The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, January 18, 1903, Page 4

THE SUNDAY CALL. -~ B ————— N giad of it in view and took & nted th i myself n Windsor. ticipating bedroom ement persistent and gbroke,” receive came my guests d enough to overlid began not she cooled and he became e last visit he came m o a difficult off to a window, where held a whispered conversation. was pathetic to see a mighty King ister of Etate consult- against one poor girl. es 1 felt toward Mary, I D pitying her, and admired wer of pen’to write the far impregnable defense an array of ve made a king nry ave one of his loud 4 slapped his thigh as 1f highly ith e proposition of Wol- ake ready at once’ he sald. “We wiil go back to London.” in a short time we were all at the main stairway ready to mount for the return s window was fust Jane watching us 28 I sa ¥ were well out of Mary’s sight lled me to him, and he to- De I Wolsey and beads,” rode sitous path back to an- e castle and re-entered owledge of any of the in- ed In silence, enjoined in the course of an g every one stairs and walked who had planned it. 1 could see that Mary’s first impulse was 10 beat a hasty retreat back Into her cita- del, the bed, but in truth shehad in her n very little disposition to retreat. Bhe was clear gri t & man she would have made! it w what a crime uld have been in nature to have perfect a woman. How beau- che was! She threw one quick. sur- 4 glance &t her brother and his com. paniont g up her exquisite head carelessly hummed a little tune under her breath as she marched to the other end of the room with a gait that Juno herself could not have improved upon. 1 saw the King smile, half in pride of her and half amusement, and the Frenchman’s little eyes feasted upon her beauty with a relish that could not be mistaken. Fienry and the Embassador spoke a word in whispers, when the latter took & box from & huge side pocket and start- ed across the room toward Mary, with the King at his heels. Her side was toward them when they came up, but she kept her llu!us: as i she had been of bronge. Bhe had taken up & book that was lying on the table &nd was examining it as they approached, De Longueville held the box in his hand snd, bowing and scraping, said in broken English: “Permit to me, most gracious Princess, that T may have the honor to offer on behalf of my august master this little testament of his high admiration and lov: ‘With thie he bowed again emiled like & crack in a plece of old barchment and held his box toward Mary. t was open probably in the hope of en- ticing her with a sight of its contents—a beautiful dlamond necklace. She turned her face ever mo little and took it all in with one contemptuous, sneering glance out of the corners of her opes en quickly reaching out her hand ehe gusrrd the necklace and deliberately :!nlhod it in poor old De Longueville's ace. ““There is my answer, sir! Go home end tell your imbecile old master I scorn his suit and hate him—hate him—hate him!" Then with the tears falling_un- heeded down her cheeks: ‘Master Wol- sey, thou putcher's cur! This trick, w of your conception. The others had Hot Are you brains enough to think of it. pot proud to have outwitted one poor heart-broken girl? But beware, sir; 1 tell ¥ou now I will be quits with you yet, or my name is not Mary.” There is & limit to the best of feminine rerve, and at that limit should always e found a flood of healthful tears. Mary had reached when she threw the neck- Jace and shot her bolt at Wolsey, so she broke down and hastily left the room. The King, of course, was beside him- ¢ with rage By God's soul,” he swore, “she shall Louis of France or I will have vhipped to Geath on the Smithfield pliiory.” And in his wicked heart—so im- pervious to a single lasting good impulse ~he really meant it. Immediately after this the King, De ngueville and Wolsey set out for Lon- 1 remasined behind hoping to sce the girls, and after a short time & page pluck- ©d me by the glecve, saying the I’ringess wished to see me. v The page condicted me to the same room in which had been fought the battle with Mary in bed. The door had been pinced on its hinges again, but :he bed was tumbled as Mary had left it, and the room was in great disorder. “Oh, Sir Edwin,” began Mary, who was weeping, “wae ever woman in such fright- ful trouble? My brother is killing me, Can he not see that 1 could mot live through @ week of this marriage? And I bave been deserted by all my frieuds, too. excepting Jane. not leave. i know 1 would not zo,” etically. Mary continued: ¢ been home an entire week and have not been near me." 1 began o o 1 She, poor thing. can- the sight of rer , with Brandon, that her beauty could well er a perhaps even this, her n against him. % to check her Bt took up the ad of ner unfinished sentence: *And Master Brandon left without So sch as sendi one littl not line nor sy He did not come near e, but went off as If 1 did not care—or he did not. Of course he did not care, or he would not have behaved so, know- 1 was in so much trouble. 1 did not ter—one afternoon In the week before that awful except that night, when 1d not speak one ) was =o frighten of ail nge enough, a er to suspect . however, kept as firm 4 son_the siock of indignation You expect to see or hear from him,” asked I, “when he was lying in a loathsome dungeon without one ray condemned to be hanged, drawn cuirtered, because of vour selfish ct to save him who, at the cost of haif his blood, and almost his life, had saved g0 much for you?" ves grew big and the tears were no one could believe that you would d let the man, to whom you at a debt, lie eo long in such condemned to such a death at saved you. I could never misery for the act have belie y “Imp ' screamed Mary; “what le 4 ou bring to torture me? Have :gh already? Tell me it is a 1 will have your miserable little gue torn out by the root.” o lle, Princess, but an awful and a frightful xhame to you.” s determined to tell her ali and let 1w Ler see herself as she was. She gave a_hysterical laugh, and throw- ands, with her accustomed e gesture, fell upon the bed in utter Ao t, shaking as with a spasm. t weep; she could not; she was t now. Jane went over to the and tried fo soothe her. poment Mary spra to her feet, Jaiming: “Master Brandon condemned death and you and 1 here talking and ng and weeping? Come, come, we to the King at once. We will to walk, Edwin—I be doing g up her ] rething—and Jane can follow with the and overtake us. No; I will not just as I am; this will do, Bring me & hat, Jane; any one, any one.” Whils ting -on hat and gloves she continued: will gee the King at once and tell him 1 will do anything: I will marry of or forty kings, s all one to me; any to save him. Oh! to been in that dungeon 1 And the tears came un- in a deluge. was under such headway and spoke and moved so rapidly that I could not heede stop her until she was nearly ready to go. Then I held her by the arm while I sald X t 1s not necessary now; you are too ate.' A look of horror came into her face, 