The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, January 18, 1903, Page 5

THE SUNDAY CALL. This Pr leniency ot her Jfter th account ence: bu more nt of view ething Ny o to gratify manding he ex powe imperial and and =& would r them both; ip. [ ! ream was over ee Princ day told r sent by 1 accused o term an orn fellow. Brandon at least, of referred a w his Bayard nging real- Brandon was ' t e would K N er a life gratified w very thir she w 1 ~ for w b she w willingly have given up every had ever coined— 1 surely collapse. hould not be nerves wer I by an ov metimes the case nate en. we iffer and endure. fe housand times, was s her. She must proportion between pain and her power ad the maximum ca- mum strength nder it drove her ng pang of re inaction, =0 she he went dusk, to I_was not went in. but, hav way, suspected some- g two or three ew it was best a was sure When 1 entered each other’s hands. in vet found their and crowded were their 10 see them, e o had not Brandon's ) ‘deaden the pain by par- nce she dropped ickly toward me w but was reassured upc Brandon mechanical- » her and seated Mary, as mechani- side and placed her er. Turning her face Sir Edwin, 1 know when 1 tell you that 1to say and wish to his h wh Tked Caskoden, please stay: it would 1d be bad enough, God icess should be found but. with me alone, fore morning. There it is, for they will knew he was right, but she could t’a vicious little glance toward me. who was in no way to blame. Presently we all moved into the window- way, where Brandon and Mary sat upon the great cloak and 1 on a _campstool in front of thgm, completely filling up the littie passage. “I can bear this no longer.” exclaimed Mary. “I will go to my brother to-night 2nd tell him all; 1 will tell him how s suffer, and that I shall die if you are allowed to go away and leave me for- ever. He Joves me, and I can do any- thing with him when I try. I know I can obtain his consent to our—our—mar- riage. He cannot know how I suffer, eise he would pot treat me so. I will let him tce—1 will convince him. I have in my mind everything 1 want to say and_ do. T wil =it on his knee and stroke his hair #nd kiss him.” And she laughed ‘softly Yier spirit revived in the breath of a grow- ing hope. “Then I will tell him how hand- some he 16, and how I hear the ladles sighing for him, and he will come around =1 right by the third visit. Oh, I know how to do it; T have done it s0° often. Never fear! I wish I had gone at it long e Jicr enthusiastic fever of hope was real- 1y contagious, but Brandon, whose life was at stake, had his wits quickened by the danger. “Mary. would you like to _see me = corpse before to-morrow noon?” he asked. “Why! of course not. Why do you ask such a dreadful question?”’ “Because, if you wish to make sure of §t do what you have just uld—fo to the him all. 1 doubt if he could King and tel wait till morning, but belleve he would waken me at midnight to put me to > forever—at the end of & rope or on k pillo no! you are zll wrong; I know what I can do with H-nr_\,'“ “If that i= the case. 1 say good-by now, for 1 shail be out of England, if possible, by midnight. You must promise me that you will not only not go to the King at #1l about this matter, but that you will guard your tongue jealous of its slight- est word, and remember with every breath that on your prudence hangs my life, which, T know, is dear to you. Do vou promige? If you do not, I must fy: &0 you will lose me one way or the other. if you tell the King, either by my flight or by my ;’k’a'h-" A M 1 promise,” sal ary. with droopi head, the embodiment of despair: S’ IS and hope having left her again. After a few minutes her face brightened and she asked Brandon what ship he would sail in for New Spain, and whence, “We sali in the Royal Hind. from Bris. 10l in about a fortnight.” he revlied. “How many go out in her, and are there he returned: “no woman could make the trip: znd besides, on #hips of that sort, half pirafe, half mer- chant, they do not take women. The saflors are superstitious about it and will t safl with them. They say they bring 4 Juck—adverse winds, calms. storms, blackness, monsters from the deep and wictorious foes.” “The ignorant creatures!” cried Mary. Brandon continued: here will be a hundred men, if the captain can induce many to enlist.” »w_does one procure passage?’ in- quired M “By eniisting with the captain, a man named Bradhurst, at Bristol, where the ship is now lying. There is where I en- listed by iett But why do you ask?’ ‘Oh, 1 only wanted to know. We ‘talked a while on various topies, but Mary always brought the conversa tion back to the same subject. the Roval Hind and New Spain. After asking many questions she sat in silence for a time, and then abruptiy broke into one of my sentences—she was always interrupting me as if | were parrot. 2king and have made i will do, and you shail 1 will go to New Spain il be glorious—far bet- ter than the humdrum life of sitting at home—and will solve the whole question.”” “3 that would be Imp ble, Mary, Lran into whose face his new ence er regard had brought a brighter ly impossible. To beg'n with, no woman could stand the voyage, not ev v, strong and vigor- ous as yvou are “Oh. ve 1 can nd 1 will not low ¥ou 1o stop me for that reason. 1 could bear any I Jship better than the ture of the =t few weeks. In truth, I t this at al it killing me, when you are gone f Lom Think n:” think of tha I might as well die and then | shou.d b it were sweet to d.e. there and listen to all “But_no women are vou. they would not how could you escape? ent consid- all your It is im- of it t ca hopes only up : never doubt hut as a4 ma atls while serd to B a sum g a soparate om in the = 4 young nobleman who wishes to go to New Spain incognito, they sail. mplete outfit, and an before you and Here she blushed so that I the scarlet even in the gather- ., 3 contir i: “As to my escape, 1 can go to Win . and then perhaps on to Berkeley Castle, over by Reading, where there wiil be no ome to watch me. You can leave at once, and there will be no cause for them 1o Spy pon me u are gone, o it can vhen y v enough. That is it: I will r. who is now at Berkeley her side of Reading vou will make a shorter ride “astle, know th and that could not but in the warmth Imost begun to And he said musingly: “I wonder if it could be done? If it could— if we could reach New Spain we might build oursel home in the beautiful green mountains and hide ourselves ly away from all the world, in the cozy valley. rich with nature’s b of fruit and flowers. shaded he hot sun and sheltered from the and live in a little paradise of our What a glorious dream: but it is a dream. and we had better awake jasts wn. m Brandon must . no! It have been insane! s not a dream.” interrupt- ed downright, determined Mary “it is not a dream; it shall be a realit How glorious it will be; 1 can see our little house now nestling among the hills, s ed by great spreading trees with and v and golden fruit all about it, rich plumaged birds and gorgeons but flie Oh! 1 can hardly walit. Who would live in a musty