\n\"I hope not,\" I answered, evasively; \"I have seen very little of her,\nand she has said nothing about it.\"\n\n\"You are evading my question, I see. Do you know nothing of it?\"\n\n\"Nothing,\" I replied, telling an unnecessary lie.\n\n\"Caskoden, you are either a liar or a blockhead.\"\n\n\"Make it a liar, Brandon,\" said I, laughingly, for I was sure of my\nplace in his heart and knew that he meant no offense.\n\nI never doubt a friend; one would better be trustful of ninety-nine\nfriends who are false than doubtful of one who is true. Suspicion and\nsuper-sensitiveness are at once the badge and the bane of a little\nsoul.\n\nI did not leave the Tower until noon, and Brandon's pardon had been\ndelivered to him before I left. He was glad that the first news of it\nhad come from Mary.\n\nHe naturally expected his liberty at once, and when told that he was\nto be honorably detained for a short time, turned to me and said: \"I\nsuppose they are afraid to let me out until she is off for France.\nKing Henry flatters me.\"\n\nI looked out of the window up Tower street and said nothing.\n\nWhen I left I took a letter to Mary, which plainly told her he had\ndivined it all, and she wrote a tear-stained answer, begging him to\nforgive her for having saved his life at a cost greater than her own.\n\nFor several days I was kept busy carrying letters from Greenwich to\nthe Tower and back again, but soon letters ceased to satisfy Mary, and\nshe made up her mind that she must see him. Nothing else would do. She\nmust not, could not, and, in short, would not go another day without\nseeing him; no, not another hour. Jane and I opposed her all we could,\nbut the best we could accomplish was to induce her for Brandon's\nsake--for she was beginning to see that he was the one who had to\nsuffer for her indiscretions--to ask Henry's permission, and if he\nrefused, then try some other way. To determine was to act with Mary,\nso off she went without delay to hunt the king, taking Jane and me\nalong as escort. How full we were of important business, as we\nscurried along the corridors, one on each side of Mary, all talking\nexcitedly at once. When anything was to be done, it always required\nthree of us to do it.\n\nWe found the king, and without any prelude, Mary proffered her\nrequest. Of course it was refused. Mary pouted, and was getting ready\nfor an outburst, when Wolsey spoke up: \"With your majesty's gracious\npermission, I would subscribe to the petition of the princess. She has\nbeen good enough to give her promise in the matter of so much\nimportance to us, and in so small a thing as this I hope you may see\nyour way clear toward favoring her. The interview will be the last and\nmay help to make her duty easier.\" Mary gave the cardinal a fleeting\nglance from her lustrous eyes full of surprise and gratitude, and as\nspeaking as a book.\n\nHenry looked from one to the other of us for a moment, and broke into\na boisterous laugh.\n\n\"Oh, I don't care, so that you keep it a secret. The old king will\nnever know. We can hurry up the marriage. He is getting too much\nalready; four hundred thousand crowns and a girl like you; he cannot\ncomplain if he have an heir. It would be a good joke on the miserly\nold dotard, but better on '_Ce Gros Garçon_.'\"\n\nMary sprang from her chair with a cry of rage. \"You brute! Do you\nthink I am as vile as you because I have the misfortune to be your\nsister, or that Charles Brandon is like you simply because he is a\nman?\" Henry laughed, his health at that time being too good for him to\nbe ill-natured. He had all he wanted out of his sister, so her\noutbursts amused him.\n\nMary hurriedly left the king and walked back to her room, filled with\nshame and rage; feelings actively stimulated by Jane, who was equally\nindignant.\n\nHenry had noticed Jane's frown, but had laughed at her, and had tried\nto catch and kiss her as she left; but she struggled away from him and\nfled with a speed worthy of the cause.\n\nThis insulting suggestion put a stop to Mary's visit to the Tower more\neffectually than any refusal could have done, and she sat down to pour\nforth her soul's indignation in a letter.\n\nShe remained at home then, but saw Brandon later, and to good purpose,\nas I believe, although I am not sure about it, even to this day.\n\nI took this letter to Brandon, along with Mary's miniature--the one\nthat had been painted for Charles of Germany, but had never been\ngiven--and a curl of her hair, and it looked as if this was all he\nwould ever possess of her.\n\nDe Longueville heard of Henry's brutal consent that Mary might see\nBrandon, and, with a Frenchman's belief in woman's depravity, was\nexceedingly anxious to keep them apart. To this end he requested that\na member of his own retinue be placed near Brandon. To this Henry\nreadily consented, and there was an end to even the letter-writing.\nOpportunities increase in value doubly fast as they drift behind us,\nand now that the princess could not see Brandon, or even write to him,\nshe regretted with her whole soul that she had not gone to the Tower\nwhen she had permission, regardless of what any one would say or\nthink.\n\nMary was imperious and impatient, by nature, but upon rare and urgent\noccasions could employ the very smoothest sort of finesse.\n\nHer promise to marry Louis of France had been given under the stress\nof a frantic fear for Brandon, and without the slightest mental\nreservation, for it was given to save his life, as she would have\ngiven her hands or her eyes, her life or her very soul itself; but now\nthat the imminent danger was passed she began to revolve schemes to\nevade her promise and save Brandon notwithstanding. She knew that\nunder the present arrangement his life depended upon her marriage, but\nshe had never lost faith in her ability to handle the king if she had\nbut a little time in which to operate, and had secretly regretted that\nshe had not, in place of flight, opened up her campaign along the line\nof feminine diplomacy at the very beginning.\n\nHenry was a dullard mentally, while Mary's mind was keen and\nalert--two facts of which the girl was perfectly aware--so it was no\nwonder she had such confidence in herself. When she first heard of\nBrandon's sentence her fear for him was so great, and the need for\naction so urgent, that she could not resort to her usual methods for\nturning matters her way, but eagerly applied the first and quickest\nremedy offered. Now, however, that she had a breathing spell, and time\nin which to operate her more slowly moving, but, as she thought,\nequally sure forces of cajolery and persuasion, she determined to\nmarshal the legions of her wit and carry war into the enemy's country\nat once.\n\nHenry's brutal selfishness in forcing upon her the French marriage,\ntogether with his cruel condemnation of Brandon, and his vile\ninsinuations against herself, had driven nearly every spark of\naffection for her brother from her heart. But she felt that she might\nfeign an affection she did not feel, and that what she so wanted would\nbe cheap at the price. Cheap? It would be cheap at the cost of her\nimmortal soul. Cheap? What she wanted was life's condensed sweets--the\nman she loved; and what she wanted to escape was life's distilled\nbitterness--marriage with a man she loathed. None but a pure woman can\nknow the torture of that. I saw this whole disastrous campaign from\nstart to finish. Mary began with a wide flank movement conducted under\nmasked batteries and skilfully executed. She sighed over her troubles\nand cried a great deal, but told the king he had been such a dear,\nkind brother to her that she would gladly do anything to please him\nand advance his interests. She said it would be torture to live with\nthat old creature, King Louis, but she would do it willingly to help\nher handsome brother, no matter how much she might suffer.\n\nThe king laughed and said: \"Poor old Louis! What about him? What about\nhis suffering? He thinks he is making such a fine bargain, but the\nLord pity him, when he has my little sister in his side for a thorn.\nHe had better employ some energetic soul to prick him with needles and\nbodkins, for I think there is more power for disturbance in this\nlittle body than in any other equal amount of space in all the\nuniverse. You will furnish him all the trouble he wants, won't you,\nsister?\"\n\n\"I shall try,\" said the princess demurely, perfectly willing to obey\nin everything.\n\n\"Devil a doubt of that, and you will succeed, too, or my crown's a\nstew-pan,\" and he laughed at the huge joke he was about to perpetrate\non his poor, old royal brother.\n\nIt would seem that the tremendous dose of flattery administered by\nMary would have been so plainly self-interested as to alarm the\ndullest perception, but Henry's vanity was so dense, and his appetite\nfor flattery so great, that he accepted it all without suspicion, and\nit made him quite affable and gracious.\n\nMary kept up her show of affection and docile obedience for a week or\ntwo until she thought Henry's suspicions were allayed; and then, after\nhaving done enough petting and fondling, as she thought, to start the\nearth itself a-moving--as some men are foolish enough to say it really\ndoes--she began the attack direct by putting her arms about the king's\nneck, and piteously begging him not to sacrifice her whole life by\nsending her to France.\n\nHer pathetic, soul-charged appeal might have softened the heart of\nCaligula himself; but Henry was not even cruel. He was simply an\nanimal so absorbed in himself that he could not feel for others.\n\n\"Oh! it is out at last,\" he said, with a laugh. \"I thought all this\nsweetness must have been for something. So the lady wants her Brandon,\nand doesn't want her Louis, yet is willing to obey her dear, kind\nbrother? Well, we'll take her at her word and let her obey. You may as\nwell understand, once and for all, that you are to go to France. You\npromised to go decently if I would not cut off that fellow's head, and\nnow I tell you that if I hear another whimper from you off it comes,\nand you will go to France, too.\"\n\nThis brought Mary to terms quickly enough. It touched her one\nvulnerable spot--her love.\n\n\"I will go; I promise it again. You shall never hear another word of\ncomplaint from me if you give me your royal word that no harm shall\ncome to him--to him,\" and she put her hands over her face to conceal\nher tears as she softly wept.\n\n\"The day you sail for France, Brandon shall go free and shall again\nhave his old post at court. I like the fellow as a good companion, and\nreally believe you are more to blame than he.\"\n\n\"I am all to blame, and am ready this day to pay the penalty. I am at\nyour disposal to go when and where you choose,\" answered Mary, most\npathetically.\n\nPoor, fair Proserpina, with no kind mother Demeter to help her. The\nground will soon open, and Pluto will have his bride.\n\nThat evening Cavendish took me aside and said his master, Wolsey,\nwished to speak to me privately at a convenient opportunity. So, when\nthe bishop left his card-table, an hour later, I threw myself in his\nway. He spoke gayly to me, and we walked down the corridor arm in arm.