The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, January 18, 1903, Page 3

THE SUNDAY CALL. Here he read his Warrant to aries Brandon, Esquire, for the tizens of London, per- committed upon the h a da this . Brandon's hat had side of the dead men, had received informa- that Brandon Uhigh source I andon res was no although hardly he was forced to m. A horse litter all started to Lon- the sort, tell the one e does She will make I would not nk for one You do not seems selfish, s fostere by right If ¥ th would not liberate t is not tc doubt that she r than you thir nced me, as I did danger I might cre- sl v what new how 1 might mar the matter I h wished tc nd. I aid not tell on that the girls had left Green- efined, and, perhaps, Mary might not act would in a great ntly helped him to ng with him and the weate, the don at that for feions, while Here he was d dungeon foul zgh the old live, wita & that creeps. There 1, no floor, not ev ply the reek fungus, a overhead. One a more horribie nd even a moment. he light of the 1im in, and t in that me or e o f no r had been bribed bef d to_ stand the drench wretched in his life and honor _ of , dearer to = breath of he not suffering 1se of this gread my request and in whole soul had nc him i should have been t grateful wretch on earth; worke pair of selfish, careless girls. go out him nd I believe e bartered my life to have from another hour in that s as the prison gates were rning 1 again importuned ve Brandon a more com- his reply was that such late become so frequent no favor could be shown nd that men nd act punish- responded the b guilty who . one prove twith- i fre- rawn t Buckingham and hink Mary had heard of as she did not seem think he will tell the cause of she asked he will not,” I answered; “but als ow that he knows you will,” and t into her face. “C we will,”” said Jane: “‘we will go to the King at once,” and she was the qui vive to start immediately. v did not at once consent to Jane's ition, but sat in a reverle, looking tearful eves into vacancy, apparent- on bed in though After a little from us I suppose it 1 have to be d I can see no other way; but blessed Mother Mary! help me!” T girls made hasty preparations and we started back to Greenwich that Mary Xmlghl tell the King. On the road over I s ;»L,r-d at Newgate to tell Bran- the Princess would soon hgve knowing_how welcome libetty be at her hands; but I was not permitted to sec him, I swallowed my disappointment and thought it would be only a matter of a few delay—the time spent in rid- ing down to Greenwich and sending back & messenger. So, light-hearted enough at the prospect, I soon joined the girls and we cantered briskly home After waliting a reasonable time for Mary to see the King, I sought her agaln to learn where and from whom I should receive the order for Brandon's release ;;.d when I should go to London to bring m What was my surprise and disgust when Mary told me she kad not yet seen tho King—that she had waited to ‘“eat and bathe and dress,” and that “a few moments morg or | could make no dif- ference.” . “My God, your Highness, did T not tell you that the man who saved your life and honor—who is covered with wounds received in your defense and almost dead from loss of blood, spilled that you might be saved from worse than death—is now in a rayless dungeon; a piace of frightful filth, such as you would not walk across for all ihe wealth of London PBridge; is surrounded by loathsome, creeping things that would sicken you but to think of; is resting under a charge whose pen- is that he be hanged drawn and quartered? And yet you Stop to eat and bathe and dress. In God’s name, Mary Tudor! of what stuff are you made? If he had waited but one little minute, had siopped for the drawing of a breath, had heid back for but one faitering thought from the terrible odds of four swords to one, what would you now be? Think, Princess, think!” 1 was a little frightened at the length to which my feelings had driven me, but Mary took it all very well, and sald slow- and absent mindedly: You are right 1 will go at once. I despise my scifish neglect. There is no other way; 1 have racked my brain—there is no other way. It must be done, and 1 will go at once and do it.” “And I will go with you,” said T. “1 do not blame you,” she sald, “for doubting me, since 1 have fafled once; but you need not doubt me now. It shall be done, and without delay. regardiess of the cost to me. 1 have thought and thought to find some other way to liber- 10' him. vut there is none; I will go this netant.” “And I will go with you, Lady Mary sald I, doggedly. She smiled at_my persistency and took me by the hand, saying, “‘Come!” We at once went off to find the King, but the smiie had faded from Mary's face and she looked as if she were going to execution. Every shade of golor had fled, 2nd her lips were the hue df ashes. We found the King in the midst of his council with the French Embassadors, discussing the all-absorbing topic of the warriage treaty, and Henry, fearing an outbreak, refused to see the Princess. As usual, opposition but spurred her deter- mination, so she sat down In the &nte- room and s she would not stir until she had seen the King. After we had waited a few minutes one of the King's pages ame up and said be had been looking ail over the palace for me, and that the King desired my presence immediately. 