The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, January 25, 1903, Page 3

you down his throat; and by your own story have led a good man to the block. Quite & budget of evils for one woman to open. But I bave noticed that the trouble & woman can make is in propor- tion to her beauty, and no wonder my little sister has made s0 much disturb- ance. It is strange, though, that he thould se affect you. Master Wolsey, surely there has been witchery here. He must have used it abundantly to cast such & spell over my sister.” Then turn- ing to the Princess: “Was it at any time possible for him to have given you a love powder, or did he ever make any signs or passes over you?” “Oh, no! nothing of that sort! I never ate or drank anything which he could possibly have touched. And as to signs and passes, I know he never made any. Sir Edwin, you were always present when I was with him until after we left for Bristol; @id you ever see anything of the sort I answered ‘No,” and the went on: “Be- sides, I do not belleve much in signs and passes. No one can affect others un- less he can induce them to eat or drink something in which he has placed a love powder or potion. Then again, Master BErandon 4id not want me to love him, and surely would not have used such & method to gain what he could have had freely without it.” I noticed that Henry's mind had wan- dered from what Mary was saving, and that his eyes were fixed up thoughtful, half" vicious, inqu that I did not like. I wondered what was coming next but my curl than satisfied when the King asked: Caskoden was present at all your inter- views?” Ah! Holy Mother! I knew what was coming now and actually began to shrivel with fright. The King continued: *I sup- pose he helped you to escape?”’ I thought my day had come, but Mary’s wit was equal to the occasion. With an expression on her face of the most dove- e quickly sald: e knew any- thing of it. We were d they might divulge.” Shade of Sapphira! A lie is & pretty good thing, too, now and then, and the man who says that word of Mary's was not a blessed lle must fight me with lance, battle ax, word and dagger till one or the other of us bites the dust in death, be he great or small. “] am glad to learn that you knew nothing of 1t,” said Henry, addressing me. And I was glad, too, for him to learn it, you may be sure. Then epoke Wolsey: *If your Majesty will permit, I would say that I quite sgree with you; there has been witchery here—witchery qf the most potent kind; the witchery of lustrous eyes, of falr skin and rosy lips; the witch of =il that is sweet and intoxicating womanhood, but Master Brandon has been the vic- tim of this potent epell, not the user of it. One look upon your sister standing there, end I know your Majesty will agree that Brandon had no chance against her.” “Perhaps you are right’” returned Henry. Then spoke Mary, all unconscious of her girlish egotism: *“Of course he had not. Master Brandon could not help it.” Which u nd all doubt. lips wore a smile, as he plucked the King by the sleeve and took him over to he window, out of our hearing. Mary began to weep and show, signs of increasing agitation. After a rhort whispered conversation, the King and Wolsey came back, and the former sald: “Sister, If T promise to give Brandon his life, will you consent decent- d like a good girl to marry Louls of y almost screamed, “Yes, yes; glad- I will do anything you ask.” and fell terically embracing his her feet he kissed her, s: be =pared, my swe his Henry felt that he derf ving: “His life sister.” After d done a won- Iy gracious act and was the kindest ted Prince in all ( stendom. Two m Kings and isters of State had at last but they had to strike ur love—the vulnerable n every woman. I'led Mary away through a ing called for De h the Interrupted game was resumed Wolsey und to the King and our Majesty's seal been a friend to but as usual he r his friendliness. te of the French ng the fact he not, having no reto by the French Brandon in time of need had value received He was an ardent advo marriage, notwithsta had told Mary he was doubt been bribed th: King. The good Bishop had, with the help of De Longue secretly sent Mary's min- re to the French court in order that if by accident, fall into the s of Louils, and that worthy's little, , shriveled heart began to flutter, just #s if there could be kindled In it a gen- is had sent to De Longueville, who was then in England, for confirmation of Mary’s beauty, and De Longueville grew #0 eloquent on the theme that his French Majesty at once authorized negotiations. As reports came in Louis grew mors and more impatient. This did not, Kow- ever, stand in the way of his driving a bard bargain in the matter of dowry, for “The Father of the People” had the char- acteristics of his race, and