\nI could not imagine what was wanted, but presently it came out: \"My\ndear Caskoden\"--had I been one for whom he could have had any use, I\nshould have grown suspicious--\"My dear Caskoden, I know I can trust\nyou; especially when that which I have to say is for the happiness of\nyour friends. I am sure you will never name me in connection with the\nsuggestion I am about to make, and will use the thought only as your\nown.\"\n\nI did not know what was coming, but gave him the strongest assurance\nof my trustworthiness.\n\n\"It is this: Louis of France is little better than a dead man. King\nHenry, perhaps, is not fully aware of this, and, if he is, he has\nnever considered the probability of his speedy death. The thought\noccurred to me that although the princess cannot dissuade her brother\nfrom this marriage, she may be able, in view of her ready and cheerful\ncompliance, to extract some virtue out of her sore necessity and\ninduce him to promise that, in case of the death of Louis, she herself\nshall choose her second husband.\"\n\n\"My lord,\" I replied, quickly grasping the point, \"it is small wonder\nyou rule this land. You have both brain and heart.\"\n\n\"I thank you, Sir Edwin, and hope that both may always be at the\nservice of you and your friends.\"\n\nI gave the suggestion to Mary as my own, recommending that she proffer\nher request to the king in the presence of Wolsey, and, although she\nhad little faith or hope, she determined to try.\n\nWithin a day or two an opportunity offered, and she said to Henry: \"I\nam ready to go to France any time you wish, and shall do it decently\nand willingly; but if I do so much for you, brother, you might at\nleast promise me that when King Louis is dead I may marry whomsoever I\nwish. He will probably live forever, but let me have at least that\nhope to give me what cheer it may while I suffer.\"\n\nThe ever-present Wolsey, who was standing near and heard Mary's\npetition, interposed: \"Let me add my prayer to that of her highness.\nWe must give her her own way in something.\"\n\nMary was such a complete picture of wretchedness that I thought at the\ntime she had really found a tender spot in Henry's heart, for he gave\nthe promise. Since then I have learned, as you will shortly, that it\nwas given simply to pacify the girl, and without any intention\nwhatever of its being kept; but that, in case of the death of King\nLouis, Henry intended again to use his sister to his own advantage.\n\nTo be a beautiful princess is not to enjoy the bliss some people\nimagine. The earth is apt to open at any time, and Pluto to snatch her\naway to--the Lord knows where.\n\nMary again poured out her soul on paper--a libation intended for\nBrandon. I made a dozen attempts, in as many different ways, to\ndeliver her letters, but every effort was a failure, and this missive\nmet the fate of the others. De Longueville kept close watch on his\nmaster's rival, and complained to Henry about these attempts at\ncommunication. Henry laughed and said he would see that they were\nstopped, but paid no more attention to the matter.\n\nIf Mary, before her interview with Henry, had been averse to the\nFrench marriage, she was now equally anxious to hurry it on, and\nlonged to go upon the rack in order that Brandon might be free. He, of\ncourse, objected as strenuously as possible to the purchase of his\nlife by her marriage to Louis, but his better judgment told him--in\nfact, had told him from the first--that she would be compelled\neventually to marry the French king, and common sense told him if it\nmust be, she might as well save his life at the same time.\nFurthermore, he felt a certain sense of delight in owing his life to\nher, and knew that the fact that she had saved him--that her\nsacrifice had not all been in vain--would make it easier for her to\nbear.\n\nThe most beautiful feature of the relations between these two lovers\nwas their entire faith in each other. The way of their true love was\nat least not roughened by cobble-stones of doubt, however impassable\nit was from mountains of opposition.\n\nMy inability to deliver Mary's letters did not deter her from writing\nthem; and as she was to be married in a few days--de Longueville to\nact as proxy--she devoted her entire time to her letters, and wrote\npages upon pages, which she left with me to be delivered \"after\ndeath,\" as she called her marriage.\n\nAt this time I was called away from court for a day or two, and when I\nreturned and called upon Brandon at the Tower, I found him whistling\nand singing, apparently as happy as a lark. \"You heartless dog,\"\nthought I, at first; but I soon found that he felt more than\nhappiness--exaltation.\n\n\"Have you seen her?\" I asked.\n\n\"Who?\" As if there were more than one woman in all the world for him.\n\n\"The princess.\"\n\n\"Not since I left her at Bristol.\"\n\nI believed then, and believe now, that this was a point blank\nfalsehood--a very unusual thing for Brandon--but for some reason\nprobably necessary in this case.\n\nThere was an expression in his face which I could not interpret, but\nhe wrote, as if carelessly scribbling on a scrap of paper that lay\nupon the table, the words, \"Be careful,\" and I took the hint--we were\nwatched. There is an unpleasant sensation when one feels that he is\nwatched by unseen eyes, and after talking for awhile on common topics\nI left and took a boat for Greenwich.\n\nWhen I arrived at the palace and saw Mary, what was my surprise to\nfind her as bright and jubilant as I had left Brandon. She, too,\nlaughed and sang, and was so happy that she lighted the whole room.\nWhat did it all mean? There was but one explanation; they had met, and\nthere was some new plan on foot--with a fatal ending. The next failure\nwould mean death to Brandon, as certainly as the sun rises in the\neast. What the plan was I could not guess. With Brandon in the Tower\nunder guard both day and night, and Mary as closely guarded in the\npalace, I could not see any way of escape for either of them, nor how\nthey could possibly have come together.\n\nBrandon had not told me, I supposed, for fear of being overheard, and\nMary, although she had the opportunity, was equally non-communicative,\nso I had recourse to Jane upon the first occasion. She, by the way,\nwas as blue and sad-faced as Mary was joyous. I asked her if the\nprincess and Brandon had met, and she sadly said: \"I do not know. We\nwent down to London yesterday, and as we returned stopped at Bridewell\nHouse, where we found the king and Wolsey. The princess left the\nroom, saying she would return in a few minutes, and then Wolsey went\nout, leaving me alone with the king. Mary did not return for half an\nhour, and she may have seen Master Brandon during that time. I do not\nunderstand how the meeting could have occurred, but that is the only\ntime she has been away from me.\" Here Jane deliberately put her head\non my shoulder and began to weep piteously.\n\n\"What is the trouble?\" I asked.\n\nShe shook her head: \"I cannot, dare not tell you.\"\n\n\"Oh! but you must, you must,\" and I insisted so emphatically that she\nat length said:\n\n\"The king!\"\n\n\"The king! God in heaven, Jane, tell me quickly.\" I had noticed Henry\nof late casting glances at my beautiful little Jane, and had seen him\ntry to kiss her a few days before, as I have told you. This annoyed me\nvery much, but I thought little of it, as it was his habit to ogle\nevery pretty face. When urged, Jane said between her sobs: \"He tried\nto kiss me and to--mistreat me when Wolsey left the room at Bridewell\nHouse. I may have been used to detain him, while Mary met Master\nBrandon, but if so, I am sure she knew nothing of it.\"\n\n\"And what did you do?\"\n\n\"I struggled away from him and snatched this dagger from my breast,\ntelling him that if he took but one step toward me I would plunge it\nin my heart; and he said I was a fool.\"\n\n\"God keep you always a fool,\" said I, prayerfully. \"How long has this\nbeen going on?\"\n\n\"A month or two; but I have always been able to run away from him. He\nhas been growing more importunate of late, so I bought a dagger that\nvery day, and had it not one hour too soon.\" With this she drew out a\ngleaming little weapon that flashed in the rays of the candle.\n\nThis was trouble in earnest for me, and I showed it very plainly. Then\nJane timidly put her hand in mine, for the first time in her life, and\nmurmured:\n\n\"We will be married, Edwin, if you wish, before we return from\nFrance.\" She was glad to fly to me to save herself from Henry, and I\nwas glad even to be the lesser of two evils.\n\nAs to whether my two friends met or not that day at Bridewell I cannot\nsay; but I think they did. They had in some way come to an\nunderstanding that lightened both their hearts before Mary left for\nFrance, and this had been their only possible opportunity. Jane and I\nwere always taken into their confidence on other occasions, but as to\nthis meeting, if any there was, we have never been told a word. My\nbelief is that the meeting was contrived by Wolsey upon a solemn\npromise from Brandon and Mary never to reveal it, and if so, they have\nsacredly kept their word.\n\nOn the 13th of August, 1514, Mary Tudor, with her golden hair falling\nover her shoulders, was married at Greenwich to Louis de Valois; de\nLongueville acting as his French majesty's proxy. Poor, fair\nProserpina!...\n\n  Note.--Maidens only were married with their hair down. It was \"the\n  sacred token of maidenhood.\"--Editor.\n\n\n\n\n_CHAPTER XX_\n\n_Down into France_\n\n\nSo it came to pass that Mary was married unto Louis and went down into\nFrance.\n\n[Again the editor takes the liberty of substituting Hall's quaint\naccount of Mary's journey to France.]\n\n  Then when all things were redy for the conueyaunce of this noble\n  Ladye, the kyng her brother in the moneth of Auguste, and the xV\n  daye, with the quene his wife and his sayde sister and al the\n  court came to Douer and there taryed, for the wynde was troblous\n  and the wether fowle, in so muche that shippe of the kynges called\n  the Libeck of IXC. tonne was dryuen a shore before Sangate and\n  there brase & of VI C. men scantely escaped iiiC and yet the most\n  part of them were hurt with the wrecke. When the wether was fayre,\n  then al her wardrobe, stable, and riches was shipped, and such as\n  were appoyncted to geue their attendaunce on her as the duke of\n  Norfolke, the Marques of Dorset, the Bysshop of Durham, the Earle\n  of Surrey, the lorde Delawar, sir Thomas Bulleyn and many other\n  knights, Squyers, getlemen & ladies, al these went to shippe and\n  the sayde ladye toke her leaue of the quene in the castell of\n  Douer, and the king brought her to the sea syde, and kissed her,\n  and betoke her to GOD and the fortune of the see and to the\n  gouernaunce of the French king her husband. Thus at the hower of\n  foure of the clock in the morenynge thys fayre ladye toke her\n  shippe with al her noble compaignie: and when they had sayled a\n  quarter of the see, the wynde rose and seuered some of the shippes\n  to Cayles, and some in Flaunders and her shippe with greate\n  difficultie to Bulleyn, and with greate ieopardy at the entrying\n  of the hauen, for the master ran the shippe hard on shore, but the\n  botes were redy and receyued this noble ladye, and at the landyng\n  Sir Christopher Garnysha stode in the water and toke her in his\n  armes, and so caryed her to land, where the Duke of Vandosme and a\n  Cardynall with many estates receyued her, and her ladies, and\n  welcommed all the noble men into the countrey, and so the quene\n  and all her trayne came to Bulleyn and ther rested, and from\n  thence she remoued by dyuerse lodgynges tyll she came all most\n  within iii miles of Abuylé besyde the forrest of Arders, and ther\n  kynge Loyes vppon a greate courser met her, (which he so longe\n  desired) but she toke her way righte on, not stopping to conurse.