1 went in with the page to the K leaving Mary alone and very melancholy in the antechamber. Upon ‘entering the King's presence he asked: ““Where have you been, Sir Ed- win? I have almost killed a good half 1 want_you go to Paris King The dozen pages hunting you. to prepare immediately to with an_emba: to his Majesty Louis. You will be the interpreter. Kmbassador you need not know. Make ady at_once. The embassy will leave ndon from the Tabard Inn one hour id a command to duty have come a more inopportune time? 1 was 1, and upon leaving the King went once to seek the Lady Mary yhere I bad left her in the anteroom.” She had gone, so 1 went to her apartments, but could not find her. I went to the Queen's salon, but she was not there, and I tra- versed that old rambling palace from one end to the other without finding her or Lady Jane. The King had told me the embassy would be a secret one, and that 1 was to speak of it to nobody, least of all to the Lady Mary. one was to know that 1 was leaving England, and 1 was to communicate with no one at home nee. ommand was not to be dis- obeyed. To, do so would be as much as my life wag worth, but besides that the command of the King I served was my highest dut and no Caskoden ever failed in that I may not be as tail as some men, but my fidelity and honor—but you will 'say 1 boast. T was to make ready my bundle and ride six miles to London in one hour: and almec half that time was spent already. vas sure to be late, so 1 could not waste another minute, I went to my room and got together ‘a few things necessary for my journey, but did not take much in the way of clothing, preferring to buy that new in Paris, where I could find the latest styles in_pattern and fabric. T tried to assure myself that Mary would sce the King at once and tell him all, and not allow my dear friend Bran- don to lie in that terrible place another night; yet a persistent fear gnawed at my heart, and a sort of intuition that seemed to have the very breath of cer- tainty in its foreboding made me doubt her. As T could find nefther Mary nor Jane, 1 did the next best thing; I wrote a letter to each of them, urging immediate ac- tion, and left them to be delivered by my man Thomas, who was one of those trusty souls that mever fail. I did not tell the girls 1 was about to start for France, but intimated that I was com- pelled to leave London for a time, and sald: “I leave the fate of this man, to whom we all owe so much. in your hands, knowing full well how tender you will be of him. 1 was away from home nearly a month and as 1 dared not write, and even Jane did not know where 1 was, I did not re- ceive or expect any letters. The King had ordered secre and if T mingled with all my faults a single virtue it is that of faithfuine: had no news from home. During all that time the same old fear lived in my heart that Mary might fail to my trust. So I gland and sent none to liberate Brandon. She knew of the negotiations concerning the French mar- riage, as we all did, although only by an_ indefinite sort of hearsay, and I was sure the half founded rumors that had reached her ears d long since become certainties, and that her heart was full of trouble and fear of her violent brother. She would certainly be at her coaxing and wheedling again and on her best be- havior, and I feared she might refrain frc telling Henry of her trip to Grou- che's, knowing how severe he was in such matters and how furious he was sure to become at the di very I was certain it was this fear which had pre- vented Mary from going directly to the King on our return to Greenwich from Scotland, and knew that her eating, bath- ing and dressing were but an excuse for a breathing spell before the dreaded in- terview, This fear remalned with me all the time T s away, but when 1 reasoned with myseif T would smother it as well as [ could with argumentative attempts at self-assurance. I wou'd say over and over to myself that Mary could not'fail, and that even if she did there was Jane, dear, sweet, thoughtful, unselfish Jane, who would not allow her to do so. Buf as far they. go our _intuitions—our “feelin as we call them—are worth all the logic in the world, and you can say what you will, but my presentiments—I speak for no one else -are well to be minded. There another sense hidden about us that will develop as the race grows older. 1 speak to posterity. In proof of this statement, I now tell you that when I returned to London I found Brandon still in the terrible dun- geon: and worse still, he had been tried for murder and had been condemned to be hanged. drawn and quartered on the second Friday following. Hanged! Drawn! it is time we were doing h such barbarity. We will now go back a month for the purpose oi looking up the dolngs of a friend of ours, his Grice, the Duke of Buckingham. On the/morning of the fatal battle of Billingsgate, the barber who had treated Brandon's wounds had been called to London to dress a bruised knee for his Grace, the Duke. In the course of his operation an immense deal of informa- tion oozed out of the barber, one item’ of which was that he had the night before dressed nine wounds, great and small, for Master Brandon, the Kiag's friend. This established the identity of the man who had rescued the girls, a fact of which Buckingham had had lis suspiclons ail along. So Brandon's arrest followed, as I Lave already related to you. 1 afterward iearned from various rources how this nobeman began to avenge his mishap with Brandon at Mary's ball when the latter broke his sword point. First, he went to Newgate and gave orders to the keeper, who was his tool, to allow no communication with the prisoner, and it was by his instruc- tions that Brandon had been confined in the worst dungeon in London. Then he went down to Greenwicl to take care of matters there, knowing that the King would learn of Brandon’s arrest and prob- ably take steps for his liseration at