was intensely practical as well as inflammable. They never lose sight of the dot—but I do not find fault. Louis little knew what thorns this love- 1y rose had underneath her velvet leaves 2nd what a veritable tartar she would be, linked to the man she did not love; or he would have given Henry four hun- d@red thousand crowns to keep her at home. CHAPTER XIX. PROSERPINA. Bo the value recelved for Wolsey's friendship to Brandon was Mary’s prom- ise to marry Louis. Mary wanted to send & message at once to Brandon, telling him his Yfe would be spared, and that she had made no delay this time—a fact of which she was very proud—but the tower gates would not open till morning, so she had to wait. She compensated herself as well as she couid by writing a letter, which I should like to give you here, but it is too long. She told him of his pardon, but not one word upon the theme he so wished yet feared to hear ef—her promise never to wed any other man Mary had not told him of her final surrender in the matter of the French merriage for the reason that she dreaded to pain him and feared he might refuse the sacrifice. “It will almost kill him, I know,” she said to Jane that night, “and I fear it is & false kindness I do him. He would, probably, rather dle than that I should marry another; I know that I should rath- er die, or have anything else terrible to happen, than for another woman to pos- sess him. He promised me he never would; but suppose he should fail in his word, as I have to-day failed in mine. The thought of it absolutely burns me.” And she threw herself into Jane's arms, and that little comforter tried to soothe her by making light of her fears. “Oh! but suppose he should?” “Well, there is no need to borrow trouble. You sald he prcmised you, a you know he is one who keeps his wor “But I promised, too, and think of what I am about to do. Mary in heaven, help me! But he i{s made of different stuff from me. I can and do trust his word, and when I think of all my troubles, and when it seems that I cannot bear them, the one comforting thought comes that no other woman will ever possess him; no other woman; no other woman. I am glad that my only comfert comes from him.” “I hoped that I might have been some comfort to you; I have trled hard enough,” said Jane, who was jealous. “‘Oh! yes! my sweet Jane; you do comfort me; you are like a soothing balm to an aching pain,” and she kissed the hands that held hers. This was all that modest little Jane required. She was con- tent to be an humble balm and did not aspire to the dignity of an elixir. The girls then said their prayers in con- cert and Mary gently wept herself to sleep. She lay dreaming and tossing ner- vously until sunrise, when she got up and added more pages to her letter, until I called to take it. 1 was on hand soon after the Tower gates had opened and was permitted to see Brandon at once. He read Mary’s let- ter and acted like every other lover, since love-letters first began. He was quick to note the absence of the longed- for, but not expected, assurance, and when he did not See it went stralght to the point. “She has promised to marry the ch King to purchase my life. Is that not true?” “I hope not,” I answered, evasively; *I have seen very little of her, and she has said nothing about it.” “You are evading my question, I see. Do you know nothing of 1t?" hing,” I replied, telllng an unneo- 1 “Caskoden, you are either a lar or a blockhead.” “Make it a liar, Brandon,” sald I, laughingly, for I was sure of my place in his heart and knew that he meant no offense. I never doubt a friend; one would better be trustful of ninety-nine friends who are false than doubtful of one who is true. Suspicion and supersensitiveness are at onde the badge and the bane of a lit- tle soul. I did not lgave the Tower until noon, end Brandon's pardon had been delivered to him before I left. He was glad that the first news of it had come from Mary. He naturally expected his liberty at once, and when told that he was to be honorably detained - for a short time, turned to me and sald: “I suppose they are afraid to let me out until she is off fos France, King Henry flatters me.” 1 looked out of the window up Tower street and #aid nothing. When I left I took a letter to Mary, which plainly told her he had divined it all, and she wrote a tear-stained answer, begging him to forgive her for having saved his life at a cost greater than her own. For several days I was kept busy car- rying letters from Greenwich to the Tow- er and back again, but soon letters ccased to satisfy Mary, and she made up her mind that she must see him. Nothing else would do. She must not, could not, and, in short, would not go another day without seeing him; no, not another hour. Jane and I opposed her all we could, but