\n  Then he returned to Abuyle by a secret waye, & she was with greate\n  triumphe, procession & pagiantes receyued into the toune of Abuyle\n  the VIII day of October by the Dolphin, which receyued her with\n  greate honor. She was appeareilled in cloth of siluer, her horse\n  was trapped in goldsmythes work very rychly. After her followed\n  xxxvi ladies al ther palfreys trapped with crymsyn veluet,\n  embraudered: after the folowed one charyott of cloth of tyssue,\n  the seconde clothe of golde and the third Crymsyn veluet\n  embraudered with the kynges armes & hers, full of roses. After\n  them folowed a greate nomber of archers and then wagons laden with\n  their stuf. Greate was the riches in plate, iuels, money, and\n  hangynges that this ladye brought into France. The Moday beyng the\n  daye of Sayncte Denyce, the same kynge Leyes maried the lady Mary\n  in the greate church of Abuyle, bothe appareled in goldesmythes\n  woorke. After the masse was done ther was a greate banket and fest\n  and the ladyes of England highly entreteyned.\n\n  The Tewesdaye beyng the x daye of October all the Englishmen\n  except a fewe that wer officers with the sayde quene were\n  discharged whiche was a greate sorowe for theim, for some had\n  serued her longe in the hope of preferment and some that had\n  honest romes left them to serue her and now they wer out of\n  seruice, which caused the to take thought in so much, some dyed by\n  way returning, and some fell mad, but ther was no remedy. After\n  the English lordes had done ther commission the French kynge\n  wylled the to take no lenger payne & so gaue to theim good\n  rewardes and they toke ther leaue of the quene and returned.\n\n  Then the Dolphyn of Fraunce called Frauncys duke of Valoys, or\n  Fraunceys d'Angouleme, caused a solempne iustes to be proclaymed,\n  which shoulde be kept in Parys in the moneth of Noueber next\n  ensuyng, and while al these thinges were prepearyng, the Ladye\n  Mary, the V. daye of Noueber, then beying Sondaye was with greate\n  solempnitee crowned Queen of Fraunce in the monasterye of Saynct\n  Denyce, and the Lorde Dolphyn, who was young, but very toward, al\n  the season held the crowune ouer her hed, because it was of greate\n  waight, to her greuaunce.\n\nMadame Mary took her time, since a more deliberate journey bride never\nmade to waiting bride-groom. She was a study during this whole\nperiod--weeping and angry by turns. She, who had never known a\nmoment's illness in all her days, took to her bed upon two occasions\nfrom sheer antipathetic nervousness, and would rest her head upon\nJane's breast and cry out little, half-articulate prayers to God that\nshe might not kill the man who was her husband, when they should meet.\n\nWhen we met the king about a league this side of Abbeville, and when\nMary beheld him with the shadow of death upon his brow, she took hope,\nfor she knew he would be but putty in her hands, so manifestly weak\nwas he, mentally and physically. As he came up she whipped her horse\nand rode by him at a gallop, sending me back with word that he must\nnot be so ardent; that he frightened her, poor, timid little thing, so\nafraid of--nothing in the world. This shocked the French courtiers,\nand one would think would have offended Louis, but he simply grinned\nfrom ear to ear, showing his yellow fangs, and said whimperingly: \"Oh,\nthe game is worth the trouble. Tell her majesty I wait at Abbeville.\"\n\nThe old king had ridden a horse to meet his bride in order that he\nmight appear more gallant before her, but a litter was waiting to take\nhim back to Abbeville by a shorter route, and they were married again\nin person.\n\n[Again a quotation from Hall is substituted]:\n\n  Mondaye the .vi daye of Noueber, ther the sayde quene was receyued\n  into the cytee of Parys after the order thar foloweth. First the\n  garde of the cytee met her with oute Sayncte Denyce al in coates\n  of goldsmythes woorke with shippes gylt, and after them mett her\n  al the prestes and religious whiche were estemed to be. iiiM. The\n  quene was in a chyre coured about (but not her ouer person) in\n  white clothe of golde, the horses that drewe it couered in clothe\n  of golde, on her bed a coronall, al of greate perles, her necke\n  and brest full of Iuels, before her wente a garde of Almaynes\n  after ther fascion, and after them al noblemen, as the Dolphyn,\n  the Duke of Burbon, Cardynalles, and a greate nomber of estates.\n  Aboute her person rode the kynge's garde the whiche wer Scottes.\n  On the morowe bega the iustes, and the quene stode so that al men\n  might see her, and wonder at her beautie, and the kynge was feble\n  and lay on a couche for weakenes.\n\nSo Mary was twice married to Louis, and, although she was his queen\nfast and sure enough, she was not his wife.\n\nYou may say what you will, but I like a fighting woman; one with a\ntouch of the savage in her when the occasion arises; one who can fight\nfor what she loves as well as against what she hates. She usually\nloves as she fights--with all her heart.\n\nSo Mary was crowned, and was now a queen, hedged about by the tinseled\ndivinity that hedgeth royalty.\n\nIt seemed that she was climbing higher and higher all the time from\nBrandon, but in her heart every day she was brought nearer to him.\n\nThere was one thing that troubled her greatly, and all the time. Henry\nhad given his word that Brandon should be liberated as soon as Mary\nhad left the shores of England, but we had heard nothing of this\nmatter, although we had received several letters from home. A doubt of\nher brother, in whom she had little faith at best, made an ache at her\nheart, which seemed at times likely to break it--so she said. One\nnight she dreamed that she had witnessed Brandon's execution, her\nbrother standing by in excellent humor at the prank he was playing\nher, and it so worked upon her waking hours that by evening she was\nill. At last I received a letter from Brandon--which had been delayed\nalong the road--containing one for Mary. It told of his full pardon\nand restoration to favor, greater even than before; and her joy was so\nsweet and quiet, and yet so softly delirious, that I tell you plainly\nit brought tears to my eyes and I could not hold them back.\n\nThe marriage, when once determined upon, had not cast her down nearly\nso deep as I had expected, and soon she grew to be quite cheerful and\nhappy. This filled me with regret, for I thought of how Brandon must\nsuffer, and felt that her heart was a poor, flimsy thing to take this\ntrouble so lightly.\n\nI spoke to Jane about it, but she only laughed. \"Mary is all right,\"\nsaid she; \"do not fear. Matters will turn out better than you think,\nperhaps. You know she generally manages to have her own way in the\nend.\"\n\n\"If you have any comfort to give, please give it, Jane. I feel most\nkeenly for Brandon, heart-tied to such a wilful, changeable creature\nas Mary.\"\n\n\"Sir Edwin Caskoden, you need not take the trouble to speak to me at\nall unless you can use language more respectful concerning my\nmistress. The queen knows what she is about, but it appears that you\ncannot see it. I see it plainly enough, although no word has ever been\nspoken to me on the subject. As to Brandon being tied to her, it seems\nto me she is tied to him, and that he holds the reins. He could drive\nher into the mouth of purgatory.\"\n\n\"Do you think so?\"\n\n\"I know it.\"\n\nI remained in thought a moment or two, and concluded that she was\nright. In truth, the time had come to me when I believed that Jane,\nwith her good sense and acute discernment, could not be wrong in\nanything, and I think so yet. So I took comfort on faith from her, and\nasked: \"Do you remember what you said should happen before we return\nto England?\"\n\nJane hung her head. \"I remember.\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\nShe then put her hand in mine and murmured, \"I am ready any time you\nwish.\"\n\nGreat heaven! I thought I should go out of my senses. She should have\ntold me gradually. I had to do something to express my exultation, so\nI walked over to a bronze statue of Bacchus, about my size--that is,\nheight--put my hat--which I had been carrying under my arm--on his\nhead, cut a few capers in an entirely new and equally antic step, and\nthen drew back and knocked that Bacchus down. Jane thought I had gone\nstark mad, and her eyes grew big with wonder, but I walked proudly\nback to her after my victory over Bacchus, and reassured her--with a\nfew of Mary's messages that I had still left over, if the truth must\nbe told. Then we made arrangements that resulted in our marriage next\nmorning.\n\nAccordingly, Queen Mary and one or two others went with us down to a\nlittle church, where, as fortune would have it, there was a little\npriest ready to join together in the holy bonds of wedlock little\nJane and little me. Everything so appropriate, you see; I suppose in\nthe whole world we couldn't have found another set of conditions so\nharmonious. Mary laughed and cried, and laughed again, and clapped her\nhands over and over, and said it was \"like a play wedding\"; and, as\nshe kissed Jane, quietly slipped over her head a beautiful diamond\nnecklace that was worth full ten thousand pounds--aside, that is, from\nthe millions of actual value, because it came from Mary. \"A play\nwedding\" it was; and a play life it has been ever since.\n\nWe were barely settled at court in Paris when Mary began to put her\nplans in motion and unsettle things generally. I could not but recall\nHenry's sympathy toward Louis, for the young queen soon took it upon\nherself to make life a burden to the Father of his People; and, in\nthat particular line, I suppose she had no equal in all the length and\nbreadth of Christendom.