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 KNIGHTHOOD 
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 FLOWER 
 
 X 5€ THEATRE 
 
 EDWIN CASKODEN
 
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 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 CAL1FC:-?NIA 
 SAN DIEGO 
 
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 Anna Pay as Mary Tudor. — Frontispiece.
 
 jt, jt THEATRE EDITION jt ^ 
 
 WHEN KNIGHTHOOD 
 WAS IN FLOWER 
 
 OR, THE LOVE STORY OF CHARLES BRANDON 
 AND MARY TUDOR, THE KING'S SISTER, AND 
 HAPPENING IN THE REIGN OF HIS AUGUST 
 MAJESTY KING HENRY THE EIGHTH : : : : 
 
 REWRITTEN AND RENDERED INTO MODERN ENGLISH 
 FROM SIR EDWIN CASKODEN'S MEMOIR 
 
 BY 
 
 EDWIN CASKODEN p^JLuJ ^ 
 
 {Charks Major) ^ 
 
 IFITH NUMEROUS SCENES 
 FROM THE PLAY 
 
 NEW YORK 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP 
 
 PUBLISHERS
 
 COPYRIGHT, EIGHTEEN HUNDRED NINETY-EIGHT, 
 NINETEEN HUNDRED ONE, AND NINETEEN HUN- 
 DRED SEVEN, BY THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
 
 'There Hved a Knight, when Knighthood was In flowV* 
 Who charmed alike the tilt-^ard and the bowV.*
 
 to (V^^ TKHite
 
 * ** Cloth of gold do not despise. 
 
 Though thou be match^ d with cloth offriZii 
 
 Cloth offrixe, be not too bold. 
 
 Though thou be mat cK d with cloth of gold.** 
 
 * Inscription on a label affixed to Brandon's lance under a picture of 
 Mary Tudor and Charles Brandon, at Strawberry Hill.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 The Caskodcns t 
 
 I The Duel 6 
 
 n How Brandon Came to Court 13 
 
 in The Princess Mary 23 
 
 IV Pi, Lesson in Dancingf 45 
 
 V Aji Honor and an Enemy 74 
 
 VI A. Rare Ride to "Windsor 89 
 
 Vn Love's Fierce Sweetness J 02 
 
 Vm The Trouble in Billingsgate "Ward J 28 
 
 DC P'lt Not Your Trust in Princesses ii6 
 
 X Justice, O King! 169
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 X: LotMS Xn a SuHof 182 
 
 Xn Atonement 202 
 
 Xm A Gtrrs Consent 2J3 
 
 XIV In the Siren Country 226 
 
 XV To Make a Man of Her 244 
 
 XVI A Hawking Party 256 
 
 XVII The Elopement 265 
 
 XVm To the Tower 289 
 
 XIX Proserpina 302 
 
 XX Down into France 320 
 
 XXI Letters from a Qtteea 537
 
 TObcn lkn(obtboo^ TlClae in flower
 
 mflben IktiiGbtboob 
 Xmias in jflowcr.... 
 
 Z^/?e Ca^Kpdens 
 
 WE Caskodens take great pride in our ancestry. 
 Some persons, I know, hold all that to be 
 totally un-Solomonlike and the height of 
 vanity, but they, usually, have no ancestors of whom 
 to be proud. The man who does not know who his 
 great-grandfather was, naturally enough would not 
 care what he was. The Caskodens have pride of 
 ancestry because they know both who and what. 
 
 Even admitting that it is vanity at all, it is an im- 
 personal sort of failing, which, like the excessive 
 love of country, leans virtueward ; for the man who 
 fears to disgrace his ancestors is certainly less likely 
 to disgrace himself. Of course there are a gieat 
 many excellent persons who can go no farther back 
 than father and mother, who, doubtless, eat and 
 drink and sleep as well, and love as happily, as if 
 they could trace an unbroken lineage clear back to 
 Adam or Noah, or somebody of that sort. Never- 
 theless, we Caskodens are proud of our ancestry, 
 and expect to remain so to the end of the chapter, 
 regardless of whom it pleases or displeases. 
 
 (I)
 
 2 tOhen Knighthood Wa^ in Flotver 
 
 We have a right to be proud, for there is an un- 
 broken male Hne from William the Conqueror down 
 to the present time. In this lineal list are fourteen 
 Barons — the title lapsed when Charles I fell — twelve 
 Knights of the Garter and forty-seven Knights of 
 the Bath ancv other orders. A Caskoden distin- 
 guished himself by gallant service under the Great 
 Norman and was given rich English lands and a fair 
 Saxon bride, albeit an unwilling one, as his reward. 
 With this fair, unwilling Saxon bride and her long 
 plait of yellow hair goes a very pretty, pathetic 
 story, which I may tell you at some future time if 
 you take kindly to this. A Caskoden was seneschal 
 to William Rufus, and sat at the rich, half barbaric 
 banquets in the first Great Hall. Still another was 
 one of the doughty barons who wrested from John 
 the Great Charter, England's declaration of inde- 
 pendence ; another was high in the councils of 
 Henry V. I have omitted one whom I should not 
 fail to mention : Adjodika Caskoden, who was a 
 member of the Dunce Parliament of Henry IV, so 
 called because there were no lawyers in it. 
 
 It is true that in the time of Edward IV a Casko- 
 den did stoop to trade, but it was trade of the most 
 dignified, honorable sort; he was a goldsmith, and 
 his guild, as you know, were the bankers and inter- 
 national clearance house for people, king and nobles. 
 Besides, it is stated on good authority that there was 
 a great scandal wherein the goldsmith's wife w&» 
 mixed up in an intrigue with the noble King Ea-
 
 The Ca^Koden^ 3 
 
 ward ; so we learn that even in trade the Caskodens 
 were of honorable position and basked in the smile 
 of their prince. As for myself, I am not one of those 
 who object so much to trade ; and I think it con- 
 temptible in a man to screw his nose all out of place 
 sneering at it, while enjoying every luxury of life 
 from its profits. 
 
 This goldsmith was shrewd enough to turn what 
 some persons might call his ill fortune, in one way, 
 into gain in another. He was one of those happily 
 constituted, thrifty philosophers who hold that even 
 misfortune should not be wasted, and that no evil 
 is so great but the alchemy of common sense can 
 transmute some part of it into good. So he coined the 
 smiles which the king shed upon his wife — he being 
 powerless to prevent, for Edward smiled where he 
 listed, and listed nearly everywhere — into nobles, 
 crowns and pounds sterling, and left a glorious for- 
 tune to his son and to his son's son, unto about the 
 fourth generation, which was a ripe old age for a 
 fortune, I think. How few of them live beyond the 
 second, and fewer still beyond the third ! It was 
 during the third generation of this fortune that the 
 events of the following history occurred. 
 
 Now, it has been the custom of the Caskodens for 
 centuries to keep a record of events, as they have 
 happened, both private and public. Some are in the 
 form of diaries and journals like those of Pepys 
 and Evelyn ; others in letters like the Pastons' ; 
 others again in verse and song like Chaucer's and
 
 4 tOhen K.nighihood Wa^ in Flotuer 
 
 the Water Poet's ; and still others in the more pre- 
 tentious form of memoir and chronicle. These 
 records we always have kept jealously within our 
 family, thinking it vulgar, like the Pastons, to sub- 
 mit our private affairs to public gaze. 
 
 There can, however, be no reason why those parts 
 treating solely of outside matters should be so care- 
 fully guarded, and I have determined to choose for 
 publication such portions as do not divulge family 
 secrets nor skeletons, and which really redound to 
 family honor. 
 
 For this occasion I have selected from the memoir 
 of my worthy ancestor and namesake, Sir Edwin 
 Caskoden — grandson of the goldsmith, and Master 
 of the Dance to Henry VIII — the story of Charles 
 Brandon and Mary Tudor, sister to the king. 
 
 This story is so well known to the student of Eng- 
 lish history that I fear its repetition will lack that 
 zest which attends the development of an unfore- 
 seen denouement. But it is of so great interest, and 
 is so full, in its sweet, fierce manifestation, of the 
 one thing insoluble by time. Love, that I will never- 
 theless rewrite it from old Sir Edwin's memoir. Not 
 so much as an historical narrative, although I fear a 
 little history will creep in, despite me, but simply as 
 a picture of that olden long ago, which, try as we 
 will to put aside the hazy, many-folded curtain of 
 time, still retains its shadowy lack of sharp detail, 
 toning down and mellowing the hard aspect of real 
 life — harder and more unromantic even than our
 
 The CasKfiden^ S 
 
 own — into the blending softness of an exquisite 
 mirage. 
 
 I might give you the exact words in which Sir 
 Edwin wrote, and shall now and then quote from 
 contemporaneous chronicles in the language of his 
 time, but should I so write at all, I fear the pleasure 
 of perusal would but poorly pay for the trouble, as 
 the English of the Bluff King is almost a foreign 
 tongue to us. I shall, therefore, with a few excep- 
 tions, give Sir Edwin's memoir in words, spelling 
 and idiom which his rollicking little old shade will 
 probably repudiate as none of his whatsoever. So, 
 if you happen to find sixteenth century thought hob- 
 nobbing in the same sentence with nineteenth cen- 
 tury English, be not disturbed; I did it. If the 
 little old fellow grows grandiloquent or garrulous 
 at times — he did that. If you find him growing 
 super-sentimental, remember that sentimentalism 
 was the life-breath of chivalry, just then approach- 
 ing its absurdest climax in the bombastic conscien- 
 tiousness of Bayard and the whole mental atmos- 
 phere laden with its pompous nonsense.
 
 CHATTB'R I 
 15 h9 IHre/ 
 
 IT sometimes happens, Sir Edwin says, that wTien a 
 woman will she won't, and when she won't she 
 will ; but usually in the end the adage holds good. 
 That sentence may not be luminous with meaning, 
 but I will give you an illustration. 
 
 I think it was in the spring of 1509, at any rate 
 soon after the death of the "Modern Solomon," as 
 Queen Catherine called her old father-in-law, the 
 late King Henry VII, that his august majesty Henry 
 VIII, "The Vndubitate Flower and very Heire of 
 both the sayd Linages," came to the throne of Eng- 
 land, and tendered me the honorable position of 
 Mas.ter of the Dance at his sumptuous court. 
 
 As to "worldly goods," as some of the new re- 
 ligionists call wealth, I was very comfortably off; 
 having inherited from my father, one of the coun- 
 selors of Henry VII, a very competent fortune in- 
 deed. How my worthy father contrived to save 
 from the greedy hand of that rich old miser so great 
 a fortune, I am sure I can not tell. He was the only 
 man of my knowledge who did it ; for the old king 
 had a reach as long as the kingdom, and, upon one 
 pretext or another, appropriated to himself every- 
 thing on which he could lay his hands. My father, 
 
 however, was himself pretty shrewd in money mat- 
 
 (6) ^
 
 The 'Duel f 
 
 ters, having inherited along with his fortune a rare 
 knack at keeping it. His father was a goldsmith in 
 the time of King Edward, and enjoyed the marked 
 favor of that puissant prince. 
 
 Being thus in a position of affluence, I cared noth- 
 ing for the fact that httle or no emolument went with 
 the office ; it was the honor which delighted me. Be- 
 sides, I was thereby an inmate of the king's palace, 
 and brought into intimate relations with the court, 
 and above all, with the finest ladies of the land 
 • — the best company a man can keep, since it enno- 
 bles his mind with better thoughts, purifies his 
 heart with cleaner motives, and makes him gentle 
 without detracting from his strength. It was an 
 office any lord of the kingdom might have been 
 proud to hold. 
 
 Now, some four or five years after my induction 
 into this honorable office, there came to court news 
 of a terrible duel fought down in Suffolk, out of 
 which only one of the four combatants had come 
 alive — two, rather, but one of them in a condition 
 worse than death. The first survivor was a son of 
 Sir William Brandon, and the second was a man 
 called Sir Adam Judson. The story went that 
 young Brandon and his elder brother, both just 
 home from the continental wars, had met Judson at 
 an Ipswich inn, where there had been considerable 
 gambling among them. Judson had won from the 
 brothers a large sum of money which they had 
 brought home ; for, notwithstanding their youth,
 
 8 XOhen Kjiighihood Wa^ in Flower 
 
 the elder being but twenty-six and the younger 
 about twenty-four years of age, they had gained 
 great honor and considerable profit in wars, espe- 
 cially the younger, whose name was Charles. 
 
 It is a little hard to fight for money and then to 
 lose it by a single spot upon the die, but such is the 
 fate of him who plays, and a philosopher will swal- 
 low his ill luck and take to fighting for more. The 
 Brandons could have done this easily enough, espe- 
 cially Charles, who was an offhand philosopher, 
 rather fond of a good-humored fight, had it not been 
 that in the course of play one evening the secret of 
 Judson's winning had been disclosed by a discovery 
 that he cheated. The Brandons waited until they 
 were sure, and then trouble began, which resulted 
 in a duel on the second morning following. 
 
 This Judson was a Scotch gentleman of whom 
 "Very little was known, except that he was counted 
 the most deadly and most cruel duelist of the time. 
 He was called the "Walking Death," and it is said 
 took pride in the appellation. He boasted that he had 
 fought eighty-seven duels, in which he had killed 
 seventy-five men, and it was considered certain death 
 to meet him. I got the story of the duel afterwards 
 from Brandon as I give it here. 
 
 John was the elder brother, and when the chal- 
 lenge came was entitled to fight first, — a birthright 
 out of which Charles tried in vain to talk him. The 
 brothers told their father. Sir William Brandon, and 
 at the appointed time father and sons repaired to the
 
 The Duel 9 
 
 place of meeting, where they found Judson and his 
 two seconds ready for the fight. 
 
 Sir WilHam was still a vigorous man, with few 
 equals in sword play, and the sons, especially the 
 younger, were better men and more skilful than 
 their father had ever been, yet they felt that this duel 
 meant certain death, so great was Judson's fame for 
 skill and cruelty. Notwithstanding they were so 
 handicapped with this feeling of impending evil, 
 they met their duty without a tremor ; for the motto 
 of their house was, "Malo Mori Qiiam Fedrai" 
 
 It was a misty morning in March. Brandon has 
 told me since, that when his elder brother took his 
 stand, it was at once manifest that he was Judson's 
 superior, both in strength and skill, but after a few 
 strokes the brother's blade bent double and broke 
 off short at the hilt when it should have gone home. 
 Thereupon, Judson, with a malignant smile of tri- 
 umph, deliberately selected his opponent's heart and 
 pierced it with his sword, giving the blade a twist 
 as he drew it out in order to cut and mutilate the 
 more. 
 
 In an instant Sir William's doublet was off, and he 
 was in his dead son's tracks, ready to avenge him or 
 to die. Again the thrust which should have killed 
 broke the sword, and the father died as the son had 
 died. 
 
 After this, came young Charles, exj)ecting, but, 
 so great was his strong heart, not one whit fearing, 
 to lie beside his dead father and brother. He kncA^
 
 10 X^hen K.ni^hthood Was in Ftotver 
 
 he was the superior of both in strength and skill, 
 and his knowledge of men and the noble art told 
 him they had each been the superior of Judson ; but 
 the fellow's hand seemed to be the hand of death. 
 An opening came through Judson's unskilful play, 
 which gave young Brandon an opportunity for a 
 thrust to kill, but his blade, like his father's and 
 brother's, bent double without penetrating. Unlike 
 the others, however, it did not break, and the thrust 
 revealed the fact that Judson's skill as a duelist lay 
 in a shirt of mail which it was useless to try to 
 pierce. Aware of this, Brandon knew that victory 
 was his, and that soon he would have avenged the 
 murders that had gone before. He saw that his ad- 
 versary was strong neither in wind nor arm, and had 
 not the skill to penetrate his guard in a week's try- 
 ing, so he determined to fight on the defensive until 
 Judson's strength should wane, and then kill him 
 when and how he chose. 
 
 After a time Judson began to breathe hard and 
 his thrusts to lack force. 
 
 "Boy, I would spare you," he said ; "I have killed 
 enough of your tribe ; put up your sword and call it 
 quits." 
 
 Young Brandon replied : "Stand your ground, you 
 coward ; you will be a dead man as soon as you grow 
 a little weaker ; if you try to run I will thrust you 
 through the neck as I would a cur. Listen how you 
 snort. I shall soon have you ; you are almost gone. 
 You would spare me, would you ? I could preach a
 
 The 'Duel ii 
 
 sermon or dance a hornpipe while I am kiUing you. 
 I will not break my sword against your coat of mail, 
 but will wait until you fall from weakness and 
 then. . . .Fight, you bloodhound !" 
 
 Judson was pale from exhaustion, and his breath 
 was coming in gasps as he tried to keep the merciless 
 sword from his throat. At last, by a dexterous twist 
 of his blade, Brandon sent Judson's sword flying 
 thirty feet away. The fellow started to run, but 
 turned and fell upon his knees to beg for life. Bran- 
 don's reply w^as a flashing circle of steel, and his 
 sword point cut lengthwise through Judson's eyes 
 and the bridge of his nose, leaving him sightless and 
 hideous for life. A revenge compared to which 
 death would hare been merciful. 
 
 The duel created a sensation throughout th« 
 kingdom, for although little was known as to who 
 Judson w^as, his fame as a duelist was as broad as the 
 land. He had been at court upon several occasions, 
 and, at one time, upon the king's birthday, had 
 fought in the royal lists. So the matter came in for 
 its share of consideration by king and courtiers, and 
 young Brandon became a person of interest. He be- 
 came still more so when some gentlemen who had 
 served with him in the continental wars told the 
 court of his daring and bravery, and related stories 
 of deeds at arms worthy of the best knight in 
 Christendom. 
 
 He had an uncle at the court. Sir Thomas Bran- 
 don, the king's Master of Horse, who thought it a
 
 12 XOhen Kjni^hthood Wa^ in Flo^aaer 
 
 good opportunity to put his nephew forward and let 
 him take his chance at winning royal favor. The 
 uncle broached the subject to the king, with favor- 
 able issue, and Charles Brandon, led by the hand of 
 fate, came to London Court, where that same fate 
 had in keeping for him events such as seldom fall to 
 the lot of man.
 
 CHATTEL II 
 
 Hotu "Brandon Came to Court 
 
 WHEN we learned that Brandon was coming 
 to court, every one believed he would soon 
 gain the king's favor. How much that 
 would amount to none could tell, as the king's favor- 
 ites were of many sorts and taken from all condi- 
 tions of men. There was Master Wolsey, a butcher's 
 son, whom he had first made almoner, then chief 
 counselor and Bishop of Lincoln, soon to be Bishop 
 of York, and Cardinal of the Holy Roman Church. 
 
 From the other extreme of life came young 
 Thomas, Lord Howard, heir to the Earl of Surrey, 
 and my Lord of Buckingham, premier peer of the 
 realm. Then sometimes would the king take a yeo- 
 man of the guard and make him his companion in 
 jousts and tournaments, solely because of his brawn 
 and bone. There were others whom he kept close 
 by him in the palace because of their wit and the 
 entertainment they furnished ; of which class was 
 I, and, I flatter myself, no mean member. 
 
 To begin with, being in no way dependent on the 
 king for money, I never drew a farthing from the 
 royal treasury. This, you may be sure, did me no 
 harm, for although the king sometimes delighted to 
 give, he always hated to pay. There were other 
 e^ood reasons, too, why I should be a favorite with 
 
 (13)
 
 14 t£}hen Kxiighihood Wa^ in Ftolufer 
 
 the king. Without meaning to be vain, I think I 
 may presume to say, with perfect truth, that my con- 
 versation and manners were far more pleasing and 
 pohshed than were usual at that day in England, 
 for I made it a point to spend several weeks each 
 year in the noble French capital, the home and cen- 
 ter of good-breeding and politeness. 
 
 My appointment as Master vf the Dance, I am 
 sure, was owing entirely to my manner. My brother, 
 the baron, who stood high with the king, was not 
 friendly toward me because my father had seen fit 
 to bequeath me so good a competency in place of 
 giving it all to the first-born and leaving me de- 
 pendent upon the tender mercies of an elder brother. 
 So I had no help from him nor from any one else. 
 I was quite small of stature and, therefore, unable to 
 compete, with lance and mace, with bulkier men ; 
 but I would bet with any man, of any size, on any 
 game, at any place and time, in any amount ; and, 
 if I do say it, who perhaps should not, I basked in 
 the light of many a fair smile which larger men had 
 sighed for in vain. 
 
 I did not know when Brandon first came to Lon- 
 don. We had all remained at Greenwich while the 
 king went up to Westminster to waste his time with 
 matters of state and quarrel with the Parliament, 
 then sitting, over the amount of certain subsidies. 
 
 Mary, the king's sister, then some eighteen or 
 nineteen years of age, a perfect bud, just blossom- 
 ing into a perfect flower, had gone over to Windsor
 
 Hotg} "Brandon Came 1o Court 15 
 
 on a visit to her elder sister, Margaret of Scotland, 
 and the palace was dull enough. Brandon, it seems, 
 had been presented to Henr}^ during this time, at 
 Westminster, and had, to some extent at least, be- 
 come a favorite before I met him. The first time 
 I saw him was at a joust given by the king at West- 
 minster, in celebration of the fact that he had coaxed 
 a good round subsidy out of Parliament. 
 
 The queen and her ladies had been invited over, 
 and it was known that Mary would be down fiom 
 \\'indsor and come home with the king and the court 
 to Greenwich when we should return. So we all 
 went over to Westminster the night before the 
 jousts, and were up bright and early next morning 
 to see all that was to be seen. 
 
 [Here the editor sees fit to substitute a descrip- 
 tion of this tournament taken from the quaint old 
 chronicler, Hall.] 
 
 The morow beyng after dynner, at tyme conuenenient, 
 the Quene with her Ladyes repaired to see the lustes, the 
 trompettes blewe vp, and in came many a noble man and 
 Gentlema, rychely appeareilcd, takynge vp thir horses, 
 after whome folowcd certayne lordes apparelled, they and 
 thir horses, in cloth of Golde and russet and tynsell; 
 Knyghtes in cloth of Golde, and russet Veluet. And a 
 grcaie nomber of Gentlemen on fote, in russet satyn and 
 yealow, and yomen in russet Damaske and yealow, all the 
 nether parte of cuery mans hosen Skarlct, and yealow 
 cappcs. 
 
 Then came the kynge vnder a Pauilion of golde, and 
 purpul Veluet embroudered, the compass of the Pauilion
 
 i6 tOhen Knighthood Wa4 in Flob^er 
 
 about, and valenced with a flat, gold beaten in wyre, with 
 an Imperiall croune in the top, of fyne Golde, his bases 
 and trapper of cloth of Golde, fretted with Damask Golde, 
 the trapper pedant to the tail. A crane and chafron of 
 stele, in the front of the chafro was a goodly plume set 
 full of musers or trimb^ing spangles of golde. After 
 folowed his three aydes, euery of them vnder a Pauilion of 
 Crymosyn Damaske & purple. The nomber of Gentlemen 
 and yomen a fote, apparelled in russet and yealow was 
 clxviii. Then next these Pauilions came xii chyldren of 
 honor, sitting euery one of them on a greate courser, 
 rychely trapped, and embroudered in seuerall deuises and 
 facions, where lacked neither brouderie nor goldsmythes 
 work, so that euery chyld and horse in deuice and faseion 
 was contrary to the other, which was goodly to beholde. 
 
 Then on the counter parte, entered a Straunger, fyrst on 
 horsebacke in a long robe of Russet satyne, like a recluse 
 or a religious, and his horse trapped in the same sewte, 
 without dromme or noyse of mynstrelsye, puttinge a byll 
 of peticion to the Queue, the effect whereof was, that if 
 it would please her to license hym to runne in her pres- 
 ence, he would do it gladly, and if not, then he would 
 departe as he came. After his request was graunted, then 
 he put off hys sayd habyte and was armed at all peces 
 with ryche bases & horse, also rychely trapped, and so did 
 runne his horse to the tylte end, where dieurs men on fote 
 apparelled in Russet satyn awaited on him. Thereupon the 
 Heraulds cryed an Oyez! and the grownd shoke with the 
 trompe of rushynge stedes. Wonder it were to write of 
 the dedes of Armes which that day toke place, where a 
 man might haue seen many a horse raysed on highe with 
 galop, turne and stoppe, maruaylous to behold. C.xiv 
 staves were broke and the kynge being lusty, he and the 
 straunger toke the prices. 
 
 When the queen had given the stranger per- 
 mission to run, and as he moved away, there was a 
 great clapping of hands and waving of trophies
 
 Hotu ^r^ndon Came to Court 17 
 
 among the ladies, for he was of such noble mien and 
 comely face as to attract the gaze of every one away 
 from even the glittering person of his majesty the 
 king. 
 
 His hair, worn in its natural length, fell in brown 
 curls back from his forehead almost to the shoulder, 
 a style just then new, even in France. His eyes were 
 a deep blue, and his complexion, though browned by 
 exposure, held a tinge of beauty which the sun could 
 not mar and a girl might envy. He wore neither 
 mustachio nor beard, as men now disfigure theii' 
 faces — since Francis I took a scar on his chin — and 
 his clear cut profile, dilating nostrils and mobile, 
 though firm-set mouth, gave pleasing assurance o^^ 
 tenderness, gentleness, daring and strength. 
 
 I was standing near the queen, who called to me: 
 "Who is the handsome stranger that so gracefully 
 jsked our license to run ?" 
 
 "I can not inform your majesty. I never saw him 
 until now. He is the goodliest knight I have ever 
 beheld." 
 
 "That he is," replied the queen; "and we should 
 like very much to know him. Should we not, 
 ladies ?" There was a chorus of assent from a dozen 
 voices, and I promised, after the running, to learn all 
 about him and report. 
 
 It was at this point the heralds cried their "Oyes,"* 
 and our conversation was at an end for the time. 
 
 As to height, the stranger was full six feet, with 
 ample evidence of muscle, though no great bulk.
 
 i8 tOhen Kjnighihood Wa^ in Flower 
 
 He was grace itself, and the king afterwards said 
 he had never seen such strength of arm and skill in 
 the use of the lance — a sure harbinger of favor, if 
 not of fortune, for the possessor. 
 
 After the jousting the Princess Mary asked me if 
 I could yet give her an account of the stranger ; and 
 as I could not, she went to the king. 
 
 I heard her inquire : 
 
 "Who was your companion, brother?" 
 
 "That is a secret, sister. You will find out soon 
 enough, and will be falling in love with him, no 
 doubt. I have always looked upon you as full of 
 trouble for me in that respect ; you will not so much 
 as glance at anyone I choose for you, but I suppose 
 would be ready enough with your smiles for some 
 one I should not want." 
 
 "Is the stranger one whom you would not want ?" 
 asked Mary, with a dimpling smile and a flash of her 
 brown eyes. 
 
 "He most certainly is," returned the king. 
 
 "Then I will fall in love with him at once. In 
 fact, I don't know but I have already." 
 
 "Oh, I have no doubt of that ; if I wanted him, he 
 might be Apollo himself and you would have none 
 of him." King Henry had been compelled to refuse 
 several very advantageous alliances because this 
 fair, coaxing, self-willed sister would not consent 
 to be a part of the moving consideration. 
 
 "But can you not tell me who he is, and what his 
 degree ?" went on Mary in a bantering tone.
 
 Hotgf 'Brandon Came to Court 19 
 
 "He has no degree ; he is a plain, untitled soldier, 
 not even a knight; that is, not an English knight. 
 I think he has a German or Spanish order of some 
 sort." 
 
 "Xot a duke ; not an earl ; not even a baron or 
 knight? Now he has become interesting." 
 
 "Yes, I supf)ose so; but don't bother me." 
 
 "Will he be at the dance and banquet to- 
 night ^" 
 
 "No! No! Now I must go; don't bother me, 
 I say." And the king moved away. 
 
 That night we had a grand banquet and dance at 
 Westminster, and the next day we all, excepting 
 Lady Mary, went back to Greenwich by boat, paying 
 a farthing a head for our fare. This was just after 
 the law fixing the boat fare, and the watermen were 
 a quarreling lot, you may be sure. One farthing 
 from Westminster to Greenwich ! Eight miles. No 
 wonder they were angry. 
 
 The next day I went back to London on an errand, 
 and over to Wolsey's house to borrow a book. While 
 there Master Cavendish, Wolsey's secretary, pre- 
 sented me to the handsome stranger, and he proved 
 to be no other than Charles Brandon, who had 
 fought the terrible duel down in Suffolk. I could 
 hardly believe that so mild-mannered and boyish a 
 person could have taken the leading part in such a 
 tragedy. But with all his gentleness there was an 
 underlying dash of cool daring which intimated 
 plainly enough that he was not all mildness.
 
 20 XOhen Kjntghihood Wajs in Flotver 
 
 We became friends at once, drawn together by 
 that subtle human quality which makes one nature 
 fit into another, resulting in friendship between men, 
 and love between men and women. We soon found 
 that we had many tastes in common, chief among 
 which was the strongest of all congenial bonds, the 
 love of books. In fact we had come to know each 
 other through our common love of reading, for he 
 also had gone to Master Cavendish, who had a fine 
 library, to borrow some volumes to take with him 
 down to Greenwich. 
 
 Brandon informed me he was to go to Greenwich 
 that day, so we determined to see a little of London, 
 which was new to him, and then take boat in time to 
 be at the palace before dark. 
 
 That evening, upon arriving at Greenwich, we 
 hunted up Brandon's uncle, the Master of Horse, 
 Jvho invited his nephew to stay with him for the 
 night. He refused, however, and accepted an in- 
 vitation to take a bed in my room. 
 
 The next day Brandon was installed as one of the 
 captains of the king's guard, under his uncle, but 
 with no particular duties, except such as should be 
 assigned him from time to time. He was offered a 
 good room on one of the lower floors, but asked, 
 instead, to be lodged in the attic next to me. So 
 we arranged that each had a room opening into a 
 third that served us alike for drawing-room and 
 armory. 
 
 Here we sat and talked, and now and then one
 
 a 
 c 
 
 
 
 c 
 
 CIS 
 
 s 
 
 - o 
 
 00 - 
 
 OJ 
 
 y. as
 
 Hotv "Brandon Came to Court 21 
 
 would read aloud some favorite passage, while the 
 other kept his own place with finger between the 
 leaves. Here we discussed everything from court 
 scandal to religion, and settled to our own satisfac- 
 tion, at least, many a great problem with which the 
 foolish world is still wrestling. 
 
 We told each other all our secrets, too, for all the 
 world like a pair of girls. Although Brandon had 
 seen so much of life, having fought on the continent 
 ever since he was a bov, and for all he was so much 
 a man of the world, yet had he as fresh and boyish a 
 heart as if he had just come from the clover fields 
 and daisies. He seemed almost diffident, but I soon 
 learned that his manner was but the cool gentleness 
 of strength. 
 
 Of what use, let me ask, is a friend unless you can 
 unload your heart upon him ? It matters not whether 
 the load be joy or sorrow ; if the former, the need 
 is all the greater, for joy has an expansive power, 
 as some persons say steam has, and must escape 
 from the heart upon some one else. 
 
 So Brandon told me of his hopes and aspirations, 
 chief among which was his desire to earn, and save, 
 enough money to pay the debt against his father's 
 estate, which he had turned over to his younger 
 brother and sisters. He, as the eldest, could have 
 taken it all, for his father had died without a will, 
 but he said there was not enough to divide, so he had 
 given it to them and hoped to leave it clear of debt ; 
 then f-»r New Spain, glory and fortune, conquest
 
 22 XOhen Kjai^hthood Wcm in Flower 
 
 and yellow gold. He had read of the voyages of the 
 great Columbus, the Cabots, and a host of others, 
 and the future was as rosy as a Cornish girl's cheek. 
 Fortune held up her lips to him, but — there's often a 
 sting in a kiss.
 