palace when they have within r h such a home, and that, too, with you? Here it was agin. I thought that in- terview would be the death of me. Brandon held his face in his hands. and then locking up said: “It is only a ques- tion of your happiness, and hard as the voyage and vour life over there would be, vet ¥ believe it w beé _better than life with Louis of France. Nothing could be s0 terrible as that to both of us. If you wish to go 1 will try to take you, though 1 die In the attempt. There will be am- ple time to recomsider. so that you can turn back if you wish. Her reply < inarticulate, though sat- isfactory: and she took his hand in hers the tea ran gently down her cheeks; this time tears of joy shed for many a day In the Siren country again without wax! Overboard and lost! the first she had Yes, Brandon's resolution not to see Mar; was well taken, if it couid only have been as well kept. Observe, as we progress, into what the breaking of it_led him. He had known that if he should but see once more his already toppling will would lose its equipoise and he would be Jed to attempt the impossible and invite destruction. At first his scheme appeared to me In its true light, but Mary’'s subtle feminine logic made it seem such plain and easy sailing that I soon began to draw enthusiasm from her exhaustless store, and our combined attack upon Brandon eventually routed every vestige of caution and common sense that even he had left. Siren logic has always been irresis and will continue so, no doubt, de: experience. T cannot define what it was about Mary that made her little speeches, hall ar. gumentative, all-pleading, so wonderfully persuasive. Her facts were mere fancies and her logic was not even good sophistry. As to real argument and rea- soning there was nothing of either in them. It must have been her native strength of character and intensely vig- orous personality; some unknown ~force of nature, operating through her occultly, that turned the channels of other per- sons’ thoughts and filled them with her own will. There was magic in her power, I am certain, but unconscious magic to Mary, I am equally sure. She never would have used it knowingly. There was still anothi obstacle to which Mary remedy. the dministered her favorite Gordlan knot treatment. Brandon said: “It cannot be; you are not my wife, and we dare not trust a priest here to unite us.” “No:" replied Mary, with hanging head, ‘but we can—can find one over there ™ “I do not know how that wil be; we shall probably not find one; at least, I fear: I do not know." Afier a little hesitation she answered: [ will go with you anyway—and—and risk it. 1 hope we may find a priest,” and she flushed scarlet from her throat to_her hair. Brandon kissed her and_sald: “You shall go, my brave girl. You make me blush for my faint-heartedness and pru- dence. I will make you my wife in some way as sure as there is a God. Soon after this Brandon forced himself to insist on her departure, and I went with her full of hope and completely blinded to the dangers of our cherished scheme. I think Brandon never really lost sight of the danger and almost in- finite proportion of chance against this wild, reckless venture, but was daring enough to attempt it even in the face of such clearly seen and deadly conse- quences. ‘What seems to be bravery, as in Mary's case, for example, is often but a lack of perception of the real danger. True bravery is that which dares a danger fully seeing It. A coward may f: an unseen danger and his act may shine with the luster of geruine herofsm. Mary was brave, but it was the feminine bravery that did not see. Show her a danger and she was womanly enough—that Is, if you could make her see it. Her wulfulness sometimes extended to her mental vision and she would not see. In common with many others she needed mental spectacles at times. CHAPTER XV. TO MAKE A MAN OF HER. - So it was all arra and T converted part of Mary's jewel said she was Sorty now she had not taken De Longueville's diamonds, as they would have added to her treasure: I, however, procured quite a large sum, to which I secretly added a goodly portion out of my own store. At Mary's request I sent part to Bradhurst at Bristol and retained ihe rest for Brandon to take with him. A favorable answer soon came from Bristol, giving the voung nobleman a separaie room in consideration of the large purse he had sent. The next step was to procure the gen- tleman's wardrobe for Mary. This was a little troublesome at first, for, of course, she could not be measured in the regular way. We managed to overcome this dif- ficulty by having Jane tuke the measure- ments uader inetructions which measurements, togethe: cloth, T tock to the fractional little man who did mv work. He looked at the measurements with twinkling eves, and remarked: *‘Sir Ed- win, that be the curiousest shaped man ever I see the measures of. Sure it would made a4 mighty handsome woman, or I kuow nothing of human dimensions.” Never yuu mind about aimensions; make the garments as they are ordered and keep your mouth shut, if you know what is o vour interest. Do vou hear He delivered himself of a labored wink. “I do hear and understand too, and my tongue is like tne tongue of an obeisk. In due time [ brought the suits to Mary and they were soon adjusted to her lKing. The days passed rapidly, til 1t was a matter of less than a fortnight until the Royal Hina wouid #at, auu ic reany Inoked as if the adventure might turn out to our desire. Jane was in tributation and thought she ought to be taken along. This, you may be sure, was touching me very closely, and I began to wish the whole infernal at the bottom of the sea. If Jaune mess went, s august M jesiy King tie ry V(if would be without a master of dance just 1« sure as the stars twinkled in the mament. It was, however, soon .de- cuied that Brandon would have hiz hands more than fuil to get off with one woman ud that two wouid surely spofl the pian. So June wias to be sefi ben nd tribulation and indignation, 3 l\yn.;ad that she was being treated very Although at first Jane was violently op- posed to the scheme, she soon caught the tagious ardor ol Mary's enthusiasm, knowink that her dear lady's every chance of happiness was staked upon the throw. grew more roconciled. To a per- son of Jane's age this venture for luve offers itseif as the last and only ca t-— the cast for all-and fn this particular case there was enough of romance to catch the fancy of any girl. Nothing was ing to make it truly romantic. The ‘ted € ation of at i+ f o he 1o rough road of their true love: ment, and, above all, the elope- [ CW woiid, Wit Zv Lt i in fragrant shades and glad with the notes of lo from the throats of countiess song 'de--what more could a romantic girl desire? So, to my yprise. Jun. became mere ihan recon- ciled, und her fever of ant'cipation and excitement grew apace with Mary's as the tim v on. ary’s vanity was delighted with her ent irousseau. for of course it must of t incst. Not that the quality was (ny better than her own. but the doublet and owed =o differently on her. ana L £he aded for un hour or so before June, and as she became accustomed-to the new garb, and s the steel reflected a beautiful image. she determired to berself 1o Brandon and me. She s she wanted to hecome accustomed to being seen in her doublet and hose, and would begin with us. She thought If she could not bear our gaze she should surely make a dismal failure on shipboard among o many <trange men. There was some good reasoning in this, and it, to- gether with her vanity. overruled her modesty and prompted her to come to sce us in heér character of young nobleman. June made one of her mighty protests. so infinltely disproportionate in size to her litt'e ladyship, but the self-willed Princess would not listen to her, and was for com- ing alone if Jane would not come with her. Once having determined, as usual with her, she wasted no time about it, but throwing a long cloak over her shoul- arted for our rooms with angry, protesting Jane at her heels. 