The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, January 25, 1903, Page 4

THE SUNDAY CALL. knocked tha 1 grew proudly big with back to s and th Mary and one or us down to a little e would have it eady to join to- of wedlock little <0 appro e whole ther sct laugh ind an s. Mary absorbed a fairly times 1 could but ways soft in heart where wo- zy at- v while his in- for vault prejudice ke his er man done with termagant— rod of last passion flame of his n me, 1 I couple at it they res somewhat akir on she him so com hat for days 11d not have a glimpse of her, while s perhaps riding, w g or co- ting with some of the c t gallants, » ided and abetted her in way uld. He became almost frantic In of his elusive bride, and would 1 ate with her, when he could catch and emile uneasily, like a man who victim of a practical joke of which o see, or enjoy, the point. On h occasions she- would laugh in his then grow angry—which was so easy’ for her to do—and, I grieve to say, would sometimes almost swear at him in a man- ke the plous, though ofttimes ed, court ladles shudder with hor- ld at other times make o ness that it was indecorous him to behave so and frighten her, a timid little child, with his impetu- n she would manz and of cards with himse! in his own feeble way nature had a tincture of e soul of concilia- kindness to the ¥ g vixen, but at e would break violently into e him of cruelly mistreating s ‘woman and a stranger in threaten to go home to d and tell her brother 1l about it, and have him right and redress her In fact, she acted the innocence so perfectly man would apologize ngs she invented, and try to Thereupon 114 weep more bitterly than ever, erical and require to be carried wom when recovery and were usually instantaneous. Of e court gossips soon carried f these quick recoveries to the 4, when he spoke to Mary of ie ‘put on her injured air again turned the tables by upbraiding him ng such calumnies about her, a im and loved him I tell you it is a waste of time to fight agal that assumption of injured inno- - egnable feminine re- 2 the enemy once gets e might as well ralse nk it the most amusing, ccessful defense and k In the whole science of every woman has it at her fin- ready for immediate use upon Mary would often gout for days togeth- and pretend iliness. Upon one occasion ek the King walting at her door all while she, having slipped the window, was riding with e of the young people in the forest. she returned—through the window » the door and scolded the ng for keeping her walting P in her room all morning. And ogized. anged the dinner hour to noon in jance with the English custom, and vy supper at night, when she ke the King gorge himself with 1 food and coax him “to drink brother Henry,” which in in Louls de Valois finding ler the table. This amused e court, except a few old cronies yeicians, who, of course, were ized be measure. She . took on long rides with her on cold d would joit him almost to death, ze him wuntil the cold tears 2 his poor pinched mnose, like a half animated ici- he were one in fact. At night she would have her balls, and keep him till morning drinking and danc- - & to dance, with her. until r old heels his head, too, for were like to fall off; then she ip away from him and lock her- her room. December, say I, let she went enned would self in will kill you. I doubt not 1y up to May alone; she certainly Despite which sound advice December will go on coveting the end of the chapter: each old fellow— being such a fine man for his age, you understand—fondly pelieving himself an exception. Age in a nable. Mary was killing Louis as certainly and deliberately as if she were feeding him slow poison. He was very weak and de- cre t best, being compelled frequently upon public occasions, such, for example, as the coronation tournament of which I to lie upon a couch. v's conduct was really cruel; hut remember her provocation and that ting in self-defense. All this was ¢ er for her than you might sup- pose. for the King’s grasp of power, never was beginning to relax even le grip it had. All faces were toward the rising sun, young Duke of Angouleme, the King's istant cc . who would soon be king L ¥ As this young rising himself vastly smitten w 1 encouraged her in what the courtiers of course followed suit, 1 the old King found himself surround- ed by a court only too ready to be amused very str what turned Francis ace ely young Queen at his »n of afrairs Mary welcom- ole soul, and ‘to accent it ance, 1 fear, played ever coyly upon the heart- the young Duke, which re- too loudly to her velvet st frightened her to death This had Mary at ch the ed with her w nail 3 and d all and alm olume of sound later or uleme, the Dau fallen desperately in love with first sight, an effect against fact that he was married to Claude, daughter of Louis, in no way militated He was a very distant relative of Louis, going away back to St. Louis for his heirship to the French crown. The