 CHATTE'R III 
 
 Uhe T^rince-fs Mary 
 
 NOW, at that time, Mary, the king's sister, was 
 just ripening into her greatest womanly per- 
 fection. Her skin was Hke velvet; a rich, 
 clear, rosy snow, with the hot young blood glowing 
 tlirough it like the faint red tinge we sometimes see 
 on the inner side of a white rose leaf. Her hair was 
 a very light brown, almost golden, and fluffy, soft, 
 and fine as a skein of Arras ©ilk. She was of me- 
 dium height, with a figure that Venus might have 
 envied. Her feet and hands were small, and ap- 
 parently made for the sole purpose of driving man- 
 kind distracted. In fact, that seemed to be the 
 paramount object in her creation, for she had the 
 world of men at her feet. Her greatest beauty was 
 her glowing dark brown eyes, which shone with an 
 ever-changing luster from beneath the shade of the 
 longest, blackest upcurving lashes erer seen. 
 
 Her voice was soft and full, and, except when 
 angry, which, alas, was not infrequent, had a low 
 and coaxing little note that made it irresistible ; she 
 was a most adroit coaxer, and knew her power full 
 well, although she did not always plead, having the 
 Tudor temper and preferring to command — when 
 she could. As before hinted, she had coaxed her 
 royal brother out of several proposed marriages for 
 
 (23)
 
 24 XOhen Kjni^hihood Wa^s in Flobtfer 
 
 her, which would have been greatly to his advan- 
 tage ; and if you had only known Henry Tudor, with 
 his vain, boisterous, stubborn violence, you could 
 form some idea of Mary's powers by that achieve- 
 ment alone. 
 
 Will Sommers, the fool, one day spread through 
 court an announcement that there would be a public 
 exhibition in the main hall of the palace that even- 
 ing, when the Princess Mary would perform the 
 somewhat alarming, but, in fact, harmless, operation 
 of wheedling the king out of his ears. This was just 
 after she had coaxed him to annul a marriage con- 
 tract which her father had made for her with 
 Charles of Germany, then heir to the greatest in- 
 heritance that ever fell to the lot of one man — Spain, 
 the Netherlands, Austria, and heaven only knows 
 what else. 
 
 She had been made love to by so many men, who 
 had lost their senses in the dazzling rays of her 
 thousand perfections — of whom, I am ashamed to 
 say, th-at I, for a time, had been insane enough to be 
 one — that love had grown to be a sort of joke with 
 her, and man, a poor, contemptible creature, made 
 to grovel at her feet. Not that she liked or encour- 
 aged it ; for, never having been moved herself, slie 
 held love and its sufferings in utter scorn. Man's 
 love was so cheap and plentiful that it had no value 
 in her eyes, and it looked as if she would lose the 
 best thing in life by having too much of it. 
 
 Such was the royal maid to whose tender mercies,
 
 The Trtnc€>r>r Mary 25 
 
 I now tell you frankly, my friend Brandon was soon 
 to be turned over. He, however, was a blade of very 
 different temper from any she had known ; and when 
 I first saw signs of a growing intimacy between 
 them I felt, from what little I had seen of Brandon, 
 that the tables were very likely to be turned upon 
 her ladyship. Then thought I, "God help her," for 
 in a nature like hers, charged with latent force, 
 strong and hot and fiery as the sun's stored rays, it 
 needed but a flash to make it patent, when damage 
 was sure to follow for somebody — probably Bran- 
 don. 
 
 Mary did not come home with us from West- 
 minster the morning after the joustings, as we had 
 expected, but followed some four or five days later, 
 and Brandon had fairly settled himself at court be- 
 fore her arrival. As neither his duties nor mine 
 were onerous, we had a great deal of time on our 
 hands, which we employed walking and riding, or 
 sitting in our common room reading and talking. 
 Of course, as with most young men, that very 
 attractive branch of natural history, woman, was a 
 favorite topic, and we accordingly discussed h i, 
 great deal ; that is, to tell the exact truth, / did. Al- 
 though Brandon had seen many an adventure during 
 his life on the continent, which would not do to write 
 down here, he was as little of a boaster as any man 
 I ever met, and, while I am in the truth-telling busi- 
 ness, I was as great a braggart of my inches as ever 
 drew the long-bow — in that line, I mean. Gods! I
 
 26 XOhen Kjii^hihood Wa^ in Ftoboer 
 
 flush up hot, even now, when I think of it. So I 
 talked a great deal and found myself infinitely 
 pleased with Brandon's conversational powers, 
 which were rare; being no less than the capacity 
 for saying nothing, and listening politely to an in- 
 finite deal of the same thing, in another form, 
 from me. 
 
 I remember that I told him I had known the Prin- 
 cess Mary from a time when she was twelve years 
 old, and how I had made a fool of myself about her. 
 I fear I tried to convey the impression that it was 
 her exalted rank only which made her look unfavor- 
 ably upon my passion, and suppressed the fact that 
 she had laughed at me good humoredly, and put me 
 off as she would have thrust a poodle from her lap. 
 Tlie truth is, she had always been kind and cour- 
 teous to me, and had admitted me to a degree of in- 
 timacy much greater than I deserved. This, partly 
 at least, grew out of the fact that I helped her along 
 the thorny path to knowledge; a road she traveled 
 at an eager gallop, for she dearly loved to learn — 
 from curiosity perhaps. 
 
 I am sure she held me in her light, gentle heart as 
 a dear friend, but while her heart was filled with this 
 mild warmth for me, mine began to burn with the 
 flame that discolors everything, and I saw her 
 friendliness in a very distorting light. She was 
 much kinder to me than to most men, but I did not 
 see that it was by reason of my absolute harmless- 
 ness; and, I suppose, because I was a vain fool, I
 
 The Trince^ss Mary V 
 
 gradually began to gather hope — which goes with 
 every vain man's love — and what is more, actually 
 climbed to the very apex of idiocy and declared my- 
 self. I well knew the infinite distance between us; 
 but like every other man who came within tlie circle 
 of this charming lodestone I lost my head, and, in 
 short, made a greater fool of myself than I naturally 
 was — which is saying a good deal for that time in 
 my life, God knows ! 
 
 I knew vaguely but did not fairly realize how 
 utterly beyond my reach in everj' way she was until 
 I opened the flood-gates of my passion — as I 
 thought it — and saw her smile, and try to check the 
 coming laugh. Then came a look of offended dig- 
 nity, followed by a quick softening glance. 
 
 "Leave me one friend, I pray you, Edwin. I 
 value you too highly to lose, and esteem you too 
 much to torment. Do not make of yourself one of 
 those fools who feel, or pretend to feel, I care not 
 which, such preference for me. You cannot know 
 in what contempt a woman holds a man who follows 
 her though she despises him. No man can beg a 
 woman's love; he must command it; do not join 
 their ranks, but let us be good friends. I will tell 
 you the plain truth ; it would be no different were we 
 both of the same degree ; even then I could not feel 
 toward you as you think you wish, but I can be your 
 friend, and will promise to be that always, if you 
 will promise never again to speak of this to me." 
 
 I promised solemnly and have always kept my
 
 26 tOhen K.nighihood Wa^s in Flotuer 
 
 word, as this true, gracious woman, so full of faults 
 and beauties, virtues and failings, has, ever since 
 that day and moment, kept hers. It seemed that my 
 love, or what I supposed was love, left my heart at 
 once, frozen in the cold glint of her eyes as she 
 smiled upon my first avowal; somewhat as disease 
 may leave the sickened body upon a great shock. 
 And in its place came the restful flame of a friend's 
 love, which so softly warms without burning. But 
 the burning ! There is nothing in life worth having 
 compared with it for all its pains and agonies. Is 
 there ? 
 
 "Now if you must love somebody," continued the 
 princess, "there is Lady Jane Bolingbroke, who is 
 beautiful and good, and admires you, and, I think, 
 
 could learn to " but here the lady in question 
 
 ran out from behind the draperies, where, I believe, 
 she had been listening to it all, and put her hand 
 over her mistress' mouth to silence her. 
 
 "Don't believe one word she says, Sir Edwin,** 
 cried Lady Jane ; "if you do I never will like you.'* 
 The emphasis on the "will" held out such involun- 
 tary promise in case I did not believe the princess, 
 that I at once protested total want of faith in a single 
 syllable she had said about her, and vowed that I 
 knew it could not be true ; that I dared not hope for 
 such happiness. 
 
 You see, I had begun to make love to Jane almost 
 before I was off my knees to Mary, and, therefore, 
 I had not been much hurt in Mary's case. T had
 
 The Vrinces^ Mary 29 
 
 suffered merely a touch of the general epidemic, not 
 tlie lingering, chronic disease that kills. 
 
 Then I knew that the best cure for the sting which 
 lies in a luckless love is to love elsewhere, and Jane, 
 as she stood there, so petite, so blushing and so fair, 
 struck me as quite the most pleasing antidote I could 
 possibly find, so I began at once to administer to 
 myself the delightful counter-irritant. It was a 
 happy thought for me ; one of those which come to 
 a man now and then, and for which he thanks his 
 wits in every hour of his after life. 
 
 But the winning of Jane was not so easy a matter 
 as my vanity had prompted me to think. I started 
 with a handicap, since Jane had heard my declara- 
 tion to Mar}', and I had to undo all that before I 
 could do anything else. Try the same thing your- 
 self with a spirited girl, naturally laughter-loving 
 and coy, if you think it a simple, easy undertaking. 
 I began to fear I should need another antidote long 
 before I heard her sweet soul-satisfying "yes." I do 
 not believe, however, I could have found in the 
 whole world an antidote to my love for Jane. You 
 see I tell you frankly that I won her, and conceal 
 nothing, so far as Jane and I are concerned, for the 
 purpose of holding you in suspense. I have started 
 out to tell you the history of two other persons — if I 
 can ever come to it — but find a continual tendency 
 on the part of my own story to intrude, for every 
 man is a very important personage to him-^elf. I 
 shall, however, try to keep it out.
 
 go to hen Kjni^hthood Wa>s in JTlobuet 
 
 In the course of my talk with Brandon I had, as 
 I have said, told him the story of Mary, with some 
 slight variations and coloring, or rather discolor- 
 ing, to make it appear a little less to my discredit 
 than the barefaced truth would have been. I told 
 him also about Jane ; and, I grieve and blush to say, 
 expressed a confidence in that direction I little felt. 
 
 It had been perhaps a year since my adventure 
 with Mary, and I had taken all that time trying to 
 convince Jane that I did not mean a word I had said 
 to her mistress, and that I was very earnest in every- 
 thing I said to her. But Jane's ears would have 
 heard just as much had they been the pair of beauti- 
 ful little shells they so much resembled. This 
 troubled me a great deal, and the best I could hope 
 was that she held me on probation. 
 
 On the evening of the day Mary came home to 
 Greenwich, Brandon asked : "Who and what on 
 earth is this wonderful Mary I hear so much about ? 
 They say she is coming home to-day, and the court 
 seems to have gone mad about it; I hear nothing 
 but 'Mary is coming! Mary is coming! Mary! 
 Mary !' from morning until night. They say Buck- 
 ingham is beside himself for love of her. He has a 
 wife at home, if I am right, and is old enough to 
 fce her father. Is he not ?" I assented ; and Brandon 
 continued: "A man who will make such a fool of 
 himself about a woman is woefully weak. The men 
 ©f the court must be poor creatures." 
 
 He had much to learn about the power of woman-
 
 The 'Prtnces^s Mary 31 
 
 hood. There is nothing on earth — but you know as 
 much about it as I do. 
 
 "Wait until you see her," I answered, "and you 
 will be one of them, also. I flatter you by giving 
 you one hour with her to be heels over head in love. 
 With an ordinary man it takes one-sixtieth of that 
 time ; so you see I pay a compliment to your strength 
 of mind." 
 
 "Nonsense!" broke in Brandon. "Do you think 
 I left all my wits down in Suffolk ? Why, man, she 
 is the sister of the king, and is sought by kings and 
 emperors. I might as well fall in love with a twink- 
 ling star. Then, besides, my heart is not on my 
 sleeve. You must think me a fool ; a poor, ener- 
 vated, simpering fool like — like — well, like one of 
 those nobles of England. Don't put me down with 
 them, Caskoden, if you would remain my friend." 
 
 We both laughed at this sort of talk, which was a 
 little in advance of the time, for a noble, though an 
 idiot, to the most of England was a noble still, God- 
 created and to be adored. 
 
 Another great bond of sympathy between Bran- 
 don and myself was a community of opinion con- 
 cerning certain theories as to the equality of men 
 and tolerance of religious thought. We believed 
 that these things would yet come, in spite of king- 
 craft and priestcraft, but wisely kept our pet theories 
 to ourselves ; that is, between ourselves. 
 
 Of what use is it to argue the equality of human 
 kind to a man who honestly thinks he is better than
 
 Z2 Xe^hen Kjiighihood Was in riotvet 
 
 any one else, or to one who really believes that some 
 one else is better than he; and why dispute about 
 the various ways of savinrj one's soul, when you are 
 not even sure you have a soul to save ? When I open 
 my mouth for public utterance, the king is the best 
 man in Christendom, and his premier peer of the 
 realm the next best. When the king is a Catholic I 
 go to Mass ; since, praised be the Lord, I have brains 
 enough not to let my head interfere witli the set 
 w^ays of a stone wall. 
 
 Now, when Mary returned the whole court re- 
 joiced, and I was anxious for Brandon to meet her 
 and that they should become friends. There would 
 be no trouble in bringing this meeting about, since, 
 as you know, I was upon terms of intimate friend- 
 ship with Mary, and was the avowed, and, as I 
 thought, at least hoped, all but accepted lover of her 
 first lady in waiting and dearest friend. Lady Jane 
 Bolingbroke. Brandon, it is true, was not noble; 
 not even an English knight, while I was both 
 knighted and noble ; but he was of as old a family 
 as England boasted, and near of kin to some of the 
 best blood of the land. The meeting came about 
 sooner than I expected, and was very near a 
 failure. It was on the second morning after Mary's 
 arrival at Greenwich. Brandon and I were walking 
 in the palace park when we met Jane, and I took the 
 opportunity to make these, my two best-loved 
 friends, acquainted. 
 
 "How do you do, Master Brandon?" said Lady
 
 The Yrince>s^ Mary 33 
 
 Jane, holding out her plump little hand, so white 
 and soft, and dear to me. "I have heard something 
 of you the last day or so from Sir Edwin, but had 
 begun to fear he was not going to give me the 
 pleasure of knowing you. I hope I may see you 
 often now, and that I may present you to my mis- 
 tress." 
 
 With this, her eyes, bright as overgrown dew- 
 drops, twinkled with a mischievous little smile, as 
 if to say : "Ah, another large handsome fellow to 
 make a fool of himself." 
 
 Brandon acquiesced in the wish she had made, 
 and, after the interchange of a few words, Jane said 
 her mistress was waiting at the other side of the 
 grounds, and that she must go. She then ran oft* 
 with a laugh and a courtesy, and was soon lost to 
 sight behind the shrubbery at the turning of the 
 walk. 
 
 In a short time we came to a summer house near 
 the marble boat-landing, where we found the queen 
 and some of her ladies awaiting the rest of their 
 party for a trip down the river, which had been 
 planned the day before. Brandon was known to 
 the queen and several of the ladies, although he had 
 not been formally presented at an audience. Many 
 of the king's friends enjoyed a considerable intimacy 
 with the whole court without ever receiving the pub- 
 lic stamp of recognition, socially, which goes with a 
 formal presentation. 
 
 The queen, se^'n^ us, sent me off to bring the
 
 34 XOhen Kjnighihood Wa>s in JTU te^er 
 
 king. After I had gone, she asked if ar,y one had 
 seen the Princess Mary, and Brandon told her Lady 
 Jane had said she was at the other side of the 
 grounds. Thereupon her majesty asked Brandon to 
 find the princess and to say that she was wanted. 
 
 Brandon started off and soon found a bevy of 
 girls sitting on some benches under a spreading 
 oak, weaving spring flowers. He had never seen 
 the princess, so could not positively know her. As 
 a matter of fact, he did know her, as soon as his 
 eyes rested on her, for she could not be mistaken 
 among a thousand — there was no one like her or 
 anything near it. Some stubborn spirit of opposi- 
 tion, however, prompted him to pretend ignorance. 
 All that he had heard of her wonderful power over 
 men, and the servile manner in which they fell 
 before her, had aroused in him a spirit of antag- 
 onism, and had begotten a kind of distaste before- 
 hand. He was wrong in this, because Mary was 
 not a coquette in any sense of the word, and did 
 absolutely nothing to attract men, except to be so 
 beautiful, sweet and winning that they could not 
 let her alone ; for all of which surely the prince of 
 fault-finders himself could in no way blame her. 
 
 She could not help that God had seen fit to make 
 her the fairest being on earth, and the responsi- 
 bility would have to lie where it belonged — with 
 God ; Mary would have none of it. Her attractive- 
 ness was not a matter of volition or intention on 
 her part. She was too young for deliberate snare-
 
 The 'Prince^^ Mary 35 
 
 setting — though it often begins very early in Wit-^ 
 and made no effort to attract men. Man's love was 
 too cheap a thing for her to strive for, and I am sure, 
 in her heart, she would infinitely have preferred to 
 live without it — that is, until the right one should 
 come. The right one is always on his way, and, 
 first or last, is sure to come to every woman — some- 
 times, alas ! too late — and when he comes, be it late 
 or early, she crowns him, even though he be a long- 
 eared ass. Blessed crown ! and thrice-blessed blind- 
 ness — else there were fewer coronations. 
 
 So Brandon stirred this antagonism and deter- 
 mined not to see her manifold perfections, which 
 he felt sure were exaggerated ; but to treat her as 
 he would the queen — who was black and leathery 
 enough to frighten a satyr — with all respect 
 due to her rank, but with his own opinion of her 
 nevertheless, safely stored away in the back of his 
 head. 
 
 Coming up to the group, Brandon took off his 
 hat, and, with a graceful little bow that let the curls 
 fall around his face, asked : "Have I the honor to 
 find the Princess Mary among these ladies?" 
 
 Mary, who I know you will at once say was 
 thoroughly spoiled, without turning her face toward 
 him, replied : 
 
 "Is the Princess Mary a person of so little conse- 
 quence about the court that she is not known to a 
 mighty captain of the guard?" 
 
 He wore his guardsman's doublet, and she knew
 
 36 tOhen K.ni^hthood Wa^ in Ftokoer 
 
 his rank by his uniform. She had not noticed his 
 face. 
 
 Quick as a flash came the answer : "I can not 
 say of what consequence the Princess Mary is about 
 the court ; it is not my place to determine such 
 matters. I am sure, however, she is not here, for 
 I doubt not she would have given a gentle answer 
 to a message from the queen. I shall continue my 
 search." With this, he turned to leave, and the 
 ladies, including Jane, who was there and saw it 
 all and told me of it, awaited the bolt they knew 
 would come, for they saw the lightning gathering in 
 Alary's eyes. 
 
 Mary sprang to her feet with an angry flush in 
 her face, exclaiming: "Insolent fellow, I am the 
 Princess Mary; if you have a message, deliver it 
 and be gone." You may be sure this sort of treat- 
 ment was such as the cool-headed, daring Brandon 
 would repay with usury ; so, turning upon his heel 
 and almost presenting his back to Mary, he spoke to 
 Lady Jane : 
 
 "Will your ladyship say to her highness that her 
 majesty, the queen, awaits her coming at the marble 
 landing?" 
 
 "No need to repeat the message, Jane," cried 
 Mary. "I have ears and can hear for myself." Then 
 turning to Brandon : "If your insolence will per- 
 mit you to receive a message from so insignificant 
 a person as the king's sister, I beg you to say to the 
 queen that I shall be with her presently."
 
 The 'Prtnce^'f Mary 37 
 
 He did not turn his face toward Mary, but bowed 
 again to Jane. 
 
 "May I ask your ladyship further to say for me 
 that if I liave been guilty of any discourtesy I 
 greatly regret it. My failure to recognize the Prin- 
 cess Mary grew out of my misfortune in never hav- 
 ing been allowed to bask in the light of her counte- 
 nance. I cannot believe the fault lies at my door, 
 and I hope for her own sake that her highness, on 
 second thought, will realize how ungentle and un- 
 kind some one else has been." And with a sweep- 
 ing courtesy he walked quickly down the path. 
 
 "The insolent wretch !" cried one. 
 
 "He ought to hold papers on the pillory," said 
 another. 
 
 "Nothing of the sort," broke in sensible, fearless 
 little Jane; "I think the Lady Mary was wrong. 
 He could not have known her by inspiration." 
 
 "Jane is right," exclaimed Mary, whose temper, 
 if short, was also short-lived, and whose kindly 
 heart always set her right if she but gave it a little 
 time. Her faults were rather those of education 
 than of nature. "Jane is right ; it was what I de- 
 serv'ed. I did not think when I spoke, and did not 
 really mean it as it sounded. He acted like a man, 
 and looked like one, too, when he defended himself. 
 I warrant the pope at Rome could not run over him 
 with impunity. For once I liave found a real live 
 man, full of manliness. I saw him in the lists at 
 Windsor a week ago, but the king said his name was
 
 38 XOhen K,nighthood Wa>s in Flower 
 
 a secret, and I could not learn it. He seemed to 
 know yoti, Jane. Who is he? Now tell us all you 
 know. The queen can wait." 
 
 And her majesty waited on a girl's curiosity. 
 
 I had told Jane all I knew about Brandon, so she 
 was prepared with full information, and gave it. 
 She told the princess who he was ; of his terrible 
 duel with Judson ; his bravery and adventures in the 
 wars; his generous gift to his brother and sisters, 
 and lastly, "Sir Edwin says he is the best-read man 
 in the court, and the bravest, truest heart in Chris- 
 tendom." 
 
 After Jane's account of Brandon, they all started 
 by a roundabout way for the marble landing. In 
 a few moments whom did they see, coming toward 
 them down the path, but Brandon, who had deliv- 
 ered his message and continued his walk. When 
 he saw whom he was about to meet, he quickly 
 turned in another direction. The Lady Mary had 
 seen him, however, and told Jane to run forward 
 and bring him to her. She soon overtoc^' him and 
 said : 
 
 "Master Brandon, the princess wishes to see you." 
 Then, maliciously : "You will suffer this time. I 
 assure you she is not used to such treatment. It 
 was glorious, though, to see you resent such an 
 affront. Men usually smirk and smile foolishly and 
 thank her when she smites them." 
 
 Brandon was disinclined to return. 
 
 "I am not in her highness's command," he ari'
 
 The T^rinces^ Mary 39 
 
 swered, "and do not care to go back for a reprimand 
 wlien I am in no way to blame." 
 
 "Oh, but you must come; perhaps she will not 
 scold this time," and she put her hand upon his 
 arm, and laughingly drew him along. Brandon, of 
 course, had to submit when led by so sweet a cap- 
 tor — anybody would. 5k) fresh, and fair, and lov- 
 able was Jane, that I am sure anything masculine 
 must have given w^ay. 
 
 Coming up to the princess and her ladies, who 
 were waiting, Jane said : "Lady Mary, let me pre- 
 sent Master Brandon, who, if he has offended in 
 any way, humbly sues for pardon." That was the 
 one thing Brandon had no notion on earth of doing, 
 but he let it go as Jane had put it, and this was his 
 reward : 
 
 "It is not Master Brandon who should sue for 
 pardon," responded the princess, "it is I who was 
 wrong. I blush for what I did and said. Forgive 
 me, sir, and let us start anew." At this she stepped 
 up to Brandon and offered him her hand, which he, 
 dropping to his knee, kissed most gallantly. 
 
 "Your highness, you can well afford to offend 
 when you have so sweet and gracious a talent for 
 making amends. 'A wrong acknowledged,' as some 
 one has said, 'becomes an obligation.' " He looked 
 straight into the girl's eyes as he said this, and his 
 gaze was altogether too strong for her, so the lashes 
 fell. She flushed and said with a smile that brought 
 ihe dimples :
 
 40 X£}hen Kjii^hrhood Was in P'lotifef 
 
 «i 
 
 *I thank you ; that is a real compliment." Then 
 laughingly: "Much better than extravagant com- 
 ments on one's skin, and eyes, and hair. We are 
 going to the queen at the marble landing. Will you 
 walk with us, sir?" And they strolled away to- 
 gether, while the other girls followed in a whisper- 
 ing, laughing group. 
 
 Was there ever so glorious a calm after such a 
 storm ? 
 
 "Then those mythological compliments," contin- 
 ued Mary, "don't you dislike them ?" 
 
 "I can't say that I have ever received many — none 
 that I recall," replied Brandon, with a perfectly 
 straight face, but with a smile trying its best to 
 break out. 
 
 "Oh ! you have not ? Well ! how would you like 
 to have somebody always telling you that Apollo 
 was humpbacked and misshapen compared with 
 you; that Endymion would have covered his face 
 had he but seen yours, and so on ?" 
 
 "I don't know, but I think I should like it — from 
 some persons," he replied, looking ever so innocent. 
 
 This savored of familiarity after so brief an ac- 
 quaintance, and caused the princess to glance up in 
 slight surprise; but only for the instant, for his 
 innocent look disarmed her. 
 
 "I have a mind to see," she returned, laughing 
 and throwing her head back, as she looked up at him 
 out of the corner of her lustrous eyes. "But I will 
 pay you a better compliment. I positively thank you
 
 The T^rince-t-r Mary 41 
 
 for the rebuke. I do many things like that, for 
 which I am always sorry. Oh ! you don't know 
 how difficult it is to be a good princess." And she 
 shook her head, with a gathering of little trouble- 
 wrinkles in her forehead, as much as to say, "There 
 is no getting away from it, though." Then she 
 breathed a soft little sigh of tribulation as they 
 walked on. 
 
 "I know it must be a task to be good when every- 
 body flatters even one's shortcomings," said Bran- 
 don, and then continued in a way that, I am free to 
 confess, was something priggish : "It is almost 
 impossible for us to see our own faults, even when 
 others are kind enough to point them out, for they 
 are right ugly things and unpleasant to look upon. 
 But lacking those outside monitors, one must all 
 the more cultivate the habit of constant inlooking 
 and self-examination. If we are only brave enough 
 to confront o; r faults and look them in the face, 
 ugly as they .' ""e, we shall be sure to overcome the 
 worst of them A striving toward good will achieve 
 at least a part jf it." 
 
 "Oh !" returned the princess, "but what is good 
 and what is wrong? So often we can not tell them 
 apart until we look back at what we have done, and 
 ihen it is all too late. I truly wish to be good more 
 inan I desire anything else in the world. I am so 
 ignorant and helpless, and have such strong inclina- 
 tions to do wrong that sometimes I seem to be 
 almost all wrong. The priests say so much, but
 
 42 XOhen Kjiigh-thood Wa^s in Plottter 
 
 tell us so little. They talk about St. Peter and St. 
 Paul, and a host of other saints and holy fathers 
 and what-nots, but fail to tell us what we need every 
 moment of our lives ; that is, how to know the right 
 when we see it, and how to do it ; and how to know 
 the wrong and how to avoid it. They ask us to 
 believe so much, and insist that faith is the sura of 
 virtue, and the lack of it the sum of sin; that to 
 faith all things are added; but we might believe 
 every syllable of their whole disturbing creed, and 
 then spoil it all through blind ignorance of what is 
 right and what is wrong." 
 
 "As to knowing right and wrong," replied Bran- 
 don, "I think I can give you a rule which, although 
 it may not cover the whole ground, is excellent for 
 every-day use. It is this : Whatever makes others 
 unhappy is wrong ; whatever makes the world hap- 
 pier is good. As to how we are always to do this, 
 I can not tell you. One has to learn that by trying. 
 We can but try, and if we fail altogether, there is 
 still virtue in every futile effort toward the right." 
 
 Mary bent her head as she walked along ia 
 thought. 
 
 "What you have said is the only approach to a 
 rule for knowing and doing the right I have ever 
 heard. Now what do you think of me as a flatterer? 
 But it will do no good ; the bad is in me too strong; 
 it always does itself before I can apply any rule, or 
 even realize what is coming." And again she shook 
 her head with a bewitching little look of trouble.
 
 The 'PrinceS'S Mary 43 
 
 "Pardon me, your highness ; but there is no bad 
 in you. It has been put on you by others, and is all 
 on the outside ; there is none of it in your heart at 
 all. That evil which you think comes out of you, 
 simply falls from you ; your heart is all right, or I 
 have greatly misjudged you." He was treating her 
 almost as if she were a child. 
 
 "I fear. Master Brandon, you are the most adroit 
 flatterer of all," said Mary, shaking her head and 
 looking up at him with a side glance, "people have 
 (!?luged me with all kinds of flattery — I have the 
 diiTerent sorts listed and labeled — but no one has 
 ever gone to the extravagant length of calling me 
 good. Perhaps they think I do not care for that; 
 but I like it best. I don't like the others at all. If 
 I am beautiful or not, it is as God made me, and I 
 have nothing to do with it, and desire no credit, 
 but if I could only be good it might be my own 
 doing, perhaps, and I ought to have praise. I w^on- 
 der if there is really and truly any good in me, and 
 if you have read me aright." Then looking up at 
 him with a touch of consternation : "Or are you 
 laughing at me?" 
 
 Brandon wisely let the last suggestion pass unno- 
 ticed. 
 
 "I am sure that I am right; you have glorious 
 capacities for good, but alas ! corresponding possibil- 
 ities for evil. It will eventually all dcf>end upon the 
 man you marry. He can make out of you a perfect 
 woman, or the reverse." Again there was the sur-
 
 M ^6t//)en Knighthood Was in Etotoer 
 
 prised expression in Mary's face, but Brandon's 
 serious look disarmed her. 
 
 "I fear you are right, as to the reverse, at any 
 rate; and the worst of it is, I shall never be able 
 to choose a man to help me, but shall sooner or later 
 be compelled to marry the creature who will pay the 
 greatest price." 
 
 "God forbid!" said Brandon reverently. 
 
 They were growing rather serious, so Mary 
 turned the conversation again into the laughing 
 mood, and said, with a half sigh : "Oh ! I hope you 
 are right about the possibilities for good, but you do 
 not know. Wait until you have seen more of me." 
 
 "I certainly hope I shall not have long to wait" 
 
 The surprised eyes again glanced quickly up to 
 the serious face, but the answer came : "That you 
 shall not ; — but here is the queen, and I suppose we 
 must have the benediction." Brandon understood 
 her hint — ^that the preaching was over, — and taking 
 it for his dismissal, playfully lifted his hands in imi- 
 tation of the old Bishop of Canterbury, and mur- 
 mured the first line of the Latin benediction. Then 
 they both laughed and courtesied, and Brandor 
 walked away.
 
 CHATTE'R /V 
 
 A Lesson in Danctn^ 
 
 IL^-\UGHED heartily when Jane told me of the 
 tilt between Brandon and Princess Mary, the 
 latter of whom was in the habit of saying unkind 
 things and being thanked for them. 
 
 Brandon was the wrong man to say them to, as 
 Mary learned. He was not hot-tempered ; in fact. 
 Just the reverse, but he was the last man to brook 
 an affront, and the quickest to resent, in a cool- 
 headed, dangerous way, an intentional offense. 
 
 He respected himself and made others do the 
 same, or seem to do so, at least. He had no vanity — 
 which is but an inordinate desire for those qual- 
 ities that bring self-respect, and often the result of 
 conscious demerit — but he knew himself, and knew 
 that he was entitled to his own good opinion. He 
 was every inch a man, strong, intelligent and brave 
 to temerity, with a reckless disregard of conse- 
 quences, which might have been dangerous had it 
 not been tempered by a dash of prudence and cau- 
 tion that gave him ballast. 
 