1 continued -slowly: *“I procured 1don’s release nearly a week ago; I t you should have done, and he w at our rooms in Greenwich.” Mary looked at me a moment and, turn- ing pale, pressed her hands to her heart and leaned against the door frame. After a short silence she sald: “Edwin Caskoden—fool! Why could you not have told me that at first? I thought my brain would burn and my heart burst.” “I should have told you had you given me time. As to the pain it gave you—" this was the last charge of my large mag- azine of indignation—"I care very little abe that. You deserve it. I do not know what explanation you have to of- fer, but nothing can excuse you. An ex- planation, however good, would have been little comfort to you had Brandon failed you in Billingsgate that night.” She had fallen into a chair by this time and sat In reverie, staring at nothing. Then the tears came again, but more softly. “You are right; nothing can excuse me. I am the most selfish, ungrateful, guilty creature ever born. A whole month in that dungeon!” And she covered her drooping face with her hands, *Go away for a while, Edwin, and then return; we shall want to see you again,” said Jane. / Upon my return Mary was more com- posed. Jane had dressed her hair and she was sitting on the bed in her riding habit, hat in hand. Her fingers were nervously toving at the ribbons and her eyes cast down. You are surely right, Sir Edwin. 1 have no excuse. I can have none; but 1 will tell you how It was. You remem- ber the day you left me in_the waiting- room of the King's council?—when they were discussing my marriage without on thought of me, as if I were but a slav a dumb brute that could not feel. She began to weep a little, but soon re- covered herself. ““While waiting for you to return the Duke of Buckingham came in. 1 knew Henry was trying to sell ma to the French King and my heart was full of trouble—from more causes than you can know. All the council, especially that butcher's son, were urging him on and Henry himself was anxious that the mar- riage should be brought about. He thought it would strengthen him for the tmperial crown. * He wants everything and is ambitious to be Emperor. km- peror! He would cut a pretty figure! I hoped, though, I should be able to in- duce him not to sacrifice me to his selfish interests, as I have dohne before, but I knew oniy too well it would tax my pow- ers to the utmost this time. I knew that if 1 did anything to anger or antagonize him it would be all at an end with me. You know he is so exacting with other people’s conduct, for one who Is so care- fess of his own—so virtuous by proxy. You remember how cruelly he disgraced and crushed poor Lady Chesterfield, who was in such troubie about her husband, and who went to Grouche's only to learn if be were true to her. Henry scems to be particularly sensitive in that direction. One would think it was in the command- ments: ‘Thou shalt not go to Grouche's.” It may be that some have gone there for other purposes than to have their fortunes told—to meet, to—but I need not say that I-" and she stopped short, blushing to her balr. ““Well, I knew I could do nothing with Henry If he once learned of that visit, especlally as it resulted so fatally. Oh! why @id I go? Why aid I go? That was why I hesitated to tell Henry at once. 1 was hoping some other way.would open whereby I might save Charles—Master Brandon. While I was walting alon came the Duke of Buckingham, and as knew he was popular in London and had almost as much influence there as the Klng, a thought came teo me that he might help us. “I knew that he and Master Brandon had passed a few angry words at one time in my ballroom—you remember—but I also knew that the Duke was In—in Jove with me, you know, or pretended to be—he always sald he was—and I felt sure 1 could, by a little flattery, induce ym o do anyining. He was alwiys pro- sting that he would give half his blood to serve me. As if anybody wanted a drop of his wretched blood. Poor Master Brandon! his blood—" and the tears came, choking her words for the moment. *So 1 told the Duke 1 had promised you and Jane to procure Master Brandon's liberty and asked him to do it for me. He gladly consented and gave me his knightly word that it should be attended to without an hour's delay. He sald it might have to be done secretly in the way of an escape —not officlally—as the ILondoners were very Jealous of their rights and much aroused on account of the killing. Es- pecially, he sald, that at that time great caution must be used, as the King was anxious to conciliate the city in order to procure_a loan for some purpose—my dower, T suppose. \“The Duke sald 1t should be as I wished: that Master Brandon should es- cape, and remain away from London for e few weeks until the King procured his joan, and then be freed by royal procla- matfon. “I saw Buckingham the next day, for I was very anxious, you may be sure. and he sald the keeper of Newgate had told him that it had been arranged the night before as desired. I had come to Wind- €or because it was more quiet, and my heart was full. It is quite a distance from London, and I thought it might af- ford a better opportunity to—to see—I thought, perhaps Master Brandon might come—might want to—to—see Jane and me: in fact 1 wrote him before 1 left Greenwich that 1 would be here. Then 1 heard he had gone to New Spain. Now 3ou sce how all my troubles k upon me &t once: an s the grea of them, because it is my fault. I tc?; ask no forgiveness from any one, for I cannet forgive myself." She then inquired about Brandon' health and spirits. and 1 left out no dis. tressing detall you may be sure, Durirg my recital she sat with down- { eyes and tear-stained face, playing h the ribbons of her hat. 3 When I was ready to go she said: “Please say to Masier Brandon [ should like—to— see—him_ if he cares to come, it may tell him how il hap- fear, in fact, 1 know he will not come,” said 1. lie cruelest blow of all, worse even than the dungeon, or the seritence of death, was your failure to save hin. He trusted you so implicitiy. At the time of his arrest he refused to allow me to tell the King, saying he knew yeu woud see to lt—thal you were pure Eold.” “Ab, dld he say that?” she asked, a: a sac little smile lighted her face. “His faith was so entirely without doubt that his recoil from you s corre- sponding 'y great., He goes to New Spain 88 =con as his health is recovered suf- ticiently for him to travel.” This sent the last fleck of color from her face, anc with the words aimost choking her ‘throzt: “Then tell him what 1 have sald to you and perhaps he will not feel 50— I canrot do that either, Lady Mary. When 1 mentioned your name the other day he said he would curse me if I ever s0 bad as that?" fi'hen medita- at his trial he did not tell for the killing? Would not who had served him so ven to save his own life? Noble, no- And her lips went together as she rose to her feet. No tears now; nothing but_glowing, determined womanhood. “Then 1 will g0 to him wherever he may He