King had daughters in plenty, but as you know, the gal- lant Frenchmen say, according to. thelr Law Salic: “The realm of France is so and glorious a heritage that it may be taken by a woman." oo great and glorious to be taken by a woman, forsooth! France would uave been vastly better off had she been governed by & woman now and then, for a country al- wavs prospers under a queen. Francls had for many years lived at court as the recognized heir, and as the custom was, called his distant cousin “Uncle.” “Uncle” Louis in turn Francis “Ce Gros Garcon,” and Queen Mary called him “Monsieur, mon fils,”” in a mock-motherly manner 2t was very laughable. A mother of eighteen to a “good boy” of twenty-two! Dangerous relationship! And dangerous, indeed, it would have been for Mary, had she not been as pure apd true as she was willful and impetuous.” “Mon beau fils” allowed neither hise wife nor the respect he owed the King to stand in the way of bis very marked attention to the Queen. His position as heir, and his long res dence at court, almost as son to Loul gave him ample cpportunitles for press- ing his unseemly suit. He was the first to see Mary at the meeting place this side of Abbeville, and was the King’s repre- sentative on all occasions. “Beau fils” was quite a handsome fel- low, but thought himself vastly hand- somer than he was; and had some tal- ents. which he was likewise careful to es- timate at thelr full value, to say the least. He was quite well liked by women, and In turn considered himself {rresisti- ble. He was very impressionable to fem. inine charms, was at heart a libertine, and, as he grew older, became a debauche whose memory will taint France for cen- turies to come. Mary saw his weakness more clearly than his wickedness, being bligded to the latter by the vell of her own innocence. She laughed at and with him, and per- mitted herself a great deal of his com- pany; so much, in fact, that T grew a lit- tle jealous for Brandon's sake, and, if the truth must be told, for the first time began to have doubts of her. I serfously feared that when Louls should die, Bran- don might find much more dangerous rival in the new King, who, though mar- ried, would probably try to keep Mary at his court, even should he be driven to the extrema of divorcing Claude, as Claude's father had divorced Joan. 1 believed, in case Mary should volun- tarily prove false and remain in France, either as the wife or mistress of Francis, that Brandon would quietly but surely contrive some means to take her life, and 1 hoped he would. I spoke to my wife, Jane, about the Queen's conduct, and she finally admitted that she did not like it, so I, unable to remain stient any longer, determined to put Mary on her guard, and for that purpose spoke very freely to her on the subfect. Oh! you goose!” she sald laughingly. “He is almost as great a fool as Henry.” Then the tears came to her eyes, and halt angrily, half hysterically shaking, me by the arm she continued: “Do you not see that I would give this hand, or my eyes, almost my life, just to fall upon my face in front of Charles Brandon at this moment? Do you not know that a wo- man with a love in her heart such as I have for him is safe from every one and everything? That it is her sheet anchor, sure and fast? Have you not wit enough to know tha “Yes, I have,” I responded, for the time completely silenced. With her favorite tactics, she had, as usual, put me in the wrong, though I soon came again to the attack. “But he is so base that I grieve to ses you with him.” 1 suppose he is not very good,” she re- sponded, “but it seems to be the way of these people among whom I have fallen, and he cannot harm me.” “Oh! but he can. One does not go near smallpox, and there is a moral contagion quite as dangerous, If not so perceptible, and equally to be avoided. It must be a wonderfully healthy moral nature, pure and chaste to the core, that will be en- tirely contagion proof and safe from it.” She hung her head in thought, and then lifted her eyes appealingly to me. “Am I not that, Tell me! Tell me frankly; am I not? It is the one thing of good I have always striven for. I am =0 full of other faults that if T have not that there is no good in me.” Her eyes and voice were full of tears, and I knew in my heart that T stood before as pure a soul as ever came from the hand of “You are, your Majesty; never doubt,” I answered. “It is pre-eminently the one thing in womanhood to which all man- kind kne>ls.” And I fell upon my Knees and kissed her hand with a sense of rev- erence, faith and ftrust that has never left me from that day to this. As to my estimate of how Francis would act when Louis should die, you will see that I was right. Not long after this Lady Caskoden and 1 were given permission to return to Eng- land, and immediately prepared for our homeward journey. Ah! it was pretty to see Jane bustling about, making ready for our departure— superintending the packing of our