 I was not surprised when I heard of the encoun- 
 ter; for I knew enough of him to be sure that 
 Mary's high-handedness would meet its counterpart 
 in my cool friend Brandon. It was, however, an 
 unfortunate victory, and what all Mary'a beauty 
 
 (45)
 
 46 *When Kjnighthood Wa-s in Flower 
 
 and brightness would have failed to do, her honest, 
 open acknowledgment of wrong, following so 
 quickly upon the heels of her fault, accomplished 
 easily. It drew him within the circle of her fatal 
 attractions, and when Jane told me of it, I 
 knew his fate was sealed, and that, sooner or later, 
 his untouched heart and cool head would fall 
 victim to the shafts that so surely winged all 
 others. 
 
 It might, and probably would, be "later," since, 
 as Brandon had said, he was not one of those who 
 wear the heart upon the sleeve. Then he had that 
 strong vein of prudence and caution, which, in view 
 of Mary's unattainableness, would probably come 
 to his help. But never was man's heart strong 
 enough to resist Mary Tudor's smile for long. 
 
 There was this difference between Brandon and 
 most others — he would be slow to love, but when 
 love should once fairl}^ take root in his intense 
 nature, he would not do to trifle with. 
 
 The night after the meeting, Mary cuddled up 
 to Jane, who slept with her, and whispered, half 
 bashfully : 
 
 "Tell me all about Brandon ; I am interested ini 
 him. I believe if I knew more persons like him I 
 should be a better girl, notwithstanding he is one of 
 the boldest men I ever knew. He says anything he 
 wishes, and, with all his modest manner, is as cool 
 •with me as if I were a burgher's daughter. His 
 modesty is all on the outside, but it is pretty, and
 
 A Lesson in Dancing 47 
 
 pretty things must be on the outside to be useful. 
 I wonder if Judson thought him modest?" 
 
 Jane talked of Brandon to Mary, who was in an 
 excellent humor, until the girls fell asleep. 
 
 When Jane told me of this I became frightened ; 
 for the surest way to any woman's heart is to con- 
 vince her that you make her better, and arouse in her 
 breast purer impulses and higher aspirations. It 
 would be bad enough should Brandon fall in love 
 with the princess, which was almost sure to hippen, 
 but for them to fall in love with each other meant 
 Brandon's head upon the block, and Mary's heart 
 bruised, broken and empty for life. Her strong 
 nature, filled to the brim with latent passion, was 
 the stuff of which love makes a conflagration that 
 bums to destruction ; and should she learn to love 
 Brandon, she would move heaven and earth to pos- 
 sess him. 
 
 She whose every desire from childhood up had 
 been gratified, whose every whim seemed to her a 
 paramount necessity, would stop at nothing when 
 the dearest wish a woman's heart can coin was to 
 be gained or lost. Brandon's element of prudence 
 might help him, and might forestall any effort on 
 his part to win her, but Mary had never heard of 
 prudence, and man's caution avails but little when 
 set against woman's daring. In case they both 
 should love, they were sure to try for each other, 
 and in trying were equally sure to find ruin and 
 desolation.
 
 48 XOhen Knighthood Was in Ftotuer 
 
 A few evenings after this I met the princess in' 
 the queen's drawing-room. She beckoned me to 
 her, and, resting her elbows on the top of a cabinet, 
 her chin in her hands, said: "I met your friend, 
 Captain Brandon, a day or two ago. Did he tell you?" 
 
 "No," I answered ; "Jane told me, but he has not 
 mentioned it." 
 
 It was true Brandon had not said a word of the 
 matter, and I had not spoken of it, either. I wanted 
 to see how long he would remain silent concerning 
 an adventure that would have set most men of the 
 court boasting at a great rate. To have a tilt with 
 the ever-victorious Mary, and to come off victor, 
 was enough, I think, to loosen any tongue less given 
 to bragging than Brandon's. 
 
 "So," continued Mary, evidently somewhat 
 piqued, "he did not think his presentation to me a 
 thing worth mentioning? We had a little passage- 
 at-arms, and, to tell you the truth, I came off second 
 best, and had to acknowledge it, too. Now, what 
 do you think of this new friend of yours ? And he 
 did not boast about having the better of me ? After 
 all, there is more virtue in his silence than I at first 
 thought." And she threw back her head, and 
 clapped her hands and laughed with the most con- 
 tagious little ripple you ever heard. She seemed 
 not to grieve over her defeat, but dimpled as though 
 it were a huge joke, the thought of which rather 
 pleased her than otherwise. Victory had grown 
 stale for her, although so young.
 
 A Le^tson in Dancing 49 
 
 "\Miat do I think of my new friend?" I repeated 
 after her ; and tliat gave me a theme upon which I 
 could enlarge eloquently. I told her of his learning, 
 notwithstanding the fact that he had been in the 
 continental wars ever since he was a boy. I repeated 
 to her stories of his daring and bravery, that had 
 been told to me by his uncle, the Master of the 
 Horse, and others, and then I added what I knew 
 Lady Jane had already said. I had expected to be 
 brief, but to my surprise found a close and interested 
 listener, even to the twice-told parts, and drew my 
 stor}' out a little, to the liking of us both. 
 
 "Your friend has an earnest advocate in you, Sir 
 Edwin," said the princess. 
 
 'That he has," I replied. "There is nothing too 
 good to say of him." 
 
 I knew that Mary, with her better, clearer brain, 
 held the king almost in the palm of her hand, so I 
 thought to advance Brandon's fortune by a timely 
 word. 
 
 "1 trust the king will see fit toiavor him, and 
 I hope that you will speak a word in his behalf, 
 should the opportunity occur." 
 
 "What in the name of heaven have we to give 
 him ?" cried Mary impatiently, for she kept an eye on 
 things political, even if she were only a girl — "the 
 king has given away everything that ain be given, 
 already, and now that the war is over, and men are 
 coming home, there are hundreds waiting for more. 
 My father's great treasure is squandered, to say
 
 50 tVhen Kjiighihood Was in Flotuer 
 
 nothing of the money collected from Empson, Dud- 
 ley, and the other commissioners. There is nothing 
 to give unless it be the titles and estate of the late 
 Duke of Suffolk. Perhaps the king will give these 
 to your paragon, if you will paint him in as fair ai^ 
 light as you have drawn him for me." Then throw- 
 ing back her head with a laugh, "Ask him." 
 
 "It would be none too much for his deserts," I 
 replied, falling in with her humor. 
 
 "We will so arrange it then," went on Mary, ban- 
 teringly ; "Captain Brandon no longer, but Charles 
 Brandon, Duke of Suffolk. How sounds it. Master 
 Caskoden ?" 
 
 "Sweet in my ears," I replied. 
 
 "I really believe you would have the king's 
 crown for him, you absurd man, if you could get 
 it. We must have so interesting a person at court ; 
 I shall at least see that he is presented to the queen 
 at once. I wonder if he dances; I suppose not. 
 He has probably been too busy cutting and thrust- 
 ing." And she laughed again at her own pleasantry. 
 
 When the mirth began to gather in her face and 
 the dimples came responsive to her smiles; when 
 she threw back her perfectly poised head, stretching 
 her soft, white throat, so full and round and beau- 
 tiful, half closing her big brow^n eyes till they shone 
 again from beneath the shade of those long, black 
 sweeping lashes ; when her red lips parted, showing 
 her teeth of pearl, and she gave the little clap of her 
 hands — a sort of climax to the soft, low, rippling
 
 j\ Le^^on in T}ancin^ SI 
 
 laugh — she made a picture of such exquisite loveli- 
 ness that it is no wonder men were fools about her, 
 and caught love as one catches a contagion. I had 
 it once, as you already know, and had recovered. All 
 that prevented a daily relapse was my fair, sweet 
 antidote, Jane, whose image rested in my heart, a 
 fasting safeguard. 
 
 "I wonder if your prodig>' plays cards; that is, 
 such as we ladies play?" asked Mary. "You sav 
 he has lived much in France, where the game was 
 invented, but I have no doubt he would scorn to 
 waste his time at so frivolous a pursuit, when he 
 might he slaughterinc^ armies single-handed and 
 alone." 
 
 "I do not know as to his dancing and card-play- 
 ing, but I dare venture a wager he does both," I 
 replied, not liking her tone of sarcasm. She had 
 yet to learn who Brandon was. 
 
 "I will hazard ten crowns," said Mary quickly, for 
 she loved a wager and was a born gambler. 
 
 "Taken," said I. 
 
 "We will try him on both to-morrow night in 
 my drawing-room," she continued. "You bring him 
 up, but tell no one. I will have Jane there with her 
 lute, which will not frighten you away, I know, 
 and we will try his step. I will have cards, too, 
 and we shall see what he can do at triumph. Just 
 we four — no one else at all. You and Jane, the new 
 Duke of Suffolk and I. Oh ! I can hardly wait," 
 and she fairly danced with joyous anticipation.
 
 52 tOhen K.ni^hthood Was in Flotoer 
 
 The thing- had enough irregularity to give it zest, 
 for while Mary often had a few young people in her 
 drawing-room, the companies were never so small 
 as two couples only, and the king and queen, to 
 make up for greater faults, were wonderful sticklers 
 in the matter of little proprieties. 
 
 The ten-crown wager, too, gave spice to it, but 
 to do her justice she cared very little for that. The 
 princess loved gambling purely for gambling's sake, 
 and with her, the next best thing to winning was 
 losing. 
 
 When I went to my room that night, I awakened 
 Brandon and told him of the distinguished honor 
 that awaited him. 
 
 "Well ! I'll be"— but he did not say what he would 
 "be." He always halted before an oath, unless 
 angry, which was seldom, but then beware ! — he had 
 learned to swear in Flanders. "How she did fly at 
 me the other morning. I never was more surprised 
 in all my life. For once I was almost caught with 
 my guard down, and did not know how to parry 
 the thrust. I mumbled over some sort of a lame 
 retaliation and beat a retreat. It was so unjust and 
 uncalled-for that it made me angry; but she was 
 so gracious in her amends that I was almost glad it 
 happened. I like a woman who can be as savage 
 as the very devil when it pleases her; she usually 
 has in store an assortment of possibilities for the 
 other extreme." 
 
 "She told me of your encounter," I returned, "but
 
 A Lesion in Danct'n^ 53 
 
 said she had come off second best, and seemed to 
 think her overthrow a huge joke." 
 
 "The man who learns to know wiiat a woman 
 thinks and feels will have a great deal of valuable 
 information," he replied; and then turneJ over for 
 sleep, greatly pleased that one woman thought as she 
 did. 
 
 I was not sure he would be so highly flattered if 
 he knew that he had been invited to settle a wager, 
 and to help Mary to a little sport. 
 
 As to the former, I had an interest there myself, 
 although I dared not settle the question by asking 
 Brandon if he played cards and danced ; and, as to 
 the matter of Mar>''s sport, I felt there was but little, 
 if any, danger of her having too much of it at his 
 expense, Brandon being well able to care for himself 
 in that respect. 
 
 The next evening, at the appointed time, we 
 wended our way, by an unfrequented route, and pre- 
 sented ourselves, as secretly as possible, at the draw- 
 ing-room of the princess. 
 
 The door was opened by Lady Jane, and we met 
 the two girls almost at the threshold. I had told 
 Brandon of the bantering conversation about the 
 title and estates of the late Duke of Suffolk, and he 
 had laughed over it in the best of humor. If quick 
 to retaliate for an intentional offense, he was not 
 thin-skinned at a piece of pleasantry, and had none 
 of that stiff, sensitive dignity, so troublesome to 
 one's self and friends.
 
 54 XOhen Kjit^hthood Wa>r in Ftoiaer 
 
 Now, Jane and Mary were always bantering me 
 because I was short, and inclined to be — in fact — » 
 round, but I did not care. It made them laugh, and 
 their laughing was so contagious it made me laugh, 
 too, and we all enjoyed it. I would give a pound 
 sterling any time for a good laugh; and that, I 
 tliink, is why I have always been — round. 
 
 So, upon entering, 1 said : 
 
 "His grace, the Duke of Suffolk, ladies." 
 
 They each made a sweeping courtesy, with hand 
 on breast, and gravely saluted him: 
 
 "Your grace ! good even'." 
 
 Brandon's bow was as deep and graceful, if that 
 were possible, as theirs, and when he moved on into 
 the room it was with a little halt in his step, and a 
 big blowing out of the cheeks, in ludicrous imita- 
 tion of his late lamented predecessor, that sent the 
 girls into peals of soft laughter and put us all at 
 our ease immediately. 
 
 Ah! what a thing it is to look back upon; that 
 time of life when one finds his heaven in a ready 
 laugh ! 
 
 "Be seated all," said the princess. "This is to be 
 without ceremony, and only we four. No one 
 knows a word of it. Did you tell any one, Sir 
 Edwin?" , 
 
 "Perish the thought," I exclaimed. 
 
 She turned her face toward Brandon, " — ^but I 
 know you did not. I've heard how discreet you 
 were about another matter. Well, no one knows it
 
 -A LC'S'ton in 'Dancing 55 
 
 then, and we can have a famous evening. You did 
 not expect this. Master Brandon, after my reception 
 of you the other moming? Were you not surprised 
 v/hen Sir Edwin told you ?" 
 
 '*I think I can safely say that I was prepared not 
 to be surprised at anything your highness might 
 graciously conclude to do — after my first experi- 
 ence," he answered, smiling. 
 
 "Indeed ?" returned Mary with elevated eyebrows, 
 and a rising inflection on the last syllable of the 
 word. It was now her turn for a little surprise. 
 **Well, we'll try to find some way to surprise you one 
 of these days ;" and the time came when she was 
 full of surprises for him. Mary continued: "But 
 let us not talk about the other day. Of what use 
 are 'other days,' anyway? Before the evening is 
 over, Master Brandon, we want you to give us an- 
 other sermon," and she laughed, setting off three 
 other laughs as hearty and sincere as if she had ut- 
 tered the rarest witticism on earth. 
 
 The princess had told Jane and Jane had told me 
 of the "Sermon in the Park," as Mary called it. 
 
 "Jane needs it as much as I," said the princess. 
 
 "I can't believe that," responded Brandon, looking 
 at Jane with a softening glance quite too admiring 
 and commendatory to suit me ; for I was a jealous 
 little devil. 
 
 The eyebrows went up again. 
 
 "Oh! you think she doesn't? Well, in truth, 
 Master Brandon, there is one failing that can not
 
 S6 te^hen Kjat^hihood Wcw in riotver 
 
 be laid at your door; you are no flatterer." For 
 answer Brandon laughed, and that gave us the cue, 
 and away we went in a rippling chorus, all about 
 nothing. Some persons may call our laughter fool- 
 ish, but there are others who consider it the height 
 of all wisdom. St. George ! I'd give my Garter for 
 just one other laugh like that; for just one other 
 hour of youth's dancing blood and glowing soul- 
 warmth; of sweet, unconscious, happy heart-beat 
 and paradise-creating joy in everything. 
 
 After a few minutes of gay conversation, in which 
 we all joined, Mary asked: "What shall we do? 
 lWHI one of you suggest something?" 
 
 Jane sat there looking so demure you would have 
 thought mischief could not live within a league of 
 her, but those very demure girls are nearly always 
 dangerous. She said, oh ! so innocently : 
 
 "Would you like to dance? If so, I will play.** 
 And she reached for her lute, which was by her 
 side. 
 
 "Yes, that will be delightful. Master Brandon, 
 will you dance with me ?" asked the princess, with a 
 saucy little laugh, her invitation meaning so much 
 more to three of us than to Brandon. Jane and I 
 joined in the laugh, and when Mary clapped her 
 hands that set Brandon off, too, for he thought it 
 the quaintest, prettiest little gesture in the world, 
 and was all unconscious that our laugh was at his 
 expense. 
 
 Brandon did not answer Mary's invitation — thm
 
 A Le-f-ron in Dancing 57 
 
 fit of laughter had probably put it out of his mind- 
 so she, evidently anxious to win or lose her wager at 
 once, again asked him if he danced. 
 
 "Oh, pardon me. Of course. Thank you.'* And 
 he was on his feet beside her chair in an instant 
 ready for the dance. This time the girl's laugh, 
 though equally merry, had another tone, for she 
 knew she had lost. 
 
 Out they stepped upon the polished floor, he hold- 
 ing her hand in his, awaiting the pause in the music 
 to take the step. I shall never forget the sight of 
 those two standing there together — Mary, dark- 
 eyed and glowing ; Brandon, almost rosy, with eyea 
 that held the color of a deep spring sky, and a 
 wealth c f flowing curls crowning his six feet of per- 
 fect manhood, strong and vigorous as a young lion. 
 Mary, full of beauty-curves and graces, a veritable 
 Venus in her teens, and Brandon, an Apollo, with 
 a touch of Hercules, were a complement each to the 
 other that would surely make a perfect one. 
 
 When the music started, off they went, heel and 
 toe, bow and courtesy, a step forward and a step 
 back, in perfect time and rhythm — a poem of 
 human motion. Could Brandon dance? The 
 princess had her answer in the first ten 
 steps. Nothing could be more graceful than 
 Brandon's dancing, unless it were Marj''s. Her 
 slightest movement was grace itself. When 
 she would throw herself backward in thrusting out 
 her toe, and then swing forward with her h«ad a
 
 S8 Xe^hen Knighthood Was in Flotafer 
 
 little to one side, her uplifted arm undulating like 
 the white neck of a swan,— for her sleeve, which 
 was slit to the shoulder, fell back and left it bare,— 
 she was a sight worth a long journey to see. And 
 when she looked up to Brandon with a laugh in her 
 brown eyes, and a curving smile just parting ber 
 full, red lips, that a man would give his very luck 
 to— but I had better stop. 
 
 "Was there ever a goodlier couple ?" I asked Jane, 
 by whose side I sat. 
 
 "Never," she responded as she played, and, 
 strange to say, I was jealous because she agreed 
 with m.e. I was jealous because I feared it was 
 Brandon's beauty to which she referred. That I 
 thought would naturally appeal to her. Had he been 
 less handsome, I should perhaps have thought noth- 
 ing of it, but I knew what my feelings were toward 
 Mary, and I judged, or rather misjudged, Jane by 
 myself. I supposed she would think of Brandon 
 as I could not help thinking of Mary. Was any- 
 thing in heaven or earth ever so beautiful as that 
 royal creature, dancing there, daintily holding up her 
 skirts with thumb and first finger, just far enough 
 to show a distracting little foot and ankle, and make 
 one wish he had been born a sheep rather than a 
 sentient man who had to live without Mary Tudor ? 
 Yet, strange as it may seem, I was really and wholly 
 in love with Jane ; in fact, I loved no one but Jane, 
 and my feeling of intense admiration for Mary was 
 but a part of man's composite inconstancy.
 
 A Les>fon in Dancing 59 
 
 A woman — God bless her — if she really loves a 
 man, has no thought of any other; one at a time 
 is all-sufficient; but a man may love one woman 
 with tlie warmth of a simoon, and at the same time 
 feel like a good healthy south wind toward a dozen 
 others. That is the difference between a man and 
 a woman — the difference between the good and the 
 bad. One average woman has enough goodness in 
 her to supply an army of men. 
 
 Mary and Brandon went on dancing long after 
 Jane was tired of playing. It was plain to see that 
 the girl was thoroughly enjoying it. They kept up 
 a running fire of small talk, and laughed, and 
 smiled, and bowed, and courtesied, all in perfect 
 time and grace. 
 
 It is more difficult tlian you may think, if you 
 have never tried, to keep up a conversation and 
 dance La Galliard, at the same time — one is apt to 
 balk the other — but Brandon's dancing was as easy; 
 to him as walking, and, although so small a matter, 
 I could see it raised him vastly in the estimation of 
 both girls. 
 
 "Do you play triumph ?" I beard Mar}-- ask in the 
 midst of the dancing. 
 
 "Oh 1 yes," replied Brandon, much to my delight, 
 as the princess threw a mischievous, knowing glance 
 over her shoulder to see if I had heard. She at 
 once saw I had, and this, of course, settled the 
 wager. 
 
 "And," continued Brandon, "I also play the new
 
 €o tOhen Kntghihood Was in Flotuer 
 
 game, 'honor and ruff/ which is more interesting 
 than triumph." 
 
 "Oh! do you?" cried Mary. "That will more 
 than compensate for the loss of my ten crowns. Let 
 us sit down at once ; I have been wishing to learn, 
 but no one here seems to know it. In France, they 
 say, it is the only game. I suppose there is where 
 you learned it ? Perhaps you know their new dances 
 too ! I have heard they are delightful I'* 
 
 "Yes, I know them," replied Brandon. 
 
 "Why, you are a perfect treasure; teach me at 
 once. How now, Master of the Dance? Here is 
 your friend outdoing you in your own line." 
 
 "I am glad to hear it," I returned. 
 
 "If Lady Jane will kindly play some lively air, 
 written in the time of 'The Sailor Lass,' I will teach 
 the Lady Mary the new dance," said Brandon. 
 
 Jane threw one plump little knee over the other 
 and struck up "The Sailor Lass." After she had 
 adjusted the playing to Brandon's suggestion, he 
 stepped deliberately in front of Mary, and, taking 
 her right hand in his left, encircled her waist with 
 his right arm. The girl was startled at first and 
 • drew away. This nettled Brandon a little, and he 
 showed it plainly. 
 
 "I thought you wished me to teach you the new 
 dance?" he said. 
 
 "I do, but — but I did not know it was danced that 
 way," she replied with a fluttering little laugh, look- 
 ing up into his face with a half shy, half apologetic
 
 A. Les-ton in 'Dancing 6t 
 
 manner, and then dropping- her lashes before his 
 gaze. 
 
 "Oh, well!" said Brandon, with a Frenchman's 
 shrug of the shoulders, and then moved off as if 
 about to leave the floor. 
 
 "But is that really the way you — they dance 
 it? With your — their arm around my — a lady's 
 waist?" 
 
 "I should not have dared venture upon such a fa- 
 miliarity otherwise," answered Brandon, with a 
 glimmer of a smile playing around his lips and hid- 
 ing in his eyes, 
 
 Mary saw this shadowy smile, and said : "Oh ! I 
 fear your modesty will cause you hurt ; I am begin- 
 ning to believe you would dare do anything you 
 wish. I more than half suspect you are a very bold 
 man, notwithstanding your smooth, modest man- 
 ner." 
 
 "You do me foul wrong, I assure you. I am the 
 soul of modesty, and grieve that you should think 
 me bold," said Brandon, with a broadening smile. 
 
 Mary interrupted him. "Now, I do believe you 
 are laughing at me — at my prudery, I suppose you 
 think it." 
 
 Mary would rather have been called a fool than a 
 prude, and I think she was right. Prudery is no 
 more a sign of virtue than a wig is of hair. It is 
 usually put on to hide a bald place. 
 
 The princess stood irresolute for a moment, in 
 evident hesitation and annovance.
 
 62 tOhen Kjiighlhood Wa^f in Floteter 
 
 "You are grieving because I think you bold ! And 
 yet you stand there laughing at me to my face. I 
 think so more than ever now. I know it. Oh, you 
 make me angry ! Don't I I do not hke persons who 
 anger me and then laugh at me." This turned Bran- J 
 don's smile into a laugh which he could not hold 
 back. 
 
 Mary's eyes shot fire, and she stamped her foot, 
 exclaiming: "Sir, this goes beyond all bounds; I 
 will not tolerate your boldness another moment." I 
 thought she was going to dismiss him, but she did 
 not. The time had come when he or she must be 
 the master. 
 
 It was a battle royal between the forces on the 
 floor, and I enjoyed it and felt that Brandon would 
 come out all right. 
 
 He said good-humoredly : "What, shall you have 
 all the laugh in your sleeve at my expense? Do 
 you expect to bring me here to win a wager for 
 you, made on the assumption of my stupidity and 
 lack of social accomplishments, and then complain 
 when it comes my turn to laugh ? I think I am the 
 one who should be offended, but you see I am not." 
 
 "Caskoden, did you tell him?" demanded Mary, 
 evidently referring to the wager. 
 
 "He said not a word of it," broke in Brandon, 
 answering for me; *T should have been a dullard, 
 indeed, not to have seen it myself after what you 
 said about the loss of your ten crowns; so let us 
 cry quits and begin again/*
 
 A Les^ron in Dancing 63 
 
 Mary reluctantly struck her flag. 
 
 **Ver>' well, I am willing," she said laughingly; 
 "but as to your boldness, I still insist upon that ; I 
 forgive you, however, this time." Then, half apolo- 
 getically, "After all, it is not such a grievous charge 
 to make. I believe it never yet injured any man 
 with women; they rather like it. I am afraid, how- 
 ever angr>' it makes them. Don't they, Jane?" 
 
 Jane, of course, "did not know," so we all 
 laughed, as usual, upon the slightest pretext, and 
 Mary, that fair bundle of contradictions and quick 
 transitions, stepped boldly up to Brandon, with 
 her colors flying in her cheeks, ready for the first 
 lesson in the new dance. 
 
 She was a little frightened at his arm around her 
 waist, for the embrace was new to her — the first 
 touch of man — and was shy and coy, though willing, 
 being determined to learn the dance. She was an 
 apt pupil and soon glided softly and gracefully 
 around the room with unfeigned delight; yielding 
 to the new situation more easily as she became ac- 
 customed to it. 
 
 This dance was livelier exercise than La Galliard, 
 and Mary could not talk much for lack of breath. 
 Brandon kept the conversation going, though, and 
 she answered with glances, smiles, nods and 
 monosyllables- -a very good vocabulary in its way, 
 and a very good way, too, for that matter. 
 
 Once he said something to her, in a low voice, 
 which brought a flush to her cheeks, and caused
 
 ^4 tOhen K.nighihood Wa>f in Flotuef 
 
 her to glance quickly up into his face. By the time 
 her answer came they were nearer us, and I heard 
 her say : "I am afraid I shall have to forgive you 
 again if you are not careful. Let me see an exhibi- 
 tion of that modesty you so much boast." But a 
 smile and a flash of the eyes went with the words, 
 and took all the sting out of them. 
 
 After a time the dancers stopped, and Mary, with 
 flushed face and sparkling eyes, sank into a chair, 
 exclaiming: ''The new dance is delightful, Jane. 
 It is like flying; your partner helps you so. But 
 what would the king say? And the queen? She 
 would simply swoon with horror. It is delightful, 
 though." Then, with more confusion in her manner 
 than I had ever before seen : "That is, it is delight- 
 ful if one chooses her partner." 
 
 . This only made matters worse, and gave Bran- 
 don an opportunity. 
 
 "Dare I hope ?" he asked, with a deferential bow. 
 
 "Oh, yes; you may hope. I tell you frankly it 
 was delightful with you. Now, are you satisfied, 
 my modest one? Jane, I see we have a forward 
 body here ; no telling what he will be at next," said 
 Mary, with evident impatience, rapidly swaying her 
 fan. She spoke almost sharply, for Brandon's atti- 
 tude was more that of an equal than she was accus- 
 tomed to, and her royal dignity, which was the 
 artificial part of her, rebelled against it now and 
 then in spite of her real inclinations. The habit of 
 receiving only adulation, and living on a pinnacle
 
 A Le^'Son in 'Dancing 65 
 
 above everybody else, was so strong from continued 
 practice, that it appealed to her as a duty to main- 
 tain that elevation. She had never before been 
 called uf)on to exert herself in that direction, and the 
 situation was new. The servile ones with whom 
 she usually associated maintained it for her; so 
 she now felt, whenever she thought of it, that she 
 was in duty bound to clamber back, at least part of 
 the way, to her dignity, however pleasant it was, 
 personally, down below in the denser atmosphere of 
 informality. 
 
 In her heart the princess preferred, upon proper 
 occasions, such as this, to abate her dignity, and 
 often requested others to dispense with ceremony, 
 as, in fact, she had done with us earlier in the even- 
 ing. But Brandon's easy manner, although per- 
 fectly respectful and elegantly polite, was very dif- 
 ferent from anything she had ever known. She 
 enjoyed it, but every now and then the sense of her 
 importance and dignity — for you must remember 
 she was the first princess of the blood royal — would 
 supersede even her love of enjoyment, and the girl 
 went down and the princess came up. Besides, she 
 half feared that Brandon was amusing himself at 
 her expense, and that, in fact, this was a new sort 
 of masculine worm. Really, she sometimes doubted 
 if it were a worm at all, and did not know what to 
 exfKct, nor what she ought to do. 
 
 She was far more girl than princess, and would 
 have preferred to remain merely girl and let events
 
 66 XOhen Ksitghihood Wa^ in Flobuer 
 
 take the course they were going, for she liked it. 
 But there was the other part of her which was prin- 
 cess, and which kept saying : "Remember who you 
 are," so she was plainly at a loss between natural 
 and artificial inclinations contending unconsciously 
 within her. 
 
 Replying to Mary's remark over Jane's shoulder, 
 Brandon said: 
 
 "Your highness asked us to lay aside ceremony 
 for the evening, and if I have offended I can but 
 make for my excuse my desire to please you. Be 
 sure I shall offend no more." This was said so 
 seriously that his meaning could not be misunder- 
 stood. He did not care whether he pleased so capri- 
 cious a person or not. 
 
 Mary made no reply, and it looked as if Brandon 
 had the worst of it. 
 
 We sat a few minutes talking, Mary wearing an 
 air of dignity. Cards were proposed, and as the 
 game progressed she gradually unbent again and be- 
 came as affable and familiar as earlier in the evening. 
 Brandon, however, was frozen. He was polite, dig- 
 nified and deferential to the ladies, but the spirit 
 of the evening was gone, since he had furnished it 
 all with his free, off-hand manner, full of life and 
 brightness. 
 
 After a short time, Mary's warming mood failing 
 to thaw our frozen fun-maker, and in her heart infi- 
 nitely preferring pleasure to dignity, she said : "Oh, 
 this is wearisome. Your game is far less entertain*
 
 A Les^son in Dancing 67 
 
 ing than your new dance. Do something to make 
 me laugh, Master Brandon." 
 
 ''I fear you must call in Will Sommers," he re- 
 plied, "if you wish to laugh. I can not please you 
 in both ways, so will hold to the one which seems 
 to suit the princess." 
 
 Mary's eyes flashed and she said ironically: 
 
 "That sounds ver}' much as though you cared to 
 please me in any way." Her lips parted and she 
 evidently had something unkind ready to say; but 
 she held the breath she had taken to speak it with, 
 and, after one or two false starts in as many differ- 
 ent lines, continued: "But perhaps I deserve it. I 
 ask you to forgive me, and hereafter desire you 
 three, upon all proper occasions, when we are by 
 ourselves, to treat me as one of you — as a woman — 
 a girl, I mean. Where is the virtue of royalty if 
 it only means being put upon a pinnacle above all 
 the real pleasures of life, like foolish old Stylites on 
 his column ? The queen is always preaching to me 
 about the strict maintenance of my 'dignity royal,' 
 as she calls it, and perhaps she is right; but out 
 upon 'dignity royal' say I ; it is a terrible nuisance. 
 Oh, you don't know how difficult it is to be a prin- 
 cess and not a fool. There!" And she sighed in 
 apparent relief. 
 
 Then turning to Brandon : "You have taught me 
 another good lesson, sir, and from this hour you 
 are my friend, if you will be, so long as you are 
 worthy — no, I do not mean that ; I know you will
 
 68 XOhen Kjnighthood Wa^ in riobuep 
 
 always be worthy — ^but forever. Now we are at 
 rights again. Let us try to remain so — that is, I 
 will," and she laughingly gave him her hand, which 
 he, rising to his feet, bowed low over and kissed, 
 rather fervently and lingeringly, I thought. 
 
 Hand-kissing was new to us in England, except- 
 ing in case of the king and queen at public homage. 
 It was a little startling to Mary, though she per- 
 mitted him to hold her hand much longer than there 
 was any sort of need — a fact she recognized, as I 
 could easily see from her tell-tale cheeks, which 
 were rosy with the thought of it. 
 
 So it is when a woman goes on the defensive pre- 
 maturely and without cause ; it makes it harder to 
 apply the check when the real need comes. 
 