1 heard the knock [ was sure it was the girls, for though Mary had prom- ised Prandon she would not, under any circumstances, attempt another visit, I knew so weil her utter inability to combat her desire and her reckless disregard of danger where there was a motive suffi- cient — to furnish the nerve tersion, that I ouid come, or try to come, n. have spoken before about the quality of bravery. What it is. after all, and how can we analyze it? Women, we say, are cowardly, but I have seen a woman tike a risk that the bravest man's nerve would turn on edge against. How it is? Can it be possible that they are braver than we? That our bravery is of the vaunting kind that telleth of itself? My answer, made up from a long life of ob- “Yes! Given the motive, the bravest creature on t how foolishly timid they are servation, i times! I admitted the girl at . and when the door v unclasped the brooch at nd the great cloak fell at her she stepped, with a little was shut M her throat heels. Out laugh of delight. clothed in doublet, hose, . ind confusion—the prettiest picture mor- tal eyes ever rested on. Her hat, some- thing on the broad, flat style with a single white plume encircling the crown, was of purple velvet trimmed in gold brald and touched here and there with precious stones. Her doublet was of the same pur- vle velvet as her hat, trimmed in lace and gold braid. Her short trunks were of h black silk slashed by vellow satin, with hose of lavender silk: and her little shoes were of russet French leather. Quite a rainbow you will say—but such a rainbow! Brandon and I were struck dumb with admiration and could not keep from show- ing it. This disconcerted the girl, and in- creased her embarrassment until we could not tell which was the pretties the gar- ments, the giri, or the confusion; but this I know, the whole picture was as sweet and beautiful as the eyes of man would behold. Fine feathers will not make fine birds, and Mary's masculine attire could no more make her look like a man than har- ness can disguise the graces of a ga- zelle. Nothing could conceal her intense, exquisite womanhood. With our looks of astonishment and admiration Mary's blushes deepened. “What is the matter? wrong?”’ she asked. “Nothing is wrong,” answered Brandon, smiling in spite of himself; ‘“nothing on earth is wrong with you, you may be sure. You are perfect—that is, for a wo- man: and one who thinks there is any- thing wrong about a perfect woman is hard to please. But if you flatter your- self that you. in _any way, resemble a man, or that your dress in the fa'ntest de- gree concezls your sex, you are mistaken. It makes it only more apparent.” “How can that be?’ asked Mary, in comical tribulation; ““is not this a man’s doublet and hose. and this hat—is it not a man’'s hat? They are all for a man: then why do T not look like one, T ask? Tell me what is wrong. Oh! T thought T looked just like a man; 1 thought the dis- guise was perfect,” “Well,” returned Brandon, “if vou will permit me to #ay =o, you are entlrely too symme(rical and shapely ever to pass for a man.’ The flaming color was in her cheeks, as Brandon went on: “Your feet are too small, even for a boy's feet. 1 don’t think you could he made to look like a man if you worked from now till doomsday.” Brandon spoke in a troubled tone, for he was heginning to see in Mary's perfect and irrepressible womanhood an insur- mountable difficulty right across his path. “AS to your feet, You might find larger shoes, or, better still, jack-boots; and, as to your hose. you might wear longer trunks, but what to do ahout the doublet I am sure T do not know.” Mary looked up helpléess and forlorn, and the hot face went into her hended elbow as a reszlization of the situation seemed to dawn upon her. “Oh! 1 wish I had not come. But I wanted to grow accustomed so that I could wear them before others. T believe T could bear it more easily with any on. else. 1 did not think of ‘t in that was and she snatched her clcak from where it had fallen on the floor and threw it around her. “What wav. Mary?' asked Brandon gently, and receiving no answer. “‘But you will have to bear myv looking at you all the time if vou go with me.” don't believe 1 ~an do it.* “No, no,” answered he. bravely attempt- ing cheerfulness: “we may as weil give it up. I have had no hope from the first, 1 knew it could not be done, and it should not. 1 was both insane and criminal to think of permitting you to try it.” Brandon's forced cheerfulness died out with his words, and he sank into a chair with his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. Mary ran to him at once. There had been a little moment of falter- Ln:, but there was no real surrender in er. Dropping on her knee beside him, she sald coaxingly: “Don’t give up; you are a man; you must not surrender, and let me, a girl, prove the stronger. Shame upon vou when 1 look up to you so much and expeet you to help me be brave. I will go. 1 will arrange myself in_some way. Oh! why am I not different? T wish 1 were as straight as the Queen,” and for the first time in her life she bewalled her beauty. because it stood between her and Brandon. She soon coaxed him out of his despon- dency, and we began again to plan the matter in detail. The girls sat on Brandon's cloak and he and I on the campstool and a box. Mary’s time was well occupled in vain attempts to keep herself covered with the cloak, which seemed to have a right will toward Brandon and me, but she kept track of our plans, which, in brief, were as follows: As to her costume, we would Is anything « substitute long trunks and jack-boots for shoes and hose and as to the doublet, Mary laughed and blushjngly said she had a plan which she would secretly im- part to Jane, but would not teil us. She whispered it to Jane, who, as serious as the Lord Chancellcr, ‘gave judgment, and “thought it would do.”” We hoped so, but were full of doubts. ' This s all tame enough to write and read about. but I can teil you it_wa: suficiently exciting at the time. Three! of us at least were playing with that com. ical old fellow, Death, and he gave the game interest and point