the best we could accomplish was to in- duce her for Brandon's sakce—for she was beginning to see that he was the one who had to suffer for her indiscretions—to ask Henry's permission, and if he re- fused, then to try some other way. To determine was to act with ,Mary, so off she went without delay to hunt the King, taking Jane and me along as escort. How full we were of important business as we scurried along the corridors, one on each side of Mary, all talking excitedly at once. When anything was to be done, it always required three of us to do it. We found the King, and without any prelude, Mary proffered her request. Of course it was refused. Mary pouted and was getting ready for an outburst, when Wolsey spoke up: “With your Majesty’s gracious permission T would subscribe to the petition of the Princess. She has been good enough to give her promise in the matter of so much importaice to us, and in so small a thing as this I hope y may see your way clear toward fa her. The interview will be the la may help to make her duty easier.” gave the Cardinal a fleeting glance from her lustrous eyes full of surprise and gratitude, and as speaking as a book. Henry looked from one to the other of us for a moment, and broke into a bols- terous laugh: “Oh, I don’t care, so that you keep it a secret. The old King will never know. We can hurry up the marriage. He 1s getting too much adready; four hundred thousand crowns and a girl like you; he cannot complain if he have an heir. It would be a good joke on the miserly old dotard, but better on ‘Ce Gros Garcon.' " Mary sprang from her chair with a ery “You brute! Do you think 1 am I have the misfor- tune to be your sister, or that Charles Brandon is like you simply because he is a man?’ Henry laughed, his health at that time being too good for him to be fil- natured. He had all he wanted out of his sister, so her outbursts amused him. Mary hurriedly left the King and walked back to her room filled with shame and rage; feelings ‘actively stimulated by Jane, who was equally indignant. Henry had noticed Jane's frown, but had laughed at her, and had tried to catch and kiss her as she left; but she struggled away from him and fled with a speed worthy of the cause. This insulting suggestion put a stop to Mary's visit to the Tower more effectu- elly than any refusal could have done, and she sat down to pour forth her soul's indignation in a letter. She remained at home then, but saw Brandon later, and to good purpose, as I believe, although I am not sure about it, even to this day. I took this letter to Brandon, along with Mary’s minlature—the one that had been SUNDAY CALL. painted for Charles of Germany, but had never been given—and a curl of her hair, and it looked as if this was all he would ever possess of her. De Longueville heard of Henry's brutal consent that Mary might see Brandon, and, with a Frenchman's bellef in wo- man's depravity, was exceedingly anxious to keep them apart. To this end he re- quested that a member of his own retinue be placed near Brandon. To this Henry readily consented, and there was end to even the letter-writing. Opportunities in- crease In value doubly fast as they drift behind us, and now that the Princess could not see Brandon, or even write to him, she regretted with her whole soul that she had not gone to the Tower when she had permission, regardless of what any one would say or think. Mary was imperious and impatient, by gature, but upon rare and urgent occa- slona could employ the very smoothest sort of finesse. Her promise to marry Louls of France had been given under the stress of a frantic fear for Brandon, and without the slightest mental reservation, for it was given to save his life, as she would have given her hahds or her eyes, her life or her very soul itself; but now that the im- minent danger was passed she began to revolve schemes to evade her promise and save Brandon motwithstanding. She knew that under the present arrangement his life depended upon her marriage, but she had never lost faith in her ability to han- dle the King if she had but a little time in which to operate, and had secretly re- gretted that she had not, in place of flight, opened up her campaign along the line of feminine diplomacy at the very beginning. Henry was a dullard mentally, while Mary’s mind was keen-and alert—two facts of which the girl was perfectly aware—so it was no wonder she had such confidence in herself. When she first heard of Brandon's sentence her fear for him was so great, and the need for action 80 urgent, that she could not resort to her usual methods for turning matters her way, but eagerly applied the first and quickest remedy offered. Now, however, that she had a breathing spell, and time in which to operate her more slowly moving, but, as she