 After a little card-playing, I expressed regret to 
 Jane that I could not have a dance with her for lack 
 of music. 
 
 "I will play, if the ladies permit," said Bran- 
 don ; and he took Lady Jane's lute and played and 
 sang some very pretty little love songs and some 
 comic ones, too, in a style not often heard in Eng- 
 land, so far away from the home of the troubadour 
 and lute. He was full of surprises, this splendid 
 fellow, with his accomplishments and graces. 
 
 When we had danced as long as we wished — that 
 is, as Jane wished — as for myself, I would have been 
 dancing yet — Mary again asked us to be seated. 
 Jane having rested, Brandon offered to teach her the 
 new dance, saying he could whistle an air well
 
 
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 A Le^^on in 'Dancing 69 
 
 enough to give her the step. I at once grew uneasy 
 with jealous suspense, for I did not wish Brandon to 
 dance in that fasliion with Jane, but to my great 
 relief she repHed: 
 
 "No; thank you; not to-night." Then shyly 
 glancing toward me: "Perhaps Sir Edwin will 
 teach me when he learns. It is his business, you 
 know." 
 
 Would I ? If a month, night and day, would con- 
 quer it, the new dance was as good as done for 
 already. That was the first real mark of favor I 
 ever had from Jane. 
 
 We now had some songs from Mary and Jane; 
 then I gave one, and Brandon sang again at Mary's 
 request. We had duets and quartets and solos, 
 and the songs were all sweet, for they came from 
 the heart of youth, and went to the soul of youth, 
 rich in its God-given fresh delight in everything. 
 Then we talked, and Mary, and Jane, too, with a 
 sly, shy, soft little word now and then, drew Bran- 
 don out to tell of his travels and adventures. He 
 was a pleasing talker, and had a smooth, easy flow 
 of words, speaking always in a low, clear voice, and 
 with perfect composure. He had a way of looking 
 first one auditor and then another straight in the 
 eyes with a magnetic effect that gave to ever>'thing 
 he said an added interest. Although at that time 
 less than twenty-five years old, he was really a 
 learned man, having studied at Barcelona, Sala- 
 manca and Paris. While there had been no system
 
 70 XOhen Kjni^hthood Wa>f in Flciuef 
 
 in his education, his mind was a sort of knowledge 
 junk-shop, wherein he could find almost anything he 
 wanted. He spoke German, French and Spanish, 
 and seemed to know the literature of all these lan- 
 guages. 
 
 He told us he had left home at the early age of 
 sixteen as his uncle's esquire, and had fought in 
 France, then down in Holland with the Dutch ; had 
 been captured by the Spanish and had joined the 
 Spanish army, as it mattered not where he fought, 
 so that there was a chance for honorable achieve- 
 ment and a fair ransom now and then. He told us 
 how he had gone to Barcelona and Salamanca, 
 where he had studied, and thence to Granada, 
 among the Moors; of his fighting against the 
 pirates of Barbary, his capture by them, his slavery 
 and adventurous escape; and his regret that now 
 drowsy peace kept him mewed up in a palace. 
 
 "It is true," he said, "there is a prospect of trouble 
 with Scotland, but I would rather fight a pack of 
 howling, starving wolves than the Scotch; they 
 fight like very devils, which, of course, is well; 
 but you have nothing after you have beaten them, 
 not even a good whole wolf skin." 
 
 In an unfortunate moment Mary said: "Oh, 
 Master Brandon, tell us of your duel with Judson.'* 
 
 Thoughtful, considerate Jane frowned at the prin- 
 cess in surprise, and put her finger on her lips. 
 
 "Your ladyship, I fear I can not," he answered, 
 and left his seat, going over to the window, where
 
 A Le^^on in Dancing 7' 
 
 he stood, with his back toward us, looking out into 
 the darkness. Mary saw what she had done, and 
 her eyes grew- moist, for, with all her faults, she 
 had a warm, tender heart and a quick, responsive 
 sympathy. After a few seconds of painful silence, 
 she went softly over to the window where Brandon 
 stood. 
 
 "Sir, forgive me," she said, putting her hand pret- 
 tily upon his arm. "I should have known. Believe 
 rre, I would not have hurt you intentionally." 
 
 **Ah ! my lady, the word was thoughtlessly spoken, 
 and needs no forgiveness; but your heart shows 
 itself in the asking, and I thank you ; I wanted but 
 a moment to throw off the thought of that terrible 
 day." Then they came back together, and the prin- 
 cess, who had tact enough when she cared to use it, 
 soon put matters right again. 
 
 I started to tell one of my best stories in order 
 to cheer Brandon, but in the midst of it, Mary, who, 
 I had noticed, was restless and uneasy, full of 
 blushes and hesitancy, and with a manner as new to 
 her as the dawn of the first day was to the awaken- 
 ing world, abruptly asked Brandon to dance with 
 her again. She had risen and was standing by her 
 chair, ready to be led out. 
 
 "Gladly," answered Brandon, as he sprang to her 
 side and took her hand. "Which shall it be. La 
 Galliard or the new dance?" And Mar>' standing 
 there, the picture of waiting, willing modesty, lifted 
 her free hand to his shoulder, tried to raise her eyes
 
 72 ^€Ohen Knighthood Wcur in Flotouet 
 
 to his, but failed, and softly said: "The new 
 dance." 
 
 This time the dancing was more soberly done, 
 and when Mary stopped it was with serious, 
 thoughtful eyes, for she had felt the tingling of a 
 new strange force in Brandon's touch. A man, not 
 a worm, but a real man, with all the irresistible 
 infinite attractions that a man may have for a woman 
 — ^the subtle drawing of the lodestone for the pas- 
 sive iron — had come into her life. Doubly sweet 
 it was to her intense, young virgin soul, in that it 
 first revealed the dawning of that two-edged bliss 
 which makes a heaven or a hell of earth — of earthy 
 iwhich owes its very existence to love. 
 
 I do not mean that Mary was in love, but that she 
 had met, and for the first time felt the touch, yes 
 even the subtle, unconscious, dominating force so 
 sweet to woman, of the man she could love, and had 
 known the rarest throb that pulses in that choicest 
 of all God's perfect handiwork — a woman's heart — 
 the throb that goes before — the John, the Baptist, 
 as it were, of coming love. 
 
 It being after midnight, Mary filled tv^ cups of 
 wine, from each of which she took a sip, and handed 
 them to Brandon and me. She then paid me the 
 ten crowns, very soberly thanked us and said we 
 were at liberty to go. 
 
 The only words Brandon ever spoke concerning 
 that evening were just as we retired : 
 
 "Jesu ! she is perfect. But you were wrong, Cas-
 
 A. Lies^on in Dancing 73 
 
 koden. I can still thank God I am not in love with 
 her. I would fall upon my sword if I were." 
 
 I was upon the point of telling him she had never 
 treated any other man as she had treated him, but I 
 thought best to leave it unsaid. Trouble was apt 
 to come of its own accord soon enough. 
 
 In truth, I may as well tell you, that when the 
 princess asked me to bring Brandon to her that 
 she might have a little sport at his expense, she 
 looked for a laugh, but found a sigh.
 
 CHATTB'R V 
 
 An Honor and an £nemy 
 
 A DAY or two after this, Brandon was cxm* 
 manded to an audience, and presented to the 
 king and queen. He was now eligible to all 
 palace entertainments, and would probably have 
 many invitations, being a favorite with both their 
 majesties. As to his standing with Mary, who was 
 really the most important figure, socially, about the 
 court, I could not exactly say. She was such a mix- 
 ture of contradictory impulses and rapid transi- 
 tions, and was so full of whims and caprice, the 
 inevitable outgrowth of her blood, her rank and the 
 adulation amid which she had always lived, that I 
 could not predict for a day ahead her attitude to- 
 ward any one. She had never shown so great favor 
 to any man as to Brandon, but just how much of 
 her condescension was a mere whim, growing out 
 of the impulse of the moment, and subject to reac- 
 tion, I could not tell. I believed, however, that 
 Brandon stood upon a firmer foundation with this 
 changing, shifting, quicksand of a girl than with 
 either of their majesties. 
 
 In fact, I thought he rested upon her heart itself. 
 But to guess correctly what a girl of that sort will 
 do, or think, or feel would require inspiration. 
 
 Of course most of the entertainments given by 
 
 (74) 
 
 r
 
 j\n Honor and an f^nemy 75 
 
 the king and queen included as guests nearly all the 
 court, but Mary often had little fetes and dancing 
 parties which were smaller, more select and infor- 
 mal. These parties were really with the consent 
 and encouragement of the king, to avoid the respon- 
 sibility of not inviting everybody. The larger 
 affairs were very dull and smaller ones might give 
 offense to those who were left out. The latter, 
 therefore, were turned over to Mary, who cared very 
 little who was offended or who was not, and invita- 
 tions to them were highly valued. 
 
 One afternoon, a day or two after Brandon's pres- 
 entation, a message arrived from Mary, notifying 
 me that she would have a little fete that evening in 
 one of the smaller halls and directing me to be there 
 as Master of the Dance. Accompanying the mes- 
 sage was a note from no less a person than the 
 princess herself, inviting Brandon. 
 
 This was an honor indeed — an autograph invita- 
 tion from the hand of Mary ! But the masterful 
 rascal did not seem to consider it anything unusual, 
 and when I handed him the note upon his return 
 from the hunt, he simply read it carelessly over 
 once, tore it in pieces and tossed it away. I believe 
 the Duke of Buckingham would have given ten 
 thousand crowns to receive such a note, and would 
 doubtless have shown it to half the court in tri- 
 umphant confidence before the middle of the night. 
 To this great Captain of th * guard it was but a 
 scjap of paper. He was glad to have it neverthe-
 
 76 XOhen Knighthood Wa^ in Flower 
 
 less, and, with all his self-restraint and stoicism, 
 could not conceal his pleasure. 
 
 Brandon at once accepted the invitation in a per- 
 sonal note to the princess. The boldness of this 
 actually took my breath, and it seems at first to have 
 startled Mary a little, also. As you must know by 
 this time, her "dignity royal" was subject to alarms, 
 and quite her most troublesome attribute — very apt 
 to receive damage in her relations with Brandon. 
 
 Mary did not destroy Brandon's note, despite the 
 fact that her sense of dignity had been disturbed 
 by it, but after she had read it slipped off into her 
 private room, read it again and put it on her 
 escritoire. Soon she picked it up, reread it, and, 
 after a little hesitation, put it in her pocket. It 
 remained in the pocket for a moment or two, when 
 out it came for another perusal, and then she un- 
 fastened her bodice and put it in her bosom. Mary 
 had been so intent upon what she was doing that 
 she had not seen Jane, who was sitting quietly in 
 the window, and, when she turned and saw her, she 
 was so angry she snatched the note from her bosom 
 and threw it upon the floor, stamping her foot in 
 embarrassment and rage. 
 
 "How dare you watch me, hussy?" she cried. 
 **You lurk around as still as the grave, and I have 
 to look into every nook and corner, wherever I go, 
 or have you spying on me." 
 
 "I did not spy upon you, Lady Mary," said Jane 
 quietly.
 
 A.fi Honor and an Enemy 77 
 
 "Don't answer me ; I know you did. I want you 
 to be less silent after this. Do you hear? Cough, 
 or sing, or stumble; do something, anything, that 
 I may hear you." 
 
 Jane rose, picked up the note and offered it to her 
 mistress, who snatched it with one hand, while she 
 gave her a sharp slap with the other. Jane ran out, 
 and Mary, full of anger and shame, slammed the 
 door and locked it. The note, being the cause of all 
 the trouble, she impatiently threw to the floor again, 
 and went over to the window bench, where she 
 threw herself down to pout. In the course of five 
 minutes she turned her head for one fleeting instant 
 and looked at the note, and then, after a little hesita- 
 tion, stole over to where she had thrown it and 
 picked it up. Going back to the light at the window, 
 she held it in her hand a moment and then read it 
 once, twice, thrice. The third time brought the 
 smile, and the note nestled in the bosom again. 
 
 Jane did not come off so well, for her mistress 
 did not speak to her until she called her in that 
 evening to make her toilet. By that time INIary had 
 forgotten about the note in her bosom ; so when 
 Jane began to array her for the dance, it fell to the 
 floor, whereupon both girls broke into a laugh, and 
 Jane kissed Mary's bare shoulder, and Mary kissed 
 the top of Jane's head, and they were friends 
 again. 
 
 So Brandon accepted Mary's invitation and went 
 to Mar>''s dance, but his going made for him aa
 
 78 XOhen Knighthood Wa^ in Flobaer 
 
 enemy of the most powerful nobleman in the realm, 
 and this was the way of it. 
 
 These parties of Mary's had been ^oing on once 
 or twice a week during the entire winter and spring, 
 and usually included the same persons. It was a 
 sort of coterie, whose members were more or less 
 congenial, and most of them very jealous of inter- 
 lopers. Strange as it may seem, uninvited persons 
 often attempted to force themselves in, and all sorts 
 of schemes and maneuvers were adopted to gain 
 admission. To prevent this, two guardsmen 
 with halberds were stationed at the door. Mod- 
 esty, I might say, neither thrives nor is useful at 
 court. 
 
 When Brandon presented himself at the door his 
 entrance was barred, but he quickly pushed aside the 
 halberds and entered. The Duke of Buckingham, 
 a proud, self-important individual, was standing 
 near the door and saw it all. Now Buckingham was 
 one of those unfortunate persons who never lose an 
 opportunity to make a mistake, and being anxious to 
 display his zeal on behalf of the princess stepped up 
 to prevent Brandon's entrance. 
 
 "Sir, you will have to move out of this," he said 
 pompously. "You are not at a jousting bout. You 
 have made a mistake and have come to the wrong 
 place." 
 
 "My Lord of Buckingham is pleased to make 
 rather more of an ass of himself than usual this 
 evening," replied Brandon with a smile, as he
 
 A^n Honor and an Enemy 79 
 
 started across the room to Mar}', whose eye he had 
 caught. She had seen and heard it all, but instead 
 of coming to his relief stood there laughing to her- 
 self. At this Buckingham grew furious and ran 
 around ahead of Brandon, valiantly drawing his 
 sword. 
 
 "Now, by heaven ! fellow, make but another step 
 and I will nm you through," he said. 
 
 I saw it all, but could hardly realize what was 
 going on, it came so quickly and was over so soon. 
 Like a flash Brandon's sword was out of its sheath, 
 and Buckingham's blade was flying toward the ceil- 
 ing. Brandon's sword was sheathed again so 
 quickly that one could hardly believe it had been out 
 at all, and, picking up Buckingham's, he said with a 
 half-smothered laugh : 
 
 "My lord has dropped his sword." He then broke 
 its point with his heel against the hard floor, saying : 
 "I will dull the point, lest my lord, being unaccus- 
 tomed to its use, wound himself." This brought 
 peals of laughter from everybody, including the 
 king. Mary laughed also, but, as Brandon was 
 handing Buckingham his blade, came up and de- 
 manded : 
 
 "My lord, is this the way you take it upon your- 
 self to receive my guests? Who appointed you, let 
 me ask, to guard my door? We shall have to omit 
 your name from our next list, unless you take a few 
 lessons in good manners." This was striking him 
 hard, and the quality of the man will at once appear
 
 8o tOhen Kjnighthood Wa>s in Flobtter 
 
 plain to you when I say that he had often recei^^red 
 worse treatment, but clung to the girl's skirts all the 
 more tenaciously. Turning to Brandon the princess 
 said: 
 
 "Master Brandon, I am glad to see you, and re- 
 gret exceedingly that our friend of Buckingham 
 should so thirst for your blood." She then led him 
 to the king and queen, to whom he made his bow, 
 and the pair continued their walk about the room. 
 Mary again alluded to the skirmish at the door, and 
 said laughingly : 
 
 "I would have come to your help, but I knew you 
 were amply able to take care of yourself. I was 
 sure you would worst the duke in some way. It was 
 better than a mummery, and I was glad to see it. I 
 do not like him," 
 
 The king did not open these private balls, as he 
 was supposed, at least, not to be their patron, and 
 the queen, who was considerably older than Henry, 
 was averse to such things. So the princess opened 
 her own balls, dancing for a few minutes with the 
 floor entirely to herself and partner. It was the 
 honor of the evening to open the ball with her, and 
 quite curious to see how men put themselves in her 
 way and stood so as to be easily observed and per- 
 chance chosen. Brandon, after leaving Mary, had 
 drifted into a corner of the room back of a group 
 of people, and was talking to Wolsey — who was 
 always very friendly to him — and to Master Caven- 
 dish, a quaint, quiet, easy little man, full of learning
 
 An Honor and an Enemy 8i 
 
 and kindness, and a warm friend to the Princess 
 Mary. 
 
 It was time to open the ball, and, from my place 
 in the musicians' gallery, I could see Mary moving 
 about among the guests, evidently looking for a 
 partner, while the men resorted to some very trans- 
 parent and amusing expedients to attract her atten- 
 tion. The princess, however, took none of the bid- 
 ders, and soon, I noticed, she espied Brandon stand- 
 ing in the corner with his back toward her. 
 
 Something told me she was going to ask him to 
 open the dance, and I regretted it, because I knew 
 it would set every nobleman in the house against 
 him, they being very jealous of the "low-born 
 favorites," as they called the untitled friends of 
 royalty. Sure enough, I was right. Mary at once 
 began to make her way over to the corner, and I 
 heard her say: "Master Brandon, will you dance 
 with me ?" 
 
 It was done prettily. The whole girl changed as 
 soon as she found herself in front of him. In place 
 of the old-time confidence, strongly tinged with 
 arrogance, she was almost shy, and blushed and 
 stammered with quick coming breath, like a burgher 
 maid before her new-found gallant. At once the 
 courtiers made way for her, and out she walked, 
 leading Brandon by the hand. Upon her lips and in 
 her eyes was a rare triumphant smile, as if to say : 
 
 "Look at this handsome new trophy of my bow 
 and spear."
 
 82 tifhen K.nighihood Woo- in Flobjer 
 
 I was surprised and alarmed when Mary chose 
 Brandon, but when I turned to the musicians to 
 direct their play, imagine, if you can, my surprise 
 when the leader said: 
 
 "Master, we have our orders for the first dance 
 from the princess." 
 
 Imagine, also, if you can, my double surprise and 
 alarm, nay, almost my terror, when the band struck 
 up Jane's "Sailor Lass." I saw the look of sur- 
 prise and inquiry which Brandon gave Mary, stand- 
 ing there demurely by his side, when he first heard 
 the music, and I heard her nervous little laugh as 
 she nodded her head, "Yes," and stepped closer to 
 him to take position for the dance. The next mo- 
 ment she was in Brandon's arms, flying like a sylph 
 about the room. A buzz of astonishment and de- 
 light greeted them before they were half way 
 around, and then a great clapping of hands, in 
 which the king himself joined. It was a lovely 
 sight, although, I think, a graceful woman is more 
 beautiful in La Galliard than any other dance, or, 
 in fact, any other situation in which she can place 
 herself. 
 
 After a little time the Dowager Duchess of Kent, 
 first lady in waiting to the queen, presented herself 
 at the musicians' gallery and said that her majesty 
 had ordered the music stopped, and the musicians, 
 of course, ceased playing at once. Mary thereupon 
 turned quickly to me :
 
 An Honor and an Enemy 83 
 
 "Master, are our musicians w<;ary that they stop 
 before we are through?" 
 
 The queen answered for me in a high- Mced 
 Spanish accent: "I ordered the music stopped; I 
 will not permit such an indecent exhibition to go on 
 longer." 
 
 Fire sprang to Mary's eyes and she exclaimed: 
 "If your majesty does not like the way we do and 
 dance at my balls you can retire as soon as you see 
 fit. Your face is a kill-mirth anyway." It never 
 took long to rouse her ladyship. 
 
 The queen turned to Henry, who was laughing, 
 and angrily demanded : 
 
 "Will your majesty permit me to be thus insulted 
 in your very presence ?" 
 
 "You got yourself into it; get out of it as best 
 you can. I have often told you to let her alone; 
 she has sharp claws." The king was really tired of 
 Catherine's sour frown before he married her. It 
 was her dower of Spanish gold that brought her a 
 second Tudor husband. 
 
 "Shall I not have what music and dances I want 
 at my own balls?" asked the princess. 
 
 "That you shall, sister mine; that you shall," 
 answered the king. "Go on master, and if the girl 
 likes to dance that way, in God's name let her have 
 her wish. It will never hurt her; we will learn it 
 ourself, and will wear the ladies out a-dancing." 
 
 After Mary had finished the opening dance there 
 was a great demand for instruction. The king
 
 84 XOhen Knighthood Wa^ in Ftotauer 
 
 asked Brandon to teach him the steps, which he soon 
 learned to perform with a grace perhaps equaled by 
 no living creature other than a fat brown bear. The 
 ladies were at first a little shy and inclined to stand 
 at ar I's length, but Mary had set the fashion and 
 the others soon followed. I had taken a fiddler to 
 my room and had learned the dance from Brandon ; 
 and was able to teach it also, though I lacked prac- 
 tice to make my step perfect. The princess had 
 needed no practice, but had danced beautifully from 
 the first, her strong young limbs and supple body 
 taking as naturally to anything requiring grace of 
 movement as a cygnet to water. 
 
 This, thought I, is my opportunity to teach Jane 
 the new dance. I wanted to go to her first, but was 
 afraid, or for some reason did not, and took several 
 other ladies as they came. After I had shown the 
 step to them I sought out my sweetheart. Jane was 
 not a prude, but I honestly believe she was the most 
 provoking girl that ever lived. I never had suc- 
 ceeded in holding her hand even the smallest part 
 of an instant, and yet I was sure she liked me very 
 much; almost sure she loved me. She feared I 
 might unhinge it and carry it away, or something 
 of that sort, I suppose. When I went up and 
 asked her to let me teach her the new dance, she 
 said: 
 
 "I thank you, Edwin; but there are others who 
 are more anxious to learn than I, and you had bet- 
 ter teach them first."
 
 An Honor and an Enemy 85 
 
 "But I want to teach you. When I wish to teach 
 them I will go to them." 
 
 "You did go to several others before you thought 
 of coming to me," answered Jane, pretending to be 
 piqued. Now that was the unkindest thing I ever 
 knew a girl to do — refuse me what she knew I so 
 wanted, and then put the refusal on the pretended 
 ground that I did not care much about it. I so told 
 her, and she saw she had carried things too far, and 
 that I was growing angry in earnest. She then made 
 another false, though somewhat flattering, excuse: 
 
 "I could not bear to go through that dance before 
 so large a company. I should not object so much if 
 no one else could see — that is, with you — Edwin." 
 "Edwin !" Oh ! so soft and sweet ! The little jade ! 
 to think that she could hoodwink me so easily, and 
 talk me into a good humor with her soft, purring 
 "Edwin." I saw through it all quickly enough, and 
 left her without another word. In a few minutes she 
 went into an adjoining room where I knew she was 
 alone. The door was open and the music could be 
 heard there, so I followed. 
 
 "My lady, there is no one to see us here; I can 
 teach you now, if you wish," said I. 
 
 She saw she was cornered, and replied, with a toss 
 of her saucy little head : "But what if I do not 
 wish?" 
 
 Now this was more than I could endure with pa- 
 tience, so I answered: "My young lady, you shall 
 ask me before I teach you."
 
 86 "When Kjnighlhood Wa^ in Flobifer 
 
 "There are others who can dance it much better 
 than you/' she returned, without looking at me. 
 
 "If you allow another to teach you that dance," I 
 responded, "you will have seen the last of me." She 
 had made me angry, and I did not speak to her for 
 more than a week. When I did — but I will tell you 
 of that later on. There was one thing about Jane 
 and the new step : so long as she did not know it, 
 she would not dance it with any other man, and fool- 
 ish as my feeling may have been, I could not bear 
 the thought of her doing it. I resolved that if she 
 permitted another man to teach her that dance it 
 should be all over between us. It was a terrible 
 thought to me, that of losing Jane, and it came like 
 a very stroke upon my heart. I would think of her 
 sweet little form, so compact and graceful ; of her 
 gray, calm eyes, so full of purity and mischief ; of 
 her fair oval face, almost pale, and wonder if I 
 could live without the hope of her. I determined, 
 however, that if she learned the new dance with 
 any other man I would throw that hope to the 
 winds, whether I lived or died. St. George ! I be- 
 lieve I should have died. 
 
 The evening was devoted to learning the new 
 dance, and I saw Mary busily engaged imparting 
 information among the ladies. As we were about to 
 disperse I heard her say to Brandon : 
 
 "You have greatly pleased the king by bringing 
 him a new amusement. He asked me where I 
 learned it, and I told him you had taught it to Cas- 
 
 1
 
 A^n Honor and an Enemy 87 
 
 koden, and that I had it from him. I told Caskoden 
 so that he can tell the same story." 
 
 "Oh ! but that is not true. Don't you think you 
 should have told him the truth, or have evaded it in 
 some way ?" asked Brandon, who was really a great 
 lover of the truthj "when possible," but who, I fear 
 on this occasion, wished to appear more truthful 
 than he really was. If a man is to a woman's taste, 
 and she is inclined to him, he lays up great stores 
 in her heart by making her think him good; and 
 shameful impositions are often practiced to this end. 
 
 Mary flushed a little and answered, "I can't help 
 it. You do not know. Had I told Henry that we 
 four had enjoyed such a famous time in my rooms 
 he would have been very angry, and — and — ^you 
 might have been the sufferer." 
 
 "But might you not have compromised matters by 
 going around the truth some way^ and leaving the 
 impression that others were of the party that even- 
 ing?" 
 
 That was a mistake, for it gave Mary an oppor- 
 tunity to retaliate: "The best way to go around 
 the truth, as you call it, is by a direct lie. My lie 
 was no worse than yours. But I did not stop to 
 argue about such matters. There is something else 
 I wished to say. I want to tell you that you liave 
 greatly pleased the king with the new dance. Now 
 teach him "honor and ruff" and your fortune is 
 made. He has had some Jews and Lombards in of 
 late to teach him new games at cards, but yours is
 
 88 "When Kjxi^hihood Wa>s in Flower 
 
 worth all of them." Then, somewhat hastily and 
 irrelevantly, "I did not dance the new dance with 
 any other gentleman — ^but I suppose you did not 
 notice it," and she was gone before he could thank 
 her.
 
 CHA.TTEK, VI 
 
 A 7<,are 'Ride 1o Windsor 
 
 THE princess knew her royal brother. A man 
 would receive quicker reward for inventing an 
 amusement or a gaudy costume for the king 
 than by winning him a battle. Later in life tlie 
 high road to his favor was in ridding him of his 
 wife and helping him to a new one — a dangerous 
 way though, as Wolsey found to his sorrow when 
 he sank his glory in poor Anne Boleyn. 
 
 Brandon took the hint and managed to let it be 
 known to his play-loving king that he knew the 
 latest French games. The French Due de Longue* 
 ville had for some time been an honored prisoner at 
 the English court, held as a hostage from Louis 
 XII, but de Longueville was a blockhead, who 
 could not keep his little black eyes oflF our fair ladies, 
 who hated him, long enough to tell the deuce of 
 spades from the ace of hearts. So Brandon was 
 taken from his duties, such as they were, and placed 
 at the card table. This was fortunate at first ; for 
 being the best player the king always chose him as 
 his partner, and, as in every other game, the king 
 always won. If he lost there would soon be no 
 game, and the man who won from him too fre- 
 quently was in danger at any moment of being rated 
 guilty of the verv highest sort of treason. I think 
 
 (89)
 
 90 XVhen Kjni^hthood Wcis in Floboer 
 
 many a man's fall, under Henry VIII, was owing to 
 the fact that he did not always allow the king to 
 win in some trivial matter of game or joust. Under 
 these conditions everybody was anxious to be the 
 king's partner. It is true he frequently forgot to 
 divide his winnings, but his partner had this advan- 
 tage, at least : there was no danger of losing. That 
 being the case, Brandon's seat opposite the king 
 was very likely to excite envy, and the time soon 
 came, Henry having learned the play, when Bran- 
 don had to face someone else, and the seat was too 
 costly for a man without a treasury. It took but a 
 few days to put Brandon hors de combat, financially, 
 and he would have been in a bad plight had not Wol- 
 sey come to his relief. After that, he played and 
 paid the king in his own coin. 
 
 This great game of "honor and ruff" occupied 
 Henry's mind day and night during a fortnight. He 
 feasted upon it to satiety, as he did with everything 
 else ; never having learned not to cloy his appetite 
 by over-feeding. So we saw little of Brandon while 
 the king's fever lasted, and Mary said she wished 
 she had remained silent about the cards. You see, 
 she could enjoy this new plaything as well as her 
 brother; but the king, of course, must be satisfied 
 first. They both had enough eventually ; Henry in 
 one way, Mary in another. 
 
 One day the fancy struck the king that he would 
 rebuild a certain chapel at Windsor; so he took a 
 number of the court, including Mary, Jane, Brandon
 
 A 'Rare 'Ride to Wind^tor 91 
 
 and myself, and went with us up to London, where 
 we lodged over night at Bridewell House. The 
 next morning — as bright and beautiful a June day 
 as ever gladdened the heart of a rose — we took 
 horse for Windsor; a delightful seven-league rid^ 
 over a fair road. 
 
 Mary and Jane traveled side by side, with an oc- 
 casional companion or two, as the road permitted. 
 I was angry with Jane, as you know, so did not go 
 near the girls ; and Brandon, without any apparent 
 intention one way or the other, allowed events 
 to adjust themselves, and rode w'ith Cavendish 
 and me. 
 
 We were perhaps forty yards behind the girls, 
 and I noticed after a time that the Lady Mary kept 
 looking backward in our directior^, as if fearing rain 
 from the east. I was in hopes that Jane, too, would 
 fear the rain, but you would have sworn her neck 
 was stiff, so straight ahead did she keep her face. 
 We had ridden perhaps three leagues, when the 
 princess stopped her horse and turned in her saddle. 
 I heard her voice, but did not understand what she 
 said. 
 
 In a moment some one called out : "Master Bran- 
 don is wanted." So that gentleman rode forward, 
 and I followed him. When we came up with the 
 girls, Mary said : "I fear my girth is loose." 
 
 Brandon at once dismounted to tighten it, and the 
 others of our immediate party began to cluster 
 around.
 
 92 to hen Knighthood Wa-f in Ftobuer 
 
 Brandon tried the girth. 
 
 "My lady, it is as tight as the horse can well 
 bear," he said. 
 
 "It is loose, I say," insisted the princess, with a 
 little irritation; "the saddle feels like it. Try the 
 other." Then turning impatiently to the persons 
 gathered around: "Does it require all of you, 
 standing there like gaping bumpkins, to tighten my 
 girth? Ride on; we can manage this without so, 
 much help." Upon this broad hint everybody rode 
 ahead while I held the horse for Brandon, who went 
 on with his search for the loose girth. While he 
 was looking for it Mary leaned over her horse's 
 neck and asked : "Were you and Cavendish settling 
 all the philosophical points now in dispute, that you 
 found him so interesting?" 
 
 "Not all," answered Brandon, smiling. 
 
 "You were so absorbed, I supposed it could 
 be nothing^ short of that. " 
 
 "No," replied Brandon again. "But the girth 
 b not loose." 
 
 "Perhaps I •nly imagined it," returned Mary 
 1 carelessly, having lo^ interest in the girth. 
 ( I looked toward Jane, whose eyes were bright 
 with a smile, and turned Brandon's horse over to 
 him. Jane's smile gradually broadened into a laugh, 
 and she said: "Edwin, I fear my girth is loose 
 also." 
 
 "As the Lady Mary's was?" asked I, unable to 
 keep a straight face any longer.
 
 A T^are Hide to WindUor 93 
 
 **Yes," answered Jane, with a vigorous little nod 
 of her head, and a peal of laughter. 
 
 "Then drop back with me," I responded. 
 