boxes and also superintending me. That was her great task. I never was so thankful for riches as when they enabled me to allow Jane full sway among the Paris shops. But at last, all the fine things packed, and Mary having kissed us both mind you, both—we got our lit{le retinue together and out we went, through St. Denis, then ho! for dear old England. As we left, Mary placed In my hands a letter for Brandon, whose bulk was so reassuring that I knew'he had never been aut of her thoughts. I looked at the let- ter a moment and said, in all seriousnass: “Your Majesty, had 1 not better provide an extra box for it?" She gave a nervous little laugh, and the tears fllled her eyes, as she whispered buskily:, “I fancy there is one who will not think ft too large. Good-by: good by!” So we left Mary, fair, sweet gir queen, all alone among = those ‘terrible strangers; alone with.one little English malden, seven years of age—Anne Boleyn. CHAPTER XXI. LETTERS FROM A QUEEN. Upon our return to England I left Jane down In Suffolk with her uncle, Lord Bol- ingbroke, having determined never to per- mit her to come within sight of King Henry again, if 1 could prevent ft. then went up to London with the twofold purpose of seelng Brandon and resigning my place as master of the dance. When I presented myself to the King and told him of my marriage, he flew into a great passion because we had not asked his consent. One of his whims was that every one must ask his permission to do anything; to eat, or sleep, or say one's prayers; especlally to marry; if the lady was of a degree entitled to be a King's ward. Jane, fortunately, had no estate, the King's father having stolen {t from her when she was an Infant; =o all the King could do about our marriage was to grumble, which I let him do to his heart's content. “I wish also to thank your Majesty for the thousand kindnesses you have shown me,” I sald, “and, although it grieves me to the heart to separate from you, ecir- cumstances compel me to tender my resig- nation a&s your master of dance.” Upon this he was kind enough to express re- gret, and ask me to reconsider; but stood my ground firmly, and then and there ended my officlal relations with Henry Tudor forever. Upon taking imy leave of the King I sought for Brandon, whom I found com- fortably ensconced in our old quarters, he preferring them to much more pretentious gpartments offered him in another part of the palace. The King had given him some new furnishings for them, and as I was to remain a few days to attend to some mat- ters of business, he invited me to share his comfort with him, and I gladly did so. Those few days with Brandon were my farewell to {ndividuality. Thereafter I was to be so mysteriously intermingled with Jane that I was only a part—and a emall part at that I fear—of two. I did not, of course, regret the change, since it was the one thing in life T most longed for, yet the perfod was tinged with a faint sentiment of pathos at parting from the old life that had been so kind to me, andvwhich I was leaving forever. I say I did not regret it, and though I was leaving my old haunts and companions and friends so dear to me, I was finding them all again in Jane, who was friend as well as wife. Mary’s letter was in one of the boxes which had been delayed, and Jane was to forwarfi it to me when it should come. ‘When I told Brandon of it, I dwelt with emphasis upbn its bulk, and he, ot was delighted, and fmpatient to have it. ' and T had put the letter in the box, but there was something else which Mary had sent to him that I had carried with me. It was a sum of money sufficlent to pay the debt against his father's estates, and in addi- tion to buy some large tracts of land ad- joining. Brandon did not hesitate to ac- cept the money, and seemed glad that it had come from Mary, she, doubtless, being the only person from whom he would have taken it. One of Brandon's sisters had married a rich merchant at Ipswich, and another was soon to marry a Scotch gentleman. The brother would probably never marry, so Brandon would eventually have to take charge of the estates. In fact, he afterward lived there many years, and as Jane and I had purchased a little es- tate near by, which had been generously added to by Jane's uncle, we saw a great deal of him. But I am getting ahead of my story again. The d’Angouleme complication troubled me greatly, notwithstanding my faith in Mary, and although I had resolved to say nothing to Brandon about it, I soon told him plainly what I thought and feared. He replied with a low, contented little laugh. “Do not fear for Mary, I do not. That voung fellow is of different stuff, I know, than the old King, but I have all faith in her purity and abllity to take care of herself. Before she left she promised to be true to me, whatever befell, and I trust her entirely. I am not so unhappy by any means as one would expect. Am 1?7 And I was compelled to admit that he certainly was not. 