thought, equally sure forces of cajolery and persuasion, she de- termined to marshal the legions of her wit and carry war into the enemy's coun= try at once. Henry's brutal selfiskpess in forcing upon her the French marriage, together with his cruel condemnaticn of Brandon, and his vile insinuations against herself, had driven nearly every spark of affec- tion for her brother from her heart. But she felt that she might feign an affec- tion she did not feel, and that what she g0 wanted would be cheap at that price. Cheap? It would be cheap at the cost of her immortal soul. Ckeap? What she wanted was life's condensed sweets—the man she loved: and what she wanted to escape was life's distilled bitterress— marriage with the man she loathed. None but a pure woman can know the torture of that. I saw this whole disastrous cam- paign from start to finish. Mary began with a wide flank movement conducted under masked batteries and skillfully ex- ecuted. She sighed over her troubles and cried a great deal, but told the King he had been such a dear. gnd brother to her that she would gladly do anything to please him and advance his -interests. She said it would be torture to live with that old creature, King Louls, but she would do it willingly to help her hand- gome brother, no matter how much she might suffer. The King laughed and sald: “Poor old Louis! What about him? What about his suffering? He thirks he is making such a fine bargain, but the Lord pity him when'\he' has my little sister in his side for a thorn. He hal better employ some eneggetic soul to prick him with Ineedles and bodkins, for I think there is more power for disturbance in this little body than in any other equal amount of space In all the universe. You will fur- nish him all the trouble he wants, won't you, sister?” “I shall try,” sald the Princess, demure- ly, perfectly willing to obey in every- thing. “Devil a doubt of that, and you will sucgeed, too, or my crown's a stew-pan,” and he laughed at the huge joke he was about to perpetrate on his poor old royal brother. It would seem that the tremendous dose of flattery administered by Mary would have been so plainly self-interested as to alarm the dullest perception, but Henry's vanity was so dense, and his appetite for flattery so great, that he accepted it all without suspicion, and it made him quite affable and gracious. Mary kept up her show of affection and docile obedience for a week or two until she thought Henry's suspicions were al- layed; and then, after having done enough petting and fondling, as she thought, to start the earth itself a-mov- ing—as some men are foolish enough to say it really coes—she began her attack direct of putting her arms around the King's neck, and piteously begging him not sacrifice her whole life by sending her to France. 8 Her _ pathetic, soul-charged ® appeal might softened the heart of Caligula himself; but Henry was not even cruel. He was simply an animal so absorbed in himself that he could not feel for others. “Oh! it is out at last,”” he sald with a laugh. “I thought all this sweetness must have been for something. So the lady wants her Brandon and doesn’t want her Louls, vet is willing to obey her dear, kind brother? Well, we'll take her at her word and let her obey. You may as well understand, once and for all, that you are to go to France. You promised to g5 de- cently If 1 would not cut off that fellow’s head, and now I tell you that if I hear another whimper from you, off it comes, and you will go to France, too.” This brought Mary to terms quickly enough. It touched her one vulnerable spot—her love. J . “I will go; I promise it again. You shall never hear another word of com- plaint from me if you give me your royal word that no harm shall come to him— to him,” and she put her hands over her +face to conceal her tears as she softly wept., “THe day you sall for France Brandon shall go free and shall again have his old post at court. I like the fellow as a good companion, and really believe you are more to blame than he.” “I am all to blame, and am ready this day to pay the penalty. I am at your disposal to go when and where you choose,” answered Mary most patheti- cally. Poor, fair Proserpina, with no kind mother Demeter to help her. . The ground will soon be open, and Pluto will have his bride. That evening Cavendish took me aside and said his master, Wolsey, wished to speak to me pgivately at a convenlent op- portunity. So, when the Bishop left his card table, an hour later. I threw myself in hiz way. He spoke gayly to me, and we walked down the corridor arm in arm. I could not imagine what was wanted, but presently it came out: *My dear Casko- den”; had I been one for whom he could have had any use I should have grown suspicious. “My dear Caskoden, I know 1 can