 The princess looked at us with a half smile, half 
 frown, and remarked: "Now you doubtless con- 
 sider yourselves very brilliant and witty." 
 
 "Yes," returned Jane maliciously, nodding her 
 head in emphatic assent, as the princess and Bran- 
 don rode on before us. 
 
 "I hope she is satisfied now," said Jane sotto voce 
 to me. 
 
 "So you want me to ride with you ?" I replied. 
 
 "Yes," nodded Jane. 
 
 "Why?" I asked. 
 
 "Because I want you to," was the enlightening 
 response. 
 
 "Then why did you not dance with me the other 
 evening?" 
 
 "Because I did not want to." 
 
 "Short but comprehensive," thought I, "but a 
 sufficient reason for a maiden." 
 
 I said nothing, however, and after a time Jane 
 spoke : "The dance was one thing and riding with 
 you is another. I did not wish to dance with you, 
 but I do wish to ride with you. You are the only 
 gentleman to whom I would have said what I did 
 about my girth being loose. As to the new dance, 
 I do not care to learn it because I would not dance it 
 with any man but you, and not even with you — yet." 
 This made me glad, and coming from coy, modest
 
 94 te^hen Kjiighihood Wa>s in Plotuer 
 
 Jane meant a great deal. It meant that she cared 
 for me, and would, some day, be mine ; but it also 
 meant that she would take her own time and her 
 own sweet way in being won. This was comfort- 
 ing, if not satisfying, and loosened my tongue: 
 "Jane, you know my heart is full of love for 
 you—" 
 
 "Will the universe crumble?" she cried with the 
 most provoking little laugh. Now that sentence was 
 my rock ahead, whenever I tried to g^ve Jane some 
 idea of the state of my affections. It was a part of 
 the speech which I had prepared and delivered to 
 Mary in Jane's hearing, as you already know. I had 
 said to the princess: "The universe will crumble 
 and the heavens roll up as a scroll ere my love shall 
 alter or pale." It was a high-sounding sentence, but 
 it was not true, as I was forced to admit, almost 
 with the same breath that spoke it. Jane had heard 
 it, and had stored it away in that memory of hers, 
 so tenacious in holding to everything it should for- 
 get. It is wonderful what a fund of useless infor- 
 mation some persons accumulate and cling to With a 
 persistent determination worthy of a better cause. 
 I thought Jane never would forget that unfortunate, 
 abominable sentence spoken so grandiloquently to 
 Mary. I wonder what she would have thought had 
 she known that I had said substantially the same, 
 thing to a dozen others. I never should have won 
 her in that case. She does not know it yet, and 
 never shall if I can prevent. Although dear Jane is
 
 A Ttare 'Ride to Windsor 95 
 
 old now, and the roses on her cheeks have long since 
 paled, her gray eyes are still there, with their mis- 
 chievous little twinkle upon occasion, and — in fact, 
 Jane can be as provoking as ever when she takes 
 the fancv, for she is as sure of mv affection now 
 as upon the morning of that rare ride to Windsor. 
 Aye, surer, since she knows that in all these years 
 it has changed only to grow greater and stronger 
 and truer in the fructifying light of her sweet face, 
 and the nurturing warmth of her pure soul. What 
 a blessed thing it is for a man to love his wife and 
 be satisfied with her, and to think her the fairest 
 being in all the world ; and how thrice happy is 
 he who can stretch out the sweetest season of his 
 existence, the days of triumphant courtship, through 
 the flying years of all his life, and then lie down to 
 die in the quieted ecstasy of a first love. 
 
 So Jane halted my effort to pour out my heart, as 
 she always did. 
 
 ''There is something that greatly troubles me," 
 she said. 
 
 "What is it?" I asked in some concern. 
 
 "My mistress," she answered, nodding in the 
 direction of the two riding ahead of us. "I never 
 saw her so much interested in any one as she is in 
 vour friend, Master Brandon. Not that she is 
 really in love with him as yet perhaps, but I fear 
 it is coming and I dread to see it. She has never 
 been compelled to forego anything she wanted, and 
 her desires are absolutely imperative. They drive
 
 96 "When Knighthood Was in JTlobuer 
 
 her, and she is helpless against them. She would 
 not and could not make the smallest effort to over- 
 come them, I think it never occurred to her that 
 such a thing could be necessary; everything she 
 wants she naturally thinks is hers by divine right. 
 There has been no great need of such an effort until 
 now, but your friend Brandon presents it. I wish 
 he were at the other side of the world. I think she 
 feels that she ought to keep away from him before 
 it is too late, both for his sake and her own, but 
 she is powerless to deny herself the pleasure of 
 being with him, and I do not know what is to come 
 of it all. That incident of the loose girth is an 
 illustration. Did you ever know anything so bold 
 and transparent? Any one could see through it, 
 and the worst of all is she seems not to care if every 
 one does see. Now look at them ahead of us ! No 
 girl is so happy riding beside a man unless she is 
 interested in him. She was dull enough until he 
 joined her. He seemed in no hurry to come, so she 
 resorted to the flimsy excuse of the loose girth to 
 bring him. I am surprised that she even sought 
 the shadow of an excuse, but did not order him for- 
 ward without any pretense of one. Oh ! I don't 
 know what to do. It troubles me greatly. Do you 
 know the state of his feelings?" 
 
 "No," I answered, "but I think he is heart-whole, 
 or nearly so. He told me he was not fool enough 
 to fall in love with the king's sister, and I really 
 believe he will keep his heart and head, even at that
 
 A Tiare Hide to WincUor 97 
 
 dizzy height. He is a cool fellow, if there ever 
 was one." 
 
 "He certainly is different from other men/' re- 
 turned Jane. "I think he has never spoken a word 
 of love to her. He has said some pretty things, 
 which she has repeated to me; has moralized to 
 some extent, and has actually told her of some of 
 her faults. I should like to see anyone else take 
 that liberty. She seems to like it from him, and 
 says he inspires her with higher, better motives and 
 a yearning to be good ; but I am sure he has made 
 no love to her." 
 
 "Perhaps it would be better if he did. It might 
 cure her," I replied. 
 
 "Oh! no! no! not now; at first, perhaps, but not 
 now. What I fear is that if he remains silent much 
 longer she will take matters in hand and speak her- 
 self. I don't like to say that — it doesn't sound well — 
 but she is a princess, and it would be different with 
 her from what it would be with an ordinary girl; 
 she might have to speak first, or there might be no 
 speaking from one who thought his position too far 
 beneath hers. She whose smallest desires drive her 
 so, will never forego so great a thing as the man 
 she loves only for the want of a word or two." 
 
 Then it was that Jane told me of the scene with 
 the note, of the little whispered confidence upon 
 their prillows, and a hundred other straws that 
 showed only too plainly which way this worst of 
 ill winds was blowing — with no good in it for any
 
 ^ XOhen Knighthood Wa^ in Flower 
 
 cne. Now who could have foretold this? It was 
 tasy enough to prophesy that Brandon %vould learn 
 to love Mary, excite a passing interest, and come 
 off crestfallen, as all other men had done. But that 
 Mary should love Brandon, and he remain heart- 
 whole, was an unlooked-for event — one that would 
 hardly have been predicted by the shrewdest 
 prophet. 
 
 What Lady Jane said troubled me greatly, as it 
 was but the confirmation of my own fears. Her 
 opportunity to know was far better than mine, but 
 I had seen enough to set me thinking. 
 
 Brandon, I believe, saw nothing of Mary's grow- 
 ing partiality at all. He could not help but find her 
 wonderfully attractive and interesting, and per- 
 haps it needed only the thought that she might love 
 him, to kindle a flame in his own breast. But at 
 the time of our ride to Windsor, Charles Brandon 
 was not in love with Mary Tudor, however near it 
 he may unconsciously have been. He would whistle 
 and sing, and was as light-hearted as a lark — I mean 
 when away from the princess as well as with her — 
 a mood that does not go with a heart full of heavy 
 love, of impossible, fatal love, such as his would 
 have been for the first princess of the first blood 
 royal of the world. 
 
 But another's trouble could not dim the sunlight 
 in my own heart, and that ride to Windsor was the 
 happiest day of my life up to that time. Even Jane 
 threw off the little cloud our forebodings had
 
 A 'Rare Tiide to Windsor 99 
 
 gathered, and chatted and laughed like the creature 
 of joy and gladness she was. Now and then her 
 heart would well up so full of the sunlight and the 
 flowers, and the birds in the hedge, aye, and of the 
 contagious love in my heart, too, that it poured 
 itself forth in a spontaneous little song which thrills 
 me even now. 
 
 Ahead of us were the princess and Brandon. 
 Every now and then her voice came back to us in a 
 stave of a song, and her laughter, rich and low, 
 wafted on the wings of the soft south wind, made 
 the glad birds hush to catch its silvery note. It 
 seemed that the wild flowers had taken on their 
 brightest hue, the trees their richest Sabbath-day 
 green, and the sun his softest radiance, only to glad- 
 den the heart of IMary that they might hear her 
 laugh. The laugh would have come quite as joy- 
 ously had the flowers been dead and the sun black, 
 for flowers and sunlight, south wind, green pas- 
 tures and verdant hills, all were riding by her side. 
 Poor Mary ! Her days of laughter were num- 
 bered. 
 
 We all rode merrily on to Windsor, and when we 
 arrived it was curious to see the great nobles, Buck- 
 ingham, both the Howards, Seymour and a dozen 
 others stand back for plain Charles Brandon to dis- 
 mount the fairest maiden and the most renowned 
 princess in Christendom. It was done most grace- 
 fully. She was but a trifle to his strong arms, and 
 he lifted her to the sod as gently as if she wer«» 4
 
 100 XOhen Kjnighihqod Wa^s in Flower 
 
 child. The nobles envied Brandon his evident favor 
 with this unattainable Mary and hated him accord- 
 ingly, but they kept their thoughts to themselves for 
 two reasons: First, they knew not to what degree 
 the king's favor, already marked, with the help of 
 the princess might carry him ; and second, they did 
 not care to have a misunderstanding with the man 
 who had cut out Adam Judson's eyes. 
 
 We remained at Windsor four or five days, dur- 
 ing which time the king made several knights. 
 Brandon would probably have been one of them, as 
 everybody expected, had not Buckingham related 
 to Henry the episode of the loose girth, and adroitly 
 poisoned his mind as to Mary's partiality. At this 
 the king began to cast a jealous eye on Brandon. 
 His sister was his chief diplomatic resource, and 
 when she loved or married, it should be for Henry's 
 benefit, regardless of all else. 
 
 Brandon and the Lady Mary saw a great deal 
 of each other during this little stay at Windsor, as 
 she always had some plan to bring about a meet- 
 ing, and although very delightful to him, it cost 
 him much in royal favor. He could not trace this 
 eflfect to its proper cause and it troubled him. I 
 could have told him the reason in two words, but 
 I feared to put into his mind the thought that the 
 princess might learn to love him. As to the king, 
 he would not have cared if Brandon or every other 
 man, for that matter, should go stark mad for love 
 of his sister, but when she bes^an to show a prefer-
 
 A Ttare 'Ride to Windsor loi 
 
 ence he grew interested, and it was apt sooner or 
 later to go hard with the fortunate one. When we 
 went back to Greenwich Brandon was sent on a day 
 ahead.
 
 CHATTEL VJI 
 
 Lake's Fierce Stveetne^^ 
 
 AFTER we had all returned to Greenwich the 
 princess and Brandon were together fre- 
 quently. Upon several occasions he was in- 
 vited, with others, to her parlor for card playing. 
 But we spent two evenings, with only four of us 
 present, prior to the disastrous events which 
 changed everything, and of which I am soon to tell 
 you. During these two evenings the "Sailor Lass" 
 was in constant demand. 
 
 This pair, who should have remained apart, met 
 constantly in and about the palace, and every glance 
 added fuel to the flame. Part of the time it was the 
 princess with her troublesome dignity, and part of 
 the time it way Mary — simply girl. Notwithstand- 
 ing these haughty moods, anyone with half an eye 
 could see that the princess was gradually succumb- 
 ing to the budding woman ; that Brandon's stronger 
 nature had dominated her with that half fear which 
 every woman feels who loves a strong man — ■ 
 stronger than herself. 
 
 One day the rumor spread through the court that 
 
 the old French king, Louis XII, whose wife, Anne 
 
 of Brittany, had just died, had asked Mary's hand 
 
 in marriage. It was this, probably, which opened 
 
 Brandon's eyes to the fact that he had been play- 
 
 (102)
 
 I 
 
 LtO'Ve*'S Pierce Sttfeelne-rs 103 
 
 ing with the very worst sort of fire ; and first made 
 him see that in spite of himself, and almost with- 
 out his knowledge, the girl had grown wonderfully 
 sweet and dear to him. He now saw his danger, 
 and struggled to keep himself beyond the spell of 
 her perilous glances and siren song. This modern 
 Ulysses made a masterful effort, but alas ! had no 
 ships to carry him away, and no wax with which to 
 fill his ears. Wax is a good thing, and no one 
 should enter the Siren country without it. Ships, 
 too, are good, with masts to tie one's self to, and 
 sails and rudder, and a gust of wind to waft one 
 quickly past the island. In fact, one cannot take too 
 many precautions when in those enchanted waters. 
 
 Matters began to look dark to me. Love had 
 dawned in Mary's breast, that was sure, and for 
 the first time, with all its fierce sweetness. Not that 
 it had reached its noon, or anything like it. In 
 truth, it might, I hoped, die in the dawning, for my 
 lady was as capricious as a Tvlay day; but it was 
 love — love as plain as the sun at rising. She sought 
 Brandon upon all occasions, and made opportunities 
 to meet him; not openly — at any rate, not with 
 Brandon's knowledge, nor with any connivance on 
 his part, but apparently caring little what he or any 
 one else might see. Love lying in her heart had 
 made her a little more shy than formerly in seek- 
 ing him, but her straightforward way of taking 
 whatever she wanted made her transparent little 
 attempts at concealment very pathetic.
 
 104 to hen Kjntghlhood Woj" in Flower 
 
 As for Brandon, the shaft had entered his heart, 
 too, poor fellow, as surely as love had dawned in 
 Mary's, but there was this difference: With our 
 princess — at least I so thought at the time — the sun 
 of love might dawn and lift itself to mid-heaven and 
 , glow with the fervent ardor of high noon — for her 
 blood was warm with the spark of her grandfather's 
 fire — and then sink into the west and make room for 
 another sun to-morrow. But with Brandon's 
 stronger nature the sun would go till noon and there 
 would burn for life. The sun, however, had not 
 reached its noon with Brandon, either; since he 
 had set his brain against his heart, and had done 
 what ne could to stay the all-consuming orb at its 
 dawning. He knew the hopeless misery such a 
 passion would bring him, and helped the good Lord, 
 in so far as he could, to answer his prayer, and lead 
 him not into temptation. As soon as he saw the 
 truth, he avoided Mary as much as possible. 
 
 As I said, we had spent several evenings with 
 Mary after we came home from Windsor, at all of 
 which her preference was shown in every move- 
 ment. Some women are so expressive under strong 
 emotion that every gesture, a turn of the head, a 
 glance of the eyes, the lifting of a hand or the poise 
 of the body, speaks with a tongue of eloquence, and 
 such was Mary. Her eyes would glow with a soft 
 fire when they rested upon him, and her whole per- 
 son told all too plainly what, in truth, it seemed she 
 did not care to hide. When others were present she
 
 Lo-Ve*^ Fierce Stueetne'S't 105 
 
 would restrain herself somewhat, but with only 
 Jane and myself, she could hardly maintain a seemly 
 reserve. During all this time Brandon remained 
 cool and really seemed unconscious of his wonderful 
 attraction for her. It is hard to understand why he 
 did not see it, but I really believe he did not. Al- 
 though he was quite at ease in her presence, too 
 much so, Mary sometimes thought, and strangely 
 enough sometimes told him in a fit of short-lived, 
 quickly repented anger that always set him laugh- 
 ing, yet there was never a word or gesture that 
 could hint of undue familiarity. It would probably 
 have met a rebuff from the princess part of her; 
 for what a perversity, both royal and feminine, she 
 wanted all the freedom for herself. In short, like 
 any other woman, she would rather love than be 
 loved, that is, until surrender day should come; 
 then of course. . . . 
 
 After these last two meetings, although the invi- 
 tations came frequently, none was accepted. Bran- 
 don had contrived to have his duties, ostensibly at 
 least, occupy his evenings, and did honestly what 
 his judgment told him was the one thing to do ; that 
 is, remain away from a fire that could give no genial 
 varmth, but was sure to burn him to the quick. I 
 saw this only too plainly, but never a word of it was 
 spoken between us. 
 
 The more I saw of this man, the more I respected 
 him, and this curbing of his affections added to my 
 already high esteem. The effort was doubly wise
 
 io6 XOhen Kjitghthood Waj* in Flower 
 
 in Brandon's case. Should love with his intense 
 nature reach its height, his recklessness would in 
 turn assert itself, and these two would inevitably 
 try to span the impassable gulf between them, when 
 Brandon, at least, would go down in the attempt. 
 His trouble, however, did not make a mope of him, 
 and he retained a great deal of his brightness and 
 sparkle undimmed by what must have been an ache 
 in his heart. Though he tried, without making it 
 too marked, to see as little of Mary as possible, their 
 meeting once in a while could not be avoided, espe- 
 cially when one of them was always seeking to 
 bring it about. After a time, Mary began to sus- 
 pect his attempts to avoid her, and she grew cold 
 and distant through pique. Her manner, however, 
 had no effect upon Brandon, who did not, or at least 
 appeared not to notice it. This the girl could not 
 endure, and lacking strength to resist her heart, soon 
 returned to the attack. 
 
 Mary had not seen Brandon for nearly two weeks, 
 and was growing anxious, when one day she and 
 Jane met him in a forest walk near the river, Bran- 
 don was sauntering along reading when they over- 
 took him. Jane told me afterwards that Mary's 
 conduct upon coming up to him was pretty and 
 curious beyond the naming. At first she was in- 
 clined to be distant, and say cutting things, but 
 when Brandon began to grow restive under tliem 
 and showed signs of turning back, she changed 
 front in the twinkling of an eye and was all sweet-
 
 JLo'C'eV F^terce Stveetne^'t 107 
 
 ness. She laughed and smiled and dimpled, as only 
 she could, and was full of bright glances and 
 gracious words. 
 
 She tried a hundred little schemes to get him to 
 herself for a moment — the hunting of a wild flower 
 or a four-leaved clover, or the explomtion of some 
 little nook in the forest toward which she would 
 lead him — but Jane did not at first take the hint and 
 kept close at her heels. Mary's impulsive nature 
 was not much given to hinting — she usually nodded 
 and most emphatically at that — so after a few fail- 
 ures to rid herself of her waiting lady she said 
 impatiently: "J*^"^' i" the name of heaven don't 
 keep so close to us. You won't move out of reach of 
 my hand, and you know how often it inclines to box 
 vour ears." 
 
 Jane did know, I am sorry for Alary's sake to say, 
 how often the fair hand was given to such spasms ; 
 so with this emphasized hint she walked on ahead, 
 half sulky at the indignity put upon her, and half 
 amused at her whimsical mistress. 
 
 Mary lost no time, but began the attack at once. 
 
 "Now, sir, I want you to tell me the truth ; why 
 do you refuse my invitations and so persistently 
 keep away from me? I thought at first I would 
 simply let you go your way, and then I thought I — ■ 
 I would not. Don't deny it. I know you won't. 
 With all your faults, you don't tell even little lies; 
 not even to a woman — I believe. Now there is a 
 fiae compliment — is it not? — when I intended to
 
 lo8 XOhen Kjitghihood Was in Flower 
 
 scold you !" She gave a fluttering little laugh, and, 
 with hanging head, continued : "Tell me, is not the 
 king's sister of quality sufficient to suit you? Per- 
 haps you must have the queen or the Blessed Vir- 
 gin? Tell me now?" And she looked up at him, 
 half in banter, half in doubt. 
 
 "My duties — ," began Brandon. 
 
 ^SDh ! bother your duties. Tell me the truth." 
 
 *'I will, if you let me," returned Brandon, who 
 had no intention whatever of doing anything of the 
 sort. "My duties now occupy my time in the even- 
 ing 
 
 "That will not do," interrupted Mary, who knew 
 enough of a guardsman's duty to be sure it was not 
 onerous. "You might as well come to it and tell 
 the truth ; that you do not like our society." And 
 she gave him a vicious little glance without a 
 shadow of a smile. 
 
 "In God's name, Lady Mary, that is not it," 
 answered Brandon, who was on the rack. "Please 
 do not think it. I cannot bear to have you say such 
 a thing when it is so far from the real truth." 
 
 "Then tell me the real truth." 
 
 "I cannot ; I cannot. I beg of you not to ask. 
 Leave me ! or let me leave you. I refuse to answer 
 further." The latter half of this sentence was 
 uttered doggedly and sounded sullen and ill- 
 humored, although, of course, it was not so in- 
 tended. He had been so perilously near speaking 
 words which would probably have lighted, to
 
 Lox^e'^s Fierce Sbueetne^fS iog 
 
 their destruction — to his, certainly — the smoldering 
 flames within their breast that it frightened him, 
 and the manner in which he spoke was but a tone 
 giving utterance to the pain in his heart. 
 
 Mary took it as it sounded, and, in unfeigned sur- 
 prise, exclaimed angrily : "Leave you? Do I hear 
 aright? I never thought that I, the daughter and 
 sister of a king, would live to be dismissed by a — 
 by a — any one." 
 
 "Your highness — " began Brandon ; but she was 
 gone before he could speak. 
 
 He did not follow her to explain, knowing how 
 dangerous such an explanation would be, but felt 
 that it was best for them both that she should remain 
 offended, painful as the thought was to him. 
 
 Of course, Mary's womanly self-esteem, to say 
 nothing of her royal pride, was wounded to the 
 quick, and no wonder. 
 
 Poor Brandon sat down upon a stone, and, as he 
 longingly watched her retiring form, wished in his 
 heart he were dead. This was the first time he 
 really knew how much he loved the girl, and he saw- 
 that, with him at least, it was a matter of bad to 
 ^vorse; and at that rate would soon be — worst. 
 
 Now that he had unintentionally offended her, 
 and had permitted her to go without an explanation, 
 she was dearer to him than ever, and, as he sat there 
 vith his face in his hands, he knew that if matters 
 went on as they were going, the time would soon 
 come when he would throw caution to the dogs and
 
 110 to hen Kjitghthood Wcw in Flotsfer 
 
 would try the impossible — to win her for his own« 
 Caution and judgment still sat enthroned, and they 
 told him now what he knew full well they would 
 not tell him after a short time — that failure was 
 certain to follow the attempt, and disaster sure to 
 follow failure. First, the king would, in all proba- 
 bility, cut off his head upon an intimation of Mary's 
 possible fondness for him ; and, second, if he should 
 be so fortunate as to keep his head, Mary could not, 
 and certainly would not, marry him, even if she 
 loved him with all her heart. The distance between 
 them was too great, and she knew too well what she 
 owed to her position. There was but one thing left 
 — New Spain ; and he determined while sitting 
 there to sail with the next ship. 
 
 The real cause of Brandon's manner had never 
 occurred to Mary. Although she knew her beauty 
 and power, as she could not help but know it — not 
 as a matter of vanity, but as a matter of fact — yet 
 love had blinded her where Brandon was concerned, 
 and that knowledge failed to give her light as to his 
 motives, however brightly it might illumine the 
 conduct of other men toward whom she was indif- 
 ferent. 
 
 So Mary was angry this time ; angry in earnest, 
 and Jane felt the irritable palm more than once. I, 
 too, came in for my share of her ill temper, as most 
 certainly would Brandon, had he allowed himself 
 to come within reach of her tongue, which he was 
 careful not to do. An angry porcupine would have
 
 LtO'Ve'^ Fierce SUfeetne-sj iii 
 
 been pleasant company compared with Mary dur- 
 ing this time. There was no living with her in 
 peace. Even the king fought shy of her, and the 
 queen was almost afraid to speak. Pro' ably so 
 much general disturbance was never before or since 
 collected within one small body as in that young 
 Tartar-\'enus, Mary. She did not tell Jane the 
 cause of her vexation, but only said she "verily 
 hated Brandon," and that, of course, was the key 
 to the whole situation. 
 
 After a fortnight, this ill-humor began to sottcn 
 in the glowing warmth of her heart, which was 
 striving to reassert itself , and the desire to see Bran- 
 don began to get the better of her sense of injury. 
 
 Brandon, tired of this everlasting watchfulness to 
 keephimself out of temptation, and, dreading at any 
 moment that lapse from strength which is apt to 
 come to the strongest of us, had resolved to quit his 
 place at court and go to New Spain at once. He 
 had learned, upon inquiry, that a ship would sail 
 from Bristol in about twenty days, and another six 
 weeks later. So he chose the former and was mak- 
 ing his arrangements to leave as soon as possible. 
 
 He told me of his plans and spoke of his situa- 
 *tion : "You know the reason for my going," he 
 said, "even if I have never spoken of it. I am not 
 much of a Joseph, and am very little given to run- 
 ning away from a beautiful woman, but in this case 
 I am fleeing from death itself. And to think what 
 a heaven it would be. You are right, Caskoden ;
 
 112 to hen Kjni^htbood Wa^ in floti/er 
 
 no man can withstand the light of that girl's smile, 
 I am unable to tell how I feel toward her. It some- 
 times seems that I can not live another hour with- 
 out seeing her; yet, thank God, I have reason 
 enough left to know that every sight of her only 
 adds to an already incurable malady. What will 
 it be when she is the wife of the king of France? 
 Does it not look as if wild life in New Spain is my 
 only chance?" 
 
 I assented as we joined hands, and our eyes were 
 moist as I tolil him how I should miss him more 
 than anyone else in all the earth — excepting Jane, 
 in mental reservation. 
 
 I told Jane what Brandon was about to do, know- 
 ing full well she would tell Mary; which she did 
 at once. 
 
 Poor Mar}^ ! The sighs began to come now, and 
 such small vestiges of her ill-humor toward Bran- 
 don as still remained were frightened off in a hurry 
 by the fear that she had seen the last of him. 
 
 She had not before fully known that she loved 
 him. She knew he was the most delightful com- 
 panion she had ever met, and that there was an 
 exhilaration about his presence which almost intoxi- 
 cated her and made life an ecstasy, yet she did not 
 know it was love. It needed but the thought that 
 she was about to lose him to make her know hec 
 malady, and meet it face to face. 
 
 Upon the evening when Mary learned all this, 
 she went into her chamber very early and closed the
 
 Lox^e*^ Fierce Stueetness II3 
 
 door. No one interrupted her until Jane went in to 
 robe her for the night, and to retire. She then 
 found that Mary had robed herself and was lying in 
 bed with her head covered, apparently asleep. Jane 
 quietly prepared to retire, and lay down in her own 
 bed. The girls usually shared one couch, but during 
 Mary's ill-temper she had forced Jane to sleep alone. 
 
 After a short silence Jane heard a sob from the 
 other bed, then another, and another. 
 
 "Mary, are you weeping?'' she asked. 
 
 *'Yes.'' 
 
 "What is the matter, dear ?" 
 
 ''Nothing," with a sigh. 
 
 "Do you wish me to come to your bed ?" 
 
 "Yes, I do." So Jane went over and lay beside 
 Mary, who gently put her arms about her neck. 
 
 "When will he leave?" whispered Mary, shyly 
 confessing all by her question. 
 
 "I do not know," responded Jane, "but he will 
 see you before he goes," 
 
 "Do you believe he will ?" 
 
 "I know it;" and .with this consolation Mary 
 softly wept herself to sleep. 
 
 After this, for a few days, Mary was quiet 
 
 'enough. Her irritable mood had vanished, but Jane 
 
 could see that she was on the lookout for some one 
 
 all the time, although she made the most pathetic 
 
 little efforts to conceal her watchfulness. 
 
 At last a meeting came about in this way: Next 
 to the king's bed-chamber was a luxuriously fur-
 
 114 te^hen Kntghihood Wa4 in Flower 
 
 nished little apartment with a well-selected library. 
 Here Brandon and I often went, afternoons, to read, 
 as we were sure to be undisturbed. 
 
 Late one day Brandon had gone over to this quiet 
 retreat, and having selected a volume, took his place 
 in a secluded little alcove half hidden in arras 
 draperies. There was a cushioned seat along the 
 wall and a small diamond-shaped window to furnish 
 light. 
 
 He had not been there long when in came Mary. 
 I can not say whether she knew Brandon was there 
 or not, but she was there and he was there, which 
 is the only thing to the point, and finding him, she 
 stepped into the alcove before he was aware of her 
 presence. 
 
 Brandon was on his feet in an instant, and with a 
 low bow was backing himself out most deferentially, 
 to leave her in sole possession if she wished tC^ 
 rest. 
 
 "Master Brandon, you need not go. I will not 
 hurt you. Besides, if this place is not large enough 
 for us both, I will go. I would not disturb you.'* 
 She spoke with a tremulous voice and a quick, un- 
 easy glance, and started to move backward out of 
 the alcove. 
 
 "Lady Mary, how can you speak so ? You know 
 •^-you must know — oh ! I beg you — " But she in- 
 terrupted him by taking his arm and drawing him 
 to a seat beside her on the cushion. She could have 
 drawn down the Colossus of Rhodes with the look
 
 Lo'V^^ Pierce Stveetnes^ US 
 
 she gave Brandon, so full was it of command, en- 
 treaty and promise. 
 
 "That's it ; I don't know, but I want to know ; 
 and I want you to sit here beside me and tell me. 
 I am going to be reconciled with you, despite the 
 way you treated me when last we met. I am going 
 to be friends with you whether you will or not 
 Now what do you say to that, sir?" She spoke with 
 a fluttering little laugh of uneasy non-assurance, 
 which showed that her heart was not nearly so con- 
 fident nor so bold as her words would make believe. 
 Poor Brandon, usually so ready, had nothing "to 
 say to that," but sat in helpless silence. 
 
 Was this the sum total of all his wise determina- 
 tions made at the cost of so much pain and effort? 
 Was this the answer to all his prayers, "Lead me 
 not into temptation"? He had done his part, for 
 he had done all he could. Heaven had not helped 
 him, since here was temptation thrust upon him 
 when least expected, and when the way was so nar- 
 row he could not escape, but must meet it face to 
 face. 
 
 Mary soon recovered her self-possession — women 
 are better skilled in this art than men — and con- 
 tinued : 
 
 "I am not intending to say one word about your 
 treatment of me that day over in the forest, al- 
 though it was very bad, and you have acted abomin- 
 ably ever since. Now is not that kind Jn me?" And 
 she softly laughed as she peeped up at the poor fet
 
 ii6 tOhen K.nighihoodWa^ in Ftottfer 
 
 low from beneath those sweeping lashes, with the 
 premeditated purpose of tantalizing him, I suppose. 
 She was beginning to know her power over him, 
 and it was never greater than at this moment. Her 
 beauty had its sweetest quality, for the princess 
 was sunk and the woman was dominant, with 
 flushed face and flashing eyes that caught a double 
 luster from the glowing love that made her heart 
 beat so fast. Her gown, too, was the best she could 
 have worn to show her charms. She must have 
 known Brandon was there, and must have dressed 
 especially to go to him. She wore her favorite long 
 flowing outer sleeve, without the close fitting inner 
 one. It was slit to the shoulder, and gave entranc- 
 ing glimpses of her arms with every movement, 
 leaving them almost bare when she lifted her hands, 
 which was often, for she was as full of gestures as a 
 Frenchwoman. Her bodice was cut low, both back 
 and front, showing her large perfectly molded 
 throat and neck, like an alabaster pillar of beauty 
 and strength, and disclosing her bosom just to its 
 shadowy incurving, white and billowy as drifted 
 snow. Her hair was thrown back in an attempt at 
 a coil, though, like her own rebellious nature, it 
 could not brook restraint, and persistently escaped 
 in a hundred little curls that fringed her face and 
 lay upon the soft white nape of her neck like fluflfy 
 shreds of sun-lit floss on new cut ivory. 
 