once, The King had just heard of the arrest when Buckingham arrived, and the latter found he was right in lis surmise that his Majesty would at once demand Bran- don’s release. When the Duke entered the King's room Henry called to him: “My Lord, vou are opportunely arrived. S0 good a triend of the people of london can help us greatly this morning. Our friend Brandon has been arrested for the killing of two men night before Jast at Billings- gate ward. I am sure th:re is some mis- take and that the good sheriff has the wrong man, but right or wrong, we want him out and ask your gond office: ““I shall be most happy to serve your Majesty, and will go to London at once to see the Lord Mayor.” v In the afternoon the Duke returned and had a private audience with the King. “I did as yvour Maljesty quested in re- zard to Brandon's release,”” he said. “‘but on_investigation, thought it best to con- sult you again before proceeding further. 1 fear there is no doubt that Brandon is the right man. It seems he was oub with @ coupie of wenches concerning whom he ot into trouble and slahlEd'lwo men in the back. It is a very af@gravated case and the citizens are much Wycensed about it, owing partly to the fact®hat such oc- curren have been so frequent of late. I thought. under the circimstances. and in view of the fact that ycur Majesty will 2 soon call upon the city for a loan to make up the Lady Mary's dower, it would be wise not to antagonize them in this mat- ter, but to allow Master Brandon to re- main quietly in confinement until the loan is compieted, and then we can snap our fingers at them.” L We will snap our fingers at the scurvy burghers now and have the loan, too.”” returned Henry angrily. “I want Iirandon released at once and shall ex- pect another report from you immediate- ly, my Lord.” Buckingham felt that his revenge had slipped through his fingers thid time, but he was patient where evil was to be ac- complished and could wait. Then it was that the council was calied during the progress of which Mary and [ tricd to obtain an audience with the King. Buckingham had gone to pay his re- spects to the Queen and on his way back espied Mary waiting for the King in the anteroom and went to her. At first she was irritated at the sight of this man, whom she <o despised,-but a thought came to her that she might make use of him. She knew his power with_the citizens and ity authorities of London, and also knew, or thought she knew, that a smile from her could ac- complish everything with him. She had ample evidence of his infatuation and she hoped that she could procure Bran- don's liberty through Buckingham with- out revealing her dangerous secret. Much to the Duke's surprise, she smiled upon him and gave a cordial welcome, saying: “My Lord, you have been unxind to us of late and have not shown us the light of your countenance. 1 am giad to see you once more; tell me the new: *“I'cannot say there is much of interest. I have learned the new dance from Cas- koden, if that is news, and hope for a favor at our next ball from the fairest lady in the world.” ‘And quite welcome,” returned Mary, complacently appropriating the titie, “‘and welcome to more than one, I hope, my Lord.” This graciousness would have looked suspiclous to one with less vanity than Buckingham, but he saw no craft in it. He did see, however, that Mary did not know who had attacked her in Billings- gate and he felt greatiy relieved. The Duke smiled and smirked and was enchanted at her kindness. They walked down the corridor talking and laughing, Mary awaiting an opportunity to put the important question without exciting sus- picion. At last it~came, when Bucking- ham, half inquiringly, expressed his sur- prise that Mary should be found sitting at the King's door. “I am waiting to see the King," said she. “Little Caskoden’'s friend, Brandon, has been arrested for a brawl of some sort over in London and Sir Edwin and Lady Jane have importuned me to obtain his re- lease, which I have promised to do. Per- haps 'your Grace will allow me to petition you in place of carrying my request to the King. You are quite as powerful as his Majesty in London, and 1 should like to ask you to obtain for Master Brandon his liberty at once. I shall hold myseli infinitely obliged if your Lordship wiil do this for me.” ®$he smiled upon him her sweetest smile and assumed an indif- ference that would have decefved any one but Buckingham. Upon him, under the circumstances, it was worse than wasted. Buckingham at odce conzented and sald that, notwithstanding the fact that he did not like Brandon, to oblige her High- ness he would undertake to befriend a much more disagreeable person. _“I fear,” he sald, “it will have to be done secretly—by conniving at his escape rather than by an order for his release. The citizens are greatly alarmed over the alarming frequency of such occurrences, and as many of the offenders have lately escaped punishment by reason of court interference, I fear this man Brandon will have to bear the bruat, in the Lon- don mind, of all these unpunished crimes. It will be next to impossible to liberate him, except by arranging privately with the keeper for his escape. He could go down Into the country and wait 'n se clusion until it is all blown over, or until London has a new victim, and then anm. order can be made pavdoning him, and* he can return.” “Pardoning him! What are you talk- He_has done nothin, ing of, my Lord? to he ‘pardoned for. He should be an Mary spoke impet- shall be rewarded.’ uously, but caught herseif and tried to remedy her blunder. “That is, if I have heard the straight of it. I have been told that the killing was done in the defense of two—women.” Think of this pcor un- conscious girl, so full of grief and trou- ble, talking thus to Buckingham, who knéw so much more about the affair than ';"Plrl‘ she, who had taken so active a part n it. ““Who told you of {t?" asked the Duke. Mary saw she had made a mistake, and after hesitating for a moment answered: Sir Edwin Caskoden. He had it from Master Brandon, I suppose.” Rather adroit this was, but equidistant from both truth and effectiveness. “I will go at once to London and ar- range for Brandon's escape,” sald Buck- ingham, preparing to leave. ‘“But you must not divulge the fact that I do it. It would cost me all the favor I enjoy with the p@n?le of Tondon, though [ would willingly lose that favor, a thou- sand times over, for a smile from you.” She gave the smile, and as he left fol- lowed his retiring figure with her eyes, gnd thought, “After all, he has a kind ear She breathed a sigh of relief, too, for she felt she had accomplished Brandon's release and still retained her dangereus secret, the divulging of which, she feared, would harden Henry's heart against her blandishments and ‘strand her upon the throne of France. But she was not entirely satisfied with the arrangement. She knew that her ob- ligation to Brandon was such as to de- mand of her that she should not leave the matter of his release to any other gersnn_ much less to an enemy such as uckingham. Yet the cost of his free- dom by a direct act of her own would be so great that she was tempted to take whatever risk there might be in_the way that had opened itself to her. Not that she would not have made the sacrifice willingly, or would not have told Henry all if that were the only chance to save Brandon's life, but the other way, the one she had taken by Buckingham's help, seemed safe, and, though not entirely sat- tying. she could not see how it could miscarry. Buckingham was nuta!'ly Jeal- ous of his knightly word, and ghe had unbounded faith In her influence over him. In short, like many another person, she Was as Wrong as possible just at the time when she thought she was entirely right, and when the cost of a mistake was at its maximum. She_recoiled also from the thought of Bran&on’s “escape,” and it hurt her that he should be a fugitive from the justice that should reward him, yet she quieted these disturbing suggestiaps with the thought that it would be only for a short time, and Brandon, she knew, would be only too glad to make the sacrifice if it purchased for her freedom from the worse than damnation that lurked in the French marriage. All this ran quickly through Mary's mind and brought relief; but it did not cure the uneasy sense, weighing like lead upon her hearf, that she should take no chahce with this man's life. and should put mo further weight of sacrifice upon him, but should go to the King and tell him a straightforward story, let it hurt where it would. With a little meditation, however, came a thought which decided the question and absolutely made every- thing bright again for her, so great was her capability for distilling light. She would go at once to Windsor with Jane, and would dispatch a note to Branuon, Newgate, telling him wupon his escape to come to her. He might remain in hid- ing In the neighborhood of Windsor, and she could see him every day. THe time had come to Mary when to “see him every day” would turn Plutonian shaues into noonday brightness and weave sunbeams out of utter darkness. With Mary, to resolve was to act; so the note was Soon dispatched by a page, and one hour later the girls were on their road to Windsor. Buckingham went to N-vfiue, expect- irg to make a virtue. with Mary, out of’ the necessity imposed by the King’s com- mand in freeing Brandon. He had hoped to induce Rrandon to leave London stealthily and_immediately by represent- ing to him the evil consequences of a break between the citizens and the King, liable to grow out of his release, and re- lied on Brandon’s generosity to help him out; but when he found the note which 2\ \\ AN Mary’'s page had delivered to the keeper of Newgate, he read it and all his plans were changed. He caused the keeper to send the note to the King, suppressing the fact that he, Buckingham, had any knowledge of it. The Duke then at once started - to Greenwich, where he arrived and sought the King a few minutes before the time he knew the messenger with Mary's note would come. The King was soon found, and Buckingham, in apparent anger, told him that the city authorities refused to deliver Brandon except upon an order under the King's seal. Henry and Buckingham were intensely indignant at the conduct of the scury; burghers, and an immense amount of self- importance was dispiayed and shamefully wasted. This manifestation was at its highest when the messenger from New- gate arrlved with Mary's poor little note as intended by the Duke. The note was handed to Henry, who read aloud as follows: “To Master Charles Brandon: Greeting —Soan you will be at liberty; perhaps ere this is to your hand. Surely, would I not leave vou long in prison. I g0 to Windsor at once, there to live in the hope that I may see you speedily. MARY." “What is this?"”" Cried Henry. “My ‘sis- ter writing to Brandon? God's death! My Lord of Buckingham, the suspicions You whispered in my ear may have some truth. We will let this fellow remain in Newgate, and allow our good people of ;;'nmion to take their own course with Ry Buckingham went to Windsor next day and told Mary that arrangements had been made the nlfiht before for Brandon's escape, and that he had heard that Bran- don had left for New Spain. Mary thanked the