80 it seems they had met. Jane and I suspected, but how Mary managed it I am sure I cannot tell; she beat the very deuce for having her own way, by haok or by crook. Then came the bulky letter, which Brandon pounced upon and eager- 1y devoured. I leave out most of the sen- timental passages, which, like efferves- cent wine, lost flavor quickly. She said— in part: “To Master Brandon: “Sir and Dear Friend, Greeting—After leaving thee, long time had I that mighty grief and dole within my heart that it ‘was like to break; for my separation from thes was so much harder to bear éven than I had taken thought of, and I also doubted me that I could live in Parls, as I did wish. Sleep rested not upon my weary eyes, and of a very deed could I neither eat nor drink, since food distasted me like a nausea, and wine did strangle in my throat. This lasted through my Journey hither, which I did prolong upon many pretexts, nearly tws months, but when T did at last rest mine eves for the first time upon this King Louis’ face, T well knew that I could rule him, and when I did arrive, and had adjusted my- self in this Paris, I found it so easy that my heart leaped for very joy. Beauty goeth so far with this inflammable people that easily do I rule them all, and truly doth a servile subject make a sharp, ca- priflous tyrant. Thereby the misfortuns which hath come upon us is of so much less evil, and is so like to be of such short duration, that T am almost happy— but for the lack of thee—and sometimes think that after ‘all it may verily be & blessing unseen. “This new, unexpected face upon our trouble hath so driven the old gnawing ache out of my heart that I love to be alone, and dream, open-eyed, of the time, of a surety not far off, when I shall be with thee. * * * It is ofttimes sore hard for me, who have never waited, to have : : =G —— — to walt, like a patient Griselda, which of a truth T am not, for this which I do so want; but I try to make myself content with the thought that full sure it will not be for long, and that when this te- dious time hath spent itself, we shall look back upon it as a very soul-school, and shall rather joy that we did not purchase our heaven too cheaply. “I said 1 find it easy to live here 1 wish, and did begiu to tell thee how it was, when 1 ran off into telling of how T long for thee; so 1 will try again. This Leuis, to begin with, {8 but the veriest shadow of a man_of whom thou needst have not one jealous thought. He is on a bed of sickness most of the time, of his own accord, and if, perchance, he be but fairly well a day or so, I do straightway malke him ill again tn one way or another, and, please God, hope to wear him out entirely ere long time. Of a deed, brother Henry was right; better had it been for Louls to have married a hu- man devil than me, for it maketh a very one out of me if mine eves but rest upon him_ and thou knoweth full well what kind of a devil I make—Brother Henry knoweth, at any rate. For all this do 1 grieve, but have no remedy, nor want one. I sometimes do almost compassion- ate the old King, but I cannot forbear, for he turneth my very blood to biting gall, and must e'en take the consequences of his own folly. Truly is he wild for love of me, this poor old man, and the more 1 hold him at a distance the more he fondly dotes. T do verily believe he would try to stand upon his foolish old head did I but insist. I sometimes have a thought to make him try it. He doeth enough that is senseless and absurd, in all consclence, as it is. At all this do the courtiers smile and laugh, and put me forward to other pranks; that fs, all but a few of the elders, who shake their heads, but dare do nothing else for fear of the Dauphin, who will soon be King, and who stands first in urging and abet- ting me. So it is easy for me to do what 1 wish, and above all to leave undone that which I wish not, for I do easily rule them all, as good Sir Edwin and dear Jane will verify. I have a ball every night, wherein I do make a decal of amuse- ment for every one by dancing La Volta with his Majesty until his heels, and his poor old head, too, are like to fall off. Others importune me for those dances, especlally the Dauphin, but I laugh and shake my head and say that I will dance with no one but the King, because he dances so well. This pleases his Majesty mightily, and maketh an opening for mo to avoid the touch of other men, for I am jealous of myself for thy sake and save and garner every little touch for thee. Sir Edwin will tell you I dance with no one else and surely never will. You remember well, I doubt not, when thou first did teach me this new dance. Ah! how delightful it was, and yet how at first it did frighten and an- ger me. Thou canst not know how my heart beat during all the time of that first dance. I thought, of a surety, it would burst: and then the wild thrill of frightened ecstasy that made my blood run like fire! I knew it must be wrong, for it was, in