trust you; especlally when that which I have to say is for the happiness of your friends. ,I am sure you will never name me in connection with the sugges- tion 1 am about to make, and will use fhe thought only as your own.” I did not know what was coming, but gave him the strongest assurance of my trustworthiness. “It is this: Louls of France is little bet- ter than a dead man. King Henry, per- haps, is not fully aware of this, and, if he is, he has never considered the proba- bility of his speedy death. The thought occurred to me that although the Princess cannot dissuade her brother from this marriage she may be able, in view of her ready and cheerful compliance, to extract some virtue out of her sore necessity and induce him to promise that, In case of the death of Louis, she herself, shall choose her second husband.” “My lord,” I replied, quickly grasping the point: “It s small wonder you rule this land. You bhave both brain and heart.” “I thank you. Sir Edwin, and hope that both may always be at the service of Yyou and your friends.” 1 gave the suggestion to Mary as my own, recommending that she proffer her request to the King in the presence of ‘Wolsey,.and, although she had little faith or hope, she determined to try. Within a day or two an opportunity of- fered, and she said to Henry: “I am ready to go to/France any time you wish, and shall do it decently and willingly; but if 1 do so much for you, brother, you might at least promise me that when King Louis is dead I way marry whomsoever 1 wish. JHe will probably live forever, but let “me have at least that hope to give me what cheer it may while I suf- fer.”. The ever-present Wolsey, who was standing near and heard Mary’s petition, Interposed: “Let me add my prayer to that of her Highness. We must give her ber own way in something.” Mary was such a complete picture of wretchedness that I thought at the time she had really found a tender spot in Henry's: heart, for he gave the promise. Since then I have learned, as you will shortly, that it was given simply to paci- fy the girl, and without any intention whatever of being kept; but that, in clse of the death of King Louls, Henry In- tended again to use his sister to his own advantage, To be a beautiful princess is not to en- joy the bliss some people imagine. The earth is apt to open at any time, and Pluto to snateh her away to—the Lord knows where. Mary again poured out her soul on pa- per—a libation intended for Brandon. I had made a dozen attempts, in as many different ways, to deliver her letters, but every effort was a failure, and this mis- sive met the fate of the others. De Longueville kept close Wwatch on his mas- ter’s rival, and complained to Henry about these attempts -at communication. Henry laughed and sald he would see that they were stopped, but pald no more attention to the matter. If Mary, before her interview with Hen- ry, had béen averse to the French mar- riage. she was now equally anxious to hurry it on, and longed to go upon the rack in order that Brandon might be free. He, of coufse, objected as strenuously as possible to the purchase of his life by her marriage to Louis, but his better judgment told him—in fact, had told him from the first—that she would be com- pelled to marry the French king, and common sense told him If it must be, she might as well save his life at the same time. Furthermore, he felt a certain sense of delight in owing his life to her. and knew that the fact that she had saved him—that her sacrifice had not all been in vain—would make it easier for her to bear. The most beautiful feature of the re- lations between these two lovers was their entire faith in each other. The way of their true love was at least not rough- ened by cobble-stones of doubt, however impassable it was from mountains of op- pressfon. My Inability to deliver Mary's letters did not deter her from writing them; and as she was to be married in a few days —De Longueville to act as proxy—she de- voted her entire time to her letters, and Wwrote pages upon pages, which she left with me to'be délivered ‘“‘dfter death,” as she called her marriage. At this time I was called away from court for a day or two and when I re- turned and called upon Brandon at the tower, T found him whistling and singing. apparently as happy as a lark. You heartless dog,” thought I, at first; but I soon found that he felt more than hap- piness—exaltation. “Have you seen her?” T asked. “Who?" As if there were more than one woman in all the world for him. The Princes: “Not since I left her at Bristol.” 