Duke. but had no smiles for any one. Her supply was ex- hausted. She remained at Windsor nursing her love for the sake of the very: pain it brought her, and dreading the battle for more than life itself which she knew she should soon be called upon to fight. At times she would fall into one of her old fite of anger because Brandon had not come to see her before he left, but soon the anger melted into tears, and the tears brought a sort of joy when she thought that he had run away from her because he loved her. After Brandon's defense of her in Billingsgate Mary had begun to see the whole situa- tion 'differently, and everything was changed. She still saw the same great distance Dbetween them as be- fore, but with this difference, she was icoking up now. Before that event he had been plain Charfes Brandon and she the Princess Mary. She was the Princess still, but he was a demi-god. No mere mortal, thought she, could be so brave and strong and generous and wise; and above all, no mere mortal could vanquish odds of four to_one. In the night she would lie on Jane’s arm. and amid smothered sobs would softly talk of her lover and praise his beauty and perfec- tions and pour her pathetic little tale over and over again inte Jane's receptive ear and warm responsive heart: and Jane answered with soft little kisses that would have consoled Niobe herself. Then Mary would tell how the doors of her life, at the ripe age of eighteen, were closed forever and forever, and that her few remaining years would be but years of waiting for tha end. At other times she would brighten and repeat what Brandon had told her about New Spain; how for- tune’s door was open there to those who chose to come and how he, the best and bravest of them all, would surely win glory and fortune and ther rdturn to buy her from her brother Henry with mii- lions of pounds of yellow gold. Ah, she would wait! She would walt! Like Bay- ard she placed her ransom at a high fig- ure and honestly thought herself worth it. And so she was—to Brandon, or rather had been. But at this particular time the market was down, as you will shortly hear. So Mary remalned at Windsor and grieved and wept and dreamed and longed that she might see across the miles of billowy ocean to her love! her love! her ove! Meanwhile Brandon had his trial n secret down in London and had been condemned to be hanged, drawn and quartered for havipg saved to her more than*Hfe itself. *® Put not your trust in princesses. CHAPTER X. JUSTICE, O KING. Such was the state of ’lflalrs when I returned from France. / How I hated myself because I had not faced the King's displeasure and had not refused to go until Brandon was safely out of his trouble. It was hard for me to believe that I had left such a matter to two selfish girls, one of them as change- able as the wind, and the other com- pletely under her control. I could but think of the difference between myself and Brandon and knew well, had I been in his place, he wouid have liberated me or stormed the very walls of London single- handed and alone. When I. learned that Brandon had been in that dungeon all that long month I felt that it would surely kill him, and my self-accusation was so strong and bit- ter and my mental palh so great, that T resolved, if my friend died. either by dis- ease contracted in the dungeon or by execution of his sentence. that I would kill myself. But that is a matter much casler sincerely to resolve upon than to execute when the time comes. Next to myself, I condemned those wretched girls for leaving Brandon to perish—Brandon, to whom they both owed so much. It turned me against all womankind for their selfish sake. I did not dally this time. I trusted to no Lady Jane or Lady Mary. I de- termined to go to the King at once and tell him. I did not care if the wretched ary and Jane both had to marry the French King, or the devil himself. [ did not care if they and all the host of their perfidious sisterhood went to the nether side of the universe, there to remain for ever. I would retrieve my fault, in so far as it was retrievable. and save Bran- don, who was worth them all put to- gether. I would tell Mary and Jane what I thought of them and that should end- matters between us. I felt as I did toward them mot only because of their treatment of Brandon, but because they had made me guilty of a grievous fault, for which I should never, so long as I ilved, forgive myself. I determined to go 10 the King, and go I did within flve min- utes of the time I heard that Brandon was yet in prison. I found the King sitting alone at public dinner and, of course, was denied speech with him. I was in no humor to be balked, so I thrust aside the guards, and, much to everybody’s fright, for I was wild with grief, rage and despair, and showed it In every feature, rushed to the King and fell upon my knees at his feet. “Justice, O King!” I cried, and all the courtiers heard. ‘Justice, O King! for the worst used man and the bravest, truest soul that ever lived and suffered.” Here the tears began to stream dowr my face and my voice choked in my throat. “Charles Brandon, your Majesty's one- time friend, lies in a loathsome, ray.ess Gungeon, condemned to death, as your Majesty may know, for the Kkilling of two men in Billingsgate ward. I will tell you all: I should be thrust out from the society of decent men for not having told vou before 1 left for France, but I trusted it to another, who has proved false. I will tell you all. Your sister, the Lady Mary, and Lady Jane Bolingbroke were returning alone, after dark, from a visit to the soothsayer Grouche, of whom your Majesty has heard. I had been notified of