\n\nI heartily detested King Louis, largely, I think, because of prejudice\nabsorbed from Mary, but he was, in fact, a fairly good old man, and at\ntimes I could but pity him. He was always soft in heart and softer in\nhead, especially where women were concerned. Take his crazy attempt to\nseize the Countess of Croy while he was yet Duke of Orleans; and his\ninfatuation for the Italian woman, for whom he built the elaborate\nburial vault--much it must have comforted her. Then his marriage to\ndictatorial little Anne of Brittany, for whom he had induced Pope\nAlexander to divorce him from the poor little crippled owlet, Joan. In\nconsideration of this divorce he had put Cæsar Borgia, Pope\nAlexander's son, on his feet, financially and politically. I think he\nmust have wanted the owlet back again before he was done with Anne,\nbecause Anne was a termagant--and ruled him with the heaviest rod of\niron she could lift. But this last passion--the flickering, sputtering\nflame of his dotage--was the worst of all, both subjectively and\nobjectively; both as to his senile fondness for the English princess\nand her impish tormenting of him. From the first he evinced the most\nviolent delight in Mary, who repaid it by holding him off and evading\nhim in a manner so cool, audacious and adroit that it stamped her\nqueen of all the arts feminine and demoniac. Pardon me, ladies, if I\ncouple these two arts, but you must admit they are at times somewhat\nakin. Soon she eluded him so completely that for days he would not\nhave a glimpse of her, while she was perhaps riding, walking or\ncoquetting with some of the court gallants, who aided and abetted her\nin every way they could. He became almost frantic in pursuit of his\nelusive bride, and would expostulate with her, when he could catch\nher, and smile uneasily, like a man who is the victim of a practical\njoke of which he does not see, or enjoy, the point. On such occasions\nshe would laugh in his face, then grow angry--which was so easy for\nher to do--and, I grieve to say, would sometimes almost swear at him\nin a manner to make the pious, though ofttimes lax-virtued, court\nladies shudder with horror. She would at other times make sport of his\nyouthful ardor, and tell him in all seriousness that it was indecorous\nfor him to behave so and frighten her, a poor, timid little child,\nwith his impetuosities. Then she would manage to give him the slip;\nand he would go off and play a game of cards with himself, firmly\nconvinced in his own feeble way that woman's nature had a tincture of\nthe devil in it. He was the soul of conciliatory kindness to the young\nvixen, but at times she would break violently into tears, accuse him\nof cruelly mistreating her, a helpless woman and a stranger in his\ncourt, and threaten to go home to dear old England and tell her\nbrother, King Henry, all about it, and have him put things to right\nand redress her wrongs generally. In fact, she acted the part of\ninjured innocence so perfectly that the poor old man would apologize\nfor the wrongs she invented, and try to coax her into a good humor.\nThereupon she would weep more bitterly than ever, grow hysterical, and\nrequire to be carried off by her women, when recovery and composure\nwere usually instantaneous. Of course the court gossips soon carried\nstories of the quick recoveries to the king, and, when he spoke to\nMary of them, she put on her injured air again and turned the tables\nby upbraiding him for believing such calumnies about her, who was so\ngood to him and loved him so dearly.\n\nI tell you it is a waste of time to fight against that assumption of\ninjured innocence--that impregnable feminine redoubt--and when the\nenemy once gets fairly behind it one might as well raise the siege. I\nthink it the most amusing, exasperating and successful defense and\ncounter attack in the whole science of war, and every woman has it at\nher finger-tips, ready for immediate use upon occasion.\n\nMary would often pout for days together and pretend illness. Upon one\noccasion she kept the king waiting at her door all the morning, while\nshe, having slipped through the window, was riding with some of the\nyoung people in the forest. When she returned--through the window--she\nwent to the door and scolded the poor old king for keeping her waiting\npenned up in her room all the morning. And he apologized.\n\nShe changed the dinner hour to noon in accordance with the English\ncustom, and had a heavy supper at night, when she would make the king\ngorge himself with unhealthful food and coax him \"to drink as much as\nbrother Henry,\" which invariably resulted in Louis de Valois finding\nlodgment under the table. This amused the whole court, except a few\nold cronies and physicians, who, of course, were scandalized beyond\nmeasure. She took the king on long rides with her on cold days, and\nwould jolt him almost to death, and freeze him until the cold tears\nstreamed down his poor pinched nose, making him feel like a half\nanimated icicle, and wish that he were one in fact.\n\nAt night she would have her balls, and keep him up till morning\ndrinking and dancing, or trying to dance, with her, until his poor old\nheels, and his head, too, for that matter, were like to fall off; then\nshe would slip away from him and lock herself in her room. December,\nsay I, let May alone; she certainly will kill you. Despite which sound\nadvice, I doubt not December will go on coveting May up to the end of\nthe chapter; each old fellow--being such a fine man for his age, you\nunderstand--fondly believing himself an exception. Age in a fool is\ndamnable.\n\nMary was killing Louis as certainly and deliberately as if she were\nfeeding him slow poison. He was very weak and decrepit at best, being\ncompelled frequently, upon public occasions, such, for example, as the\ncoronation tournament of which I have spoken, to lie upon a couch.\n\nMary's conduct was really cruel! but then, remember her provocation\nand that she was acting in self-defense. All this was easier for her\nthan you might suppose, for the king's grasp of power, never very\nstrong, was beginning to relax even what little grip it had. All faces\nwere turned toward the rising sun, young Francis, duke of Angouleme,\nthe king's distant cousin, who would soon be king in Louis's place.\nAs this young rising sun, himself vastly smitten with Mary, openly\nencouraged her in what she did, the courtiers of course followed suit,\nand the old king found himself surrounded by a court only too ready to\nbe amused by his lively young queen at his expense.\n\nThis condition of affairs Mary welcomed with her whole soul, and to\naccent it and nail assurance, I fear, played ever so lightly and coyly\nupon the heart-strings of the young duke, which responded all too\nloudly to her velvet touch, and almost frightened her to death with\ntheir volume of sound later on. This Francis d'Angouleme, the dauphin,\nhad fallen desperately in love with Mary at first sight, something\nagainst which the fact that he was married to Claude, daughter of\nLouis, in no way militated. He was a very distant relative of Louis,\ngoing away back to St. Louis for his heirship to the French crown. The\nking had daughters in plenty, but as you know, the gallant Frenchmen\nsay, according to their Law Salic: \"The realm of France is so great\nand glorious a heritage that it may not be taken by a woman.\" Too\ngreat and glorious to be taken by woman, forsooth! France would have\nbeen vastly better off had she been governed by a woman now and then,\nfor a country always prospers under a queen.\n\nFrancis had for many years lived at court as the recognized heir, and\nas the custom was, called his distant cousin Louis, \"Uncle.\" \"Uncle\"\nLouis in turn called Francis \"_Ce Gros Garçon_,\" and Queen Mary\ncalled him \"_Monsieur, mon beau fils_,\" in a mock-motherly manner that\nwas very laughable. A mother of eighteen to a \"good boy\" of\ntwenty-two! Dangerous relationship! And dangerous, indeed, it would\nhave been for Mary, had she not been as pure and true as she was\nwilful and impetuous. \"Mon beau fils\" allowed neither his wife nor the\nrespect he owed the king to stand in the way of his very marked\nattention to the queen. His position as heir, and his long residence\nat court, almost as son to Louis, gave him ample opportunities for\npressing his unseemly suit. He was the first to see Mary at the\nmeeting place this side of Abbeville, and was the king's\nrepresentative on all occasions.\n\n\"Beau fils\" was rather a handsome fellow, but thought himself vastly\nhandsomer than he was; and had some talents, which he was likewise\ncareful to estimate at their full value, to say the least. He was very\nwell liked by women, and in turn considered himself irresistible. He\nwas very impressionable to feminine charms, was at heart a libertine,\nand, as he grew older, became a debauchee whose memory will taint\nFrance for centuries to come.\n\nMary saw his weakness more clearly than his wickedness, being blinded\nto the latter by the veil of her own innocence. She laughed at, and\nwith him, and permitted herself a great deal of his company; so much,\nin fact, that I grew a little jealous for Brandon's sake, and, if the\ntruth must be told, for the first time began to have doubts of her. I\nseriously feared that when Louis should die, Brandon might find a much\nmore dangerous rival in the new king, who, although married, would\nprobably try to keep Mary at his court, even should he be driven to\nthe extreme of divorcing Claude, as Claude's father had divorced Joan.\n\nI believed, in case Mary should voluntarily prove false and remain in\nFrance, either as the wife or the mistress of Francis, that Brandon\nwould quietly but surely contrive some means to take her life, and I\nhoped he would. I spoke to my wife, Jane, about the queen's conduct,\nand she finally admitted that she did not like it; so I, unable to\nremain silent any longer, determined to put Mary on her guard, and for\nthat purpose spoke very freely to her on the subject.\n\n\"Oh! you goose!\" she said, laughingly. \"He is almost as great a fool\nas Henry.\" Then the tears came to her eyes, and half angrily, half\nhysterically, shaking me by the arm, she continued: \"Do you not know?\nCan you not see that I would give this hand, or my eyes, almost my\nlife, just to fall upon my face in front of Charles Brandon at this\nmoment? Do you not know that a woman with a love in her heart such as\nI have for him is safe from every one and everything? That it is her\nsheet anchor, sure and fast? Have you not wit enough to know that?\"\n\n\"Yes, I have,\" I responded, for the time completely silenced. With\nher favorite tactics, she had, as usual, put me in the wrong, though I\nsoon came again to the attack.\n\n\"But he is so base that I grieve to see you with him.\"\n\n\"I suppose he is not very good,\" she responded, \"but it seems to be\nthe way of these people among whom I have fallen, and he cannot harm\nme.\"\n\n\"Oh! but he can. One does not go near smallpox, and there is a moral\ncontagion quite as dangerous, if not so perceptible, and equally to be\navoided. It must be a wonderfully healthy moral nature, pure and\nchaste to the core, that will be entirely contagion-proof and safe\nfrom it.\"\n\nShe hung her head in thought, and then lifted her eyes appealingly to\nme. \"Am I not that, Edwin? Tell me! Tell me frankly; am I not? It is\nthe one thing of good I have always striven for. I am so full of other\nfaults that if I have not that there is no good in me.\" Her eyes and\nvoice were full of tears, and I knew in my heart that I stood before\nas pure a soul as ever came from the hand of God.