1 believed then, and belleve now, that this was a pointblank falsehood—a very unusual thing for Brandon—but for some reason probably necessary in this case, There was an expression in his face which I could not interpret, but he wrote, as if carglessly scribbling on a scrap of paper that lay upon the table, the words, “Be careful,” and I took the hint—we were watched. There is an unpleasant sensation when one feels that he is watch- ed by unseen eyes, and after talking for awhile on common topics I left and took a boat for Greenwich. When I arrived at the palace and saw Mary, what was my surprise to find her as bright and jubilant as I had left Bran- don. She, too, laughed and sang, and was so happy that she lighted the whole room. What did it all mean? There was but one explanation; they had met, and there was some new plan on foot—with a fatal ending. The next failure would mean death to Brandon, as certainly as the sun rises in the east. What the plagp was I could not guess. With Brandon in the tower under guard both day and night, and Mary as closely guarded In the pal- ace, I could not see any way of escape for either of them, nor how they could possibly have come together. Brandon had told me, I supposed, for fear of being overheard, and Mary, al- though she had the opportunity, was equally non-communicative, so I re- course to Jane upon the first oceasion. She, by the way, was as blue and sad- faced as Mary was joyous. I asked her it the princess d Brandon had met, and she =adly sal T do not know. We went down t6 LoncCon yesterday, and as we returned stopped at Bridewell House, where we found the king and Wolsey. The princess left the room saying she would return In a few minutes, and then Wolsey went, leaving me alone with the king. Mary did not return for half an hour, and she may have seen Master Brandon during that time. I do not un- derstand how the meeting could have oc- curred, but that is the only time she has been away from me.” Here Jane deliber- ately put her head on my shoulder and began to weep piteously. “What is the trouble?’ I asked. She shook her head: “I cannot, dare not tell you.” - “Oh! but you must, you must,” and I insisted so emphatically that she at length sald “The kin “The king! God in heaven, Jane, tell me quickly.” I had noticed Henry of late casting glances at my beautiful little Jane, and had seen him try to kiss her a few days before, as I have told you. This annoyed me very much, but I thought little of it, as it was his habit to ogle every pretty face. When urged, Jane sald between sobs: *He tried to kiss me and to—mistreat me when Wol- sey left the room at Bridewell House. I may have been used to detain him, while Mary met Master Brandon, but if so, I am sure she knew nothing of it."” “And what did you do?” “I struggled away from him and snatched th.s dagger from my breast, telling him that if he took but one step toward me I would plunge it in my heart; and he said I was a fool.” “God keep you always a fool,” sald T, prayerfully. “How long has this been going on?” “A month or two; but I have always been able to run away from him. He has been growing more importunate of late. so 1 bought a dagger that very day and had it not one hour too soon.” With this she drew out a gleaming little weapon that flashed in the rays of the candle. This was trouble in earnest for me, and T showed it very plainly. Then Jane tim- idly. put her hand in mine, for the first time in her life, and murmured: “We will be married, Edwin, if you wish, before we return from France.” She was glad to fly to me to save herself from Henry, and I was glad even to be the lesser of two evile. As to whether my two friends met or not en that day at Bridewell I cannot say; but I think they did. They had in some way come to an understanding that lightened both tHeir hearts before Mary left for France, and this had been their only possible opportunity. Jame and I were always taken into their confidence on other occasions, but as to this meet- ing, if any there w we have never been told a word. My belief is that the meet- ing was contrived by Wolsey upon a sol- emn promise from Brandon and Mary never to reveal it, and if so, they have’ sacredly kept tRgir word. On the 13th of August, 1514, Mary Tudor, with her golden hair falling over her shoulders, was married at Greenwicn to Louis de Volis, De Longueville ‘acting as his French majesty’s fair, Proserpina! * * Note—Maidens only were married with" their bair down. It was “‘the sacred token of mald- enhood.” —Editor. CHAPTER XX. DOWN INTO FRANCE. 