the Lady Mary's in- tended visit to him, although she had en- Jjoined absolute s 'y upon my in- formant. I could m6t go, being detained upon your Majesty's service—it was the night of the ball to the Embassadors—and I asked Brandon to follow them, which he did, without the knowledge of. the Princess. Upon returning, the ladies were attacked by four ruffians and would have met with worse than death had not the bravest heart and the best sword in Eng- land defended them victoriously against fearful odds. He left them at Bridewell without burt or injury, though covered with wounds himself. This man is con- demmned to be hanged, dr: and quar- tered, but 1 know mnot ur Majesty's heart if he be not at once reprieved and richiy rewarded. Think, my King! He saved the royal honor of your sister, who is so dear to you, and has suffered so ter- ribly by his loyalty and bravery. The day I left so hurriedly for France the Lady Mary promised she would tell you all and liberate this man who had so nobly served her; but she is a woman and was born to betray.” The King laughed a little at my ve- hemence. “What fs this you are telling me, Sir Edwin? I know of Brandon's death sen- tence, but, much as I regret it, I can- not interfere with the justice of our good people of London for the murder offwo knights on their streets. If Brandon &m- mitted such a crime, and, I understand he does not deny it, I cannot help him, however much I should like to do so. But this nonsense about my sister! It must be trumped up out of your love in order to save your friend. Have a care, g00d master, how you say such a thing. If it were true, would not Brandon have told it at his trial?” “It is as true as that God lives, my King! If the Lady Mary and Lady Jane do not bear me out in every word I have said, let my life pay “the forfeit. He would not tell of the great reason for killing the men, fear- ing to compromise the honor of those whom he had saved, for, as your Majesty is aware, persons sometimes go, to Grou- che's for purposes other than to lis- ten to his soothsayings. Not in fhis case, God knows, but there are slanderous mniuen, and Brandon was willing to die with closed lips rather than set them wagging against one so dear to you. It seems that these ladies, who owe so much to him, are also willing that he should die rather than themselves bear the consequences of their own folly. Do not delay, I beseech your Majesty. Eat not another morsel, I pray you, until this brave man, who has so truly served you, be taken from his prison and freed from his sentence of death. Come, come, my King! this moment, and all that I have, my wealth, my life, my honor, are yours for all time.” The King remained a moment in thought with knife in hand. ‘askoden, T have never detected you in a lle in all the years I have known you; you are not very large in body, but your honor is great enough to stock a Goliath. I believe you are telling the truth. T will go at once to liberate Bran- don, and that little hussy, my sister, shall g0 to France and enjoy life as best she can with her old beauty, King Louis. I know of no_greater punishment to inflict upon her. This determines me: she shall coax me out of it no longer. Sir Thomas Brandon, have my horses ready, and I will go to the Lord Mayor, then to my Lord Bishop of Lincoln and arrange to close this French treaty at once. Let everybody know that the Princess Mary will, within a month, be Queen of France.” This was said to the courtiers, and was all over London before night. I followed closely in the wake of the King, though uninvited_ for I had deter- mined to trust no one, not even his Maj- esty, until Brandon should be free. Henry kad sald he. would go first to the Lord Mayor and then to Wolsey, but after we crossed the bridge he passed down Lower Thames street and turned up Fish-street Hill into Grace Church street on toward Bishopgate. He sald he would stop at Mistress Cornwallis’ and have a pudding, and then on to Wolsey, who at that time lodged in a house near the wall beyond Bishopgate. 1 well knew if the King once reached Wolsey's it would be wine and quoits and other games, interspersed now and then with a little blustering talk on statecraft, for the rest of the day. Then the good Bishop would have in a few pretty Lon- don wnmsxxnd a dance would follow with wine and fards and dice, and Henry would spen¥l the night at Wolsey’s, Brandon lie another night in the his Newgate dungeon. T resolved to raise heaven and earth, and the other place too, if necessary, be- fore this should happen. So I rode boldly 0p to the King and with uncovered head addressed him: “Your Majesty gave me your royal word that you would go to the Lord Mayor first, and this is the road to my Lord B|shoE of Lincoln. In all the years I have known your Majesty, both as gallant Prince and puissant King, this is the first request I ever proffered, and now I only ask of you to save your own noble honor and do your duty as man and King.” These were bold words, but T did not cTre one little farthing whether they pleased him or not. The King stared at me and said: “‘Caskoden. you are a perfect fiste at my heels. But you are right; I had for- gotten my errand. You disturbed my din- ner, and my stomach called loudly for one of Mistress Cornwallis' puddings; but you are right to stick to me. What a friend you are in case of need. Would I had one like you.” ‘“Your Majesty has two of whom I know; one riding humbly by your roval side, and the other lying in the worst dungeon In christendom.” ‘With this the Kin gwheeled about and started west toward Guildhall. Oh, how I hated Henry for that cold- blooded, selfish