to our hearts Content. Through the thick time-layers of all these years, I can still gee the group as we sat there, haloed by a hazy cloud of tear mist. The figures rise hefore my ayes, sn voung and fair and rich in life and vet so pathetic in their troubled earn- estness that a great flood of pity wells in my heart for the poor young . %0 danger-bound and suffering, and withal s0 daring and so recklessly confident in the might and right of love, and the om- nipotence of youth. Ah! If God had seen fit in his infinite wisdom to save just one treasure from the wreck ot Eden. what a race of thankful hearts this earth would bear, had he saved us vouth a'one to theréby compensate for évery other fll. As 10 the elopement, it was d:termined that Brandon should leave lLond n the following day for Bristel, and make all arlungements aong the fine. He would carry with him two hund ez, his »w: and Mary's clothing, and ieave t em to ie taken up when they should go board. E'ght horses would be in <l four to be left as a relay ai’an ion b~ tween Berkeley Caste and Brirtol. uad four to be kept at theerendezvous =ns two leagues the other sidc of Berka ey for the use of Brandon, Mary und the v, men from Bristol who Were ty ool as an escort on the eventiui night. Thepe was one dizagrecabie lictle feature that we could not provide against nor entive'y elimiraie. It was the fact that Jane and ! would be suspected as accomplices be- fore the fuct of Mary’s elopement; and, as You know, to assist in the abduction of a princess is treason—for which there s bui one remedy. I thought I had a plan to keep ourseives safe if | could only stifle for the unce Jare's troublesome and vig- orous tendency to preach the truth to ail peop.e, upon all supjects and at all times and places. She premused to tell the story 1 would drill into her, but I knew the truth would seep cut in a thousand ways. She coud no more hold it than a sieve can hold water. We were playing for great stakes, which, if 1 do say’ it, none but the bravest hearts. bold and daring as the truest knights. of chivairy, would think of trying for. Nothing less than the running away with the first princess of the first royal blogd of the world. Think of it! It appalls me even now. Discovery meart dea'h to (ne of us sur:lv—Brandon; possibly to two others—Jane and me; cer- tainly, if Jane's truthfulness should be- come unmanageable, as it was so apt to 0. After we had settled everything we could think of, the girls took their leave; Mary slying kissing Brandon at the door. 1 tried to induce Jane to follow her lady's example, but she wus as cool and distant as the new moon. I saw Jane again that night and told her in plaln terms what I thought of her treatment of me. I told her it was selfish and unkind to take advantage of my love for her and treat me so cruelly. T to!d her that if she had one drop of generous blood she would tell me of her love, if she had any, or let me know it in some way; and if she cared nothing for me she was equally bound to be honest and tell me plainly, so that T would not waste my time and energy In a hopeless cause. [ thought it rather clever in'me to force her into a position where her refusal to tell me that she did not care for me would drive her to a half avowal. Of course, [ had little fear of the former, or per- haps, I should not have been so anxious to_precipitate the isue. She did not answer me directly. but sajd: “From the way you looked at Mary to-day, I was led to think you cared little for any other girl's opinion.” “Ah! Miss Jane!" cried I joyfully; have you at last; you are jealous.” “I give you to understand, sir, that your vanity has led you into a great mistake.” s to your caring for me. or your jeal- ousy? Which?" I asked seriously. Adroit, wasn't that? “As to the jealousy, Edwin. There, now; 1 think that is saving a good deal. Too much,” she sald pleadingly; but I got something more before she left. even if it was against her will; something that made it almost impossible for me to hold my feet to the ground. . Jane pouted, gave me a sharp little slap and then ran away, but at the door she turned and threw back a rare smile that was priceless to me; for it told me she was not angry: and furthermore shed an illuminating ray upon a fact which I was blind not to have seen long before; that is, that Jane was one of those girls who must be captured vi et armis. Some women cannot be captured at all; they must give themselves; of this class pre-eminently was Mary. Others agaln will meet you half way and kindly lend a helping hand: while some. like Jane, are always on the run, and are captured only by pursuit. They are usually well worth the trouble, though and make doglle cap. tives. After thal smile from thé door I felt that Jane was mine; all I had to do was to keep off outside enemies, charge upon her defenses when the times were ripe and accept nothing short of her own sweet self as ransom. The next day Brandon paid his respects to the King and Queen, made his adieus to his friends and rode off alone to Bris- tol. You may be sure the King showed no signs of undue grief at his departure. CHAPTER XVI A HAWKING PARTY. A few days after Brandon's departure, Mary, with the King's consent. organized a small party to go over to Windsor for a few weeks during the warm weather. There were ten or twelve of us, in- cluding two chaperons, the old Earl of Hertford and the Dowager Duchess of Kent. Henry might as well have sent along a pair of spaniels to act as chaper- ons—it would have taken an army to guard Mary alone—and to tell you the truth our old chaperons needed watching more than any of us. It was scandalous. Each of them had a touch of the gout, and when they made wry faces it was a standing inquiry among us whether they were leering at each other or felt a twinge—whether it was their feet or their hearts, that troubled them. Mary led them a pretty life at all times, even at home in the palace. and I know they would rather have gonc off with a pack of imps than with us. The induce- ment was that it gave them better apnor- tunities to be together—an arrangement connived at by the Queen, I think—and they were satisfied. The Earl nad 1 wife, but he fancied the old dowager and she fancied him, and probably the wife fan- cied somebody else, so they were all hap- py. It greatly amused the young people, you may be sure. and Mary said, probably without teliing the exact truth, that every night she prayed God to pity and forgive their ugliness. One day the Princess said £he was becoming alarmed: their ugiiness was so intense she feared it might be con- tagious and spread. Then, with a most comical serlousness, she added: “Mon Dieu! Sir Edwin what if T should catch 1t? Master Charles would not take me. : ‘No danger of that, my lady; he is too devoted to see anything but beauty in vou, no matter how much you might change.” D6 “you really think so? He says so little about it that sometimes [ almost doubt.” Therein she spoke the secret of Bran- don's success with her, at least in the be- ginning: for there is wonderful potency in the stimulue of a