 With the mood that was upon her, I wonder 
 Brandon maintained his self-restraint even for a
 
 "Put up vour swonis or <liit\v tlu-ni on Mary Tuilor, 
 the 8ist«r ot vour Kiiij:." — Acr III.
 
 l^,cxJe''f Fierce Stoeeines^ ii7 
 
 moment. He felt that his only hope lay in silence, 
 so he sat beside her and said nothing. He told me 
 long afterwards that while sitting there in the inter- 
 vals between her speech, the oddest, wildest 
 thoughts ran through his brain. He wondered how 
 he could escape. He thought of the window, and 
 that possibly he might break away through it, and 
 then he thought of feigning illness, and a hundred 
 other absurd schemes, but they all came to nothing, 
 and he sat there to let events take their own 
 course as they seemed determined to do in spite 
 of him. 
 
 After a short silence, Mar}- continued, half ban- 
 teringly: "Answer me, sir! I will have no more 
 of this. You shall treat me at least with the cour- 
 tesy you would show a bourgeoise girl." 
 
 "Oh, that you were only a burgher's daughter." 
 
 "Yes, I know all that ; but I am not. It can't be 
 helped, and you shall answer me." 
 
 "There is no answer, dear lady — I beg you — oh, 
 do you not see — " 
 
 "Yes, yes; but answer my question; am I not 
 kind — more than you deserve?" 
 
 "Indeed, yes; a thousand times. You have al- 
 ways been so kind, so gracious and so condescend- 
 ing to me that I can only thank you, thank you, 
 thank you," answered Brandon, almost shyly; not 
 daring to lift his eyes to hers. 
 
 Mary saw the manner quickly enough — what 
 woman ever missed it, much less so keen-eyed a girl
 
 ii8 to hen Kjnighthood Wa^ in Flower 
 
 as she — and it gave her confidence, and brought 
 back the easy banter of her old time manner. 
 
 "How modest we have become! Where is the 
 boldness of which we used to have so much ? Kind ? 
 Have I always been so ? How about the first time I 
 met you ? Was I kind then ? And as to condescen- 
 sion, don't — don't use that word between us," 
 
 "No," returned Brandon, who, in his turn, was 
 recovering himself, "no, I can't say that you were 
 very kind at first. How you did fly out at me and 
 surprise me. It was so unexpected it almost took 
 me oflP my feet," and they both laughed in remem- 
 bering the scene of their first meeting. "No, I can't 
 say your kindness showed itself very strongly in 
 that first interview, but it was there nevertheless, 
 and when Lady Jane led me back, your real nature 
 asserted itself, as it always does, and you were kind 
 to me; kind as only you can be." 
 
 That was getting very near to the sentimental; 
 dangerously near, he thought; and he said to him- 
 self: "If this does not end quickly I shall have t© 
 escape," 
 
 "You are easily satisfied if you call that good," 
 laughingly returned Mary. "I can be ever so ranch 
 better than that if I try." 
 
 "Let me see you try," said Brandon. 
 
 "Why, I'm trying now," answered Mary with a 
 distracting little pout. "Don't you know genuine 
 out-and-out goodness when you see it? I'm doing 
 my very best now. Can't you tell ?"
 
 Loxfe's Fierce Stveetne^s 119 
 
 "Yes, I think I recognize it; but — but — be bad 
 again." 
 
 "No, I won't! I will not be bad even to please 
 you ; I have determined not to be bad and I will not 
 — not even to be good. This," placing her hand 
 over her heart, "is just full of 'good' to-day," and 
 her lips parted as she laughed at her own pleas- 
 antry. 
 
 "I am afraid vou had better be bad — I give vou 
 fair warning," said Brandon huskily. He felt her 
 eyes upon him all the time, and his strength and 
 good resolves were oozing out like wine from an 
 ill-coppered cask. After a short silence Mary con- 
 tinued, regardless of the warning: 
 
 "But the position is reversed with us ; at first I 
 was unkind to you, and you were kind to me, but 
 now I am kind to you and you are unkind to me." 
 
 "I can come back at you with your own words,'* 
 responded Brandon. "You don't know when I am 
 kind to you. I should be kinder to myself, at least, 
 were I to leave you and take myself to the other 
 side of the world." 
 
 "Oh ! that is one thing I wanted to ask you about. 
 Jane tells me you are going to New Spain?" 
 
 She was anxious to know, but asked the question 
 partly to turn the conversation which was fast be- 
 coming perilous. As a girl, she loved Brandon, and 
 knew it only too well, but she knew also that she 
 was a princess, standing next to the throne of the 
 greatest kingdom on earth; in fact, at that time.
 
 120 XOhen Kjitghtbood Wa^ in Flok£fer 
 
 the heir apparent — Henry having no children — for 
 the people would not have the Scotch king's imp — 
 and the possibility of such a thing as a union with 
 Brandon had never entered her head, however pas- 
 sionate her feelings toward him. She also knew 
 that speaking a thought vitalizes it and gives it 
 force; so, although she could not deny herself the 
 pleasure of being near him, of seeing him, and hear- 
 ing the tones of his voice, and now and then feeling 
 the thrill of an accidental touch, she had enough 
 good sense to know that a mutual confession, that is, 
 taking it for granted Brandon loved her, as she felt 
 almost sure he did, must be avoided at all hazards. 
 It was not to be thought of between people so far 
 apart as they. The brink was a delightful place, 
 full of all the sweet ecstasies and thrilling joys of a 
 seventh heaven, but over the brink — well ! there 
 should be no "over," for who was she? And who 
 was he ? Those two dreadfully stubborn facts could 
 not be forgotten, and the gulf between them could 
 not be spanned ; she knew that only too well. No 
 one better, 
 
 Brandon answered her question : "I do not know 
 about going; I think I shall. I have volunteered 
 with a ship that sails in two or three weeks from 
 Bristol, and I suppose I shall go." 
 
 "Oh, no ! do you really mean it ?" It gave her a 
 pang to hear that he was actually going, and her 
 love pulsed higher; but she also felt a sense of 
 relief, somewhat as a conscientious house-breaker
 
 LaJe's Pierce Sbueefne^s I2i 
 
 might feel upon finding the door securely locked 
 against him. It would take away a temptation 
 which she could not resist, and yet dared not yield 
 to much longer. 
 
 "I think there is no doubt that I mean it," replied 
 Brandon. "I should like to remain in England until 
 I can save enough money out of the king's allow- 
 ance to pay the debt against my father's estate, so 
 that I may bo able to go away and feel that my 
 brother and si.-ters are secure in their honn^ — my 
 brother is not strong — but I know it is better for me 
 to go now, and I hope to find the money cut there. 
 I could have paid it with what I lost to Judson be- 
 fore I discovered him cheating." This was the first 
 time he had ever alluded to the duel, and the 
 thought of it. in Mary's mind, added a faint touch of 
 fear to her ft eling toward him. 
 
 She looked up with a light in her eyes and asked : 
 "What is the debt? How much? Let me give you 
 the money. I have so much more than I need. Let 
 me pay it. Please tell me how much it is and I will 
 hand it to you. You can come to my rooms and get 
 it 01 I will send it to you. Now tell me that I may. 
 Quickly." And she was alive with enthusiastic in- 
 terest. 
 
 "There now ! you are kind again ; as kind as even 
 you can be. Be sure, T thank you, though I say it 
 only once," and he looked into her eyes with a gaze 
 she could not stand even for an instant. This was 
 growing dangerous again, so, catching himself, he
 
 122 XOhen Kjiighthood Wa>s in Flctefer 
 
 turned the conversation back into the bantering 
 vein. 
 
 "Ah ! you want to pay the debt that I may have 
 no excuse to remain ? Is that it ? Perhaps you are 
 not so kind after all." 
 
 "No ! no ! you know better. But let me pay the 
 debt. How much is it and to whom is it owing? 
 iTell me at once, I command you." 
 
 "No! no! Lady Mary, I cannot." 
 
 "Please do. I beg — if I cannot command. Now 
 I know you will; you would not make me heg 
 twice for anything ?" She drew closer to him as she 
 spoke and put her hand coaxingly upon his arm. 
 With an irresistible impulse he took the hand in his 
 and lifted it to his lips in a lingering caress that 
 could not be mistaken. It was all so quick 
 and so full of fire and meaning that Mary took 
 fright, and the princess, for the moment, came up- 
 permost. 
 
 "Master Brandon!" she exclaimed sharply, and 
 drew away her hand. Brandon dropped the hand 
 and moved over on the seat. He did not speak, but 
 turned his face from her and looked out of the win- 
 dow toward the river. Thus they sat in silence, 
 Brandon's hand resting listlessly upon the cushion 
 between them. Mary saw the eloquent movement 
 away from her and his speaking attitude, with 
 averted face; then the princess went into eclipse, 
 and the imperial woman was ascendant once more. 
 She looked at him for a brief space with softening
 
 J^O'Ve*>s Tierce Staeetnesj^ 123 
 
 eyes, and, lifting her hand, put it back in his, say- 
 ing: 
 
 "There it is again — if you want it." 
 
 Want it ? Ah ! this was too much ! The hand 
 would not satisfy now ; it must be all, all ! And he 
 caught her to his arms with a violence that fright- 
 ened her. 
 
 "Please don't, please! Not this time. Ah! have 
 mercy, Charl — Well ! There ! . . . . There ! . . . . 
 Mary mother, forgive me." Then her woman spirit 
 fell before the whirlwind of his passion, and she was 
 on his breast with her white arms around his neck, 
 paying the same tribute to the little blind god that 
 he would have exacted from the lowliest maiden of 
 the land. Just as though it were not the blood of 
 fifty kings and queens that made so red and sweet, 
 aye, sweet as nectar thrice distilled, those lips which 
 now so freely paid their dues in coined bliss. 
 
 Brandon held the girl for a moment or two, 
 then fell upon his knees and buried his face in her 
 lap. 
 
 "Heaven help me !" he cried. 
 
 She pushed the hair back from his forehead with 
 her hand and as she fondled the curls, leaned over 
 him and softly whispered: 
 
 "Heaven help us both ; for I love you !" 
 
 He sprang to his feet. "Don't! don't! I 
 pray you," he said wildly, and almost ran from 
 her. 
 
 Mary followed him nearly to the door of the
 
 124 t^^hen K.ni£hihood Wa>g in Flolauer 
 
 room, but when he turned he saw that she had 
 stopped, and was standing with her hands over her 
 face, as if in tears. 
 
 He went back to her and said : "I tried to avoid 
 this, and if you had helped me, it would never — " 
 But he remembered how he had always despised 
 Adam for throwing the blame upon Eve, no matter 
 how much she may have deserved it, and continued : 
 "No; I do not mean that. It is all my fault. I 
 should have gone away long ago. I could not help 
 it; I tried. Oh! I tried." 
 
 Mary's eyes were bent upon the floor, and tears 
 were falling over her flushed cheeks, unheeded and 
 unchecked. 
 
 "There is no fault in any one; neither could I 
 help it," she murmured. 
 
 "No, no; it is not that there is any fault in the 
 ordinary sense ; it is like suicide or any other great, 
 self-inflicted injury with me. I am different from 
 other men. I shall never recover." 
 
 "I know only too well that you are different from 
 other men, and — and I, too, am different from other 
 women — am I not?" 
 
 "Ah, different! There is no other woman in all 
 this wide, long world," and they were in each other's 
 arms again. She turned her shoulder to him and 
 rested with the support of his arms about her. Her 
 eyes were cast down in silence, and she was evi- 
 dently thinking as she toyed with the lace of his 
 doublet. Brandon knew her varying expressions so
 
 Lo'de'j Pierce Stueefnej>f 125 
 
 well that he saw there was something wanting, so 
 he asked : 
 
 "Is there something you wish to say?" 
 
 "Not I," she responded with emphasis on the pro 
 noun. 
 
 "Then is it something you wish me to say?" 
 
 She nodded her head slowly : "Yes." 
 
 "What is it? Tell me and I will say it." 
 
 She shook her head slowly: "No." 
 
 "What is it? I cannot guess." 
 
 "Did you not like to hear me say that — that I— 
 loved you?" 
 
 "Ah, yes ; you know it. But — oh ! — do you wish 
 to hear me say it?" 
 
 The head nodded rapidly two or three times : 
 "Yes." And the black curving lashes were lifted 
 for a fleeting, luminous instant. 
 
 "It is surely not necessary; you have known it 
 so long already, but I am only too glad to say it. I 
 love you." 
 
 She nestled closer to him and hid her face on his 
 breast. 
 
 "Now that I have said it, what is my reward?" 
 he asked — and the fair face came up, red and rosy, 
 with "rewards," any one of which was worth a 
 king's ransom. 
 
 "But this is worse than insanity," cried Brandon, 
 as he almost pushed her from him. "We can never 
 belong to each other; never." 
 
 "No," said Mary, with a despairing shake of the
 
 126 te^hen Kjitghthood Wa^ in Ftotver 
 
 head, as the tears began to flow again ; "no ! never." 
 And falling upon his knees, he caught both her 
 hands in his, sprang to his feet and ran from the 
 room. 
 
 Her words showed him the chasm anew. She , 
 saw the distance between them even better than 
 he. Evidently it seemed farther looking down than 
 looking up. There was nothing left now but 
 flight. 
 
 He sought refuge in his own apartments and 
 wildly walked the floor, exclaiming, "Fool ! fool that 
 I am to lay up this store of agony to last me all my 
 days. Why did I ever come to this court? God 
 pity me — pity me !" And he fell upon his knees at 
 the bed, burying his face in his arms, his mighty 
 man's frame shaking as with a palsy. 
 
 That same night Brandon told me how he had 
 committed suicide, as he put it, and of his intention 
 to go to Bristol and there await the sailing of the 
 ship, and perhaps find a partial resurrection in New 
 Spain. 
 
 Unfortunately, he could not start for Bristol at 
 once, as he had given some challenges for a tourna- 
 ment at Richmond, and could furnish no good ex- 
 cuse to withdraw them ; but he would not leave his 
 room, nor again see "that girl who was driving 
 him mad." 
 
 It was better, he thought, and wisely too, that 
 there be no leave-taking, but that he should go with- 
 out meeting her.
 
 LoHJe'^s Fierce Szveetne^j^ 127 
 
 "If I see her again," he said, "I shall have to kill 
 some one, even if it is only myself." 
 
 I heard him tossing in his bed all night, and when 
 morning came he arose looking haggard enough, 
 but with his determination to run away and see 
 Mary no more, stronger than ever upon him. 
 
 But providence, or fate, or some one, ordered it 
 differently, and there was plenty of trouble ahead.
 
 CHATTBH VIII 
 
 ^he Trouble in ^illin^^gate Ward 
 
 ABOUT a week after Brandon's memorable in- 
 terview with Mary an incident occurred which 
 changed everything and came very near ter- 
 minating his career in the flower of youth. It also 
 brought about a situation of affairs that showed the 
 difference in the quality of these two persons thrown 
 so marvelously together from their far distant sta- 
 tions at each end of the ladder of fortune, in a way 
 that reflected very little credit upon the one from 
 the upper end. But before I tell you of that I will 
 relate briefly one or two other matters that had a 
 bearing upon what was done, and the motives 
 prompting it. 
 
 To begin with, Brandon had kept himself entirely 
 away from the princess ever since the afternoon 
 at the king's ante-chamber. The first day or so she 
 sighed, but thought little of his absence; then she 
 wept, and as usual began to grow piqued and irri- 
 table. 
 
 What was left of her judgment told her it was 
 
 better for them to remain apart, but her longing 
 
 to see Brandon grew stronger as the prospect of it 
 
 grew less, and she became angry that it could not 
 
 be gratified. Jane was right ; an unsatisfied desire 
 
 with Mary was torture. Even her sense of the great 
 
 (128)
 
 IShe Trouble in 'Bitlin^jgale Ward 129 
 
 distance between them had begun to fade, and when 
 she so wished for him and he did not come, their 
 positions seemed to be reversed. At the end of the 
 third day she sent for him to come to her rooms, 
 but he, b a mighty effort, sent back a brief note 
 saying tha he could not and ought not to go. This, 
 of course, ihrew Mary into a great passion, for she 
 judged him by herself — a very common but danger- 
 ous method of judgment — and thought that if he 
 felt at all as she did, he would throw prudence to 
 the winds and come to her, as she knew she would 
 go to him if she could. It did not occur to her that 
 Brandon knew himself well enough to be sure he 
 would never go to New Spain if he allowed another 
 grain of temptation to fall into the balance against 
 him, but would remain in London to love hopelessly, 
 to try to win a hopeless cause, and end it all by 
 placing his head upon the block. 
 
 It required all his strength, even now, to hold 
 fast his determination to go to New Spain. He had 
 reached his limit. He had a fund of that most use- 
 ful of all wisdom, knowledge of self, and knew his 
 limitations ; a little matter concerning which nine 
 men out of ten go all their lives in blissless igno- 
 rance. 
 
 Mary, who was no more given to self-analysis 
 than her pet linnet, did not appreciate Brandon's 
 potent reasons, and was in a flaming passion when 
 she received his answer. Rage and humiliation 
 completely smothered, for the time, her affection.
 
 130 to hen Kjni^hthood Wcw in Ftokver 
 
 and she said to herself, ( er and over again: "I 
 hate the low-born wretcl. Oh! to think what I 
 have permitted !" And tears of shame and repent- 
 ance came in a flood, as they have come from yield- 
 ing woman's eyes since the world was born. Then 
 she began to doubt his motives. As long as she 
 thought she had given her gift to one who offered 
 a responsive passion, she was glad and proud of 
 what she had done, but she had heard of man's 
 pretense in order to cozen woman out of her favors, 
 and she began to think she had been deceived. To 
 her the logic seemed irresistible ; that if the same 
 motive lived in his heart, and prompted him, that 
 burned in her breast, and induced her, who was 
 virgin to her very heart-core, and whose hand had 
 hardly before been touched by the hand of man, to 
 give so much, no power of prudence could keep 
 him away from her. So she concluded she had 
 given her gold for his dross. This conclusion was 
 more easily arrived at owing to the fact that she 
 had never been entirely sure of the state of his heart. 
 There had always been a love-exciting grain of 
 doubt ; and when the thought came to her that she 
 had been obliged to ask him to tell her of his affec- 
 tion, and that the advances had really all been made 
 by her, that confirmed her suspicions. It seemed 
 only too clear that she had been too quick to give — 
 no very comforting thought to a proud girl, even 
 though a mistaken o-ne. 
 
 As the days went by and Brandon did not
 
 Id he Trouble in 'Billingsgate Ward 131 
 
 come, her anger cooled, as usual, and again her 
 heart began to ache; but her sense of injury 
 grew stronger day by day, and she thought she 
 was, beyond a doubt, the most ill-used of 
 women. 
 
 The other matter I wish to tell you is, that the 
 negotiations for Mar)''s marriage with old Louis 
 XII of France were beginning to be an open secret 
 about the court. The Due de Longueville, who had 
 been held by Henry for some time as a sort of 
 hostage from the French king, had opened negoti- 
 ations by inflaming the flickering passions of old 
 Louis with descriptions of Mary's beauty. As there 
 was a prospect of a new emperor soon, and as the 
 imperial bee had of late been making a most vehe- 
 ment buzzing in Henry's bonnet, he encouraged de 
 Longueville, and thought it would be a good time 
 to purchase the help of France at the cost of his 
 beautiful sister and a handsome dower. Mary, of 
 course, had not been consulted, and although she 
 had coaxed her brother out of other marriage proj- 
 ects, Henry had gone about this as if he were in 
 earnest, and it was thought throughout the court 
 that Mary's coaxings would be all in vain — a fear 
 which she herself had begun to share, notwithstand- 
 ing her usual self-confidence. 
 
 She hated the thought of the marriage, and 
 dreaded it as she would death itself, though she said 
 nothing to any one but Jane, and was holding her 
 forces in reserve for the grand attack. She was
 
 132 XOhen Kjii^hthood Wcm in Flower 
 
 preparing the way by being very sweet and kind to 
 Henry. 
 
 Now, all of this, coming upon the heels of her 
 trouble with Brandon, made her most wretched in- 
 deed. For the first time in her life she began to 
 feel suffering ; that great broadener, in fact, maker, 
 of human character. 
 
 Above all, there was an alarming sense of uncer- 
 tainty in everything. She could hardly bring herself 
 to believe that Brandon would really go to New 
 Spain, and that she would actually lose him, al- 
 though she did not want him, as yet; that is, as a 
 prospective husband. Flashes of all sorts of wild 
 schemes had begun to shoot through her anger and 
 grief when she stared in the face the prospect of her 
 double separation from him — her marriage to an- 
 other, and the countless miles of fathomless sea that 
 would be between them. She could endure any- 
 thing better than uncertainty. A menacing future 
 is the keenest of all tortures for any of us to bear, 
 but especially for a girl like Mary. Death itself is 
 not so terrible as the fear of it. 
 
 Now about this time there lived over in Billings- 
 gate Ward — the worst part of London — a Jewish 
 soothsayer named Grouche. He was also an astrol- 
 oger, and had of late grown into great fame as 
 prophet of the future — a fortune-teller. 
 
 His fame rested on several remarkable predic- 
 tions which had been fulfilled to the letter, and X 
 really think the man had some wonderful powers.
 
 C/>e Trouble in 'BilUn^sgate Ward 133 
 
 They said he was half Jew, half g>'psy, and, if 
 there is alchemy in the mixing of blood, that com- 
 bination should surely produce something peculiar. 
 The city folk were said to have visited him in great 
 nimibers, and, notwithstanding the priests and bish- 
 ops all condemned him as an imp of Satan and a 
 follower of witchcraft, many fine people, including 
 some court ladies, continued to go there by stealth 
 in order to take a dangerous, inquisitive peep into 
 the future. I say by stealth ; because his ostensible 
 occupation of soothsaying and fortune-telling was 
 not his only business. His house was really a place 
 of illicit meeting, and the soothsaying was often 
 but an excuse for going there. Lacking this osten- 
 sible occupation, he would not have been allowed 
 to keep his house within the wall, but would have 
 been relegated to his proper place — Bridge Ward 
 Without. 
 
 Mar}' had long wanted to see this Grouche, at 
 first out of mere curiosity; but Henry, who was 
 very moral — with other people's consciences — would 
 not think of permitting it. Two ladies, Lady Ches- 
 terfield and Lady Ormond, both good and virtuous 
 women, had been detected in such a visit, and had 
 been disgraced and expelled from court in the most 
 cruel manner by order of the king himself. 
 
 Now, added to Mary's old-time desire to see 
 Grouche, came a longing to know the outcome of 
 the present momentous complication of affairs that 
 touched her so closely.
 
 134 XS^hen Kjni^hthood Wa^ in Flobiter 
 
 She could not wait for Time to unfold himself, 
 and drop his budget of events as he traveled, but 
 she must plunge ahead of him, and know, before- 
 hand, the stores of the fates — an intrusion tliey usu- 
 ally resent. I need not tell you that was Mary's only 
 object in going, nor that her heart was as pure as a 
 babe's — quite as chaste and almost as innocent. It 
 is equally true that the large proportion of persons 
 who visited Grouche made his soothsaying an ex- 
 cuse. The thought of how wretched life would be 
 with Louis had put into Mary's mind the thought of 
 how sweet it would be with Brandon. Then came 
 the wish that Brandon had been a prince, or even 
 a great English nobleman ; and then leaped up, all 
 rainbow-hued, the hope that he might yet, by reason 
 of his own great virtues, rise to all of these, and 
 she become his wife. But at the threshold of this 
 fair castle came knocking the thought that perhaps 
 he did not care for her, and had deceived her to 
 gain her favors. Then she flushed with anger and 
 swore to herself she hated him, and hoped never to 
 see his face again. And the castle faded and was 
 wafted away to the realms of airy nothingness. 
 t\ Ah ! how people will sometimes lie to themselves ; 
 and sensible people at that. 
 
 So Mary wanted to see Grouche; first, through 
 curiosity, in itself a stronger motive than we give it 
 credit for ; second, to learn if she would be able to 
 dissuade Henry from the French marriage and per- 
 haps catch a hint how to do it; and last, but by
 
 ^he Trouble in 'BtUing^^ate Ward 135 
 
 ro means least, to discover the state of Brandon's 
 heart toward her. 
 
 By this time the last-named motive was strong 
 enough to draw her any whither, although she 
 would not acknowledge it, even to herself, and in 
 truth hardly knew it ; so full are we of things we 
 know not of. 
 
 So she determined to go to see Grouche secretly, 
 and was confident she could arrange the visit in 
 such a way that it would never be discovered. 
 
 One morning I met Jane, who told me, with 
 troubled face, that she and Mary were going to 
 London to make some purchases, would lodge at 
 Bridewell House, and go over to Billingsgate that 
 evening to consult Grouche. ^lary had taken the 
 whim into her wilful head, and Jane could not dis- 
 suade her. 
 
 The court was all at Grtenwich, and nobody at 
 Bridewell, so Mary thought they could disguise 
 themselves as orange girls and easily make the trip 
 without any one being the wiser. 
 
 It was then, as now, no safe matter for even a 
 man to go unattended through the best parts of Lon- 
 don after dark, to say nothing of Billingsgate, that 
 nest of water-rats and cut-throats. But Mary did 
 not realize the full danger of the trip, and would, 
 as usual, allow nobody to tell her. 
 
 She had threatened Jane with all sorts of venge- 
 ance if she divulged her secret, and Jane was mis- 
 erable enough between her fears on either hand ; for
 
 136 XSJ^hen JK^ntghihood Wa4: in FloWer 
 
 Mary, though the younger, held her in complete 
 subjection. Despite her fear of Mary, Jane asked 
 me to go to London and follow them at a distance, 
 unknown to the princess. I was to be on duty that 
 night at a dance given in honor of the French en- 
 voys who had just arrived, bringing with them 
 commission of special ambassador to de Longue- 
 ville to negotiate the treaty of marriage, and it was 
 impossible for me to go. Mary was going partly 
 to avoid this ball, and her wilful persistency made 
 Henry very angry. I regretted that I could not go, 
 but I promised Jane I would send Brandon in my 
 place, and he would answer the purpose of protec- 
 tion far better than I. I suggested that Brandon 
 take with him a man, but Jane, who was in mortal 
 fear of Mary, would not listen to it. So it was 
 agreed that Brandon should meet Jane at a given 
 place and learn the particulars, and this plan was 
 carried out. 
 
 Brandon went up to London and saw Jane, and 
 before the appointed time hid himself behind a 
 hedge near the private gate through which the girls 
 intended to take their departure from Bridewell. 
 
 They would leave about dusk and return, so Mary 
 said, before it grew dark. 
 
 The citizens of London at that time paid very 
 little attention to the law requiring them to hang 
 out their lights, and when it was dark it was dark. 
 
 Scarcely was Brandon safely ensconced behind a 
 clump of arbor vitse when whom should he see com-
 
 XShe Trouble in 'Billtngjgaie Ward 137 
 
 ing down the path toward the gate but his grace, the 
 Duke of Buckingham. He was met by one of the 
 Bridewell servants who was in attendance upon the 
 princess. 
 
 "Yes, your grace, this is the gate," said the girl. 
 "You can hide yourself and watch them as they go. 
 They will pass out on this path. As I said, I do not 
 know where they are going ; I only overheard them 
 say they would go out at this gate just before dark. 
 I am sure they go on some errand of gallantry, 
 which your grace will soon learn, I make no doubt." 
 
 He replied that he "would take care of that." 
 
 Brandon did not see where Buckingham hid him- 
 self, but soon the two innocent adventurers came 
 down the path, attired in the short skirts and bon- 
 nets of orange girls, and let themselves out at the 
 gate. Buckingham followed them and Brandon 
 quickly followed him. The girls passed through a 
 little postern in the wall opposite Bridewell House, 
 and walked rapidly up Fleet Ditch ; climbed Ludgate 
 Hill ; passed Paul's church ; turned toward the 
 river down Bennett Hill ; to the left on Thames 
 street ; then on past the Bridge, following Lower 
 Thames street to the neighborhood of Fish-street 
 Hill, where they took an alley leading up toward 
 East Cheap to Grouche's house. 
 
 It was a brave thing for the girl to do, and showed 
 the determined spirit that dwelt in her soft white 
 breast. Aside from the real dangers, there was 
 enough to deter any woman, I should think.
 
 135 "to hen Kjnighihood Was in Tlo^er 
 
 Jane wept all the way over, but Mary never" 
 flinched. 
 
 There were great mud-holes where one sank ankle- 
 deep, for no one paved the street at that time, 
 strangely enough preferring to pay the sixpence 
 fine per square yard for leaving it undone. At one 
 place, Brandon told me, a load of hay blocked 
 the streets, compelling them to squeeze between the 
 houses and the hay. He could hardly believe the 
 girls had passed that way, as he had not always been 
 able to keep them in view, but had sometimes to fol- 
 low them by watching Buckingham. He, however, 
 kept as close as possible, and presently saw them 
 turn down Grouche's alley and enter his house. 
 
 Upon learning where they had stopped, Bucking- 
 ham hurriedly took himself off, and Brandon waited 
 for the girls to come out. It seemed a very long 
 time that they were in the wretched place, and dark- 
 ness had well descended upon London when they 
 emerged, 
 
 Mary soon noticed that a man was following 
 them, and as she did not know who he was, became 
 greatly alarmed. The object of her journey had 
 been accomplished now, so the spur of a strong 
 motive to keep her courage up was lacking. 
 
 "Jane, some one is following us," she whispered. 
 
 "Yes," answered Jane, with an unconcern that 
 surprised Mary, for she knew Jane was a coward 
 from the top of her brown head to the tip of her 
 little pink heels.
 
 IS he Trouble in ^illin^s^ate Ward 139 
 
 "Oh, if I had only taken your advice, Jane, and 
 had never come to this wretched place ; and to 
 think, too, that I came here only to learn the worst. 
 Shall we ever get home alive, do you think ?" 
 
 They hurried on, the man behind them taking less 
 care to remain unseen than he did when coming. 
 Mary's fears grew upon her as she heard his step 
 and saw his form persistently following them, and 
 she clutched Jane by the arm. 
 
 "It is all over with us, I know. I would give 
 ever}'thing I have or ever expect to have on earth 
 for — for Master Brandon at this moment." She 
 thought of him as the one person best able to defend 
 her. 
 
 This was only too welcome an opportunity, and 
 Jane said : "That is Master Brandon following 
 us. If we wait a few seconds he will be here," and 
 she called to him before Mary could interpose. 
 
 Now this disclosure operated in two ways. 
 Brandon's presence was, it is true, just what Mary 
 had so ardently wished, but the danger, and, there- 
 fore, the need, was gone when she found that the 
 man who was following them had no evil intent. 
 Two thoughts quickly flashed through the girl's 
 mind. She was angry with Brandon for having 
 cheated her out of so many favors and for having 
 slighted her love, as she had succeeded in convincing 
 herself was the case, all of which Grouche had con- 
 firmed by telling her he was false. Then she had 
 been discovered in doing what blie knew she should
 
 140 XOhen Kjii^Mhood Was in Flobuer 
 
 have left undone, and what she was anxious to con- 
 ceal from every one; and, worst of all, had been 
 discovered by the very person from whom she was 
 most anxious to hide it. 
 
 So she turned upon Jane angrily : "Jane Boling- 
 broke, you shall leave me as soon as we get back 
 to Greenwich for this betrayal of my confidence." 
 