shall forgive me, no matter what my fault.” oon after this we were on our way to London at a brisk gallop. ‘We wers all very silent, but at one time Mary spoke up from the midet of a rev- erfe: “During the moment when I thought Master Brandon had been execut- ed—when you sald it was too, late—it eemed taat I was born agaln and all made over; that 1 was changed in the very texture of my nature by the shock, 25 they say the grain of the fron cannon is sometimes changed by too violent ex- ploelon.” And this proved to be true in some respects. We rode on rapidly and did not stop in London except to give the harses drink. After crossing the bridge Mary sald, half to Jane and halt to herself: “I will never marry the French King—never.” Mary was but a girl pitted against a body of brutal men, two of them rulers of the two. greatest nations on earth—rather heavy odds, for one woman. Wa rode down to Greenwich and en- tered the palace without exciting com- ment, as the Princess was in the habit of going and coming at will. The King and Queen and most of the courtiers were in London—at Bridewell and Baynard Castle—where Henry was vigorously pushing the loan of five hun- dred thcusand crowns for Mary's dower, the only business of state in which, at that {ime, he took any active interest. ibsequently, as you know, he spu]ke it again in his hearing “ls became erested in the divorce laws, and the varfous methods whereby a ma especially a King, might rid himself o a distasteful wife; and after he saw the truth in Anne Boleyn's eyes, he adopted a combined policy of ~church and state craft that has brought us a deal of senseless troubte ever since—and is like to keep it up. As. to Mary's dower, Henry was to pay Louis only four hundred thousand crowns, bat he made the marriage an excuse for an extra hundred thousand, to be devoted to his own private,use. When te arrived at the palace the girls went to their apartments and I to mine, where I found Brandon reading. There was only one window to our com- mon room—a dormer window, set into the roof, and reached by a little pass- age as broad as the window itself, and perhaps a yard and a half long. In the alcove thus formed was a bench along the wall, -ushioned by Brandbn's great campaign cloak. In this window we often sat ind read, and here was Bran- don th his book. I had intended to tell hi the girls were coming, for when Mary asked me if I thought he would come to her at the palace and when I had again sald no, she reiterated her intention of going to him at once; but my courage failed me and I did not speak of it. I knew that Mary ought not to come to our room. and that if news of it should reach the King's ears there would be more and worse trouble than ever, and. as usual, Brandon would pay the penalty for all. Then again, if it were discovered it might seriously com- promise both Mary and Jane, as the world s fuil of people who would rather say and believe an evil thing of another than to say their prayers or believe the holy creed. T had said as much to the Lady Mary when she expressed her determjnation to go to Brandon. She had beenlin the wrong so much of late that sHe was humbled, and I was brave enough to say whatever felt; but she said she had thought it all over. and as every one was away from Greenwich it would not be found out if done secretly. She told Jane she need not go: that she, Mary, did not want to take any risk of dompromising her. You see. trouble was doing a good work in the Princess, and had made it possible for a generous thought for an- other to find spontaneous lodgment in her heart. What a great thing it is, this human suffering. which se sensitizes our sympathy and makes us tender to an- other's pafn. Nothing else so fits us for earth or prepares us for heaven. Jane would have gone, though, had she known that all her fair name would g0 with hor. She was right. you see, when she ‘o0ld me, while riding over to ‘Windsor, that should Mary's love blos- som into a full-grown passion she would wreck everything and everybody, includ- ing herself perhaps, to attain the object of so great a desire. It looked now as {f she were on the high road to that end. Noth- ing short of chains and fetters could have kept her from going to Brandor. that evening. There was an inherent fcrce about her that was frre- sistible and swept everything before it. In our garret she was to meet anather will, stronzer and Infinitely better con- trolled than her own, and 1 diu uut Know how it would all turn out. CHAPTER XIL ATONEMENT. 1 had no: been long in the room when a knock at the door announced the girls. 1 admitted them, and Mary walked to the middle of the floor. It was just grow- ing dark end the room was quite dim, save at the window where Brandon saf reading. Gods! those were exciting mo- ments; my heart beat llke a woman' Brandon saw the girls when they entered, but never so much as looked up from his book. You must remember he had a reat grievance. Even looking at it from Mary's side of the case, certainly its best point of view he had been terribly mis- used, and it was all the worse that the misuse had come from one who, from his standpoint, had pretended to fove him and had wantonly led him on, as he hi the best of right to think, to love her, and to suffer the keenest pangs a heart can know. Then you must remember he did not know even the best side of the matter, bad as it was, but saw only the naked ‘fact, that in recompense for. his frea! help in time of need Mary had de- iberately allowéd him to lis In that dun- geon a long. miserable month, and would ave suffercd him to dle. So it was no wonder his heart was filied with bitter- ness toward her, Jane and I had remain- ed near the door, and ‘;\oar Mary was a pitiable Princess, standing there so full of doubt In the middie of the room. After a moment she s(efiped toward the win- dow and, with quick coming breath, stop- ped at the threshold of the little passage. “Master Brandon, I have come not to make excuses. for rothing can excuse me, but to tell you how it all happened—by trusting to anothe Brandon arose and, marking the place in his book with hia finger, followed Mary, who had stepped backward into the Toom. “Your Highness {s very graclous and, kind thus to honor me, but as our ways) will hereafter lie as far apart as the’ world is broad I think it would have been far better had you refrained from so im- prudent a visit, e.pecmlx as anything one so exalted as yourself may have to say can be no affair of such as I—one t free of the hangman’s noose.” “Oh! don't! 1 pray you. Let me tell you, and it may make a difference. Tt must pain you, I know, to think of me as you do, aftér—after—you know; after what has passed between us. “Yes; that only makes it all the harder, It you could give your kisses—' and she blushed red as blood—"to one for who: jou care so little that you could leave im to die like a dog, when a word from ou would have saved him, what reason nvnr[ to suppose they are not for every man This gave Mary an opening of which she was aulck enough