8o it came to pass that Mary was mar. rled unto Louis and went down Into France. [Again the editor takes the liberty of substituting Hall's quaint account of Mary's journey to France.] Then when all things were redy for the conueyaunce of this noble Ladye, the kyng her brother in the moneth of Au- guste, and the xV daye, with the quene his wife and his sayde sister and al the court came to Douer and there taryed, for the wwynde was troblous and the wether fowle, in so muche that shippe of the kynges called the Libeck of IXC. tonne was dryuen a shore before Sangate and there brase & of VI C. men scantely escaped {iiC and yet the most part of them were hu with the wrecke. When the wether was fayre, then al her ward- robe, stable, and riches was shipped, and such as were appoyncted to geue their at- tendaunce on her as the duke of Nor- folke, the Marques of Dorset, Bysshop of Durham, the Earle of Surrey, the lorde Delawar, sir Thomas Bulleyn and many other knights, Squyers, get'emen & ladies, al these went to shippe and the sayde lacye toge her leaue of the quene in the castell of Douer, and the king brought her to the sea syde, and kissed her, and vetoke her to GOD and the fortune of the see and to the gouernaunce of the French king her husband. Thus at the hower of foure of the clock In the morenynge thys fayrc ladye took her shippe with al her nohle campaignie: and when they had sayled a quarter of the see, .the wynde rose and seuered some of the shippes to Cayles, and some in Flaunders and her shippe with great difficultie to Bulleyn, and with great ieopardy at the enrying of the hauen, for the master ran the shippe hard on shore, but the botes were redy and receyued this noble ladye, and at the landyng Sir Christopher Garnysha stode in the water and toke her in his armes and so caryed her to land, where the Duke of Vandosme and a Cardynall with many estates receyued her, and her la- dies, and welcommed ali the noble men into the countrey, and so the quene and all her trayne came to Bulleyn and ther rested, and from thence she remoued by dyuerse lodgynges tyll she came all most within 1ii miles of Abuyle besyde the for- rest of Arders, and ther kynge Loyes vppon a greate courser met her, (which he so longe desired) but she toke her way righte on, not stopping to conurse. Then he returned to Abyle by a secret waye, & she was with greate triumphe, procession and pagiantes recevued into the toune of Abuyle the VIII day of October by the Dolphin, which receyued her with greate honor. She was appeareilled in cloth ofe siluer, her horse was trapped in golde smythes work very rychly. After her fol- jowed xxxvi ladies al ther palfrey trapped with crymsyn veluet, embrau- dered: after the folowed one charyott of cloth of tyssue, the seconde clothe of golde and the third Crymsyn veluet em- braudered with the kynges armes & hers, fuil of roses. After them folowed a greate nombre of archers and then wagons laden with their stuf. Greate was the riches in plate, iuels, money and hangynges that this ladye brought into France. The Moday geyng the day of Sayncte Denyce, the same kynge Loyes maried the lady Mary in the greate church of Abuyle, both apareled in goldesmythes woorke. After the masse was done ther was a greate banket and fest and the ladyes of England highly entretyned. The Tewesdaye beyng the x daye of Oc- tober all the Englishmen except a fewe that wer officers with the sayde quene were dischargec whiche was a greate sor- owe for theim, for some had serued her longe in the hope of preferment and some that had honest romes left them to serue her and now they wer ou* of seruice, which caused the to take thought in so rauch, some dyed by way returning, and some fell mad, but ther was no remedy. proxy. Poor, DSt e After the Engiish lordes had dome ther commission the French kynge wylled the to take no lenger payne & so gaue to thelm good rewardes and they toke ther leaue of the quene and returned. Then the Dolphyn of Fraunce called Fraunceys Duke of Vatoys, or Fraunceys @ Angouleme, caused a solempne lustes to be proclaymed, which shoulde be kept in Parys in the moneth of Noueber next en- suving, and while al these thinges were prepearyng, the Ladye Mary, the V. daye of Noueber, then beying Sondaye, was with greate solempnitee crowned Quee: of Fraunce in the monasterye of Saynct, Denyce, and the Lorde Dolphyn, who was young, but very toward, al the season held the crowune ouer her hed, because it was of greate walght, to her greu- aunce. Madame Mary took her time, since & more deliberate journey bride never made to waiting bridegroom. She was a study during this whole perlod—weeping and angry by turns. She, who had never known a moment’s {llness in all her days, took to her bed upon two occasions from sheer antipathetic nervousness, and would rest her head upon Jane's breast and cry out little, half-articulate prayers to God that she might not kill the man who was her husband, when they should meet. When we met the King about a league this side of Abbeville, and when Mary beheld him with the shadow of death upon his brow, she took hope, for she knew he would be putty In her hands, so manifestly weak was he, mentally and physically. As he came up she whipped her horse and rode by him at a