truth, too sweet a thing to be right. And then I grew angry at thee as the cause of my wrongdoing and scolded thee, and repented it, as usual. Truly didst ®hou conquer, not win me, Then afterward, withal it eo frightened me, how I longed to dance again, and could n no way stay myself from ask- ing. At times could I hardly wait till evening fell, and when upon occasion thou didst not come I was so angry I said I hated thee. What must thou have thought of me, so forward and bold! And that ftermoon! Ah, I-think of it every hour see and hear it all, and live it o'er o'er, as it sweeter grows with mem- ory’s ripening touch. Some moments there are that send their glad ripple down through life's stream to the verge of tha grave, and truly blest is one who can smile upon and kiss these memory waves, and draw from thence a bliss that never falls. But thou knowest full well my heart, and I need not tease thee with its outpourings. “There is yet another matter of which 1 wish to write in very earnestness. BSir Edwin spoke to me thereof, and what he sald hath given me serlous thought. I thank him for his words, of which he will tell thee in full if thou but impor- tune him thereto. It is this: The Dauphin, Francis d'Angouleme,_ hath fallen desper- ately fond of me andl is quite as fmpor- tunate and almost as foolish as the elder lover. This people, In this strange land of France, have, In sooth, some curious notions. For an example thereto, no one thinks to find anything unseeming in the Dauphin’s conduct by reason of his hav- ing already a wife, and more, that wife the Princess Claude, daughter to the King. 1 laugh at him and let him say what he will, for in truth 1 am powerless to pre- vent ft. Words cannot scar even a rose leaf, and will not harm me. Then by his help and example I am justified in the eyes of the court in that I so treat the King, which otherwise it were im- possible for me to do and ltve here. 8o, owever much I may loathe them, yet am I driven to tolerate his words, which T turn off with a laugh, making sure, thou mayest know, that it come to nothing more than words. And thus it fs, how- ever much I wish it not, that I do use him to help me treat the Klnf as T llke, and do then use the poor old King as my buckler against this Duke's too great famillarity. But my friend, when the King eomes to dle then will I have my fears of this young Francls d"Angouleme. He is desperate for me, and I know not to what length he might go. The King cannot live long, as the thread of his life is like rotten flax, and when he dles thou must come without delay, since I will be in deadly peril. I have a mes- senger walting at all hours ready to send to thee upon a moment's notice, and when he comes waste not a preclous instant; it may mean all to thee and me. I could write on and on forever, but it would be only to tell thee o’'er and o’er that m{ heart is full of thes to overflowing. thank thee that thou has never doubted me, and will see that thou hast hereafter only good cause for better faith, “MARY, Regina.” Regina!” That was all. Only & Queen! Surely no one could charge Brandon with possessing too modest tastes. It was, I think, during the second week in December that 1 gave this letter to Brandon, and about a fortnight later there came to him a messenger from ris, bringing another from Mary, as fol- ows: ‘‘Master Charles Brandon—Sir and Dear Friend, Greeting: I have but time to write that the King is 8o ll he cannot but dle ere morning. Thou knowest that which' I last wrote to thee, and in addition thereto 1 would say that, although I have, as thou likewise knowest, my brother’s per- mission to marry whom I wish, vet as I have his one consent it is safer that we act upon that rather than be so scrupu- lous as to ask for another. So it wers better that thou take me to wife upon the old one, rather than risk the neces- sity of hnvlng to do it without an; I say no more, but come with all the ? ed thou knowest. MAR It is needless to say that Brandon start- ed in haste for Paris. He left court for the ostensible purpose of paying me a vlsltau.nd came to Ipswich, whence we sailed. The French King was dead befor Mary's Teached Tondon, and when we d at Paris Francls I reigned on the throne his father-in- law. I had guessed only too accurately. As soon as the restraint of the old King’s presence, light as_it had been, was re- moved the youns King opened his attack upon Mary in dreadful earnest. He beg- ged’ l:nd plelde;i and &wocu his love, which was surely manifest enough, and within three days after the old King's death offered to divorce Claude and make Mary his Queen, When she refused this flattering offer his surprise was genuine. “Do you know what you refuse?” he asked in a temper. “I offer to make you my wife—Queen of fifteen millions of the greatest subjects on earth—and are you such a fool as to refuse a gift like that, and a man like me for a husband?” “That I am, your Majesty, and with a good