healthy little doubt, We had a_ delightful canter over to Windsor, | riding with Mary most of the way. 1 was not averse to this arrange- ment, as 1 not only relished Mary's mirth and joyousness, which was at its height, but hoped I might give by little Lady Jane a twinge or two of jea'ousy per- chance to fertilize her sentiments toward @ wp me, v Mary talked, and laughed. and sang, for her soul was a fountain of gladness that bubbled up the instant pressure was re- moved. E‘l’xe spoke of little but our last trip over the same road, and, as we pass- ed objects on the way, told me of what randon had said at this piace and that. he laughed and dimpled exquisitely in relating how she had deliberately made opportunities for him to flatter her, until, at last, he smiled in her face and told her she was the most beautiful creature living, but that "'lfl!r all, ‘beauty was as uty did!” " sald she. “T “That made me angry.' gtmtsdtur a while, fid. two or three Im¢ es. was on the point of dismissing him, but thought better of it and as| him plainly wherein 1 did s0 much amiss. Then what do you think the impudent fellow said?” ; “I cannot guess.” “He Sald: ‘th!a&o 'l:'n much it would -rm‘-um-' -:tflflvn-l. but T could a_moment ' later said: answer, and ‘Nevertheless, T should be only too glad to undertake the task.’ . ‘The thought never occurred to either of us then that he would be taken at his word. Bold? I should think he was; 1 never saw naything like it! I have not told you a tenth part of what he said to me that day; he said anything he wished, and it seemed that I could neither stop him nor retaliate. Half the time I was angry and half the time amused, but by the time we reached Windsor there never was a girl more hopelessly and desperately in love than Mary Tudor.” ‘And she laughed as if it were a huge joke on Mary. She continued: “That day settled mat- ters with me for all time. I don’'t know how he did it. Yes [ do * * * ™ and she launched+forth into an account of Bran- don’s perfections, which I found some- what dull, and o would you. We remained a day. or two at Windsor, and then, over the objections of our chap- erons, moved on to Eerkelcy Castle, where Margaret of Scotland was spending the summer. We bad another beautiful ride up the dear old Thames to Berkeley, but Mary had grown serious and saw none of it. On_the afternoon of the appointed day, the Princess suggested a hawking part. and we set out in the direction of the re; dezvous. Our party consisted of myself, three other gentlemen and three ladies besides, Mary. Jane did not go; I was and, with omething of the in- kad no wukng afraid to trust her. She wept difficul forced herse.f to say about a#headache, but the re tes of the castle of cours tfought that poss bly they we re their last iook upon Mary Tudor. Think who ths git s we were ri n'ig away with! Wha. r ¢k fool wete not to have seen the uiter ho; ness, certain failure and dead'y peril of our act; treason back as Piutonian mid- night. But Providence secms to have an especial care for fools. while wise mon ate left to care fur themse vis and took as if safety lies in fo We rode on and on, and aithey two oecasions the others to urge M. o retu the approach of night and rain. she took her own head, as ever ,knew she always would, and conunued the hunt. Just before dark. as we neared t dezvous, Mary and | manuged ahead of the pariy quite a distanc last we saw a heron rise, and the Fru uncapped her hawk. “This is my chance,” she said: “I will run away from you now and iose mysel keep them oft my trauck for five minutes and 1 shali be safe. Good-by, Edw you and Jane are the only persons I r gret to leave. 1 love you as my brother and sister. When we are settled in New Spain we will have you both come to us. Now, Edwin, I shall tell you somecthi don’t let Jane put you off any longer. She loves you; she toid me so. There! Good- by. my friend; kiss her a thousand times for me.” And she flew her’bird and ga loped after it at headlong speed. As 1 saw the beautiful young form re- cedi g from me, perhaps fo:ever, the tears stood in my eves, while 1 thought of the strong heart that so unfalteringly braved such dangers and was so loyal to itself and daring for its love. She had shown a litile feverish excitement for a day or two, but it was the fever of anticipation, aot of fear or hesitancy, Soon the Princess was out of sight, and T waited for the others to overtake me. When they came up I was greted in chorus, **Where is the Princes; 1 said £he had gone off with her hawk, and had’ left me to bring them after her. I held them talking while I could, and when we started to follow took up the wrong scent. A short ride made this apparent, when I came in for my full share of abuse and ridicule, for I had led them against judgment. i was credited with being a blockhead, when in fact they were the dupes. We rode hurriedly back to the point of Mary’'s departure and wound our horns lustily, but my object had been accom- plished, and I knew that within twen y minutes from the time I last saw her, she would be with Brandon, on the road to Bristol, gaining on any pursuit we could make at the rate of three miles for two. ‘We scoured the forest far and near, but of course found no trace. After a time rain set in and one of the gentlemen escorted the ladies home, while three of us re- mained to prowl about the woods and roads all night in a soaking drizzle. The task was tiresome enough for me, it lacked motive; and when we rode into Berkeley Castle next day, a sorrier set of bedraggled, rain-stained, mud-covered knights you never saw. You may know the castie was wild with excitement. There were all sorts of conjectures, but soon we unanimously concluded it had been the work of highwaymen, of whom the ebuntry was full, and by whom the Princess had certainly been abducted. The chaperons forgot their gout anl egch other. and Jane, who was the most atfected of all, had a genuire excuse for flv(n? yent to her grief and went to bed —by far the salest place for her. What was to bé done? First we sent a message to the King who would probably have us all flayed alive—a fear in which the chaperons shared to the fullest extent. Next, an armed party rode back to look ggain for Mary, and, if possible, rescue or. The fact that T had been out the entire night before, together with the small re- pute in which I was held for deeds of arms. excused me from taking part in this bootless errand, so again I profited by the small esteem in which I was held. 1 say I profited, for I stayed at the castle with Jane hoping to find an opportunity in the absence of everybody else. All the ladies but Jane had ridden out, and the knights who had been with me scouring the forest were sleeping. since they had not my incentive to remain awake. They had no message to del!ver: no duty to perform for an absent friend. A thousand! Only think of it! T wished it had been a million, and so faithful was I to my trust that I swore in my soul I would deliver them, every one. And Jane loved me! No more walking on the hard, prosaic earth now; from this time forth