gallop, sending me back with word that he must not be so ardent; that he frightened her, poor, timid little thing, so afrald of— nothing in the world This shocked the French courtiers, and one would think would have offended Loufs, but he sim- ply grinned from ear to ear, showing his yellow fangs, and sald whimperingly: “Oh, the game is worth the trouble. Tell her Majesty 1 walit at Abbevill The old King had ridden a horse to meet his bride in order that he might appear more gallantly before her, but a litter was waiting to take him back to Abbeville by shorter route, and they were married again in person. [Again a quotation from Hall is sub- ve the .vi daye of Noueber, ther de quene was receyued into the cytee of Parys after the order thar fol- oweth. her with oute Sayncte Denyce al in coates of goldsmythes woorke with shippes gvlt, and after them mett her al the prestes and religious ‘whiche were estemed to be JiiM. ‘rhe quene was in a chyre coured about (but not her over person) in white clothe of golde, the horses that drewe it couered in clothe of golde, on her hed a coronall. al of greate perles, her necke and brest full of Iuels, before her wents a-garde of Almaymes after ther fascionm, and after them al noblemen, as the Dol- phyn, the Duke of Burbon, Cardynalles, and a greate nomber of estates. Aboute her person rode the kynge's garde the whiche wer Scottes. On the morowe bega the lustes, and the quene stode so that al men might see her, and wonder at her beautie, and the kynge was feble and lay on a couche for weakenes. So Mary was twice married to Louls, and, although she was his Queen fast and sure enough, she was not his wife. You may say what you will, but I like a fighting woman: one with & touch of the savage in her when the occasion ‘arises; one who can fight' for what she ves as well as against what she hates. e usually loves as she fights—with all her heart. So Mary was crowned, and was now & Queen, hedged about by the tinseled d&i- vinity that hedgeth royalty. It secmed that she was climbing higher and higher all the time from Brandon, but in her heart every day brought her nearer to him. There was one thing that troubled her greatly, and all the time. Henry had given his wor® that Brandon should be liberated as soon as Mary had left the shores of England, but we had heard nothing of this matter, although we had received several letters from home. A doubt of her brother, in whom she had little faith at best made an ache at her héart, which seemed at times likely to break it—so she sald. , Onme night sie dreamed that she had witnessed Bran- don's execution; her brother standing by in excellent humor at the prank he was playing her, and it so worked upon, her waking hours that by evening she was fll. At last I received a letter from Bran- don—which had been delayed along the road—containing one for Mary. It told of his full pardon and restoration to fa- ver, greater even than béfore; and her joy was so sweet and quiet, and yet so softly delirious, that I tell you plainly it brought tears to my eyes and I could not hold them back. The marriage, when once determined upon, had not cast her down so deep as I had expected, and soon she grew to b quite cheerful and happy. This filled me with regret, for I thoughtof how Brandon must suffer, and felt that her heart was a poor, flimsy thing to take this trouble so lightly. I spoke to Jane about it, but she only laughed. “Mary is all right,” sald sh “do not fear. Matters will turn out bet- ter than you think, perhaps. You know she generally manages to have her own way in the end. “If you have any comfort to give, please give it, Jane. I feel most keenly for Brandon. heart-tled to such a wiilful, changeable creature as Mary.” “Sir Edward Caskoden, you need not take the trouble to speak to me at all un- less you can use language more respect- ful concerning my mistress. The Queen knows what she is about, but it appears that you cannot see it. I see it plainly enough, although no word has ever been spoken to me on the subject. As to Bran- don being tied to her, it seems to me she is tied to him, and that he holds the reins. He could drive her into the mouth of purgatory.” “Do’ you think so?™ “1 know it.” T remained in thought & moment or two and concluded that sl was right. In truth, the time had comse to me whea I believed that Jane, with her good sense and acute discernment, could not be wrong in anything, and I think so yet. So I took comfort on faith from her, and asked: “Do you remember what you sald should happen before we return to En land?” Jane hung her head. “I remember.” “Well?” She then put her hand In mine and murmured, “I am ready any time you wish."” Great heaven! I thought I should go out of my senses. She should have told me gradually. I had to do something to