grace. I am Queen of France with- out your help, and care not so much as one penny for the honor. It is greater to be a Princess of England. As for this love you avow, I would make so bold as to suggest that you have a good, true wife to whom you would do well to give it all. To me it is nothing, even were you a thousand times the King you are. My heart is angother's, and 1 have my brother's permission to marry him.” ‘‘Another God’s_soul! Tell me who this fellow that 1 may split him on my sword.” “No! no! you would not; even were you as vallant and grand as you think your- , vou would be but a child in his ncis was furious, and had Mary's apartments guarded to prevent her es cape, swearing he would have his way. As soon as Brandon arrived in Paris we took private lodgings, and well it was that we did. I at once went out to re- connoiter, and found the widowed Queen a prisoner in the old Palace des Tour- nelles. With the help of Queen Claude 1 secretly obtalned an interview, and learned the true state of affairs. Hal Brandon been recognized and his mission known in Parls he would certain- Iy have bLeen assassinated by order of When 1 saw the whole situation, with Mary nothing less than a prisoner in the palace, I was ready to give up without a struggle, but not so Mary. Her brain was worth having, 8o fertile was it in expe- dients, and while I was ready to despair she was only getting herself in good fight- ing order. After Mary’'s refusal of Franels, and after he had learned that the sacrifice of Claude would not help him, he grew desperate and determined to keep the English girl in his court at any price and by any means. So he hit upon the scheme of marrying her to his weak-minded cous- in, the ‘Count of Savoy. To that end he ent a hurried embassy to Henry VIII, of- fering, in case of the Savoy marrlage, to pay back Mary's dower of four hundred nd crowns. He offered to help v in the matter of the imperial crown in case of Maximillan's death—a help much greater than any King Louls could have given. He also offered to confirm Henry in all his French possessions and to relinquish all claims of his own thereto —all as the price of ome 15-year-old girl. Do you wonder she had an exalted esti- mate of her own value? As to Henry, it of course need not be id that half the gr(ce offered would ave bought him to break an oath made upon the true crgss itseif. THe promise he had made to Mary, broken in intent before it was given, stood not for one instant in the way of the French King’s wishes; and Henry, with a promptitude begotten of greed, was as hasty in send- ing an embassy to accept the offer as Francis had been to make it. It mat- tered not to him what new torture he put upon his sister; the price, I belleve, was sufficient to have induced him to cut off her head with his own hands. If Francis and Henry were quick in their movements, Mary was quicker. Her plan was made in the twinkiing of an eye. Immediately upon seeing me at the palace she sent for Queen Claude, with whom she had become fast friends, and told her all she knew. Ehe did not know of the scheme for the Savoy marriage, though Queen Claude did, and fully ex- plained it to Mary. Naturally enough, Claude would be glad to get Mary as far away from France and her husband as possible, and was only to willing to lend a helping hand to our purpose, or Mary’s, rather, for she was the leader, We quickly agreed among ourselves lh?t Mary and Queen Claude should within an hour go dut in Claude’s new coach for the ostensible Pur 0se of hearing mass. Brandon and re to go to_the same little chapel in which Jane and I had been married_where Mary sald the little priest could administer the sacrament of mar- riage and perform the ceremony as well as if he were thrice as large. 1 hurriedly found Brandon and repaired to the little chapel, where we walted for a very long time, we thought. At last the two Queens entered as_if to make their devotions. As soon as Brandon and Mary caught sight of each other Queen Claude and I began to examine the shrines_and decipher the Latin inscrip- tions. If these two had not married soon they would have been the death of me. I was compelled at length to remind them that time was very precious just at that juncture, whereupon Mary, who was half laughing, half crying, lifted her hands to her hair 'and let it fall in all its lustrous wealth down over her shoulders. When Brandon saw this he fell upon his knee and kissed the hem of her gown, and she, stooping over him, raised him to his feet and placed her hand in his. Thus Mary was married to the man to save whose life she had four months be- fore married the French King. She and Queen Claude h: forgotten nothing, and all arrangements wers com- pleted for the flight. A messenger had cen dispalched two hours befors with an order from Queen Claude that a ship should be walting at Dieppe, ready to sall immediately upon our arrival. After the ceremony ude quickly bound up