to take advantage, for Brandon was in the wrong. “You know that is not true. You are not honest with me nor_with you 3 That 18 mot Hike You. Fou x!.ow":lhfn"rn\g other man ever or could have, any favor from me, even the slightest. Wan- tonness is not among my thousand faults, It is not that which angers you. You are sure enough of me in that respect. In truth, I had almost come_ to believe you were too sure, that I bad grown cheap in your eyes, and you did not care 30 much as 1 thought and hoped for what I had to give, for after that day you came not near me at all. I know it was the part of wisdom and prudence that you should remain away; but had you cared as much as I your prudence would not have held you." She hung her head a moment in silence; then, Jooking at him, almost ready for tears, continued: A’ man has no right to speak in that way of a woman whose little favors he has taken, and make her regret that she has given a {m only that it may recoll upon her. ‘Little’ did T say? Sir do you know what that—first— kiss was to me? Had I possessed all the crowns of all the earth 1 would have given them to you as willingly. Now you know the value I placed on_ it, however worthless it was to you. Yet I was a cheerful g!ver of that great gift, was I not? And can you find it In your heart to make of it a shame to me—that of which 1 was so proud?” She stood there with head inclined a little to one sfde, looking at him inquir- ingly as if nwnmui an answer. He did not “speak. but looked steadily at his book. I felt, however. that he was chang- ing, and was sure her beauty, never more exquisite than in its present humility, would yet atone for even so great a fault as hers. Err, look beautiful. and receive remission! Such a woman as Mary car- ries her induigence in her face. 1 now began to realize for the first time the wondrous power of this girl, and ceased to marvel that she had always been able to turn even the King, the most violent, stubborn man on earth, to her own wishes. Her manner made her words eloquent, and already, with true feminine tactics, she had put' Brandon in the wrong' In everything because he was WIong in part, Then she quickly went over what she had said to me. She told of her great dread lest the King should learn of the visit to Grouche's and its fatal conse- quences, knowing full well it would ren- der Henry Impervious to her influence and precipitate the French marriage. She told him of how she was golng to the King the day after the arrest to ask his release, and of the meeting with Buck- ingham and his promise. Still Brandon sald nothing, and stood as If politely waiting for her to withdraw. She rematned silent a little time, walt- ing for him to speak, when tears, partly of vexation, I think, molistened her eyes. ““Tell me at least,” she sald, “‘that you know I speak the truth. I have always belleved in {uu, and now ask for your faith. I would not lfe to you in the faint- est shading of a thought—not for heaven itself—not even for your love and for- glveness, as much as they are to me, and 1 want to know that you are sure of my truthfulness, 1f you doubt all else. You see I speak plainly of what your love is to me_ for although, by remaining away, you made me fear I had been too lavish with m{ favors—that is every woman's fear—I knew in my heart you loved me; that you could not have done and sai what you did otherwise. Now you see what faith I have in you, and you a man, whom a_woman's Instinct prompts to doubt. How does it compare with your faith in me, a woman, whom all the in- stincts of a manly nature should dispose to trust? It seems to be an unwritten law that a man may lie to a woman con- cerning the most important thing in life to her and be proud of it, but you see even now I have all falth in your love for me, else 1 surely should not be here. You see I trust even your unspoken word, when it might, without blame to you, be a spoken lie; yet you do not trust me, who have no world-given right to speak falsely about such things, and when that which I now do is full of shame for me, and what I have done full of guilt, if inspired by aught but the purest truth from my heart of hearts. Your words mean s0 much—so much more, I think, then you realize—and are so cruel in turning to evil the highest, purest im- pulse a woman can feel—the glowing ride in self-surrender, and the sweet, de- ightful privilege of giving where she loves. How can you? How can you? How eloquent she was! It seemed to me this would have melted the frozen sea, but I think Brandon felt that now his only hope lay in the safeguard of his con- stantly upheld dignity. When he spoke he lgnored all she had sald. “You did well to employ my Lord of Buckingham. It will make mat: interesting when I tell you it wa attacked you and was caught by the leg under his wounded horse: he was lame, I am told, for some time afterward. 1 had watched him following you from the tlts at Bridewell, and at once recognized im when his mask fell off during the fight by the wall. You have done well at every step, I see.” “Oh, God: to think of it! Had I but Buckingham shall known! pay, for thls with his head; but how couls know? T was but a poor, distracted girl, sure to make some fatal error. 1 was in_such agony—your wounds—believe me, I suf- fered more from them than you could. Every pain vou felt was a pang for me— and then that awful marriage! I was be- ing sold like a wretched slave to that olg satyr, to be gloated over and feasted upon. No man can know the horror of that thought to a woman—to.any woman, good or bad, To have one's beauty turn to curse her and make her desirable only —only "as well fed cattle are prized. No matter how great the manifestation of such so-called love, it all the more re- pels a woman and adds to her loathing day by day. Then there was something else worse than all”—she was almost weeping now—"I might have been able to bear the thought even of that hideous marriage—others have lived through the like—but—but after—that—that day—when you—it seemed that your touch was a spark dropped into a heart full of tinder, which had been lying there awalting it all these years. In that one moment the flame grew so intense I could not with- stand it. My throat ached: I could scarce- 1y breathe, and it seemed that my heart would burst.” Here the tears gushed forth as she took a ut? toward him with outstretched arms, and sald between her sobs: “I wanted you, you! for my hus- band—for my husband, and 1 could not bear the torturing thought of losing you or enduring any other man. I could not ive you up after that—It was all too fl(e, {flo late; it had gone too far. I was lost! lost!’ He gprang to where she stood leaning toward him and caught her to his breast. She held him from her while she sald: ‘Now you know—now you know that T would not have left you in that terrible place, had I known it. No, not If it had taken my life to buy your freedom.* “I do know; I do know. Be sure of that; I know it and shall know it al- ways, whatever happens. Nothing can change me. I will never doubt you again. It Is my turn to ask forgiveness now.’ “No, no; just forgive me; that is all T ask,” ‘and her head was on his breast. “Let us step out into the passage-way, Edwin, d Jane. and we did. Thers yero times when Jane seemed to be in- hen we went back Into the room Mary and Brandon were sitting in the window hi {rnt ol They rose and olding each otheil hands, ry asked, looking up to i & you like, my lady." Mary was willing, and looked, for Bran- don to speak, so he sald: “This lady whom I hold by the hand and myself hlvs promised each other before the good Go to be husband and wife, if fortune ever 80, favor us that it be possible.’” No, that is not 1t,” inte: ted Mary. “There is no ‘If" In it; it shall be, whether it 18 possibla or not. Nothing shall pre. vent.” At this she kissed Jane and told her how she loved her, and gave me her hand, for her love was so great within her that it overflowed upon every ome. She, however, always had a plentitude of love for Jane. and though she might scold her and apparently misuse her, Jane was as dear as a sister, and was aiways sure at r?" steadfast, tried and lasting affec- on. After Mary had sald there should be no “if,” Brandon ‘i?“ed: “Very well, turning to u “What one who is willing to stoop from so high an estate to honor me and be my wife?" 'Love her and her alone, With whole heart, as I ou live. m{ is all she wants, Iann‘m.:ur,c." volunteered ntimentally. Jane, Jane. you are a Madame Solomon,” sald Mary, with & tone of her old-time laugh, “Is the course you ad as you would 7" And she glanced mis- ane to me, as the laugh from her heart, merry and soft had not come from what was but now the home of Ez]e! and pain. “I know nothing about how I should like to be done by sald Jane, with a pout, “but if you have such respect for n{ wisdom I will offer a little mo; 1 think it is time we should be going:' “Now, Jan foolish ; Jane. vou are growing again; ot t,” and Mary made manifest “her intention by sitting down. !‘h:“c:rucld or'mt bring herself to forego the Enewiis 4o ;-'fylns"eoua e saee 0 pain of for a short time, wish to be done chievously from bubbled u it fi even Brandon once more. The time was soon coming—but I am too fast again. After a time Brandon sald: “I think Jane’s wisdom remains with her, Mary. It is better that you do not stay, much as I wish_to have you." She Was ready to obey him at once. When she arose to g she took both his hands In hers and whispered, ** ‘Mary,’ 1 like the name on your lips,” and, then glancing hurriedly over her shoulder to see if Jane and I were looking, lifted her face to him and ran after us. We were a little in advance of the Princess, and as we walked along Jane said under her breath: “Now look out for troubie; it will come quickly, and I fear for Master Brandon more than any one. He has made a noble fight against her and against himself, and it is no won- der she loves him.” This made me feel a little jealous. “Jane, ycu could not love him, could you?" I asked. ““No matter what I could do, Edwin; I do not, and that should satisfy you.” Her voice and manner said more than her words. The hall was almost dark, and— 1 have always considered that occasion cne of my lost opportunities; but they are not many. The next evening Brandon and T, upon Lady Mary's Invitation, went up to her apartments, but did not stay long. fear- ing some one might find us there and cause trouble. We would not have gong at all had not the whole court been ab- sent in London, for discovery would have been a serious mattér to one of us at least. As I told you once before, Henry did not care how much Brandon might love his sister but Buckingham had whis- pered suspiclons of the state of Mary's eart. and his own observations, together with the intercepted note, had given these suspicions a stronger co.oring, so that a very emall matter might turn them into certainties. The King had pardoned Brandon for the killing of the two men in Billingsgate, as he was forced to do und®r the circum- stances, but there his kindness stopped. After a short time he deprived him of his place at court, and all that was left for him of royal favor was permission to remain with me and live at the palace untll such time as he should sail for New pain. CHAPTER XIIL A GIRL'S CONSENT. The treaty had been agreed upon, and as to the international arrangement at least the marrlage of Louls de Valois and Mary Tudor was a settled fact. All it needed was thel consent of an 18-year-old girl—a small matter, of course, as mar- riageable women are but commodities in statecraft, and theoretically at least ac- quiesce in'everything their licge lords or- dain. Lady Mary's consent had been but theoretical, but it was looked upon by every one as amounting to an actual, vo- ciferated, sonorous ‘“‘yes’; that is to say, by every one but the Princess, who had no more notion of saying “yes” than she had of reciting the Sanscrit vocabulary from the pillory of Smithfleld. Wolsey, whose manner was smooth as an otter’'s coat, had been sent to fetch the needed “yes"”; but he failed. Jane told me about it. ” Wolsey had gone privately to ses the Princess, and had thrown out a sort of skirmish line by flattering her beauty, but had found her not in the best humor. “Yes, yes, my lord of Lincoln, I know how beautiful I am: no one knows bet- ter. I know all about my hair, eyes, teeth, eyebrows and skin. I tell you I am sick of them. Don't talk to me about them; it won't help you to get my consent to marry that vile old creature. That is what you have come for, of course. I have been expecting you; why did not my brother come?"” “I think he was afrald; and to tell you the truth, I was afraid myself,” answered Wolsey with a smile. This made Mary smile, 100, in spite of herself, and went a long way toward putting her in a good humor. Wolsey continued: ‘“‘His Majesty could not have given me a more disagree- able task. You doubtless think [ am in favor of this marriage, but I am not.” This was as great a lle as ever fell whole out of a Bishop’s mouth. “I have been obliged to fall in with the King's views on the matter, for he has had his mind set on it from the first mention by De Longueville.” ““Was it that bead-eyed little mummy who suggested 1t?" “Yes, and if you marry the King of France you can repay him with usury.” “'Tis an inducement, by my troth.” “I do not mind saying to you in confl- dence that I think It an outrage to force a girl like you to marry a man like Louls of France, but how are we to avoid it? By the “‘we” Wolsey put himself in al- liance with Mary, and the move was cer- tainly adroit. “‘How are we to avold it? Have no fear of that, my Lord; I will show you.” “Oh! but my dear Princess, permit me; you do not seem to know your brother. You cannot in any way avoid this mar- riage. I believe he will imprison you and put you on bread and water to force your consent. 