\n\n\"You are, your majesty; never doubt,\" I answered. \"It is pre-eminently\nthe one thing in womanhood to which all mankind kneels.\" And I fell\nupon my knee and kissed her hand with a sense of reverence, faith and\ntrust that has never left me from that day to this. As to my estimate\nof how Francis would act when Louis should die, you will see that I\nwas right.\n\nNot long after this Lady Caskoden and I were given permission to\nreturn to England, and immediately prepared for our homeward journey.\n\nAh! it was pretty to see Jane bustling about, making ready for our\ndeparture--superintending the packing of our boxes and also\nsuperintending me. That was her great task. I never was so thankful\nfor riches as when they enabled me to allow Jane full sway among the\nParis shops. But at last, all the fine things being packed, and Mary\nhaving kissed us both--mind you, both--we got our little retinue\ntogether and out we went, through St. Denis, then ho! for dear old\nEngland.\n\nAs we left, Mary placed in my hands a letter for Brandon, whose bulk\nwas so reassuring that I knew he had never been out of her thoughts. I\nlooked at the letter a moment and said, in all seriousness: \"Your\nmajesty, had I not better provide an extra box for it?\"\n\nShe gave a nervous little laugh, and the tears filled her eyes, as she\nwhispered huskily: \"I fancy there is one who will not think it too\nlarge. Good-bye! good-bye!\" So we left Mary, fair, sweet girl-queen,\nall alone among those terrible strangers; alone with one little\nEnglish maiden, seven years of age--Anne Boleyn.\n\n\n\n\n_CHAPTER XXI_\n\n_Letters from a Queen_\n\n\nUpon our return to England I left Jane down in Suffolk with her uncle,\nLord Bolingbroke, having determined never to permit her to come within\nsight of King Henry again, if I could prevent it. I then went up to\nLondon with the twofold purpose of seeing Brandon and resigning my\nplace as Master of the Dance.\n\nWhen I presented myself to the king and told him of my marriage, he\nflew into a great passion because we had not asked his consent. One of\nhis whims was that everyone must ask his permission to do anything; to\neat, or sleep, or say one's prayers; especially to marry, if the lady\nwas of a degree entitled to be a king's ward. Jane, fortunately, had\nno estate, the king's father having stolen it from her when she was an\ninfant; so all the king could do about our marriage was to grumble,\nwhich I let him do to his heart's content.\n\n\"I wish also to thank your majesty for the thousand kindnesses you\nhave shown me,\" I said, \"and, although it grieves me to the heart to\nseparate from you, circumstances compel me to tender my resignation as\nyour Master of Dance.\" Upon this he was kind enough to express regret,\nand ask me to reconsider; but I stood my ground firmly, and then and\nthere ended my official relations with Henry Tudor forever.\n\nUpon taking my leave of the king I sought Brandon, whom I found\ncomfortably ensconced in our old quarters, he preferring them to much\nmore pretentious apartments offered him in another part of the palace.\nThe king had given him some new furnishings for them, and as I was to\nremain a few days to attend to some matters of business, he invited me\nto share his comfort with him, and I gladly did so.\n\nThose few days with Brandon were my farewell to individuality.\nThereafter I was to be so mysteriously intermingled with Jane that I\nwas only a part--and a small part at that I fear--of two. I did not,\nof course, regret the change, since it was the one thing in life I\nmost longed for, yet the period was tinged with a faint sentiment of\npathos at parting from the old life that had been so kind to me, and\nwhich I was leaving forever. I say I did not regret it, and though I\nwas leaving my old haunts and companions and friends so dear to me, I\nwas finding them all again in Jane, who was friend as well as wife.\n\nMary's letter was in one of my boxes which had been delayed, and Jane\nwas to forward it to me when it should come. When I told Brandon of\nit, I dwelt with emphasis upon its bulk, and he, of course, was\ndelighted, and impatient to have it. I had put the letter in the box,\nbut there was something else which Mary had sent to him that I had\ncarried with me. It was a sum of money sufficient to pay the debt\nagainst his father's estate, and in addition, to buy some large tracts\nof land adjoining. Brandon did not hesitate to accept the money, and\nseemed glad that it had come from Mary, she, doubtless, being the only\nperson from whom he would have taken it.\n\nOne of Brandon's sisters had married a rich merchant at Ipswich, and\nanother was soon to marry a Scotch gentleman. The brother would\nprobably never marry, so Brandon would eventually have to take charge\nof the estates. In fact, he afterwards lived there many years, and as\nJane and I had purchased a little estate near by, which had been\ngenerously added to by Jane's uncle, we saw a great deal of him. But I\nam getting ahead of my story again.\n\nThe d'Angouleme complication troubled me greatly, notwithstanding my\nfaith in Mary, and although I had resolved to say nothing to Brandon\nabout it, I soon told him plainly what I thought and feared.\n\nHe replied with a low, contented little laugh.\n\n\"Do not fear for Mary, I do not. That young fellow is of different\nstuff, I know, from the old king, but I have all faith in her purity\nand ability to take care of herself. Before she left she promised to\nbe true to me, whatever befell, and I trust her entirely. I am not so\nunhappy by any means as one would expect. Am I?\" And I was compelled\nto admit that he certainly was not.\n\nSo it seems they had met, as Jane and I suspected, but how Mary\nmanaged it I am sure I cannot tell; she beat the very deuce for having\nher own way, by hook or by crook. Then came the bulky letter, which\nBrandon pounced upon and eagerly devoured. I leave out most of the\nsentimental passages, which, like effervescent wine, lose flavor\nquickly. She said--in part:\n\n  \"_To Master Brandon:_\n\n  \"Sir and Dear Friend, Greeting--After leaving thee, long time had\n  I that mighty grief and dole within my heart that it was like to\n  break; for my separation from thee was so much harder to bear even\n  than I had taken thought of, and I also doubted me that I could\n  live in Paris, as I did wish. Sleep rested not upon my weary eyes,\n  and of a very deed could I neither eat nor drink, since food\n  distasted me like a nausea, and wine did strangle in my throat.\n  This lasted through my journey hither, which I did prolong upon\n  many pretexts, nearly two months, but when I did at last rest mine\n  eyes for the first time upon this King Louis's face, I well knew\n  that I could rule him, and when I did arrive, and had adjusted\n  myself in this Paris, I found it so easy that my heart leaped for\n  very joy. Beauty goeth so far with this inflammable people that\n  easily do I rule them all, and truly doth a servile subject make\n  a sharp, capricious tyrant. Thereby the misfortune which hath come\n  upon us is of so much less evil, and is so like to be of such\n  short duration, that I am almost happy--but for lack of thee--and\n  sometimes think that after all it may verily be a blessing unseen.\n\n  \"This new, unexpected face upon our trouble hath so driven the old\n  gnawing ache out of my heart that I love to be alone, and dream,\n  open-eyed, of the time, of a surety not far off, when I shall be\n  with thee.... It is ofttimes sore hard for me, who have never\n  waited, to have to wait, like a patient Griselda, which of a truth\n  I am not, for this which I do so want; but I try to make myself\n  content with the thought that full sure it will not be for long,\n  and that when this tedious time hath spent itself, we shall look\n  back upon it as a very soul-school, and shall rather joy that we\n  did not purchase our heaven too cheaply.\n\n  \"I said I find it easy to live here as I wish, and did begin to\n  tell thee how it was, when I ran off into telling of how I long\n  for thee; so I will try again. This Louis, to begin with, is but\n  the veriest shadow of a man, of whom thou needst have not one\n  jealous thought. He is on a bed of sickness most of the time, of\n  his own accord, and if, perchance, he be but fairly well a day or\n  so, I do straightway make him ill again in one way or another,\n  and, please God, hope to wear him out entirely ere long time. Of a\n  deed, brother Henry was right; better had it been for Louis to\n  have married a human devil than me, for it maketh a very one out\n  of me if mine eyes but rest upon him, and thou knowest full well\n  what kind of a devil I make--brother Henry knoweth, at any rate.\n  For all this do I grieve, but have no remedy, nor want one. I\n  sometimes do almost compassionate the old king, but I cannot\n  forbear, for he turneth my very blood to biting gall, and must\n  e'en take the consequences of his own folly. Truly is he wild for\n  love of me, this poor old man, and the more I hold him at a\n  distance the more he fondly dotes. I do verily believe he would\n  try to stand upon his foolish old head, did I but insist. I\n  sometimes have a thought to make him try it. He doeth enough that\n  is senseless and absurd, in all conscience, as it is. At all of\n  this do the courtiers smile, and laugh, and put me forward to\n  other pranks; that is, all but a few of the elders, who shake\n  their heads, but dare do nothing else for fear of the dauphin, who\n  will soon be king, and who stands first in urging and abetting me.\n  So it is easy for me to do what I wish, and above all to leave\n  undone that which I wish not, for I do easily rule them all, as\n  good Sir Edwin and dear Jane will testify. I have a ball every\n  night, wherein I do make a deal of amusement for every one by\n  dancing La Volta with his majesty until his heels, and his poor\n  old head, too, are like to fall off. Others importune me for those\n  dances, especially the dauphin, but I laugh and shake my head and\n  say that I will dance with no one but the king, because he dances\n  so well. This pleases his majesty mightily, and maketh an opening\n  for me to avoid the touch of other men, for I am jealous of myself\n  for thy sake, and save and garner every little touch for thee....\n  Sir Edwin will tell you I dance with no one else and surely never\n  will. You remember well, I doubt not, when thou first didst teach\n  me this new dance. Ah! how delightful it was! and yet how at first\n  it did frighten and anger me. Thou canst not know how my heart\n  beat during all the time of that first dance. I thought, of a\n  surety, it would burst; and then the wild thrill of frightened\n  ecstasy that made my blood run like fire! I knew it must be wrong,\n  for it was, in truth, too sweet a thing to be right. And then I\n  grew angry at thee as the cause of my wrong-doing and scolded\n  thee, and repented it, as usual. Truly didst thou conquer, not win\n  me. Then afterwards, withal it so frightened me, how I longed to\n  dance again, and could in no way stay myself from asking. At times\n  could I hardly wait till evening fell, and when upon occasion thou\n  didst not come, I was so angry I said I hated thee. What must thou\n  have thought of me, so forward and bold! And that afternoon! Ah! I\n  think of it every hour, and see and hear it all, and live it o'er\n  and o'er, as it sweeter grows with memory's ripening touch. Some\n  moments there are, that send their glad ripple down through life's\n  stream to the verge of the grave, and truly blest is one who can\n  smile upon and kiss these memory waves, and draw from thence a\n  bliss that never fails. But thou knowest full well my heart, and I\n  need not tease thee with its outpourings.