 She was not afraid now that the danger was over, 
 and feared no new danger with Brandon at hand to 
 protect her, for in her heart she felt that to over- 
 come a few fiery dragons and a company or so of 
 giants would be a mere pastime to him; yet see 
 how she treated him. The girls had stopped when 
 Jane called Brandon, and he was at once by their 
 side with uncovered head, hoping for, and, of course, 
 expecting, a warm welcome. But even Brandon, 
 with his fund of worldly philosophy, had not learned 
 not to put his trust in princesses, and his surprise 
 was benumbing when Mary turned angrily upon 
 him. 
 
 "Master Brandon, your impudence in following 
 us shall cost you dearly. We do not desire your 
 company, and will thank you to leave us to our own 
 affairs, as we wish you to attend exclusively to 
 yours." 
 
 This from the girl who had given him so much 
 within less than a week ! Poor Brandon ! 
 
 Jane, who had called him up, and was the cause 
 of his following them, began to weep. 
 
 "Sir," said she, "forgive me; it was not ray fault j
 
 ^he Trouble in 'BiUin^^gaie Ward I4t 
 
 she had just said — " Slap! came Man''s hand on 
 Jane's mouth ; and Jane was marched oflf, weeping 
 bitterly. 
 
 The girls had started up toward East Cheap when 
 they left Grouche's, intending to go home by an 
 upper route, and now they walked rapidly in that 
 direction. Brandon continued to follow them, not- 
 withstanding what Mary had said, and she thanked 
 him and her God ever after that he did. 
 
 They had been walking not more than five min- 
 utes, when, just as the girls turned a corner into a 
 secluded little street, winding its way among the fish 
 warehouses, four horsemen passed Brandon in evi- 
 dent pursuit of them. Brandon hurried forward, 
 but before he reached the corner heard screams of 
 fright, and as he turned into the street distinctly 
 saw that two of the men had dismounted and were 
 trying to overtake the fleeing girls. Fright lent 
 wings to their feet, and their short skirts affording 
 freedom to their limbs, they were giving the pur- 
 suers a warm little race, screaming at every step to 
 the full limit of their voices. How they did run and 
 scream ! It was but a moment till Brandon came 
 up with the pursuers, who, all unconscious that they 
 in turn were pursued, did not expect an attack from 
 the rear. The men remaining on horseback shouted 
 an alarm to their comrades, but so intent were the 
 latter in their pursuit that they did not hear. One 
 of the men on foot fell dead, pierced through the 
 back of the neck by Brandon's sword, before eithe'
 
 142 t&}hen Kjii^hihood Wa>s in FloisfCf 
 
 was aware of his presence. The other turned, but 
 was a corpse before he could cry out. The girls 
 had stopped a short distance ahead, exhausted by 
 their flight. Mary had stumbled and fallen, but 
 had risen again, and both were now leaning against 
 a wall, clinging to each other, a picture of abject 
 terror. Brandon ran to the girls, but by the time 
 he reached them the two men on horseback 
 were there also, hacking away at him from their 
 saddles. Brandon did his best to save himself from 
 being cut to pieces and the girls from being tram- 
 pled under foot by the prancing horses. A narrow 
 jutting of the wall, a foot or two in width, a sort 
 of flying buttress, gave him a little advantage, and 
 up into the slight shelter of the corner thus formed 
 he thrust the girls, and with his back to them, 
 faced his unequal foe with drawn sword. Fortu- 
 nately the position allowed, only one horse to attack 
 them. Two men on foot would have been less in 
 each other's way and much more effective. The 
 men, however, stuck to their horses, and one of 
 them pressed the attack, striking at Brandon most 
 viciously. It being dark, and the distance deceptive, 
 the horseman's sword at last struck the wall, a 
 flash of sparks flying in its trail, and lucky it was, 
 or this story would have ended here. Thereupon 
 Brandon thrust his sword into the horse's throat, 
 causing it to rear backward, plunging and lunging 
 into the street, where it fell, holding its rider by 
 the leg against the cobble-stones of a littJe gutter.
 
 tShe Trouble in 'Billin^^sgaxe Ward 143 
 
 A en' from the fallen horseman brought his com- 
 panion to his side, and gave Brandon an opportunity 
 to escape with the girls. Of this he took advan- 
 tage, you may be sure, for one of his mottoes was, 
 that the greatest fool in the work! is he who docs 
 not early in life learn how and whon to run. 
 
 In the light of the sparks from the sword-stroke 
 jrpon the wall, brief as it was, Brandon recognized 
 the face of Buckingham, from which the mask had 
 fallen. Of this he did not speak to any one till 
 long afterward, and his silence was almost his un- 
 doing. 
 
 How often a word spoken or unspoken may liave 
 the very deuce in it either way ! 
 
 The girls were nearly dead from fright, and in 
 order to make any sort of progress Brandon had 
 to carry the princess and help Jane until he thought 
 they were out of danger. Jane soon recovered, but 
 Mary did not seem anxious to walk, and lay with 
 her head upon Brandon's shoulder, apparently con- 
 tented enough. 
 
 In a few minutes Jane said, "If you can walk now, 
 my lady, I think you had better. We shall soon be 
 near Fishmonger's Hall, where some one is sure to 
 be standing at this hour." 
 
 Mary said nothing in reply to Jane, but, as Bran- 
 don fell a step or two behind at a narrow crossing, 
 whispered: 
 
 "Forgive me, forgive me; I will do any penance 
 you ask; I am unworthy to speak your name. I
 
 144 tOhen Kjni^hihood Wa4 in Ftoiver 
 
 owe you my life and more — and more a thousand 
 times." At this she lifted her arm and placed her 
 hand upon his cheek and neck. She then learned 
 for the first time that he was wounded, and the 
 tears came softly as she slipped from his arms to the 
 ground. She walked beside him quietly for a little 
 time, then, taking his hand in both of hers, gently 
 lifted it to her lips and laid it upon her breast. Half 
 an hour afterward Brandon left the girls at Bride- 
 well House, went over to the Bridge where he had 
 left his horse at a hostelry, and rode down to Green- 
 wich. 
 
 So Mary had made her trip to Grouche's, but It 
 was labor worse than lost. Grouche had told hef 
 nothing she wanted to know, though much that he 
 supposed she would like to learn. He had told her 
 she had many lovers, a fact which her face and form 
 would make easy enough to discover. He informed 
 her also that she had a low-born lover, and in order 
 to put a little evil in with the good fortune, and 
 give what he said an air of truth, he added to 
 Mary's state of unrest more than he thought by 
 telling her that her low-born lover was false. He 
 thought to flatter her by predicting that she would 
 soon marry a very great prince or nobleman, the 
 indications being in favor of the former, and, in 
 place of this making her happy, she wished the 
 wretched soothsayer in the bottomless pit — he and 
 all his prophecies; herself, too, for going to him. 
 His guesses were pretty shrewd ; that is, admitting
 
 IS he Trouble in ^tllin^'S^ate Ward 145 
 
 he did not know who Mary was, which she at least 
 supposed was the case. So Mary wept that night 
 and moaned and moaned because she had gone to 
 Grouche's. It had added infinitely to the pain of 
 which her heart was already too full, and made her 
 thoroughly wretched and unhappy. As usual 
 though, with the blunders of stubborn, self-willed 
 people, some one else had to pay the cost of her 
 folly. Brandon was paNTiiaster in this case, and 
 when you see how dearly he paid, and how poorly 
 she requited the debt, I fear you will despise her. 
 Wait, though ! Be not hasty. The right of judg- 
 ment belongs to — you know whom. No man knows 
 another man's heart, much less a woman's, so how 
 can he judge? We shall all have more than enough 
 of judging by and by. So let us put off for as many 
 to-morrows as possible the thing that should be 
 left undone to-day.
 
 CHATTEL IX 
 
 f^ul not your Trust in 'Princesses 
 
 I THOUGHT the king's dance that night would 
 never end, so fond were the Frenchmen of our 
 fair ladies, and I was more than anxious to see 
 Brandon and learn the issue of the girls' escapade, 
 as I well knew the danger attending it. 
 
 All things, however, must end, so early in the 
 morning I hastened to our rooms, where I found 
 Brandon lying in his clothes, everything saturated 
 with blood from a dozen sword cuts. He was very 
 weak, and I at once had in a barber, who took off 
 his shirt of mail and dressed his wounds. He then 
 dropped into a deep sleep, while I watched the night 
 out. Upon awakening Brandon told me all that had 
 happened, but asked me to say nothing of his ill- 
 ness, as he wished to keep the fact of his wounds 
 secret in order that he might better conceal the 
 cause of them. But, as I told you, he did not speak 
 of Buckingham's part in the affray. 
 
 I saw the princess that afternoon, and expected, 
 of course, she would inquire for her defender. One 
 who had given such timely help and who was suf- 
 fering so much on her account was surely worth a 
 little solicitude; but not a word did she ask. She 
 did not come near me, but made a point of avoid- 
 ance, as I could plainly see. The next morning she, 
 
 (146)
 
 T'ut not your Tru4i in T^rinces^fe't 147 
 
 with Jane, went over to Scotland Palace without 
 so much as a breath of inquiry from either of them. 
 This heartless conduct enraged me ; but I was glad 
 to learn afterward that Jane's silence was at AIar>''s 
 command — that bundle of selfishness fearing that 
 any solicitude, however carefully shown upon her 
 part, might reveal her secret. 
 
 It seems that Mary had recent intelligence of the 
 forward state of affairs in the marriage negotia- 
 tions, and felt that a discovery by her brother of 
 what she had done, especially in view of the disas- 
 trous results, would send her to France despite all 
 the coaxing she could do from then till doomsday. 
 
 It was a terrible fate hanging over her, doubly 
 so in view of the fact that she loved another man ; 
 and looking back at it all from the vantage point of 
 time, I cannot wonder that it drove other things 
 out of her head and made her seem selfish in her 
 frightened desire to save herself. 
 
 About twelve o'clock of the following night I was 
 awakened by a knock at my door, and, upon open- 
 ing, in walked a sergeant of the sheriff of London, 
 with four yeomen at his heels. 
 
 The sergeant asked if one Charles Brandon was 
 present, and upon my affirmative answer demanded 
 that he be forthcoming. I told the sergeant that 
 Brandon was confined to his bed with illness, where- 
 upon he asked to be shown to his room. 
 
 It was useless to resist or to evade, so I awakened 
 Brandon and took the sergeant in. Here he read
 
 148 to hen Kjnighihood Wa>s in F^lott/er 
 
 his warrant to arrest Charles Brandon, Esquire, for 
 the murder of two citizens of London, perpetrated, 
 done and committed upon the night of such and 
 such a day, of this year of our Lord, 15 14. Bran- 
 don's hat had been found by the side of the dead 
 men, and the authorities had received information 
 from a high source that Brandon was the guilty per- 
 son. That high source was evidently Buckingham. 
 
 When the sergeant found Brandon covered with 
 M^ounds there was no longer any doubt, and al- 
 though hardly able to lift his hand he was forced 
 to dress and go with them. A horse litter was pro- 
 cured and we all started to London. 
 
 While Brandon was dressing, I said I would at 
 once go and awaken the king, who I knew would 
 pardon the offense when he heard my story, but 
 Brandon asked the sergeant to leave us to ourselves 
 for a short time, and closed the door. 
 
 "Please do nothing of the sort, Caskoden," said 
 he ; "if you tell the king I will declare there is not 
 one word of truth in your story. There is only one 
 person in the world who may tell of that night's 
 happenings, and if she does not they shall remain 
 untold. She will make it all right at once, I know. 
 I would not do her the foul wrong to think for one 
 instant that she will fail. You do not know her; 
 she sometimes seems selfish, but it is thoughtlessness 
 fostered by flattery, and her heart is right. I would 
 trust her with my life. If you breathe a word of 
 what I have told you, you may do more harm than
 
 < 
 
 \ 
 
 5 
 
 o
 
 Tut net your Tru^ in Trtnce>s>ses i49 
 
 you can ever remedy, and I ask you to say nothing 
 to any one. If the princess would not liberate nie 
 . . . but that is not to be thought of. Never 
 doubt that she can and will do it better than you 
 think. She is all gold." 
 
 This, of course, silenced me, as I did not know 
 what new danger I might create, nor how I might 
 mar the matter I so much wished to mend. I did 
 not tell Brandon that the girls had left Greenwich, 
 nor of my undefined, and, perhaps, unfounded fear 
 that Mary might not act as he thought she would 
 in a great emergency, but silently helped him to 
 dress and went to London along with him and the 
 sheriff's sergeant. 
 
 Brandon was taken to Newgate, the most loath- 
 some prison in London at that time, it being used 
 for felons, while Ludgate was for debtors. Here 
 he was thrown into an underground dungeon foul 
 with water that seeped through the old masonry 
 from the moat, and alive with every noisome thing 
 that creeps. There was no bed, no stool, no floor, 
 not even a wisp of a straw ; simply the recking stone 
 walls, covered with fungus, and the windowless 
 arch overhead. One could hardly conceive a more 
 horrible place in which to spend even a moment. 
 I had a glimpse of it by the light of the keeper's 
 Ipntern as they put him in, and it seemed to me a 
 single night in that awful place would have killed 
 me or driven me mad. I protested and begged and 
 tried to bribe, but it was all of no avail; the keeper
 
 150 'Qlfhen Kjxighihood Was in Ftotefer 
 
 had been bribed before I arrived. Although it could 
 do no possible good, I was glad to stand outside 
 the prison walls in the drenching rain, all the rest 
 of that wretched night, that I might be as near 
 as possible to my friend and suffer a little with 
 him. 
 
 Was not I, too, greatly indebted to him ? Had he 
 not imperiled his life and given his blood to save 
 the honor of Jane as well as of Mary — Jane, dearer 
 to me a thousand-fold than the breath of my nos- 
 trils? And was he not suffering at that moment 
 because of this great service, performed at my re- 
 quest and in my place? If my whole soul had not 
 gone out to him I should have been the most un- 
 grateful wretch on earth ; worse even than a pair of 
 selfish, careless girls. But it did go out to him, 
 and I believe I would have bartered my life to have 
 freed him from another hour in that dungeon. 
 
 As soon as the prison gates were opened next 
 morning, I again importuned the keeper to give 
 Brandon a more comfortable cell, but his reply was 
 that such crimes had of late become so frequent in 
 London that no favor could be shown those who 
 committed them, and that men like Brandon, who 
 ought to know and act better, deserved the maxi- 
 mum punishment. 
 
 I told him he was wrong in this case ; that I knew 
 the facts, and everything would be clearly explainea 
 that very day and Brandon released, 
 
 "That's all very well," responded the stubborn
 
 Put not your Truest in 7*rince>f>re>t 151 
 
 creature; "nobody is guilty who comes here; they 
 can ever}' one prove innocence clearly and at once. 
 Notwithstanding, they nearly all hang, and fre- 
 quently, for variety's sake, are drawn and quar- 
 tered." 
 
 I waited about Xewgate until nine o'clock, and 
 as I passed out met Buckingham and his man John- 
 son, a sort of lawyer-knight, going in. I went down 
 to the palace at Greenwich, and finding that the 
 girls were still at Scotland Palace, rode over at once 
 to see them. 
 
 Upon getting ^lary and Jane to myself, I told 
 them of Brandon's arrest on the charge of murder, 
 and of his condition, lying half dead from wounds 
 and loss of blood, in that frightful dungeon. The 
 tale moved them greatly, and they both gave way 
 to tears. I think Mary had heard of the arrest be- 
 fore, as she did not seem surprised. 
 
 "Do you think he will tell the cause of the kill- 
 ing?" she asked. 
 
 "I know he will not," I answered ; "but I also 
 knofcv that he knows you will," and I looked straight 
 into her face. 
 
 "Certainly we will/' said Jane; "we will go to 
 the king at once," and she was on the qui vive to 
 start immediately. 
 
 Mary did not at once consent to Jane's proposi- 
 tion, but sat in a reverie, looking with tearful eyes 
 into vacancy, apparently absorbed in thought. After 
 a little pressing from us she said: "I suppose it
 
 152 XS}hen Kjni^hihood Wa^s in Flotver 
 
 will have to be done ; I can see no other way ; but 
 blessed Mother Mary! .... help me!" 
 
 The girls made hasty preparations, and we all 
 started back to Greenwich that Mary might tell 
 the king. On the road over, I stopped at Newgate 
 to tell Brandon that the princess would soon have 
 him out, knowing how welcome liberty would be at 
 her hands ; but I was not permitted to see him. 
 
 I swallowed my disappointment, and thought it 
 would be only a matter of a few hours' delay — the 
 time spent in riding down to Greenwich and send- 
 ing back a messenger. So, light-hearted enough at 
 the prospect, I soon joined the girls, and we can- 
 tered briskly home. 
 
 After waiting a reasonable time for Mary to see 
 the king, I sought her again to learn where and 
 from whom I should receive the order for Brandon's 
 release, and when I should go to London to bring 
 him. 
 
 What was my surprise and disgust when Mary 
 told me she had not yet seen the king — that she 
 had waited to "eat, and bathe, and dress," and that 
 "a few moments more or less could inake no dif- 
 ference." 
 
 "My God ! your highness, did I not tell you that 
 the man who saved your life and honor — who is 
 covered with wounds received in your defense, and 
 almost dead from loss of blood, spilled that you 
 might be saved from worse than death — is now 
 lying in a rayless dungeon, a place of frightful filth.
 
 7*ur not your Trust in 7*rincesses 153 
 
 such as you would not walk across for all the wealth 
 of London Bridge; is surrounded by loathsome, 
 creeping things that would sicken you but to think 
 of; is resting under a charge whose penalty is that 
 he be hanged, drawn and quartered? And yet you 
 stop to eat and bathe and dress. In God's name, 
 Mary Tudor, of what stuff are you made? If he 
 had waited but one little minute ; had stopped for 
 the drawing of a breath ; had held back for but one 
 faltering thought from the terrible odds of four 
 swords to one, what would you now be? Think, 
 princess, think !" 
 
 I was a little frightened at the length to which 
 my feeling had driven me, but Mary took it all very 
 well, and said slowly and absent-mindedly : 
 
 "You are right ; I will go at once ; I despise my 
 selfish neglect. There is no other way ; I have 
 racked my brain — there is no other way. It must 
 be done, and I will go at once and do it." 
 
 "And I will go with you," said I. 
 
 *T do not blame you," she said, "for doubting me, 
 since I have failed once; but you need not doubt 
 me now. It shall be done, and without delay, re- 
 gardless of the cost to me. I have thought and 
 thought to find some other way to liberate him, but 
 there is none ; I will go this instant." 
 •fc "And I will go with you, Lady Mary," said I, 
 doggedly. 
 
 She smiled at my persistency, and took me by the 
 hand, saying, "Come!"
 
 154 t^/?en Knighthood Wa^ in Flobifer 
 
 We at once went off to find the king, but the smile 
 had faded from Mary's face, and she looked as if 
 she were going to execution. Every shade of color 
 had fled, and her lips were the hue of ashes. 
 
 We found the king in the midst of his council, 
 with the French ambassadors, discussing the all- 
 absorbing topic of the marriage treaty ; and Henry, 
 fearing an outbreak, refused to see the princess. 
 As usual, opposition but spurred her determinatiork, 
 so she sat down in the ante-room and said she would 
 not stir until she had seen the king. 
 
 After we had waited a few minutes, one of the 
 the king's pages came up and said he had beea 
 looking all over the palace for me, and that the 
 king desired my presence immediately. I went in 
 with the page to the king, leaving Mary alone and 
 very melancholy in the ante-chamber. 
 
 Upon entering the king's presence he asked, 
 "Where have you been, Sir Edwin ? I have almost 
 killed a good half-dozen pages hunting you. I 
 ,want you to prepare immediately to go to Paris 
 with an embassy to his majesty. King Louis. 
 You will be the interpreter. The ambassador you 
 need not know. Make ready at once. The embassy 
 will leave London from the Tabard Inn one hour 
 hence." 
 
 Could a command to duty have come at a more 
 inopportune time? I was distracted; and upon 
 leaving the king went at once to seek the Lady 
 Marv where I had left her in the ante-room. She
 
 Tul not your Truest in 7'r{nce>s^e>s 155 
 
 had gone, so I went to her apartments, but could 
 not find her. I went to the queen's salon, but she 
 was not there, and I traversed that old rambling 
 palace from one end to the other without finding her 
 or Lady Jane. 
 
 The king had told me the embassy would be 
 a secret one, and that I was to speak of it to nobody, 
 least of all to the Lady Mar)-. No one was to know 
 that I was leaving England, and I was to communi- 
 cate with no one at home while in France. 
 
 The king's command was not to be disobeyed; 
 to do so would be as much as my life was worth, 
 but besides that, the command of the king I served 
 was mv highest dutv, and no Caskoden ever failed 
 in that. I may not be as tall as some men, but my 
 fidelity and honor — but you will say I boast. 
 
 I was to make ready my bundle and ride six miles 
 to London in one hour; and almost half that time 
 was spent already. I was sure to be late, so I could 
 not waste another minute. 
 
 I went to my room and got together a few things 
 necessary for my journey, but did not take much 
 in the way of clothing, preferring to buy that new 
 in Paris, where I could find the latest styles in pat- 
 tern and fabric. 
 
 I tried to assure myself that Mary would see the 
 king at once and tell him all, and not allow my dear 
 friend Brandon to lie in that terrible place another 
 night; yet a persistent fear gnawed at my heart, 
 and a sort of intuition, that seemed to have the very
 
 156 XOhen Kjnt^hihood Wa^ in Flower 
 
 breath of certainty in its foreboding, made me doubt 
 her. 
 
 As I could find neither Mary nor Jane, I did the 
 next best thing: I wrote a letter to each of them, 
 urging immediate action, and left them to be deliv- 
 ered by my man Thomas, who was one of those 
 trusty souls that never fail. I did not tell the girls 
 I was about to start for France, but intimated that 
 I was compelled to leave London for a time, and 
 said: "I leave the fate of this man, to whom we 
 all owe so much, in your hands, knowing full well 
 how tender you will be of him." 
 
 I was away from home nearly a month, and as I 
 dared not write, and even Jane did not know where 
 I was, I did not receive, nor expect, any letters. The 
 king had ordered secrecy, and if I have mingled 
 with all my faults a single virtue it is that of faith- 
 fulness to my trust. So I had no news from Eng- 
 land and sent none home. 
 
 During all that time the same old fear lived in 
 my heart that Mary might fail to liberate Brandon. 
 She knew of the negotiations concerning the French 
 marriage, as we all did, although only by an indefi- 
 nite sort of hearsay, and I was sure the half- founded 
 rumors that had reached her ears had long since 
 become certainties, and that her heart was full of 
 trouble and fear of her violent brother. She would 
 certainly be at her coaxing and wheedling again 
 and on her best behavior, and I feared she might 
 refrain from telling Henry of her trip to Grouche's,
 
 T'at not your Truest in T^rincC'S^se't 157 
 
 knowing how severe he was in such matters and 
 how furious he was sure to become at the discov- 
 er}-. I was certain it was this fear which had pre- 
 vented Mary from going directly to the king on our 
 return to Greenwich from Scotland Palace, and I 
 knew that her eating, bathing and dressing were but 
 an excuse for a breathing spell before the dreaded 
 interview. 
 
 This fear remained with me all the time I was 
 away, but when I reasoned with myself I would 
 smother it as well as I could with argumentative 
 attempts at self-assurance. I would say over and 
 over to myself that Mary could not fail, and that 
 even if she did, there was Jane, dear, sweet, thought- 
 ful, unselfish Jane, who would not allow her to do 
 so. But as far as they go, our intuitions — our "feel- 
 ings," as v.-e call them — are worth all the logic in 
 the world, and you may say what you will, but my 
 presentiments — I speak for no one else — are well 
 to be minded. There is another sense hidden about 
 us that will develop as the race grows older. I 
 speak to posterity. 
 
 In proof of this statement, I now tell you that 
 when I returned to London I found Brandon still 
 in the terrible dungeon ; and, worse still, he had 
 been tried for murder, and had been condemned to 
 be hanged, drawn and quartered on the second Fri- 
 day following. Hanged ! Drawn ! Quartered ! It 
 is time we were doing away with such barbarity. 
 
 We will now go back a month for the purpose of
 
 158 XOhen ILnighlhood Wa^ in Flower 
 
 looking up the doings of a friend of ours, his grace, 
 the Duke of Buckingham. 
 
 On the morning after the fatal battle of Billings- 
 gate, the barber who had treated Brandon's wounds 
 had been called to London to dress a bruised knee 
 for his grace, the duke. In the course of the opera- 
 tion, an immense deal of information oozed out of 
 the barber, one item of which was that he had the 
 night before dressed nine wounds, great and small, 
 for Master Brandon, the king's friend. This estab- 
 lished the identity of the man who had rescued the 
 girls, a fact of which Buckingham had had his sus- 
 picions all along. So Brandon's arrest followed, as 
 I have already related to you. 
 
 I afterward learned from various sources how 
 this nobleman began to avenge his mishap with 
 Brandon at Mary's ball when the latter broke his 
 sword point. First, he went to Newgate and gave 
 orders to the keeper, who was his tool, to allow no 
 communication with the prisoner, and it was by his 
 instructions that Brandon had been confined in the 
 worst dungeon in London. Then he went down to 
 Greenwich to take care of matters there, knowing 
 that the king would learn of Brandon's arrest and 
 probably take steps for his liberation at once. 
 
 The king had just heard of the arrest when Buck- 
 ingham arrived, and the latter found he was right 
 in his surmise that his majesty would at once de- 
 mand Brandon's release. 
 
 When the duke entered the king's room. Henry
 
 7*at not your Tru^t in 7'rince>s>se'i i59 
 
 called to him: "My Lord, you are opportunely 
 arrived. So good a friend of the people of London 
 can help us greatly this morning. Our friend Bran- 
 don has been arrested for the killing of two men 
 night before last in Billingsgate ward. I am sure 
 there is some mistake, and that the good sheriff has 
 the wrong man ; but right or wrong, we want him 
 out, and ask your good offices." 
 
 "I shall be most happy to serve your majesty, 
 and will go to London at once to see the lord 
 mayor."' 
 
 In the afternoon the duke returned and had a pri- 
 \ale audience with the king. 
 
 "I did as your majesty requested in regard to 
 Brandon's release," he said, "but on investigation, 
 I thought it best to consult you again before pro 
 ceeding further. I fear there is no doubt that 
 Brandon is the right man. It seems he was out with 
 a coup'.e of wenches concerning whom he got into 
 trouble and stabbed two men in the back. It is a 
 very aggravated case and the citizens are much in- 
 censed about it, owing partly to the fact that such 
 occurrences have been so frequent of late. I 
 thought, under the circumstances, and in view of the 
 fact that your majesty will soon call upon the city 
 for a loan to make up the Lady Mary's dower, it 
 would be wise not to antagonize them in this matter, 
 but to allow Master Brandon to remain quietly in 
 confinement until the loan is completed and then 
 we can snap our fingers at them."
 
 i6o ^Se^hen ^ntghihood Wa^s in Klote/er 
 
 "We will snap our fingers at the scurvy burghers 
 now and have the loan, too," returned Henry, 
 angrily. "I want Brandon liberated at once, and 
 I shall expect another report from you immediately, 
 my lord." 
 
 Buckingham felt that his revenge had slipped 
 through his fingers this time, but he was patient 
 where evil was to be accomplished, and could wait. 
 Then it was that the council was called during the 
 progress of which Mary and I had tried to obtain 
 an audience of the king. 
 
 Buckingham had gone to pay his respects to the 
 queen, and on his way back espied Mary waiting 
 for the king in the ante-room, and went to her. 
 
 At first she was irritated at the sight of this 
 man, whom she so despised, but a thought came to 
 her that she might make use of him. She knew his 
 power with the citizens and city authorities of Lon- 
 don, and also knew, or thought she knew, that a 
 smile from her could accomplish everything with 
 him. She had ample evidence of his infatuation, 
 and she hoped that she could procure Brandon's lib- 
 erty through Buckingham without revealing her 
 dangerous secret. 
 
 Much to the duke's surprise, she smiled upon 
 him and gave a cordial welcome, saying : "My lord, 
 you have been unkind to us of late and have not 
 shown us the light of your countenance. I am glad 
 to see you once more ; tell me the news." 
 
 "I cannot say there is much of interest. I have
 
 7*ut not your Trust in 7*rincesses i6i 
 
 learned the new dance from Caskoden, if that is 
 news, and hope for a favor at our next ball from 
 the fairest lady in the world." 
 
 "And quite welcome," returned Mary, compla- 
 cently appropriating the title, "and welcome to more 
 than one, I hope, my lord." 
 
 This graciousness would have looked suspicious to 
 one with less vanity than Buckingham, but he saw 
 no craft in it. He did see, however, that ]\Iary did 
 not know who had attacked her in Billingsgate, and 
 he felt greatly relieved. 
 
 The duke smiled and smirked, and was enchanted 
 at her kindness. They walked down the corridor, 
 talking and laughing, Alary awaiting an opportunity 
 to put the important question without exciting sus- 
 picion. At last it came, when Buckingham, half 
 inquiringly, expressed his surprise that Mary 
 should be found sitting at the king's door. 
 
 "I am waiting to see the king," said she. "Little 
 
 Caskoden's friend, Brandon, has been arrested for 
 
 a brawl of some sort over in London, and Sir Edwin 
 
 and Lady Jane have importuned me to obtain his 
 
 release, which I have promised to do. Perhaps 
 
 your grace will allow me to petition you in place of 
 
 carrying my request to the king. You are quite as 
 
 powerful as his majesty in London, and I should 
 
 like to ask you to obtain for Master Brandon his 
 
 liberty at once. I sliall hold myself infinitely obliged, 
 
 if your lordship will do this for me." She smiled 
 
 upon him her sweetest smile, and assumed an indif- 
 u
 
 i62 tOhen Kj^ighihood Wa>s in Flower 
 
 ference that would have deceived any one but Buck- 
 ingham. Upon him, under the circumstances, it was 
 worse than wasted. Buckingham at once consented, 
 and said, that notwithstanding the fact that he did 
 not like Brandon, to oblige her highness, he would 
 undertake to befriend a much more disagreeable 
 person. 
 
 "I fear," he said, "it will have to be done secretly 
 — by conniving at his escape rather than by an order 
 for his release. The citizens are greatly aroused 
 over the alarming frequency of such occurrences, 
 and as many of the offenders have lately escaped 
 punishment by reason of court interference, I fear 
 this man Brandon will have to bear the brunt, in 
 the London mind, of all these unpunished crimes. 
 It will be next to impossible to liberate him, except 
 by arranging privately with the keeper for his 
 escape. He could go down into the country and 
 wait in seclusion until it is all blown over, or until 
 London has a new victim, and then an order can 
 be made pardoning him, and he can return." 
 
 "Pardoning him ! What are you talking of, my 
 lord? He has done nothing to be pardoned for. 
 He should be, and shall be, rewarded." Mary spoke 
 impetuously, but caught herself and tried to remedy 
 her blunder. "That is, if I have heard the straight 
 of it. I have been told that the killing was done in 
 the defense of two — women." Think of this poor 
 unconscious girl, so full of grief and trouble, talk- 
 ing thus to Buckingham, who knew so much more
 
 7*uf not your Truest in 7*rmce>r'fes 163 
 
 about the affair than even she, who had taken so 
 active a part in it. 
 
 "Who told you of it?*' asked the duke. 
 
 Mary saw she had made a mistake, and, after hes- 
 itating for a moment, answered: "Sir Edwin Cas- 
 koden. He had it from Master Brandon, I suppose." 
 Rather adroit this was, but equidistant from both 
 truth and effectiveness. 
 
 "I will go at once to London and arrange for 
 Brandon's escape," said Buckingham, preparing to 
 leave. "But you must not divulge the fact that I 
 do it. It would cost me all the favor I enjoy with 
 the people of London, though I would willingly lose 
 that favor, a thousand times over, for a smile from 
 you." 
 
 She gave the smile, and as he left, followed his 
 retiring figure with her eyes, and thought : "After 
 all, he has a kind heart." 
 