1 am sure you had better do willingly that which you will eventually be compelled to do anyway: and besides, there Is another thought that has come to me; shall I speak plainly before Lady Bolingbroke ?" | “I have no secrets from her.” “Very well; it Is this: Louls is old and very feeble; he cannot live long, and it may be that you can, by a ready consent now, exact a promise from your brother to allow you your own choice in the event of a second marriage. You might In that way purchase what you could not bring about in any other way.” “How do you know that I want to pur- chase aught in any way, Master Wolsey? I most certainly do not intend to do so by marrying France." “I do nmot know that you wish to pur- chase anything, but a_woman's heart is not always under her full control, and it sometimes goes out to one very far be- neath her in station, but the equal of any man on earth in grandeur of soul apd nobleness of nature. It might be that there issuch a man whom any wom- an would be amply justified in Purchn- ing at any sacrifice—doubly so if it were buying happiness for two.’ His meaning was too plain even to pre- tend to misunderstand, and Mary's eyes flashed at him, as her face broke into a dimpling smile In spite of her. Wolsey thought he had won, and to clinch the victory sald in his forceful manner: “Loufs XIT will not live a year; let me carry to the King your consent, and 1 guarantee you his promise as to a second marriage.” In an instant Mary's eyes shot fire, and her face was llke the blackest storm loud. <o this to the King—that T will see him and the whole kingdom sunk in hell before I will marry Louls of France. That is my answer once and for all. Good even, Master Wolsey.” And she swept out of the room with head up and dilal ing nostrils; the very picture of deflance. t. George! She must have looked su- perb. She was one of the few persons whom angeg and disdaln and the other passions which we call ungentle geemed to {llumine—they were so strong in her, and yet not violent. It seemed that every deep emotion but sdded to her besuty and brought it out, as the light within a church brings out the exquisite figuring on the windows. ne, Jane sald to ad Mary: ~Don't you think 1t would have been better had you sent a softer answer to your brother? I belleve you could reach his heart even now if you were to make the effort. You haye not tried in this matter as you did in the others.” ‘“Perhaps you are right, Jane, I will go to Henry." Mary walited until she knew the King was alone, and then went to him. On entering the room, she sald: “Broth- er, I sent a hasty message to you b the Bishop of Lincoln this morning, an 2,come to ask your forkiveness. “Ah_ little sister; I thought you would change your mind. Now you are a good ‘i“:‘éhl do not misunderstand me; I asked our forgiveness for the message. As to he mi age, I came to tell you it would kill me, and that I could not bear it. Oh! brother, you are not & woman—you cannot know.” Henry flew into a pas- sion, and with oaths and curses ordered her to leave him unless she was ready to lve her consent, She had but two courses left with ful ever sat upon a throne—and that is mak- ing an reme case. As she was going she turned upon him llke a fury, and ex- claimed: . “Never, never! Do you hear? Preparations went on for the marriage just as if Mary had glven her solemn consent. The important work of provid- ing the trousseau n at once, and the more impastant matter of securing the loan from the London merchants was pushed along rapidly. The good citizens might cling affectionately to their angel: double angels, crowns and pounds ster 1ing, but the fear in which they held the King, and a little patting of the n{u mfl upon the ?lebelm head worked the charm, and out came the yellow u.old. never to be seen again, God ‘wot. Under the stimulus of the royal smile they wers ready to shout themselves hoarse and to eat and drink themselves red in the face in celebration of the wedding day. In short, they were ready to be tickled near- ly to death for the honor of paying to a wretched old lecher a wagon load of gold to accept, as a gracious gift. the most beautiful heart-broken girl in the world. That is, she would have been heart-broken had she not been inspired with courage. As it waspshe wasted none of her energy in lamenfations. but saved it all to fight with. Heaven: v did fight! If a valiant defense ever served victory, it was in her case. When the Queen went to her with silks and taffetas and fine cloths to consult about the trousseau, although the theme was one which would interest almost any woman she would have none of it, and when Catherine insisted upon her tryving on a certain gown she called her a black- amoor, tore the garment to pleces and or- dered her to leave the room. Henry sent Wolsey to tell her that the 13th day of August had been fixed upon as the day of the marriage. De Longue- ville to act as the French King's proxy, ]u]l;nd Wolsey was glad to come off with h.s 0. Matters were getting into a pretty tan- sle at the palace. Ty would not speak to the King. and poor Catherine was afraid to come within arm’'s iength of her: Wolsey was giad to keep out of her way, and she flew at Buckingham with talons and beak upon first sight. As to the battle with Buckingham, it was short but decisive, and this was the way it came about: There had been a passage hetween the Duke and Brandon, in_which the latter had tried to coax the former into a duel, the only way, of course. tQ gettle the weighty matters between them. Eutkingham however, had had a taste of Brandon's nimble ' sword play, and. beating in mind Judson's fate, did not care for any more. They had met by ac- cident, and Brandon, full of smiles and as polite as a Frenchman, greeted him. “Doubtless my Lord, having cr swords twice with me, will do me the great honor to grant that privilege the third time, and wil¥ kindly tell me where my friend can wait upon a friend of his Grace. “There is no need for us to meet over that little affair. You had the best of it, and if I am satisfled you should be. 1'was really in the wrong, but I did not Ib(nn the Princess had-invited you to her our Lordship is pleased to evade, turned Brandon. “It is not the ball matter that 1 have to complain of; as you have rightly said, If you are satis- fled, 1 certainly should be; but it Is that your Lordship, in the name of the King. instructed the keeper of Newgate prison to confine me in an underground cell and prohibited communication with any of my frlends. You so arranged it that my trial should be secret, both as to the day thereof and the event, in order that it should not be known to those who might be interested in my release. You promised the Lady Mary that you would rocure my lberty, and thereby prevented er going to the King for that purpose, and afterward told her it had all been done, as promised "and that I had escaped to New Spain. It is because of this. my Lord Buckingham, that I now denounce you as a liar, a coward and a perjured night, and demand of you such satisfac- tion as one man can give to another for mortal injury. If you refuse, I will kil you as I would a cut-throat the next time I meet yop.” “I care