\n\n  \"There is yet another matter of which I wish to write in very\n  earnestness. Sir Edwin spoke to me thereof, and what he said hath\n  given me serious thought. I thank him for his words, of which he\n  will tell thee in full if thou but importune him thereto. It is\n  this: the Dauphin, Francis d'Angouleme, hath fallen desperately\n  fond of me, and is quite as importunate, and almost as foolish as\n  the elder lover. This people, in this strange land of France,\n  have, in sooth, some curious notions. For an example thereto: no\n  one thinks to find anything unseeming in the dauphin's conduct, by\n  reason of his having already a wife, and more, that wife the\n  Princess Claude, daughter to the king. I laugh at him and let him\n  say what he will, for in truth I am powerless to prevent it. Words\n  cannot scar even a rose leaf, and will not harm me. Then, by his\n  help and example I am justified in the eyes of the court in that I\n  so treat the king, which otherwise it were impossible for me to do\n  and live here. So, however much I may loathe them, yet I am driven\n  to tolerate his words, which I turn off with a laugh, making sure,\n  thou mayest know, that it come to nothing more than words. And\n  thus it is, however much I wish it not, that I do use him to help\n  me treat the king as I like, and do then use the poor old king as\n  my buckler against this duke's too great familiarity. But my\n  friend, when the king comes to die then shall I have my fears of\n  this young Francis d'Angouleme. He is desperate for me, and I know\n  not to what length he might go. The king cannot live long, as the\n  thread of his life is like rotten flax, and when he dies thou must\n  come without delay, since I shall be in deadly peril. I have a\n  messenger waiting at all hours ready to send to thee upon a\n  moment's notice, and when he comes waste not a precious instant;\n  it may mean all to thee and me. I could write on and on forever,\n  but it would be only to tell thee o'er and o'er that my heart is\n  full of thee to overflowing. I thank thee that thou hast never\n  doubted me, and will see that thou hast hereafter only good cause\n  for better faith.\n\n  \"MARY, Regina.\"\n\n\n\"Regina!\" That was all. Only a queen! Surely no one could charge\nBrandon with possessing too modest tastes.\n\nIt was, I think, during the second week in December that I gave this\nletter to Brandon, and about a fortnight later there came to him a\nmessenger from Paris, bringing another from Mary, as follows:\n\n  \"_Master Charles Brandon_:\n\n  \"Sir and Dear Friend, Greeting--I have but time to write that the\n  king is so ill he cannot but die ere morning. Thou knowest that\n  which I last wrote to thee, and in addition thereto I would say\n  that although I have, as thou likewise knowest, my brother's\n  permission to marry whom I wish, yet as I have his one consent it\n  is safer that we act upon that rather than be so scrupulous as to\n  ask for another. So it were better that thou take me to wife upon\n  the old one, rather than risk the necessity of having to do it\n  without any. I say no more, but come with all the speed thou\n  knowest.\n\n  \"MARY.\"\n\n\nIt is needless to say that Brandon started in haste for Paris. He left\ncourt for the ostensible purpose of paying me a visit and came to\nIpswich, whence we sailed.\n\nThe French king was dead before Mary's message reached London, and\nwhen we arrived at Paris, Francis I reigned on the throne of his\nfather-in-law. I had guessed only too accurately. As soon as the\nrestraint of the old king's presence, light as it had been, was\nremoved, the young king opened his attack upon Mary in dreadful\nearnest. He begged and pleaded and swore his love, which was surely\nmanifest enough, and within three days after the old king's death\noffered to divorce Claude and make Mary his queen. When she refused\nthis flattering offer his surprise was genuine.\n\n\"Do you know what you refuse?\" he asked in a temper. \"I offer to make\nyou my wife--queen of fifteen millions of the greatest subjects on\nearth--and are you such a fool as to refuse a gift like that, and a\nman like me for a husband?\"\n\n\"That I am, your majesty, and with a good grace. I am Queen of France\nwithout your help, and care not so much as one penny for the honor. It\nis greater to be a princess of England. As for this love you avow, I\nwould make so bold as to suggest that you have a good, true wife to\nwhom you would do well to give it all. To me it is nothing, even were\nyou a thousand times the king you are. My heart is another's, and I\nhave my brother's permission to marry him.\"\n\n\"Another's? God's soul! Tell me who this fellow is that I may spit him\non my sword.\"\n\n\"No! no! you would not; even were you as valiant and grand as you\nthink yourself, you would be but a child in his hands.\"\n\nFrancis was furious, and had Mary's apartments guarded to prevent her\nescape, swearing he would have his way.\n\nAs soon as Brandon and I arrived in Paris we took private lodgings,\nand well it was that we did. I at once went out to reconnoiter, and\nfound the widowed queen a prisoner in the old palace des Tournelles.\nWith the help of Queen Claude I secretly obtained an interview, and\nlearned the true state of affairs.\n\nHad Brandon been recognized and his mission known in Paris, he would\ncertainly have been assassinated by order of Francis.\n\nWhen I saw the whole situation, with Mary nothing less than a prisoner\nin the palace, I was ready to give up without a struggle, but not so\nMary. Her brain was worth having, so fertile was it in expedients, and\nwhile I was ready to despair, she was only getting herself in good\nfighting order.\n\nAfter Mary's refusal of Francis, and after he had learned that the\nsacrifice of Claude would not help him, he grew desperate, and\ndetermined to keep the English girl in his court at any price and by\nany means. So he hit upon the scheme of marrying her to his\nweak-minded cousin, the Count of Savoy. To that end he sent a hurried\nembassy to Henry VIII, offering, in case of the Savoy marriage, to pay\nback Mary's dower of four hundred thousand crowns. He offered to help\nHenry in the matter of the imperial crown in case of Maximilian's\ndeath--a help much greater than any King Louis could have given. He\nalso offered to confirm Henry in all his French possessions, and to\nrelinquish all claims of his own thereto--all as the price of one\neighteen-year-old girl. Do you wonder she had an exalted estimate of\nher own value?\n\n[Illustration]\n\nAs to Henry, it, of course, need not be said, that half the price\noffered would have bought him to break an oath made upon the true\ncross itself. The promise he had made to Mary, broken in intent before\nit was given, stood not for an instant in the way of the French king's\nwishes; and Henry, with a promptitude begotten of greed, was as hasty\nin sending an embassy to accept the offer as Francis had been to\nmake it. It mattered not to him what new torture he put upon his\nsister; the price, I believe, was sufficient to have induced him to\ncut off her head with his own hands.\n\nIf Francis and Henry were quick in their movements, Mary was quicker.\nHer plan was made in the twinkling of an eye. Immediately upon seeing\nme at the palace she sent for Queen Claude, with whom she had become\nfast friends, and told her all she knew. She did not know of the\nscheme for the Savoy marriage, though Queen Claude did, and fully\nexplained it to Mary. Naturally enough, Claude would be glad to get\nMary as far away from France and her husband as possible, and was only\ntoo willing to lend a helping hand to our purpose, or Mary's, rather,\nfor she was the leader.\n\nWe quickly agreed among ourselves that Mary and Queen Claude should\nwithin an hour go out in Claude's new coach for the ostensible purpose\nof hearing mass. Brandon and I were to go to the same little chapel in\nwhich Jane and I had been married, where Mary said the little priest\ncould administer the sacrament of marriage and perform the ceremony as\nwell as if he were thrice as large.\n\nI hurriedly found Brandon and repaired to the little chapel, where we\nwaited for a very long time, we thought. At last the two queens\nentered as if to make their devotions. As soon as Brandon and Mary\ncaught sight of each other, Queen Claude and I began to examine the\nshrines and decipher the Latin inscriptions. If these two had not\nmarried soon they would have been the death of me. I was compelled at\nlength to remind them that time was very precious just at that\njuncture, whereupon Mary, who was half laughing, half crying, lifted\nher hands to her hair and let it fall in all its lustrous wealth down\nover her shoulders. When Brandon saw this, he fell upon his knee and\nkissed the hem of her gown, and she, stooping over him, raised him to\nhis feet and placed her hand in his.\n\nThus Mary was married to the man to save whose life she had four\nmonths before married the French king.\n\nShe and Queen Claude had forgotten nothing, and all arrangements were\ncompleted for the flight. A messenger had been dispatched two hours\nbefore with an order from Queen Claude that a ship should be waiting\nat Dieppe, ready to sail immediately upon our arrival.\n\nAfter the ceremony Claude quickly bound up Mary's hair, and the queens\ndeparted from the chapel in their coach. We soon followed, meeting\nthem again at St. Denis gate, where we found the best of horses and\nfour sturdy men awaiting us. The messenger to Dieppe who had preceded\nus would arrange for relays, and as Mary, according to her wont when\nshe had another to rely upon, had taken the opportunity to become\nthoroughly frightened, no time was lost. We made these forty leagues\nin less than twenty-four hours from the time of starting; having\npaused only for a short rest at a little town near Rouen, which city\nwe carefully passed around.\n\nWe had little fear of being overtaken at the rate we were riding, but\nMary said she supposed the wind would die down for a month immediately\nupon our arrival at Dieppe. Fortunately no one pursued us, thanks to\nQueen Claude, who had spread the report that Mary was ill, and\nfortunately, also, much to Mary's surprise and delight, when we\narrived at Dieppe, as fair a wind as a sailor's heart could wish was\nblowing right up the channel. It was a part of the system of\nrelays--horses, ship, and wind.