Mary's halr, and the Queens departed from the chapel in their coach. We_soon followed, meeting them again at St. Denis gate, whers we found the best of horses and four sturdy men awalt- ing us. The messenger to Dieppe who had preceded us would arrangs for re- lays, and as Mary, according to her wont when she had another to rely upon, had taken the opportunity to become thor- oughly frightened, no {ime was lost. We made these forty leagues in less than twenty-four hours from the time of start- ing, having paused only for a short rest at a little town near Rouen, which city we carefully passed around. We had iittle fear of being overtaken at the rate we were riding, but Mary she supposed the wind would die down for a month immediately upon our ar- rival at Diepps. Fortunately no one pur- sued us, thanks to Queen Claude, who had spread the report that Mary was ill, and turtunnlelr also, much to Mary’'s sur- rise and delight, when we arrived at ieppe as fair a wind as a sallor's heart could wish was blowing right u? the channel. It was a part of the system of relays—horses, ship and wind. “When the very wind blows for our es- peclal use we ma: -urell dismiss fear,” saild Mary, laughing an c!n{plng her hands, but nearly ready for , not- withstanding. The ship was a fine new one, well fitted to breast any sea, and learning this we at once agreed that upon landing in Eng- land Mary and I should go to London and win over the King if possible. We felt some confidence in being able to do this, as we counted upon Wolsey's help, but in case of fallure we still had our plans. Brandon was to take the ship to a certain island off the Suffolk coast and there await us the period of a year if need be as Mary might, in case of Henry's obstinacy, be detalned; then re- victual and an the ship and out through the North Sea for their former baven, New Spain. In case of Henry's consent, how they were to live in a style fit for a Princess Brandon did not know, unless Henry should open his heart agd provide for them—a doubtful contingency upon which they did not base much hope. At a pinch they might go down into Suffolk and live next to_Jane and me on Brandon’'s es- tates. To this Mary readily agreed, and sald it was what she wanted above all elge. There was ons thing now in faver of the King's acquiescence; during the last three months_Brandon had become very necessary to his amusement, and amuse- ment was his greatest need and aim in life. Mary and I went down to London to see the King, having landed at Southamp- ton for the purpose of throwing off the scent any one who might seek the ship. The King was delighted to see his sister, and kissed her over and over again. Mary had as bard a game to play as “turned to ever fell to the lot of wo was equal to the emerge an ever was. She did the slightest hint that she knew of the Count of Savoy episode, b ly assumed that ourse her had meant literally what he made the promise as marriage. The King soon_asked: you doing here? They ha Louifs as yet, have they? “I am sure I do not know,” answered Mary, “‘and 1 certainly care less. I ried him only during his life, and n one moment afterward, so I c and left them to bury him or as they choose; I care not which.” “But when Mary rupted him, saying: el you I had taken gooc e ghould be present we four—the King. myself—quietly stepped cove awav from the to listen to Mary with all her dramat inine persuasiveness. noble Ins posals—in: of force 1 the offer to divorce C Queen, which proposit its attractions for Henr imprisonment In the Pala and of her deadly peril nities, and the I telling. Then her arms around slonate flood of tears and be protect her—to save her! save } her! his little sister. it was all such perfect acting that the time I forgot it was great lump swelled up in my throat was, however, only for the instant when Mary, whose-face was hidden all the others on Henry's breast slyly at me from the midst of h and sobs I burst into a laugh th like to have spoiled eve turned quickly upon me cover it by pretending bing. Wolsey helped me out by a corner of his gown to his eyes, w v, seeing us all so affected to catch the fever and swell with indig- nation. He put Mary away from him, and striding up and down the room ex- claimed, in a volce that all could g The dog! the dog! to treat my sister so. My sister! My father's daughter! My sister! The first Princess of England and Queen of France for his mistress! By every god that ever breathed, I'll c tise this scurvy cur until he howls again 1 swear it by my crow if it cost me my kingdom,” and so on until w failed him. But see how he kept h and see how he and Francis hobn not long afterward at the Fi Cloth of Gold. Henry came back to Mary and began to question her, when she repeated the story for him. 