nothing for your rant, fellow, but out of consideration for the' feelings which your fancied injurles bhave put into your heart, T tell you that I did what I could to liberate you, and received from the keeper a promise that you should be allowed to escape. Affer that a certain letter addressed to yéu was discovered and fell into the hands of the King—a matter in which I had no part. As to your confinement and non-communication with your friends that was at his Maj- esty’'s command after he had seen the letter, as he will mgst certainly confirm to you. I say this for my own sake, not that I care what you may sa> or think."” This offer of confirmatior. by the King made it all sound like the truth, so much will even a little truth leaven a great lle; and part of Brandon's salls came down against the mast. The whole state- ment surprised him and. most of all, the intercepted letter. What letter couid it have been? It was puzzling, and yet he dared not_ask. As the Duke was about to walk away Brandon stopped him. <One moment, your Grace; I am willing to admit what you have sald, for I am not now prepared o contradict it; but there is yet another matter we have to settle. You attacked me on horseback and tried to murder me in order to abduct two ladles that night over in_Billingsgate. That you cannot deny. 1 watched you follow the ladles from Bridewell to Grouche's, and saw your face when your mask fell off dur- ng the melee as plainly as I see it now. If other proof is wanting, there is that sprained knee upon which your horse fell, causing you to limp even yet. 1 am sure now that my Lord will meet me like a man; or would he prefer that I should go to the King and tell him and the world the whole shameful story? I have con- cealed it heretofore, thinking it my per- sonal right and privilege to settle with you. Buckingham turned a shade paler as he replied: “I do not meet such as you on the fleld of honor, and have no fear of your slander injuring me.” He feit secure in the thought that the girls did not know who had attacked them and could not corroborate Brandon in hias accusation. or Mary surely never would have appealed to him for help. I was with Brandon—at a little distance, that is—when this occurred, and after Buckingham had left we went to find the girls in the forest. We knew they would be looking for us, although they would pretend surgr!-e when they saw us. We soon met them, and the very leaves of the trees gave a soft, contented rustle in response to Mary's low, mellow laugh of joy. Attergarhnpl half an hour we encoun- tered uckingham __ with his lawyer- knight, Johnson. They had evidently walked out to this quiet path to consult about the situation. As they approached, Ma spoke to the Duke with a viclous sparkle in her eyes. “My Lord Buckingham, this shall cost you your head. Remember my words when you are on the scaffold, just when g?urk neck fits Into the hollow of the ock. He stopped, with an evident desire to explain, but Mary pointed down the path and sald: “Go, or I will have Master Brandon spit you on his sword. Two to one would be easy odds compared with the four to one you put against him In Billingsgate. Go!" And the battle was over, the foe never having struck a blow. Tt hurt me that Mary should speak of the odds being two to one :1-lnst Bran-. don when I was at hand. It is true T was not ve large, but I could have taken care of a lawyer. Now it was that the lawyer-knight earned his bread by his wits, for it was he_I know, who Instigated the next move —a master stroke in its way, and one which proved a checkmate to us. It was this: The Duke went at once to the Kin, and, in a tone of injured innocence, tol: him'of the charge made by Brandon with Mary's evident approval, and demanded redress for the slander. Thus it seemed that the strength of our position was about to be turned against us. Brandon was at once summoned and promptly ap- d before the King, only too anxlous confront the Duke. As to the con- finement of Brzndon and his secret trial, the King did not care to hear; that was a matter of no consequence to him. The important question was, did Buckingham attack the Princess? Brandon told the whole stralght story exactly as it was. which Buckingham as romptly dented. and offered to prove by s almoner that he was at his mouo 3 on the night and at the hour of the at- tack. So here was nflict of evidence which called for new witnesses, and Henry asked Brandon If the girls had seen and recognized the Duke. To this question, of course he was compelled to answer no, and the whole accusation, aft- er all, rested upon Brandon's word, against which, on the other hand, was the evidence of the Duke of Buckingham and his convenient almoner. All this disclosed to the fuil anxiety to help Brandon, and t having adroitly let out the fact that he had just met the Princess with Brandon at a certain secluded spot in the forest, Henry's suspicion of her partiality re. celved new force, and he began to look upon the unfortunate Brandon as a par- tial cause, at least of Mary’s aversion to French marriage. Henry grew angry and ordered Brandon to leave the court, with the sullen re- mark that-it was only his services to the Princess Mary that saved him a day with papers on the pillory. This was not by any means what Bran- don had expected. There seemed to be a fatality for him about everything con- nected with that unfortunate trip to Grouche's. He had done_his duty, and this was his recompense. Vi is Some- times a pitiful reward for itself, notwith- standing much wisdom to the contrary, Henry was by no means sure that his sus; concerning Mary's heart were correct, and in all he had heard he had not one subgtantial fact upon which to re- om had not seen her their avowal. or he would have had a' fact in every look, — truth in every motion, a demonstration in every glance. She seemed poweriess even to attempt concealment. In Bran- don’'s handsome manlipess and evident su- perfority, the King thousht he :«lr "a very clear possibility for A\hr}"ml‘;:‘yo:m; and where there Is such a poss asually fuifill expec- base conviction. He with Brandon since a girl she us Is to tations. 