I would fly; that was the only sensible method of locomotion. Mary had said: *“She told me so.’ uld it really be true? You wil at once see what an ad- vantage this bit of information was to m . I hoped that Jane would wish to see me to talk over Mary's escape—so I sent word to her that I was waiting, and she quickly enough recovered her health and came down. T suggested that we walk out to a secluded little summer-house by the river, and Jane was willing. Ah! my op- portunity was here at last. She found her honnet, and out we went. What an enchanting walk was that, and how rich is a man who has laid up such treasures of,memory to grow the sweeter as he feeds upon them. A rich memory is better than hope, for It lasts after fruition, and serves us at a time when hope has failed and frultion is but—a memory. Ah! how we cherish it in our hearts. and how it comes at our beck and call to thrill us through and through and make us thank God that we have lived, and wonder in our hearts why he has given poor undeserving us so much. After we arrived at the summer-house, Jane listened, haif the time in tears, while T told her all about Mary's flight. Shall I ever forget that summer day? A sweet briar entwined our enchanted bower and, when I caich its scent even now, time-vaulting memory carries me back, making years seem as days, and [ see it all as [ saw the light of noon that moment—and all was Jane. The softly lapping river, as it gently sought the sea_ gang in soothing cadence of naught but Jane: the south wind from his flowery home breather zephyr-voiced her name again. and. as it stirred the rustling lea v on bush and tree. they whispered bacl the same sweet strain: and every fairy voice found its echo in my s for there It was as ‘twas with me, ne! Jane! Jane!” T have heard men say they would not live their lives over and take its mea- ger grains of happiness. in such ‘infinite disproportion to its grief and pain. but, as for me, thanks to one woman. I almost have the minutes numbered all along the way, and know them‘one from the other; and when I sit alone to dream, and live again some portion of the happy past, [ hardly know what time to choose or in- cident to dwell upon. my life is so much crowded with them all. Would I live again my life? Aye, every moment except per- haps when Jane was ill—and therein even was happiness, for what a joy there was at her recovery. Ido not even regret that it s closing; it would he ungrateful: I have had so much more than my share that I simply fall upon my knees and thank God for what he has given. Jane's whole attitude toward me was changed, and she seemed to cling to me in a shy, unconscious manner, that was sweet beyond the naming, as the one so- lace for a'l her grief. After I had answered all her questions, and had told her over and over again every detail of Mary's flight, and had as- sured her that the Princess was, at that hour, breasting the waves with Brandon, on their high road to ’pnradhe, 1 thought it time to start myself in the same direc- tion and to say a word in my own behalf. So 1 spoke very freely and told Jane what 1 felt 2!4 what I warted. “Oh, Sir Edwin,” ghe responded, “let us not think of anythhig but my mistress. Think of the trouble she is in.”* ’ “No! no! Jane; Lady Mary is out of her trouble by now, and is as happy as a lark, you may be sure. Has she not won everything her heart longed for? Then let us make our own paradise, since we have helped them make theirs. You have it, Jane, just within vour lips; speak the word and it will change everything—if you love me, and I know you Jane's head was bowed and she remain- ed silent. Then 1 told ber of Lady Mary's message. and begged, if she would not speak in words what T so longed to hear, she would at least tell it by allowing me to deliver only one little thousandth part of the message Mary had sent: but she diew away wud eald she would return to the castle if I continued to behave in that manner. I begged hard, and tried to ar- gue the point, but logic seems to lose its force in such’ a situation. and all I said availed nothing. Jane was obdurate, and was for going back at once. Her persist- ency was beginning to look like obstinacy. and 1 soon grew so angry that 1 asked no permission, but delivered Mary's mesage, or a good part of it, at least, whether she wouid or no and then sat back and asked her what she was going to do about it. Poor little Jane thought she was undone for life. She sat there half pouting, half weeping. and said she could do noth- ing about it; that she was alone now, and if I, her only friend, would treat her that way, she did not know where to look. “Where to look?" I-demanded. “Look here, fane, here; you might as weil under- stand ast, that T will not be triflad with longer, and that I intend to contiuve freating you that way as. long as we both live. 1 have determined not to yermit yon to behave as you have for so long: for 1 knew you love me. You hove lalf told me o a dozen times, and even your half words are whole truths; there is not a fraction of a lie In you. H “Ske did not tell you that?" “Yes: upon my knightly honer.” Of course there was but one answer to this— tears. 1 then brought the battle to close arfers zt once, and. with my arm un- ides, Mary toid me that you told her interrupted at my lady’s waist. asked: “Did yon net tell her so? I know you ¥ speak mnothing but the truth. Did 30U not tell her? Answer me. Jane.” The ir teud nodded as she whispered be- © " = T Fands that covered her face: “Yes; I—1—d-did"; and I—well, T deliver- €d . test of Mary's message. and that, too, without a_protest from Jane. “Truthfulness is a pretty good thing after all So Jane was conquered at last, and T heaved a sigh as the battle ended, for it bad been a long, hard struggle. I asked Jane when we should be mar- ried, but she sa’'d she could mot think of that now—not until she knew that Mary was safe; but she would promise to be my wife some time. -1 to'd her that her word was as good as gold to me: and so it was and always has been: as good as fine gold thrice fined. I then told her I would bother her no more about it, now that T was sure of her. but when she was ready she should tell me of her own accord and make my happiness complete. She said she would, and 1 told her I be- lieved her and was satisfied. 