'Then it was she told of my timely arrival, and how, in order to escape and protect herself from Fr: 1 she had been compelled to marry Br: and flee with us. She -sald: “So I wanted to come home to England and be married where my dear brother could give me away, but [ was in such mortal dread of Francis, and there was no other means of escape, =0 ‘God's death! If I had but one other sister like you I swea¥ before heaven I'd bave myself hanged. Married to Bran- don? Fool! idiot! what do you mean? Married to Brandon! Jesu! You'll drive me mad! Just one other like you In En land and the whole damned kingdom might sink; I'd have none of it. Mar- ried to Brandon without my consen ““No! no! brother,” answered Mary soft- ly, leaning affectionately against his bulky form; “do you suppose T would do that? Now don’t be unkind to me when I have been away from you so long! You gave your consent four months ago. Do you not remember? You know I would never have 4 “Yes, I kno not do any- thing—you did not want; and it seems equally certain that in the end you always manage to do everything you do want. Hell and furfes! “Why, brother, I will leave it to my Lord Bl-hvt of York if you did not prom. ise me that day, in this. very room and almost on this very spot, that if I would marry Louls of France I might marry whomsoever I wished when he should die. Of course you knew, after what I had sald, whom I should choose, so I went to a little church in company with Queen Claude and took my hair down and mar- ried him, and I am his wife, and no power on earth can make it otherwise,” and she looked up into his face with flant little pout, as much as to say, * what are you going to do about it?" Henr{ looked at her in rise and then urst out laughing. Brandon with your hair down?* And he roared again, holding his sides. “Well, ou do beat the devil; there’s no deny- ing that. Poor old Louls! That was a good joke on him. I'll stake m{ crown he was glad to dle. You kept it warm enough for him, I make ne doubt.” “Well,” sald Mary, with a littls shrug of her shoulders, “he would marry me,” ‘“Yes, and now poor Brandon doesn't know the trouble ahead of him, either. He has my pity. by Jove!” “‘Oh, that is different,” returned s and her °Y" burned softly, and her whols person falrly radiated, so ressive was she of the fact that “it was different.” Different? Yes, as light from darkness; as love from loathing; as heaven from the other place; Brandon from Louls, and that tells it all. Henry turned to Wolsey: “Have you £ypr heard anything equal to it, my Lord- ship? y Lord Bishop, of course, never had; nothing that even approached it. “IWhat are ws to do about it#* contin- ued Henry, still addressing Wolsey, The Bishop assumed a thoughtful ex- pression, as if to appear deliberate in mo great a matter, and said: “I see but one thing_that can be done’” and he threw in a few soft. ofly words upon the trou- bled waters that made Mary wish she kad never called him “thou butcher’s cur, and Henry, after a pause, asked: “Whers is Brandon? He is od fellow, after 1, and what we can't help we must en- dure. He'll ind punishment enough fin you. Tell him to come homa—I suppose you have him hid around some place— and we'll try to dg something for him." ““What will you do for him, brother sald er{, not wanting to bive the King's friendly impulse time to weaken. “‘Oh, don't bother about that now,"” but she held him fast by the hand and would not let go. “Well, what do you want? Out with it, "1 -uppo:'eml hml‘h: as well give up easily; you ave it sooner or later. OUt with it and be done. “'Could you make him Duke of Suffolk " “Eh? Y suppose so. What say you, my L%rd kot Yor"i'u ork was ng—thought it would b just the thing. o ) “So be it then,” sald Henry. *“Now I am going out to hunt and wiil not listen to another word. You will coax me out of my kingdom for that fellow yet.” Hes was about to leave the room. when he Mary, saying: “By the way. sister, can you 'have Brandon hers by Sunday next? I am to have a joust.” Mary thought she could—and the great event was accomplished. One false word, one false syllabls, one false tone would have spoiled it all, had not Mary—but I fear you are weary with hearing so much of Mary. So after all, Mnrg though a Queen, came portionless to Hrandon. He got the title, ut never received the estates of Suffolk; all he received with her was the money I carried to him from Franca. Nevertheless, Brandon thought himself the richest man in_ all the earth, and surely he was one of the happlest. ' Such a woman as Mary is dangerous, except in a state of complete subjection—hut <he was bound hand and foot in the silken meshes of her own weaving, and nar pow- er for bliss making was almost infinite. And now it was, as all who read may know, that this fair, sweet, wiliful Mary dropped out of history; a sure token that her heart was her husband's throne: Ler soul his empire; her every wish his sub- ject, and her will, so masterful with oth. ers, th: meek 1Anld :’owl&' servant of her strong but gentle lord and master, Ch; Brandon, Duke, of Sutolk. gy THE END., he to t “But ve hard inter- at sloquence and 1d of th