1 suppose thers are more Wrong guesses as the sort of man a given woman will fall in love with than on any other subject of equal impertance in the whole range of human surmising. It did not, however stri the King that way. and he, in common with mest other sons of Adam, supposing that he knew al a ‘marked Brandon as a very pos- For and ome perspnage. the history of the world a man had hit upon the truth in this obscure he was. 3 Now. ail this brought Brandon into the deep shadow of the royal frown, and, like many another man, he sunk his fortuns in the fathom heart, ard thoug CHAPTER XIV. IN TH IR COUNTRY. With the King admiration stood for af- fection, a mistake frequently made by to self-apalysis, and in people not given reaction set in toward or two a A which ed a desire to make some_amends treatment. This he could r ¥ great extent, on Buckingham's nt; at least, mot until the Londor s in his coffers, but the that Hranden was going to New Spain so soon and would be out of the way, both of Mary's eyes and Mary's marriage, stimulated that rare flower In Henry's heart. a good resolve, and Bran- don was offered his old quarters with me until such time as he should sall for New Spain. He had never abandoned this plan, and now that matters had taken this turn Mary and the King his resolution was stronger than ever, in that the scheme held two recommendations and a possibility. The recommendations were, first, it would take him aw with whom—when out of the spiring influ- ence of her buoyant hopefuiness—he knew marriage to be ut podsible: and, second, admit ng that Impos- sibility, he might find at least partial m lief from his hearta in the stirring events and adventures of that far away land of monsters, dragons, savages and gold. The possibility lay in the goid, and a very faintly burning flame of hope held out faintly glimmering cha finding him there alm for lack of another lover, smile upon him by way of squaring accounts, She migh ! A him to a cav ern of gold, and gold would do anything: even, perhaps, purchase so priceless a treasure as a certain Princess of the blood ro He did not, however, dwell much on this possibility but kept the delighte ful he | neutralized with a constant- present sense of its improbability, in r to save the pain of a long fall when appointment should come. Brandon at once accepted the King’ offer of lodging in the palace, for now that he felt sure of himself in the matter of separation from as much as pos- that light went out it were playing with and his 1 to see sible of her before forever, even thougt death itself to do so. Poor fellow, his suffering was so acute during this period that it affected me like a contagion. It did, not make a mcpe of him, but came il spasms that wild. He would at t and cry out: “Jesu 5 shall T do? She will be the wife of the French King, and 1 s derness and t; 1 sit in the wil- moment to imagine what she is doing = ninking. I shail find the bearing 13, and look in her direction untfl my brain melts in my effort to see her, and then I shall won- der in the woods a suffering imbeectle, feeding on roots and nuts. Would to God one of us might dle. If it were not seif- ish, I should wish I might be the one. I said nothing In answer to these out- bursts, as I had no consolation to offer. ‘We had two or three of our little meet- ings of four, dangerous as they were, at which Mary, feeling that each time she saw Brandon might be the last, would sit and look at him with glowing es that in turn softened and burned as she spoke. She did not talk much, but devoted all her time and energies to looking with her whole soul. Never before or since was there a girl so much in love A young girl thoroughly In love is the most beau- tiful object on earth—beautiful even in ugliness. Imagine, then, what it made of Mary! Growing partly, perhaps, out of his un- attainability—for he was as far out of her reach as she out of his—she had long since begun to worship him. She had learned to ltke him so well, and his va- liant defense of her in Billingsgat to- gether with his noble self-sacri: n re- fusing to compromise her in order to save himself, had presented him to her in so noble a light that she had come to look up to him as her superior. Her sur- render had been camplete, and she found in it a joy far exceeding that of any vic- tory or triumph she could imagine. 1 could not. for the life of me, tell what would be the outcome of It all. Mary was one woman in ten thousand, so fuil was she of feminine force and will-a force which we men pretend to despise, but to which in the end we always sue- cumb. Like most women, the Princess was not much given to ahalysis: and, I think_ se- cretly felt that this matter of so gre moment to her would, as everything else always had, eventually turn itself to her desire. She could not see the way, but, to her mind, there could be no doubt about it; fate was her friend, always had been and surely always would be. ‘With Brandon it wa¥ different; expe- rience as to how the ardently hoped for usually turns out to be the sadly regret- ted, together with a thorough face-to- face analysis of the situation, showed him the truth, all too clearly. and he longed for the day when he should go, as a sufferer longs for the surgeon’s knife that is to relleve him of an aching Hmb. The ad for the most to apathetic weakness. no good to e!rug‘lo in a boundless, fath- omless sea; so_he was ready to aink and Wwas going to New Spain to hope no mors. Mary did not see what was to prevent the separation, but this did not trouble her as much as one would suppose, and she was content to let events take their own way, hoping and believing that in the end it would be hers. Events, how- ever, continued in this wrong courss so long and persistently that at last the truth dawned upon her and she began to doubtl"and as time flew on and matters evinced a disposition to grow worse in- stead of better she gradually, llke the sundial in the moonlight. awakened to the fact that there was something wrong; & cog loose somewhere in the complicated mu{lnery of fate—the fates which had always been her tried, trusted and obe- dient servant. The trouble began in earnest with the discovery of our meetings in Lady Mary's parlor. There was nothing at all unus- Bal in the fact that small companies of oung folk frequently spent their even- ings with her but we knew well enough that the unusual element in our partfes was thelr exceeding smallness. A com- pany of eight or ten young persons was well enough, although it, of course, cre- ated jealousy on-the part of those who were left out—but four—two of each sex —made a difference in kind, however much we might insist it was only tn de- ee. And this we soon learned was the ing's opinfon. You may be sure thers was many a jealous person about the court ready to carry tales, and that it was impossible long to keep our meetings secret amo: sue! a host as then lived in Green't'c‘: ace. Pone day the Queen summoned Jame and put her to the question. N Jane thought the “truth was mads only to bo told, a fallacy Into which many peo- le have fallen, to theh destrue- Tion; ‘since” the” trath, ke every other good thing, may be abused. Well! Jane toldlit all in a moment, and Catherine was so horrified that she was like to faint. She went with her hair lmlnf‘ horror to the King, and poured Into his ears a tale of imprudence and ‘,’.’.".."'ifiti" v;:fle calculated to start his Info a threatening Rame, . o snation d tl:z's J!lno. Br-gdon and myself wers ummoned to the presence of both their Majesties and sa?mdly repfls manded. Three of us were ordered to leave the court before we could speak a word in self-defense, and Jane had enough of her favorite truth for once. Mary, however, came to our rescue with her coaxing eloquence and potent, fem- inine logic. and soon convinced Henry m:l!e t'hfihQ':x‘emh :ho l.-’nlly counted for m, made a mountain of a very smail molehfll. 5 .