forgetfulness worse than crime; and how I hoped the Blessed Vir- gin would forget him in time to come, and leave his soul an extra thousand years in purging flames, just to show him how it goes to be forgotten—in hell. To the Lord Mayor we.accordingly went without further delay. He was only too glad to liberate Brandon when he heard my story, ‘which the King had ordered me to repeat. The only hesitancy was from a_doubt of its truth, . The Lord Mayor was kind enough to say that he feit little doubt of my word, but that friendship would often drive a man to any extremity, even falsehood, to save a friend. Then I offered to go into custody my- self and pay the penalty, death, for help- ing a convicted felon to' escape if 1 told not the truth, to be confirmed or denied by the Princess and her first lady in walt- ing. 1 knew Jane and was willing to risk her truthfulness without a doubt—it was so pronounced as to be troublesome at times—and as to Mary—well, I had no doubt of her either. If she would but stop to think out the right she was sure to do it. I have often wondered how much of the general-fund of evil in this world comes from thoughtlessness. Cultivate thought and you make virtue—I believe. But this is no time to philosophize. My offer was satisfactory, for what more ¢an a man do than pledge his life for his friend? We have scripture for that, or something like it. The Lord Mayor did not »equire my proffered pledge, but readily consented that the King should write an order for Brandon's pardon and release. This was done at once and we, that is, I, together with a Sheriff’s sergeant and his four yeomen, hastened to Newgate, while Henry ‘went over to Wolsey's to settle Mary's fate. Brandon was brought up with chains and manacles at his ankles and wrists. Whengbe enfered the room and saw_gie he ex-lalmed: ‘‘Ah, Caskoden, is that 1 thought they had brought me and re of you? up to hang me, and was glad for the change: but I suppose you =~ would not come to help at that. even if you have left me here to rot. God only knows how long; I have forgotten.” 1 could not restrain the tears at sight of him. “Your words are more than just,” T sald; and being anxious that he should know at once that my fault had not been so great as it looked continued hurriedly: “The King sent me to France upon an hour's notice the day after your arrest. I know only too well T should not have gone without seeing you out of this_ hut vou had enjoined silence upon me and— and I trusted to the promises of an- other.” “I thought as much. You are in no way to blame, my friend. All I ask is that you never mention the subject again.” “My friend!”” Ah! the words were dear to me as words of love from a sweet- heart's lips. 1 _bardly recognized him, he was so frightfully covered with fiith and dirt and creeping things. His hair and beard were vpkempt and matted and his eyes and chegks were lusterless and sunken: but 1 will describe him no further. Suffering had well-nigh done its work, and nothing but the hardihood gathered in his years of camp life and war could have sazved him from death. T bathed and reclothed him as well as I could at Newgate and then took him home to Greenwich in a horse litter, where my man and I thoroughly washed, dressed and sheared \ l‘\. the poor fellow and put him to bed. “Ah! this bed is a foretaste of para- glse" he said, as he lay upon the mat- ress. It was a pitiful sight and I could hardly refrain from tears. I sent my man to fetch a certain Moor, a learned scholar, though a hated foreigner, who lived just oft Cheap and sold old small arms, and very soon he was with us. Brandon and I both knew him weil and admired his legrning and gentleness and loved him for' his sweet philosophy of life, the leaven of which was charity—a modest little plant too often overshadowed by the rank of pompous dogmatism. Tle Moor was learned in the healing poticns of the East and insisted, pri- vately, of course, that all the shrines and rélics of Christendom put together could not cure an ache In a baby's little finger. Th's, perhaps, was going too far, for there are some relics that have un- doubted potency, but in cases whers human agency can cure, the people of the Fast are unquestionably far in advance of us in knowledge of remedies. The Moor at once gave Brandon a drink, which soon put him into a sweet sleep. He then bathed him as he slept with some strengthening lotion, made certain learned signs and spoke 2 few cabalistic words, and sure enough. so strong wers the healing remedies and incantations that the next morning Brandon was an- othef man, though very far from well and strong. The Moor recommended nutritious food, such as roast beef and generous wine, and, although this advice was contrary to the genaral belief, which is, with apparent reason, that the evil spirit of disease should be starved and driven out, yet so great was our faith in him that we followed his_directions, and in a few days Branlon had almost tegained his old-time strength. 1 will ask you to go back with me for a moment. During the week, between Brandon's interview with Mary in the anteroom of the King's bed-chamber and the tragedy at Billingsgate, he and 1 had many con- versations about the extraordinary sit- uation in which he found himself. At one time, I remember, he said: * was safe enough before that afternoon. 1 believe I could have gone away and for- gotten her eventually, but our mutual avowal seems to have dazed me and paralyzed every power for effort. I some- times feel helpless, and, although I have succeeded in keeping away from her since then, often find myself wavering in my defermination to leave England. That was what I feared if I allowed the matter to go to the point of being sure of her love. I only wanted it before and very easily made myself believe it was impossible and not for mé. But now that I know she loves me it is llke hold- ing my breath to live without her. 1 feel every instart that I can hcld it no longer. 