\n\n\"When the very wind blows for our special use, we may surely dismiss\nfear,\" said Mary, laughing and clapping her hands, but nearly ready\nfor tears, notwithstanding.\n\nThe ship was a fine new one, well fitted to breast any sea, and\nlearning this, we at once agreed that upon landing in England, Mary\nand I should go to London and win over the king if possible. We felt\nsome confidence in being able to do this, as we counted upon Wolsey's\nhelp, but in case of failure we still had our plans. Brandon was to\ntake the ship to a certain island off the Suffolk coast and there\nawait us the period of a year if need be, as Mary might, in case of\nHenry's obstinacy, be detained; then re-victual and re-man the ship\nand out through the North Sea for their former haven, New Spain.\n\nIn case of Henry's consent, how they were to live in a style fit for a\nprincess, Brandon did not know, unless Henry should open his heart and\nprovide for them--a doubtful contingency upon which they did not base\nmuch hope. At a pinch, they might go down into Suffolk and live next\nto Jane and me on Brandon's estates. To this Mary readily agreed, and\nsaid it was what she wanted above all else.\n\nThere was one thing now in favor of the king's acquiescence: during\nthe last three months Brandon had become very necessary to his\namusement, and amusement was his greatest need and aim in life.\n\nMary and I went to London to see the king, having landed at\nSouthampton for the purpose of throwing off the scent any one who\nmight seek the ship. The king was delighted to see his sister, and\nkissed her over and over again.\n\nMary had as hard a game to play as ever fell to the lot of woman, but\nshe was equal to the emergency if any woman ever was. She did not give\nHenry the slightest hint that she knew anything of the Count of Savoy\nepisode, but calmly assumed that of course her brother had meant\nliterally what he said when he made the promise as to the second\nmarriage.\n\nThe king soon asked: \"But what are you doing here? They have hardly\nburied Louis as yet, have they?\"\n\n\"I am sure I do not know,\" answered Mary, \"and I certainly care less.\nI married him only during his life, and not for one moment afterwards,\nso I came away and left them to bury him or keep him, as they choose;\nI care not which.\"\n\n\"But--\" began Henry, when Mary interrupted him, saying: \"I will tell\nyou--\"\n\nI had taken good care that Wolsey should be present at this interview;\nso we four, the king, Wolsey, Mary and myself, quietly stepped into a\nlittle alcove away from the others, and prepared to listen to Mary's\ntale, which was told with all her dramatic eloquence and feminine\npersuasiveness. She told of the ignoble insults of Francis, of his\nvile proposals--insisted upon, almost to the point of force--carefully\nconcealing, however, the offer to divorce Claude and make her queen,\nwhich proposition might have had its attractions for Henry. She told\nof her imprisonment in the palace des Tournelles, and of her deadly\nperil and many indignities, and the tale lost nothing in the telling.\nThen she finished by throwing her arms around Henry's neck in a\npassionate flood of tears and begging him to protect her--to save her!\nsave her! save her! his little sister.\n\nIt was all such perfect acting that for the time I forgot it was\nacting, and a great lump swelled up in my throat. It was, however,\nonly for the instant, and when Mary, whose face was hidden from all\nthe others, on Henry's breast, smiled slyly at me from the midst of\nher tears and sobs, I burst into a laugh that was like to have spoiled\neverything. Henry turned quickly upon me, and I tried to cover it by\npretending that I was sobbing. Wolsey helped me out by putting a\ncorner of his gown to his eyes, when Henry, seeing us all so affected,\nbegan to catch the fever and swell with indignation. He put Mary away\nfrom him, and striding up and down the room exclaimed, in a voice that\nall could hear, \"The dog! the dog! to treat my sister so. My sister!\nMy father's daughter! My sister! The first princess of England and\nqueen of France for his mistress! By every god that ever breathed,\nI'll chastise this scurvy cur until he howls again. I swear it by my\ncrown, if it cost me my kingdom,\" and so on until words failed him.\nBut see how he kept his oath, and see how he and Francis hobnobbed not\nlong afterward at the Field of the Cloth of Gold.\n\nHenry came back to Mary and began to question her, when she repeated\nthe story for him. Then it was she told of my timely arrival, and how,\nin order to escape and protect herself from Francis, she had been\ncompelled to marry Brandon and flee with us.\n\nShe said: \"I so wanted to come home to England and be married where my\ndear brother could give me away, but I was in such mortal dread of\nFrancis, and there was no other means of escape, so--\"\n\n\"God's death! If I had but one other sister like you, I swear before\nheaven I'd have myself hanged. Married to Brandon? Fool! idiot! what\ndo you mean? Married to Brandon! Jesu! You'll drive me mad! Just one\nother like you in England, and the whole damned kingdom might sink;\nI'd have none of it. Married to Brandon without my consent!\"\n\n\"No! no! brother,\" answered Mary softly, leaning affectionately\nagainst his bulky form; \"do you suppose I would do that? Now don't be\nunkind to me when I have been away from you so long! You gave your\nconsent four months ago. Do you not remember? You know I would never\nhave done it otherwise.\"\n\n\"Yes, I know! You would not do anything--you did not want; and it\nseems equally certain that in the end you always manage to do\neverything you do want. Hell and furies!\"\n\n\"Why! brother, I will leave it to my Lord Bishop of York if you did\nnot promise me that day, in this very room, and almost on this very\nspot, that if I would marry Louis of France I might marry whomsoever I\nwished when he should die. Of course you knew, after what I had said,\nwhom I should choose, so I went to a little church in company with\nQueen Claude, and took my hair down and married him, and I am his\nwife, and no power on earth can make it otherwise,\" and she looked up\ninto his face with a defiant little pout, as much as to say, \"Now,\nwhat are you going to do about it?\"\n\nHenry looked at her in surprise and then burst out laughing. \"Married\nto Brandon with your hair down?\" And he roared again, holding his\nsides. \"Well, you do beat the devil; there's no denying that. Poor old\nLouis! That was a good joke on him. I'll stake my crown he was glad to\ndie! You kept it warm enough for him, I make no doubt.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Mary, with a little shrug of her shoulders, \"he would\nmarry me.\"\n\n\"Yes, and now poor Brandon doesn't know the trouble ahead of him,\neither. He has my pity, by Jove!\"\n\n\"Oh, that is different,\" returned Mary, and her eyes burned softly,\nand her whole person fairly radiated, so expressive was she of the\nfact that \"it was different.\"\n\nDifferent? Yes, as light from darkness; as love from loathing; as\nheaven from the other place; as Brandon from Louis; and that tells it\nall.\n\nHenry turned to Wolsey: \"Have you ever heard anything equal to it, my\nLord Bishop?\"\n\nMy Lord Bishop, of course, never had; nothing that even approached it.\n\n\"What are we to do about it?\" continued Henry, still addressing\nWolsey.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThe bishop assumed a thoughtful expression, as if to appear deliberate\nin so great a matter, and said: \"I see but one thing that can be\ndone,\" and then he threw in a few soft, oily words upon the\ntroubled waters that made Mary wish she had never called him \"thou\nbutcher's cur,\" and Henry, after a pause, asked: \"Where is Brandon? He\nis a good fellow, after all, and what we can't help we must endure.\nHe'll find punishment enough in you. Tell him to come home--I suppose\nyou have him hid around some place--and we'll try to do something for\nhim.\"\n\n\"What will you do for him, brother?\" said Mary, not wanting to give\nthe king's friendly impulse time to weaken.\n\n\"Oh! don't bother about that now,\" but she held him fast by the hand\nand would not let go.\n\n\"Well, what do you want? Out with it. I suppose I might as well give\nit up easily, you will have it sooner or later. Out with it and be\ndone.\"\n\n\"Could you make him Duke of Suffolk?\"\n\n\"Eh? I suppose so. What say you, my Lord of York?\"\n\nYork was willing--thought it would be just the thing.\n\n\"So be it then,\" said Henry. \"Now I am going out to hunt and will not\nlisten to another word. You will coax me out of my kingdom for that\nfellow yet.\" He was about to leave the room when he turned to Mary,\nsaying: \"By the way, sister, can you have Brandon here by Sunday next?\nI am to have a joust.\"\n\nMary thought she could, ... and the great event was accomplished.\n\nOne false word, one false syllable, one false tone would have spoiled\nit all, had not Mary--but I fear you are weary with hearing so much of\nMary.\n\nSo after all, Mary, though a queen, came portionless to Brandon. He\ngot the title, but never received the estates of Suffolk; all he\nreceived with her was the money I carried to him from France.\nNevertheless, Brandon thought himself the richest man in all the\nearth, and surely he was one of the happiest. Such a woman as Mary is\ndangerous, except in a state of complete subjection--but she was bound\nhand and foot in the silken meshes of her own weaving, and her power\nfor bliss-making was almost infinite.\n\nAnd now it was, as all who read may know, that this fair, sweet,\nwilful Mary dropped out of history; a sure token that her heart was\nher husband's throne; her soul his empire; her every wish his subject,\nand her will, so masterful with others, the meek and lowly servant of\nher strong but gentle lord and master, Charles Brandon, Duke of\nSuffolk.\n\n\n\n\n_Note by the Editor_\n\n\nSir Edwin Caskoden's history differs in some minor details from other\nauthorities of the time. Hall's chronicle says Sir William Brandon,\nfather of Charles, had the honor of being killed by the hand of\nRichard III himself, at Bosworth Field, and the points wherein his\naccount of Charles Brandon's life differs from that of Sir Edwin may\nbe gathered from the index to the 1548 edition of that work, which is\nas follows:\n\nCHARLES BRANDON, ESQUIRE,\n    Is made knight,\n    Created Viscount Lysle,\n    Made duke of Suffolke,\n    Goeth to Paris to the Iustes,\n    Doeth valiantly there,\n    Returneth into England,\n    He is sent into Fraunce to fetch home the French quene into England,\n    He maryeth her,\nand so on until\n    \"He dyeth and is buryed at Wyndesore.\"\n\nNo mention is made in any of the chronicles of the office of Master of\nDance. In all other essential respects Sir Edwin is corroborated by\nhis contemporaries.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n_The Author and The Book_\n\nBY MAURICE THOMPSON\n\n\nWhen a man does something by which the world is attracted, we\nimmediately feel a curiosity to know all about him personally. Mr.