1 did, how- ever. suggest that the intervening time would be worse than wasted—happiness thrown right in the face of Providence, as it were—and begged her not to waste any more than necessary; to which she seri- ously and honestly answered that she would not. We went back to the castle, and as we parted Jane said timidly am glad I told you, Edwin; glad it is over.” She had evidently dreaded it: but—I was glad, too; right glad. Then I went to bed. CHAPTER XVIL THE ELOCPEMENT. Whatever the King might think. I knew Lord Wojsev would quickly enough guess the trutlf when he heard that the Princess was missirg, and would have a party in pursuit. The runaways, however, would have af least twenty-four hours the start, and a ship leaves no tracks. When Mary left me she was perhaps two-thirds of a league from the rendezvous, and night was rapidly faling. As her road lay through a dense forest all the way, she would have a dark, lonely ride of a few minutes. and I was somewhat uneasy for that part of the journey. It had been agreed that if cverything was all right at the rendezvo Mary ould turn loose her horse which had always been tabled at Berkeley Castle and would quickly trot home. To further emphasize her safety a thread would be tied in his forelock. The horse tock his time in re- turning. and did not arrive until the sec- ond morning after the flight, but when he came I found the thread, and, unob- served, removed it. I quickly took it to Jane, who has it yet. and cherishes it for the mute message of comfort it brought her. In case the horse should not return, I was to find a token in a hollow tree near the place of meeting; but the thread in the forelock told us our friends had found each other. When we left the castle Mary wore un- der her riding habit a suit of man's at- tire, and_ as we rode along, she would shrug her shoulders and laugh as if it were a huge joke; and by the most com- jcal little pantomime, call my attention to her unusual bulk. So. when she found Brandon, the only change necessary to make a_man of her was to throw off the riding habit_and pull on the jack-boots and slouch hat, both of which Brandon had with him. They wasted no time. you may be sure, and were soon under wi In a few min- utes they picked up the two Bristol men who were to accompany them, and. when night had fairly fallen, left the bypaghs and took te the main road leading from London to Bath and Bristol. The road was a fair one; that is. it was well defined and there was no danger of losing it; in fact, there was more danger of losing one's self in its_fathomless mud-holes and quagmires, Brandon had recently passed over it twice, and had made mental rote of the worst pla so he hoped to avoid them. Soon the rain began to fall in a soaking drizzle; then the lamps of twilight went out, and even tne shadows of the night were lost among themselves in blinding darkness. It was one of those black nights fit for witch traveling; and, no doubt, every witch in England was out brewing mischief. The horses' hoofs sucked and splashed in the mud with a sound that Mary thought might be hegrd at Land's End; and the hoot of an owl, now and then disturhed by a witch, would strike upon her ear with a volume of sound infinitely disproportionate to the size of any owl she had ever seen or dreamed of before. Brandon wore our cushion, the great cloak. and had provided a like one of suitable proportions for the Princess. This came in play as her fine gentle- man's attire would ‘he but poor stuff to turn the water. The wind. which had arisen with just enough _ force _ to set up a dismal wail. gmave the rain a horizontal slant and drove it in at every opening. The flaps of the comfortable great cloak blew back from Mary’s knees and she felt many a chill- ing drop through her fine new silk trunks that made her wish for buckram in their place. Soon the water began to trickle down her legs and find lodgment in the jack-boots, and as the rain and wind came in tremendous little whirrs, she felt wretchedly enough—she who had always been so well sheitered from every blast. Now and then mud and water would fly up inte her face—striking usually in the eyes or mouth—and then again her horse would stumble and almost throw her over his bead. as he sunk, knee deep, into some unexpecied hole. All of this, with the 1sand and one noises that broke the still worse silence of the inky night soon began to work upon her nerves and make her fearful. The road was full of dangers aside freom stumbling horses and broken necks, for many were the stories pf mur- der and robbery committed along the route they were traveling. It is true they had two stout me all were armed. yet they might easily come upon a party too strong for them; and no one could tell what might happen, thought the princess. There was that pitchy darkness through which she could hardly see her horse's head—a thing of itself that seemed to have infinite powers for mischief, and which no amount of argument ever in- duced any normally constituted woman to helieve was the mere negative absence of light_ and not a terrible entity potent for all sorts ofem!schief. Then that wailing howl that rose and fell betimes: no wind ever made such a noise she felt sure. There were those shining white gleams which came from the little pools of water on the road. looking like dead men's faces upturned and pale: perhaps they were water and perhaps they were not. Mary had all confidence in Brandon. but that very fact operated against her. Having that confidence and trust in him, she felt 1o need to waste her own energy in being brave; so she relaxed completely, and had the feminine satisfaction of allowing her- self to be thoroughly frightened. Is it any wonder Mary’'s gallant but womanly spirit_sank in the face of all those terrors? She held out bravely, how- ever, and an occasional clasp from Bran- don’s hand under cover of the darkness comforted her. When all those terrors would not sugsgest even a thought of turn- back, you may jrdge of the character of this girl and her monvf. They traveled on. galloping when they could, trotting when they could not gal- lop, and walking when they must. At one time they thought they heard the sound of following horses, and hastened on as fast as they dare go.. until, stop- Ping to listen and hearing nothing, they concluded they were wrong. About 11 o'clock, however, right out of the black bank of night in front of them they heard, in earnest. the sucking splash of horses’ hoofs. In an instant the sound ceased and the silence was worse than the noise. The cry “Hello!"" brought them all to a stand, and Mary thought her time had com Both shouted. “Who comes there®’ to which there was a simuitaneous and eager answer, “A friend,” and each party pass- ed its own way, only too glad to be rid of the other. Mary's sigh of relief could be heard above even the wind and the owls, and her heart beat as if it had a task to finish within a certain time. After this they rode on as rapidly as they dared, and about midnight arrived at the inn where the relay of horses was awaiting them. The inn wuz a rambling old thatched- roofed structure. half mud, half wood, and all filth. There are many inns in England that are tidy enough_ but this one was a little off the main road—select- ed for that reason—and the uncleanness Wwas not the least of Mary's trials that hard night. She had not tasted food since neon. and felt the keen hunger natural to youth and health such as hers, after twelve hours of fasting and eight hours of riding. Her np’rme soon overcame her repugnance, and she ate with a zest that Was new to her the humblest fare that had ever passed her lips. One often misses the zest of life’s joys by having too much of them, andei‘ulsl want a thing before it can be appry ted. A hard ridef of five hours brought our travelers to Bath, which place they rode around