1 know only too well that if I but see her face once more I shall breathe. She Is the very breath of life for me. She is mine by the gift of God. Curses upon those who keep us apart.” Then musing- Iy and half interrogatively: “She cer- talnly does love me. She could not have treated me as she did unless her love was so strong that she could not resist it Let no doubt of that trouble you,” I answered. “A woman like M cannot treat two men as she treated you. Many" a2 woman may love, or think she loves, many times, but there Is oniy one man who receives the full measure of her best. Other women, again, have nothing to give but their best, and when they have once given that, they have given all. Unless T have known her in vain, Mary, with all her faults, is such a woman. Again, I say, let no doubt of that trouble you." Brandon answered with a sad little smile from the midst of his reverie. “It is really not so much the doubt as the certainty of it that troubles me.” Then, starting to his feet: “If I thought she had lied to me; if I thought she could wantonly lead me on to suffer so for her, I would kill her, so heip me God.” “Do not think that. Whatever her faults, and she has enough, there is no man on earth for her but you. Her love has come to her through a struggle against it because it was her master. That is the strongest and best, in fact the only, love; worth all the seif-made passions 'in the world.” “Yes, I believe it. I know she has faults; even my partiality cannot blind me to them, but she is as pure and chaste as a child, and as gentle, strong and true as—as—a woman. I can put it no stronger. She has these leeming virtues, along with her beauty, from bher plebeian grandmother, Elizabeth Wood- ville, who, with them, won a royal hus- band and elevated herself to the throne beside the chivalrous Edward. This sweet plebeian heritage bubbjes up In the heart of Mary, and will not down, but neutralizes the royal poison in her veins and makes a goddess of her.” Then with a sigh: “But if her faults were a thou- sand times as many, and if each fault were a thousand times as great, her beau- ty would atone for all. Such beauty as Lers can afford to have faults. Look at Helen and Cleopatra, and Agnes Sorel. Did _their faults make them less attrac- tive? Beauty covereth more sins than charity—and maketh more grief than pestilence.” ¢ The last clause was evidently an after- thought. After his month in Newgate with the hangman's noose about his neck all be- cause of Mary’s cruel neglect, I wondered if her beauty would so easii¥ atone for her faults. I may as well tell you that he changed his mind concerning this partic- ular doctrine of atonement. CHAPTER XI. LOUIS XII A SUITOR. As soon as I could leave Brandon I had intended to go down to Windsor and giv vent to my indignation toward the girls, but the more I thought about it the surer I felt there had, somehow, been a mis- take. I could not bring myself to believe that Mary had deliberately permitted matters to g0 to such an extreme when it was in her power to prevent it. She might have neglected her duty for a day or two, but sooner or later her good im- pulses ‘always came to her rescue, and, with Jane by her side to urge her on, I was sure she would have liberated Bran don long ago—barring a blunder of some sort. So I did not go to Windsor until a week after Brandon's release, when the King asked me to go down with him, Wolsey and De Longueville, the French Embas- sador Special, for the purpose of officiall offering to Mary the hand of Louls XI and the honor of becoming Queen of France. The Princess had known of the gm]ect« ed arrangement for many weeks, but had no thought of the Rrennt forward condi- tion of affairs or she would have brought her energies to bear upon Henry long fore. She could not bring herself to be- lieve that her brother would really force her into such wretchedness, and possibl he would never have done so, as mucl as _hetdesired it from the standpoint of personal ambitién, had it not been for the petty excuse of that fatal trip to Grouche’s. All the circumstances of the case wers such as to make Mary's marriage a ver!. table virgin sacrifice. Louis was man, and an old Frenchman at that, full of French notions of morality and im- morality, and besides, there were objec- tions that cannot be wgritten, but of which Henry and Mary hadNeen fully informed. She might as well marry a leper. Do you wonder she was full of dread and fear. and resisted with the desperation of leath? ¥ So Mary, the person most interested, was about the last to learn that the treaty had been signed. Windsof was nearly eight leagues from London, and at that time was occupled o“:{ by the girls and a few old ladles and servants, so that news did not travel fast in that direction from the city. It is also probable that, even if repart of the treaty and Brandon's release had reached Windsor, the persons hearing it ‘would have hesitated to repeat it to M: However that may be. she had no know! edge of either until she was informed of the fact that the King and the French Embassador would be at Windsor on a certain day to make the formal request for her hand and offer the sifts of King uis. I had no doubt Mary was in_trouble, and felt sure she had been making a: fairs lively about her. I knew her suffer- PR T At =3 old ST S AV 2 SR