\nCharles Major, of Shelbyville, Indiana, wrote the wonderfully popular\nhistorical romance, When Knighthood was in Flower, which has already\nsold over a quarter million copies.\n\nIt is not mere luck that makes a piece of fiction acceptable to the\npublic. The old saying, \"Where there is so much smoke there must be\nfire,\" holds good in the case of smoke about a novel. When a book\nmoves many people of varying temperaments and in all circles of\nintelligence there is power in it. Behind such a book we have the\nright to imagine an author endowed with admirable gifts of\nimagination. The ancient saying, \"The cup is glad of the wine it\nholds,\" was but another way of expressing the rule which judges a tree\nby its fruit and a man by his works; for out of character comes style,\nand out of a man's nature is his taste distilled. Every soul, like the\ncup, is glad of what it holds.\n\nMr. Major himself has said, in his straightforward way, \"It is what a\nman does that counts.\" By this rule of measurement Mr. Major has a\nliberal girth. The writing of When Knighthood was in Flower was a deed\nof no ordinary dimensions, especially when we take into account the\nfact that the writer had not been trained to authorship or to the\nliterary artist's craft; but was a country lawyer, with an office to\nsweep every morning, and a few clients with whom to worry over\ndilatory cases and doubtful fees.\n\nThe law, as a profession, is said to be a jealous mistress, ever ready\nand maliciously anxious to drop a good-sized stumbling block in the\npath of her devotee whenever he appears to be straying in the\ndirection of another love. Indeed, many are the young men who, on\nturning from Blackstone and Kent in a comfortable law office to Scott\nand Byron, have lost a lawyer's living, only to grasp the empty air of\nfailure in the fascinating garret of the scribbler. But \"nothing\nsucceeds like success,\" and genius has a way of changing rules and\nforcing the gates of fortune. And when we see the proof that a fresh\ngenius has once more wrought the miracle of reversing all the fine\nlogic of facts, so as to bring success and fame out of the very\ncircumstances and conditions which are said to render the feat\nimpossible, we all wish to know how he did it.\n\nBalzac, when he felt the inspiration of a new novel in his brain,\nretired to an obscure room, and there, with a pot of villainous black\ncoffee at his elbow, wrote night and day, almost without food and\nsleep, until the book was finished. General Lew Wallace put Ben Hur on\npaper in the open air of a beech grove, with a bit of yellowish canvas\nstretched above him to soften the light. Some authors use only the\nmorning hours for their literary work; others prefer the silence of\nnight. A few cannot write save when surrounded by books, pictures and\nluxurious furniture, while some must have a bare room with nothing in\nit to distract attention. Mr. Charles Major wrote When Knighthood was\nin Flower on Sunday afternoons, the only time he had free from the\nexactions of the law. He was full of his subject, however, and\ndoubtless his clients paid the charges in the way of losses through\ndemurrers neglected and motions and exceptions not properly presented!\n\nOne thing about Mr. Major's work deserves special mention; its shows\nconscientious mastery of details, a sure evidence of patient study.\nWhat it may lack as literature is compensated for in lawful coin of\nhuman interest and in general truthfulness to the facts and the\natmosphere of the life he depicts. When asked how he arrived at his\naccurate knowledge of old London--London in the time of Henry VIII--he\nfetched an old book--Stow's Survey of London--from his library and\nsaid:\n\n\"You remember in my novel that Mary goes one night from Bridewell\nCastle to Billingsgate Ward through strange streets and alleys. Well,\nthat journey I made with Mary, aided by Stow's Survey, with his map\nof old London before me.\"\n\nIt is no contradiction of terms to speak of fiction as authentic. Mere\nvraisemblance is all very well in works of pure imagination; but a\nhistorical romance does not satisfy the reader's sense of justice\nunless its setting and background and atmosphere are true to time,\nplace and historical facts. Mr. Major felt the demand of his\nundertaking and respected it. He collected old books treating of\nEnglish life and manners in the reign of Henry VIII, preferring to\nsaturate his mind with what writers nearest the time had to say,\nrather than depend upon recent historians. In this he chose well, for\nthe romancer's art, different from the historian's, needs the literary\nshades and colors of the period it would portray.\n\nAnother clever choice on the part of our author was to put the telling\nof the story in the mouth of his heroine's contemporary. This, of\ncourse, had often been done by romancers before Mr. Major, but he\nchose well, nevertheless. Fine literary finish was not to be expected\nof a Master of the Dance early in the sixteenth century; so that Sir\nEdwin Caskoden, and not Mr. Major, is accepted by the reader as\nresponsible for the book's narrative, descriptive and dramatic style.\nThis ruse, so to call it, serves a double purpose; it hangs the\nglamour of distance over the pages, and it puts the reader in direct\ncommunication, as it were, with the characters in the book. The\nnarrator is garrulous, and often far from artistic with his scenes and\nincidents; but it is Caskoden doing all this, not Mr. Charles Major,\nand we never think of bringing him to task! Undoubtedly it is good art\nto do just what Mr. Major has done--that is, it is good art to present\na picture of life in the terms of the period in which it flourished.\nIt might have been better art to clothe the story in the highest terms\nof literature; but that would have required a Shakespeare.\n\nThe greatest beauty of Mr. Major's story as a piece of craftsmanship\nis its frank show of self-knowledge on the author's part. He knew his\nequipment, and he did not attempt to go beyond what it enabled him to\ndo and do well.\n\nHis romance will not go down the ages as a companion of Scott's,\nThackeray's, Hugo's and Dumas'; but read at any time by any\nfresh-minded person, it will afford that shock of pleasure which\nalways comes of a good story enthusiastically told, and of a pretty\nlove-drama frankly and joyously presented. Mr. Major has the true\ndramatic vision and notable cleverness in the art of making effective\nconversation.\n\nThe little Indiana town in which Mr. Major lives and practices the law\nis about twenty miles from Indianapolis, and hitherto has been best\nknown as the former residence of Thomas A. Hendricks, late\nVice-President of the United States. Already the tide of kodak artists\nand autograph hunters has found our popular author out, and his\nclients are being pushed aside by vigorous interviewers and reporters\nin search of something about the next book. But the author of When\nKnighthood was in Flower is an extremely difficult person to handle.\nIt is told of him that he offers a very emphatic objection to having\nhis home life and private affairs flaunted before the public under\nliberal headlines and with \"copious illustrations.\"\n\nMr. Major is forty-three and happily married; well-built and dark;\nlooking younger than his years, genial, quiet and domestic to a\ndegree; he lives what would seem to be an ideal life in a charming\nhome, across the threshold of which the curiosity of the public need\nnot try to pass. As might be taken for granted, Mr. Major has been all\nhis life a loving student of history.\n\nPerhaps to the fact that he has never studied romance as it is in art\nis largely due his singular power over the materials and atmosphere of\nhistory. At all events, there is something remarkable in his vivid\npictures not in the least traceable to literary form nor dependent\nupon a brilliant command of diction. The characters in his book are\nwarm, passionate human beings, and the air they breathe is real air.\nThe critic may wince and make faces over lapses from taste, and\nprotest against a literary style which cannot be defended from any\npoint of view; yet there is Mary in flesh and blood, and there is\nCaskoden, a veritable prig of a good fellow--there, indeed, are all\nthe _dramatis personae_, not merely true to life, but living beings.\n\nAnd speaking of _dramatis personae_, Mr. Major tells how, soon after\nhis book was published, his morning mail brought him an interesting\nletter from a prominent New York manager, pointing out the dramatic\npossibilities of When Knighthood was in Flower and asking for the\nright to produce it. While this letter was still under consideration,\na telegram was received at the Shelbyville office which read: \"I want\nthe dramatic rights to When Knighthood was in Flower.\" It was signed\n\"Julia Marlowe.\" Mr. Major felt that this was enough for one morning,\nso he escaped to Indianapolis, and after a talk with his publishers,\nleft for St. Louis and answered Miss Marlowe's telegram in person. At\nthe first interview she was enthusiastic and he was confident. She\ngave him a box for the next night's performance, which Miss Marlowe\narranged should be \"As You Like It.\" After the play the author was\nenthusiastic and the actress confident.\n\nAt Cincinnati, the following week, the contract was signed and the\nsearch for the dramatist was begun. That the story would lend itself\nhappily to stage production must have occurred even to the thoughtless\nreader. But it is one thing to see the scenes of a play fairly\nsticking out, as the saying is, from the pages of a book, and quite\nanother to gather together and make of them a dramatic entity. Miss\nMarlowe was determined that the book should be given to a playwright\nwhose dramatic experience and artistic sense could be relied on to\nlead him out of the rough places, up to the high plane of convincing\nand finished workmanship. Mr. Paul Kester, after some persuasion,\nundertook the work. The result is wholly satisfactory to author,\nactress and manager--a remarkable achievement indeed!\n\nMr. Major's biography shows a fine, strong American life. He was born\nin Indianapolis, July 25, 1856. Thirteen years later he went with his\nfather's family to Shelbyville, where he was graduated from the public\nschool in 1872, and in 1875 he concluded his course in the University\nof Michigan. Later he read law with his father, and in 1877 was\nadmitted to the bar. Eight years later he stood for the Legislature\nand was elected on the democratic ticket. He served with credit one\nterm, and has since declined all political honors.\n\nThe title, When Knighthood was in Flower, was not chosen by Mr. Major,\nwhose historical taste was satisfied with Charles Brandon, Duke of\nSuffolk. And who knows but that the author's title would have proved\njust the weight to sink a fine book into obscurity? Mr. John J.\nCurtis, of the Bowen-Merrill Company, suggested When Knighthood was in\nFlower, a phrase taken from Leigh Hunt's poem, the Gentle Armour:\n\n    \"There lived a knight, when knighthood was in flower,\n    Who charmed alike the tilt-yard and the bower.\""