just as the sun began to gild the tile roofs and steeples. and another hour brought them to Bristol. The ship was to sail at sunrise, but as the wind had dled out with the night, there was no danger of its sailing without them. Soon the gates opened, and the party rode to the Bow and String, where Brandon had left their chests. he men were paid off; quick sale was made of the horses; breakfast was served and they started for the wharf, with their chests following in the hands of four porters. A boat soon took them aboard the Roval Hind, and now it looked as If their daring scheme, so full of improbability as to seem impossible, had really come to a successful issue. From the beginning, T think, it had never occurred to Mary to doubt the re- sult. There had never been with her even a suggestion of possible failure, unless it was that evening in our room, when, prompted by her startled modesty, she had said she could not bear for us to see her In the trunk hose. Now that fruition seemed about to crown her hopes she was happy to her heart's core; and when once to herself wept for sheer jov. It is litfle wonder she was happy. She was leaving behind no one whom she loved except Jane, and perhaps, me. No father or mother; only a sister whom she barely knew and a brother whose treatment of her had turned her heart against him. She was fleeing with the one man in all the world for her, and from a marriage that was literally worse than death. Brandon, on the other hand, had always had more desire than hope. The many chances against success had forced upon him a haunting sense of cer: n failure. which, one would think ave left him now. It did not, however, and even when on shipboard. with a score of men at the windl ready to heave anchor at the first breath of wind, It was as strons as when Mary first proposed their flight, sitting in the window on his great cloak. Such were their opposite positions. Both were without doubt, but with this dif- ference; Mary had never doubted succe: Brandon never doubted failure. He hac a keen analytical faculty that gave him truthfully the chances for and against, and, in this case, they were overwhalm- ingly unfavorable. Such hopes as he bhad been able to distill out of his desire was sadly dampened by an ever-present pre- monition of failure. which he could not entirely throw off. Too keen an insight for the truth often stands in a man's way, and too clear a view of an overwheiming obstacle is apt to paralyze effort. Hope must always be behind a hearty endeavor. Our_travelers were, of course, greatly in need of rest: so Mary went to her room, and Brandon took a berth in the cabin set avart for the gentlemen. They had both paid for their passage, although they had enlisted and were part of the ship's compan: They were not expected to do sailor's werk, but would be called upon in case of fighting to do their part at that. Mary was probably as good a fighter, in her own line, as one could find in a long journey, but how she was to do her part with sword and buckler Brandon did not know. That, however, was a bridge to be crossed when they should come to it. They had gone aboard about T o'cloek. and Brandon hoped the ship would be well down Bristol channel before ‘he should leave his berth. But the wind that ha filled Mary's jackboots with rain and ha Lowled so dismally all night long would not stir, now that it was wanted. Noon came, yet no wind, and the sun shone as placidly as if Captain Charles Brandon were not fuming with impatience on the poop of the Royal Hind. Three ocloek and no wind. The eaptain said it would come with night. but own W al- most at hand and no wind yet. Bran- don knew this meant fauure it it hewd a little longer for he was certain the King, with Wolsey's help, would long since have guessed the truth. Brandon had not seen the Princess since morning, and the delicacy he felt about going to her eabin made the situation somewhat difficult. After putting it o from hour to hour in hope that she would appear of her own accord, he at last knocked at her door and, of course, found the lady in trouble. The thought of the Princess going on deck caused a sinking at his heart every time it came. as he felt that it was ai- most impossible to conceal her identity. He had not seen her in her new male attire, for when she threw off her riding habit on meeting him the night before he had intentionally busied himself about the horses, and saw her only after the great cloak covered her as a gown. He feit that however well her garments might conceal her form. no man on earth ever had such beauty in his face as her transcendent eyes, rose-tinted cheeks and coral lips. with their cluster of dimples: and his heart sunk at the prospect. She might hold out for a while with a straight face but when the smiles should come— it were just as well to hang a placard about her neck: ‘“This is a woman.” The telitale dimples would be worse than Jane for outspoken, untimely truthfuiness and trouble-provoking candor. Upon entering. Brandon found Mary wrestling with the problem of her com- plicated male attire; the most beautiful picture of puzzled distress imaginable. The port was open and showed her rosy as the morn when she looked up at him. The jackboots were in a corner. and her little feet seemed to put up a protest all their own against going into them that ouiht to have softened every . She looked up at Brandon with a half-i rted smile, and then threw her arms about his neck and sobbed like the child that she was. “Do you regret coming, Lady Mary?" asked Brandon, who, mow that she was alone with him, feit that he must take no advantage of the fact to be familiar. “No! no! not for one moment. I am glad—only too glad. But why do&m‘:’efl me ‘Lady? You used to call me X4 l"l don’t know; perhaps because you are alone.” “Ah, that is good of you: but you need not be quite so respectful.” The matter was settled by mute but satisfactory arbitration, and Brandon tinued: con- “You must make yourself readv It will be hard, but it He helped her with the heavy jackboots and handed her the rain-stained slouch hat, which she put on, and stood a com- plefe man ready for the deck—that is, as complete as could be evolved from her ut- ter femininity. When Brandon looked her over all hopa went out of him. It seemed that every change of dress only added to her be- witching beauty by showing it in a new phase. oy roee WL it a) Seamthe e ou. s a every- thing shows so unmistakably’ feminine® What shall we do? I have it; you shall remain here under the pretense of {llness until we are weil at sea, and then T will tell the captain all. It is too bad. and yet 1 would not have vou one Whit less a woman all the world. A man loves a woman who is so thoroughly womanly that nothing can hide it.” Mary was pleased at his fla . but fiad”thonght that surely. these 15 a ug! s would make a man of her in mm keenest eye could not detect a flaw. They were the matter when a knock came at the door with the cry, “All hu!\d"on 'dnk for Mm" Tn- eudutr‘:nlt n.:i‘x'mte. left her at once and went to the captain. “Concluded Next Weelk