 She breathed a sigh of relief, too, for she felt she 
 had accomplished Brandon's release, and still re- 
 tained her dangerous secret, the divulging of which, 
 she feared, would harden Henry's heart against her 
 blandishments and strand her upon the throne of 
 France. 
 
 But she was not entirely satisfied with the ar- 
 rangement. She knev\' that her obligation to Bran- 
 don was such as to demand of her that she should 
 not leave the matter of his release to any other 
 person, much less to an enemy such as Bucking- 
 ham. Yet the cost of his freedom by a direct act of
 
 i64 XOhen Kjiighihood Wcw in FloWep 
 
 her own would be so great that she was tempted 
 to take whatever risk there might be in the way 
 that had opened itself to her. Not that she would 
 not have made the sacrifice willingly, or would not 
 have told Henry all if that were the only chance to 
 save Brandon's life, but the other way, the one she 
 had taken by Buckingham's help, seemed safe, and, 
 though not entirely satisfying, she could not see 
 how it could miscarry. Buckingham was notably 
 jealous of his knightly word, and she had 
 unbounded faith in her influence over him. In 
 short, like many another person, she was as wrong 
 as possible just at the time when she thought she 
 was entirely right, and when the cost of a mistake 
 was at its maximum. 
 
 She recoiled also from the thought of Brandon's 
 "escape," and it hurt her that he should be a fugitive 
 from the justice that should reward him, yet she 
 quieted these disturbing suggestions with the 
 thought that it would be only for a short time, and 
 Brandon, she knew, would be only too glad to make 
 the sacrifice if it purchased for her freedom from 
 the worse than damnation that lurked in the French 
 marriage. 
 
 All this ran quickly through Mary's mind, and 
 brought relief ; but it did not cure the uneasy sense, 
 weighing like lead upon her heart, that she should 
 take no chance with this man's life, and should put 
 no further weight of sacrifice upon him, but should 
 go to the king and tell him a straightforward story,
 
 7*a/ not your Truest in T^rinces^es 165 
 
 let it hurt where it would. With a Httle meditation, 
 however, came a thought which decided the ques- 
 tion and absohitely made everything bright again 
 for her, so great was her capability for distilling 
 light. She would go at once to Windsor with Jane, 
 and would dispatch a note to Brandon, at Newgate, 
 telling him upon his escape to come to her. He 
 might remain in hiding in the neighborhood of 
 Windsor, and she could see him every day. The 
 time had come to Mary when to "see him every 
 day" would turn Plutonian shades into noonday 
 brightness and weave sunbeams out of utter dark- 
 ness. With Mary, to resolve was to act; so the 
 note was soon dispatched by a page, and one hour 
 later the girls were on their road to Windsor. 
 
 Buckingham went to Newgate, expecting to make 
 a virtue, with Mary, out of the necessity imposed 
 by the king's command, in freeing Brandon. He 
 had hoped to induce Brandon to leave London 
 stealthily and immediately, by representing to him 
 the evil consequences of a break between the citizens 
 and the king, liable to grow out of his release, and 
 relied on Brandon's generosity to help him out ; but 
 when he found the note which Mary's page had de- 
 livered to the keeper of Newgate, he read it and all 
 his plans were changed. 
 
 He caused the keeper to send the note to the king, 
 suppressing the fact that he, Buckingham, had any 
 knowledge of it. The duke then at once started to 
 Greenwich, where he arrived and sought the king
 
 i66 *When Kj\ighlhood Was in Flotver 
 
 a few minutes before the time he knew the messen- 
 ger with Mary's note would come. The king was 
 soon found, and Buckingham, in apparent anger, 
 told him that the city authorities refused to dehver 
 Brandon except upon an order under the king's 
 seal. 
 
 Henry and Buckingham were intensely indignant 
 at the conduct of the scurvy burghers, and an im- 
 mense amount of self-importance was displayed and 
 shamefully wasted. This manifestation was at its 
 highest when the messenger from Newgate arrived 
 with Mary's poor little note as intended by the duke. 
 
 The note was handed to Henry, who read aloud 
 as follows: 
 
 "To Master Charles Brandon: 
 
 "Greeting — Soon you will be at liberty ; perhaps 
 ere this is to your hand. Surely would I not leave 
 you long in prison. I go to Windsor at once, there 
 to live in the hope that I may see you speedily. 
 
 "MARY." 
 
 "What is this ?" cried Henry. "My sister writing 
 to Brandon ? God's death ! My Lord of Bucking- 
 ham, the suspicions you whispered in my ear may 
 have some truth. We will let this fellow remain in 
 Newgate, and allow our good people of London to 
 take their own course with him." 
 
 Buckingham went to Windsor next day and told 
 Mary that arrangements had been made the night
 
 ^ut not your Tru^t in Vrinces^es 167 
 
 before for Brandon's escape, and that he had heard 
 that Brandon had left for New Spain. 
 
 Mary thanked the duke, but had no smiles for 
 any one. Her supply was exhausted. 
 
 She remained at Windsor nursing her love for 
 the sake of the very pain it brought her, and dread- 
 ing the battle for more than life itself which she 
 knew she should soon be called upon to fight. 
 
 At times she would fall into one of her old fits 
 of anger because Brandon had not come to see her 
 before he left, but soon the anger melted into tears, 
 and the tears brought a sort of joy when she thought 
 that he had run away from her because he loved her. 
 After Brandon's defense of her in Billingsgate, 
 Mary had begun to see the whole situation differ- 
 ently, and everything was changed. She still saw 
 the same great distance between them as before, but 
 with this difference, she was looking up now. Be- 
 fore that event he had been plain Charles Brandon, 
 and she the Princess Mary. She was the princess 
 still, but he was a demi-god. No mere mortal, 
 thought she, could be so brave and strong and gen- 
 erous and wise ; and above all, no mere mortal could 
 vanquish odds of four to one. In the night she 
 would lie on Jane's arm, and amid smothered sobs, 
 would softly talk of her lover, and praise his beauty 
 and perfections, and pour her pathetic little tale over 
 and over again into Jane's receptive ear and warm 
 responsive heart ; and Jane answered with soft little 
 kisses that would have consoled Niobe herself.
 
 ley XOhen Kxiighthood Wa>s in rioiver 
 
 Then Mary would tell how the doors of her life, at 
 the ripe age of eighteen, were closed forever and 
 forever, and that her few remaining years would be 
 but years of waiting for the end. At other times 
 she would brighten, and repeat what Brandon had 
 told her about New Spain ; how fortune's door was 
 open there to those who chose to come, and how he, 
 the best and bravest of them all, would surely win 
 glory and fortune, and then return to buy her from 
 her brother Henry with millions of pounds of yel- 
 low gold. Ah, she would wait! She would wait! 
 Like Bayard she placed her ransom at a high figure, 
 and honestly thought herself worth it. And so she 
 was — 'lO Brandon, or rather had been. But at this 
 particular time the market was down, as you will 
 shortly hear. 
 
 So Mary remained at Windsor and grieved and 
 wept and dreamed, and longed that she might see 
 across the miles of billowy ocean to her love! her 
 love ! her love ! Meanwhile Brandon had his trial 
 in secret down in London, and had been condemned 
 to be hanged, drawn and quartered for having saved 
 to her more than life itself. 
 
 Put not your trust in princesses !
 
 CHATTEK. X 
 
 Justice, O K.mg! 
 
 SUCH was the state of affairs when I returned 
 from France. 
 
 How I hated myself because I had not 
 faced the king's displeasure and had not refused to 
 %o until Brandon was safely out of his trouble. It 
 was hard for me to believe that I had left such a 
 matter to two foolish girls, one of them as change- 
 able as the wind, and the other completely under her 
 control. I could but think of the difference between 
 myself and Brandon, and well knew, had I been in 
 his place, he would have liberated me or stormed 
 the very walls of London single-handed and alone. 
 
 When I learned that Brandon had been in that 
 dungeon all that long month, I felt that it would 
 surely kill him, and my self-accusation was so 
 strong and bitter, and my mental pain so great, that 
 I resolved if my friend died, either by disease con- 
 tracted in the dungeon or by execution of his sen- 
 tence, that I would kill myself. But that is a matter 
 much easier sincerely to resolve upon than to exe- 
 cute when the time comes. 
 
 Next to myself, I condemned those wretched girls 
 for leaving Brandon to perish — Brandon, to whom 
 they both owed so much. Their selfishness turned 
 me against all womankind. 
 
 (169)
 
 170 XOhen Kjntghthood Wa4! in Flower 
 
 I did not dally this time. I trusted to no Lady 
 Jane nor Lady Mary. I determined to go to the 
 king at once and tell him all. I did not care if the 
 wretched Mary and Jane both had to marry the 
 French king, or the devil himself. I did not care 
 if they and all the host of their perfidious sisterhood 
 went to the nether side of the universe, there to re- 
 main forever. I would retrieve my fault, in so far 
 as it was retrievable, and save Brandon, who was 
 worth them all put together. I would tell Mary and 
 Jane what I thought of them, and that should end 
 matters between us. I felt as I did toward them not 
 only because of their treatment of Brandon, but 
 because they had made me guilty of a grievous fault, 
 for which I should never, so long as I lived, for- 
 give myself. I determined to go to the king, and 
 go I did within five minutes of the time I heard that 
 Brandon was yet in prison. 
 
 I found the king sitting alone at public dinner, 
 and, of course, was denied speech with him. I was 
 in no humor to be balked, so I thrust aside the 
 guards, and, much to everybody's fright, for I was 
 wild with grief, rage and despair, and showed it in 
 every feature, rushed to the king and fell upon my 
 knees at his feet. 
 
 "Justice, O king!" I cried, and all the courtiers 
 heard. "Justice, O king! for the worst used man 
 and the bravest, truest soul that ever lived and suf- 
 fered." Here the tears began to stream down my 
 face and my voice choked in my throat. "Charles
 
 Justice, O K.tn^! 171 
 
 Brandon, your majesty's one-time friend, lies in a 
 loathsome, rayless dungeon, condemned to death, 
 as your majesty may know, for the kilHng of two 
 men in BilHngsgate Ward. I will tell you all : I 
 should be thrust out from the society of decent men 
 for not having told you before I left for France, but 
 I trusted it to another who has proved false. I will 
 tell you all. Your sister, the Lady Mary, and Lady 
 Jane Bolingbroke were returning alone, after dark, 
 from a visit to the soothsayer Grouche, of whom 
 your majesty has heard. I had been notified of the 
 Lady Mar\''s intended visit to him, although she 
 had enjoined absolute secrecy upon my informant. 
 I could not go, being detained upon your majesty's 
 service — it was the night of the ball to the ambas- 
 sadors — and I asked Brandon to follow them, which 
 he did, without the knowledge of the princess. 
 Upon returning, the ladies were attacked by four 
 ruffians, and would have met with worse than death 
 had not the bravest heart and the best sword in 
 England defended them victoriously against such 
 fearful odds. He left them at Bridewell without 
 hurt or injury, though covered with wounds him- 
 self. This man is condemned to be hanged, drawn 
 and quartered, but I know- not your majesty's heart 
 if he be not at once reprieved and richly rewarded. 
 Think, my king! He saved the royal honor of your 
 sister, who is so dear to you, and has suffered so 
 terribly for his loyalty and bravery. The day I left 
 so hurriedly for France the Lady Mary promised
 
 172 "When Kjiighihood Wa>s in FloUfw 
 
 she would tell you all and liberate this man who had 
 so nobly served her; but she is a woman, and was 
 born to betray." 
 
 The king laughed a little at my vehemence. 
 
 "What is this you are telling me, Sir Edwin? I 
 know of Brandon's death sentence, but much as I 
 regret it, I cannot interfere with the justice of our 
 good people of London for the murder of two 
 knights in their streets. If Brandon committed 
 such a crime, and, I understand he does not deny it, 
 I cannot help him, however much I should like to 
 do so. But this nonsense about my sister ! It can- 
 not be true. It must be trumped up out of your love 
 in order to save your friend. Have a care, good 
 master, how you say such a thing. If it were true, 
 would not Brandon have told it at his trial ?" 
 
 "It is as true as that God lives, my king ! If the 
 Lady Mary and Lady Jane do not bear me out in 
 every word I have said, let my life pay the forfeit. 
 He would not tell of the great reason for killing the 
 men, fearing to compromise the honor of those 
 whom he had saved, for, as your majesty is aware, 
 persons sometimes go to Grouche's for purposes 
 other than to listen to his soothsaying. Not in this 
 case, God knows, but there are slanderous tongues, 
 and Brandon was willing to die with closed lips, 
 rather than set them wagging against one so dear to 
 you. It seems that these ladies, who owe so much to 
 him, are also willing that he should die rather than 
 themselves bear the consequences of their own follyJ
 
 Justice, O K^ingl iZ3 
 
 Do not delay, I beseech your majesty. Eat not an- 
 other morsel, I pray you, until this brave man, who 
 has so truly served you, be taken from his prison 
 and freed from his sentence of death. Come, come, 
 my king! this moment, and all that I have, my 
 wealth, my life, my honor, are yours for all time." 
 
 The king remained a moment in thought with 
 knife in hand. 
 
 "Caskoden, I have never detected you in a lie in 
 all the years I have known you ; you are not very 
 large in body, but your honor is great enough to 
 stock a Goliath. I believe you axe telling the truth. 
 I will go at once to liberate Brandon ; and that 
 little hussy, my sister, shall go to France and enjoy 
 life as best she can with her old beauty, King Louis. 
 I know of no greater punishment to inflict upon her. 
 This determines me ; she shall coax me out of it 
 no longer. Sir Thomas Brandon, have my horses 
 ready, and I will go to the lord mayor, then to my 
 lord bishop of Lincoln and arrange to close this 
 French treaty at once. Let everybody know that 
 the Princess Mary will, within the month, be queen 
 of France." This was said to the courtiers, and was 
 all over London before night. 
 
 I followed closely in the wake of the king, though 
 uninvited, for I had determined to trust to no one, 
 not even his majesty, until Brandon should be free. 
 Henry had said he would go first to the lord mayor 
 and then to Wolsey, but after we crossed the Bridge 
 he passed down Lower Thames street and turned up
 
 1174 XOhen Kjiighihood Wa^ in Flower 
 
 Fish-street Hill into Grace Church street on toward 
 Bishopsgate. He said he would stop at Mistress 
 Cornwallis's and have a pudding; and then on to 
 Wolsey, who at that time lodged in a house near the 
 wall beyond Bishopsgate. 
 
 I well knew if the king once reached Wolsey 's, it 
 would be wine and quoits and other games, inter- 
 spersed now and then with a little blustering talk on 
 statecraft, for the rest of the day. Then the good 
 bishop would have in a few pretty London women 
 and a dance would follow with wine and cards and 
 dice, and Henry would spend the night at Wolsey's, 
 3nd Brandon lie another night in the mire of his 
 Newgate dungeon. 
 
 I resolved to raise heaven and earth, and the 
 other place, too, if necessary, before this should hap- 
 pen. So I rode boldly up to the king, and with un- 
 covered head addressed him : "Your majesty gave 
 me your royal word that you would go to the lordi 
 mayor first, and this is the road to my lord bishop 
 of Lincoln. In all the years I have known your 
 majesty, both as gallant prince and puissant king, 
 this is the first request I ever proffered, and now Ii 
 only ask of you to save your own noble honor, and 
 do your duty as man and king." 
 
 These were bold words, but I did not care one 
 little farthing whether they pleased him or not. 
 The king stared at me and said : 
 
 "Caskoden, you are a perfect hound at my heels. 
 IBut you are right ; I had forgotten my errand. You
 
 Jujttcei O K.ir\k'I 175 
 
 disturbed my dinner, and my stomach called loiully 
 for one of Mistress Cornwallis's puddings ; but you 
 are right to e tick to me. What a friend you are in 
 case of need. Would I had one Hke you." 
 
 "Your majesty has two of whom I know ; one 
 riding humbly by your royal side, and the other 
 lying in the worst dungeon in Christendom." 
 
 With this the king wheeled about and started 
 west toward Guildhall. 
 
 Oh, how I hated Henry for th^t cold-blooded, 
 selfish forgetfulness worse than crime ; and how I 
 hoped the Blessed Virgin would forget him in time 
 to come, and leave his soul an extra thousand years 
 in purging flames, just to show him how it goes to 
 be forgotten — in hell. 
 
 To the lord mayor we accordingly went without 
 further delay. He was only too glad to liberate 
 Brandon when he heard my story, which the king 
 had ordered me to repeat. The only hesitancy was 
 from a doubt of its truth. 
 
 The lord mayor was kind enough to say that he 
 felt little doubt of my word, but that friendship 
 would often drive a man to any extremity, even 
 falsehood, to save a friend. 
 
 Then I offered to go into custody myself and pay^ 
 the penalty, death, for helping a convicted felon to 
 escape, if I told not the truth, to be confirmed oc 
 denied by the princess and her first lady in waiting. 
 I knew Jane and was willing to risk her truthfulness 
 without a doubt — it was so pronounced as to be
 
 176 Xi^hen Kjii^hthood Wa>s in Floke^er 
 
 troublesome at times — and as to Mary — well, I had 
 no doubt of her, either. If she would but stop to 
 think out the r::jht she was sure to do it. 
 
 I hav2 often wondered how much of the general 
 fund of evil in this world comes from thoughtless- ' 
 ness. Cultivate thought and you make virtue — I 
 believe. But this is no time to philosophize. 
 
 My offer was satisfactory, for what more can a 
 man do than pledge his life for his friend? We 
 have scripture for that, or something like it. 
 
 The lord mayor did not require my proffered 
 pledge, but readily consented that the king should 
 write an order for Brandon's pardon and release. 
 This was done at once, and we, that is, I, together 
 with a sheriff's sergeant and his four yeomen, has- 
 tened to Newgate, while Henry went over to Wol- 
 sey's to settle Mary's fate. 
 
 Brandon was brought up with chains and 
 manacles at his ankles and wrists. When he entered 
 the room and saw me, he exclaimed : "Ah ! Casko- 
 den, is that you? I thought they had brought me 
 up to hang me, and was glad for the change; but 
 I suppose you would not come to help at that, even 
 if you have left me here to rot; God only knows 
 how long; I have forgotten." 
 
 I could not restrain the tears at sight of him. 
 
 "Your words are more than just," I said; and, 
 being anxious that he should know at once that my 
 fault had not been so great as it looked, continued 
 hurriedly; "The king sent me to France upon an
 
 Justice, O K,ing! 177. 
 
 hour's notice, the day after your arrest. I know 
 only too well I should not have gone without seeing 
 you out of this, but you had enjoined silence upon 
 me, and — and I trusted to the promises of another." 
 
 "I thought as much. You are in no way to blame, 
 my friend ; all I ask is that you never mention the 
 subject again." 
 
 "My friend!" Ah! the words were dear to me 
 as words of love from a sweetheart's lips. 
 
 I hardly recognized him, he was so frightfully 
 covered with filth and dirt and creeping things. 
 His hair and beard were unkempt and matted, and 
 his eyes and cheeks were lusterless and sunken ; but 
 I will describe him no further. Suffering had well- 
 nigh done its work, and nothing but the hardihood 
 gathered in his years of camp life and wai^ could 
 have saved him from death. I bathed and reclothed 
 him as well as I could at Newgate, and then took 
 him home to Greenwich in a horse litter, where my 
 man and I thoroughly washed, dressed and sheared 
 the poor fellow and put him to bed. 
 
 "Ah ! this bed is a foretaste of paradise," he said, 
 as he lay upon the mattress. 
 
 It was a pitiful sight, and I could hardly refrain 
 from tears. I sent my man to fetch a certain Moor, 
 a learned scholar, though a hated foreigner, who 
 lived just off Cheap and sold small arms, and very 
 soon he was with us. Brandon and I both knew 
 him well, and admired his learning and gentleness, 
 and loved him for his sweet philosophy of life, the
 
 578 to hen Kjitghthood Wa^ in Flotuer 
 
 leaven of which was charity — a modest little plant 
 too often overshadowed by the rank growth of 
 pompous dogmatism. 
 
 The Moor was learned in the healing potions of 
 the east, and insisted, privately, of course, that all 
 the shrines and relics in Christendom put together 
 could not cure an ache in a baby's little finger. 
 This, perhaps, was going too far, for there are some 
 relics that have undoubted potency, but in cases 
 where human agency can cure, the people of the 
 east are unquestionably far in advance of us in 
 knowledge of remedies. The Moor at once gave 
 Brandon a soothing drink, which soon put him into 
 a sweet sleep. He then bathed him as he slept, with 
 some strengthening lotion, made certain learned 
 signs, and spoke a few cabalistic words, and, sure 
 enough, so strong were the healing remedies and in- 
 cantations that the next morning Brandon was an- 
 other man, though very far from well and strong. 
 The Moor recommended nutritious food, such as 
 roast beef and generous wine, and, although this ad- 
 vice was contrary to the general belief, which is, 
 with apparent reason, that the evil spirit of disease 
 should be starved and driven out, yet so great was 
 our faith in him that we followed his directions, and 
 in a few days Brandon had almost regained his old- 
 time strength. 
 
 I will ask you to go back with me for a moment. 
 
 During the week, between Brandon's interview 
 with Mary in the ante-room of the king's bed*
 
 Justice, O K^ing! 179 
 
 chamber and the tragedy at Billingsgate, he and I 
 had many conversations about the extraordinary 
 situation in which he found himself. 
 
 At one time, I remember, he said: '*I was safe 
 enough before that afternoon. I believe I could 
 have gone away and forgotten her eventually, but 
 our mutual avowal seems to have dazed me and 
 paralyzed every power for effort. I sometimes feel 
 helpless, and, although I have succeeded in keeping 
 away from her since then, I often find myself waver- 
 ing in my determination to leave England. That 
 was what I feared if I allowed the matter to go to 
 the point of being sure of her love. I only wanted 
 it before, and very easily made myself believe it was 
 impossible, and not for me. But now that I know- 
 she loves me it is like holding my breath to live 
 without her. I feel every instant that I can hold it 
 no longer. I know only too well that if I but see 
 her face once more I shall breathe. She is the very 
 breath of life for me. She is mine by the gift of 
 God. Curses upon those who keep us apart." Then 
 musingly and half interrogatively: "She certainly 
 does love me. She could not have treated me as she 
 did unless her love was so strong that she could not 
 resist it." 
 
 "Let no doubt of that trouble you," I answered. 
 "A woman like Mary cannot treat two men as she 
 treated you. Many a woman may love, or think she 
 loves many times, but there is only one man who 
 receives the full measure of her best. Other women,
 
 I550 XUhen Kjiighihood Wa^ in rioter 
 
 again, have nothing to give but their best, and when 
 they have once given that, they have given all. Un- 
 less I have known her in vain, Mary, with all her 
 faults, is such a woman. Again I say, let no doubt 
 of that trouble you." 
 
 Brandon answered with a sad little smile from 
 the midst of his reverie. "It is really not so much 
 the doubt as the certainty of it that troubles me." 
 Then, starting to his feet : "If I thought she had 
 lied to me; if I thought she could wantonly lead 
 me on to suffer so for her, I would kill her, so help 
 me God." 
 
 "Do not think that. Whatever her faults, and she 
 has enough, there is no man on earth for her but 
 you. Her love has come to her through a struggle 
 against it because it was her master. That is the 
 strongest and best, in fact the only, love ; worth all 
 the self-made passions in the world." 
 
 "Yes, I believe it. I know she has faults ; even 
 my partiality cannot blind me to them, but she is as 
 pure and chaste as a child, and as gentle, strong and 
 true as — as — a woman. I can put it no stronger. 
 She has these, her redeeming virtues, along with her 
 beauty, from her plebeian grandmother, Elizabeth 
 Woodville, who, with them, won a royal husband 
 and elevated herself to the throne beside the chival- 
 rous Edward. This sweet plebeian heritage bubbles 
 up in the heart of Mary, and will not down, but 
 neutralizes the royal poison in her veins and makes 
 a goddess of her." Then with a sigh : "But if her
 
 Justice, O Kin^l i8l 
 
 faults were a thousand times as many, and if each 
 fault were a thousand times as great, her beauty 
 would atone for all. Such beauty as hers can afford 
 to have faults. Look at Helen and Cleopatra, 
 and Agnes Sorel. Did their faults make them less 
 attractive ? Beauty covereth more sins than charity 
 — and maketh more grief than pestilence." 
 
 The last clause was evidently an afterthought. 
 
 After his month in Newgate with the hangman's 
 noose about his neck all because of Mar>''s cruel 
 neglect, I wondered if her beauty would so easily 
 atone for her faults. I may as well tell you that 
 he changed his mind concerning this particular doc- 
 trine of atonement.
 
 CHATTE'R XI 
 
 Lotth JCII a, Suitor 
 
 AS soon as I could leave Brandon, I had intended 
 to go down to Windsor and give vent to my 
 indignation toward the girls, but the more I 
 thought about it, the surer I felt there had, some- 
 how, been a mistake. I could not bring myself to 
 believe that Mary had deliberately permitted mat- 
 ters to go to such an extreme when it was in her 
 power to prevent it. She might have neglected her 
 duty for a day or two, but, sooner or later, her good 
 impulses always came to her rescue, and, with Jane 
 by her side to urge her on, I was almost sure she 
 would have liberated Brandon long ago — barring a 
 blunder of some sort. 
 
 So I did not go to Windsor until a week after 
 Brandon's release, when the king asked me to go 
 down with him, Wolsey and de Longueville, the 
 French ambassador-special, for the purpose of offi- 
 cially offering to Mary the hand of Louis XII, and 
 the honor of becoming queen of France. 
 
 The princess had known of the projected arrange- 
 ment for m.any weeks, but had no thought of the 
 present forward condition of affairs, or she would 
 have brought her energies to bear upon Henry long 
 before. She could not bring herself to believe tiiat 
 
 her brother would really force her into such wretch- 
 
 (182)
 
 t^oiti^ 2CII a Suitor 183 
 
 edness, and possibly he would never Have 'done so, 
 much as he desired it from the standpoint of per- 
 sonal ambition, had it not been for the petty excuse 
 of that fatal trip to Grouche's. 
 
 All the circumstances of the case were such as to 
 make Mary's marriage a veritable virgin sacrifice. 
 Louis was an old man, and an old Frenchman at 
 that; full of French notions of morality and im- 
 morality; and besides, there were objections that 
 cannot be written, but of which Henry and Mary 
 had been fully informed. She might as well 
 marry a leper. Do you wonder she was full of 
 dread and fear, and resisted with the desperation 
 of death? 
 
 So Mary, the person most interested, was 
 about the last to learn that the treaty had been 
 signed. 
 
 Windsor was nearly eight leagues from London, 
 and at that time was occupied only by the girls and 
 a few old ladies and servants, so that news did not 
 travel fast in that direction from the city. It is also 
 probable that, even if the report of the treaty and 
 Brandon's release had reached Windsor, the per- 
 sons hearing it would have hesitated to repeat it to 
 Mary. However that may be, she had no knowledge 
 of either until she was informed of the fact that the 
 king and the French ambassador would be at Wind- 
 sor on a certain day to make the formal request for 
 her haml and to offer the gifts of King Louis. 
 
 I had no doubt Mary was in trouble, and felt sure
 
 i«4 TXJhen Kjiighihood Was in t^lobtfer 
 
 she had been making affairs lively about her. I 
 knew her suffering was keen, but was glad of it In ' 
 view of her treatment of Brandon. 
 
 A day or two after Brandon's liberation I had 
 begun to speak to him of the girls, but he inter- 
 rupted me with a frightful oath: "Caskoden, you 
 are my friend, but if you ever mention their names 
 again in my hearing you are my friend no longer. 
 I will curse you." 
 
 I was frightened, so much stronger did his nature 
 show than mine, and I took good care to remain si- 
 lent on that subject until — but I am going too fast 
 again ; I will tell you of that hereafter. 
 
 Upon the morning appointed, the king, Wolsey, 
 de Longueville and myself, with a small retinue, 
 rode over to Windsor, where we found that Mary, 
 anticipating us, had barricaded herself in her bed- 
 room and refused to receive the announcement. The 
 king went up stairs to coax the fair young besieged 
 through two inches of oak door, and to induce her, 
 if possible, to come down. We below could plainly 
 hear the king pleading in the voice of a ,Bashan 
 bull, and it afforded us some amusement behind our 
 hands. Then his majesty grew angry and threat- 
 ened to break down the door, but the fair besieged 
 maintained a most persistent and provoking silence 
 throughout it all, and allowed him to carry out his 
 threat without so much as a whimper. He was 
 thoroughly angry, and called to us to come up to 
 see him "compel obedience from the self-willed
 
 i^cuU JTII a Sutfor 185 
 
 hussy," — a task the magnitude of which he under- 
 rated. 
 
 The door was soon broken down, and the king 
 walked in first, with de Longneville and Wolsey 
 next, and the rest of us following in close proces- 
 sion. But we marched over broken walls to the most 
 laughable defeat ever suffered by besieging army. 
 Our foe, though small, was altogether too fertile in 
 expedients for us. There seemed no way to conquer 
 this girl; her resources were so inexhaustible that 
 in the moment of your expected victory success 
 was turned into defeat; nay, more, ridiculous dis- 
 aster. 
 
 We found Jane crouching on the floor in a corner 
 half dead with fright from the noise and tumult — 
 and where do you think we found her mistress? 
 Frightened ? Not at all ; she was lying in bed with 
 her face to the wall as cool as a January morning; 
 her clothing in a little heap in the middle of the 
 room. 
 
 Without turning her head, she exclaimed : "Come 
 in, brother ; you are quite welcome. Bring in your 
 friends ; I am ready to receive them, though not in 
 court attire, as you see." And she thrust her bare 
 arm straight up from the bed to prove her words. 
 You should have seen the Frenchman's little black 
 eyes gloat on its beauty. 
 
 Mary went on, still looking toward the wall: "I 
 will arise and receive you all informally, if you 
 wiil but wait."
 
 ii86 XOhen Kxitghihood Wcl^ in Flower 
 
 This disconcerted the imperturbable Henry, who 
 :was about at his wit's end. 
 
 "Q)ver that arm, you hussy," he cried in a flam- 
 ing rage. 
 
 "Be not impatient, brother mine I I will jump out 
 in just a moment." 
 
 A little scream from Jane startled everybody, and 
 she quickly ran up to the king, saying : "I beg your 
 majesty to go. She will do as she says so sure as 
 you remain ; you don't know her ; she is very angry. 
 Please go ; I will bring her down stairs somehow." 
 
 "Ah, indeed! Jane Bolingbroke," came from the 
 bed. "I will receive my guests myself when they 
 are kind enough to come to my room." The cover- 
 lid began to move, and, whether or not she was 
 really going to carry out her threat, I cannot say, 
 but Henry, knowing her too well to risk it, hurried 
 us all out of the room and marched down stairs at 
 the head of his defeated cohorts. He was swearing 
 in a way to make a priest's flesh creep, and pro- 
 testing by everything holy that Mary should be the 
 wife of Louis or die. He went back to Mary's room 
 at intervals, but there was enough persistence in that 
 one girl to stop the wheels of time, if she but set 
 herself to do it, and the king came away from each 
 visit the victim of another rout. 
 
 Finally his anger cooled and he became amused. 
 From the last visit he came down laughing : 
 
 "I shall have to give up the fight or else put my 
 annor on with visor down," said he ; "it is not safe
 
 VouU A" 1 1 a Suffer 187 
 
 to go near her without it ; she is a ven- vixen, and 
 but now tried to scratch my eyes out." 
 
 Wolsey, who had a wonderful knack for finding 
 the easiest means to a difficult end, took Henry off 
 to a window where they held a whispered conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 It was pathetic to see a might}' king and his great 
 minister of state consulting and planning against 
 one poor girl ; and, as angry as I felt toward Mary, 
 I could not help pitying her, and admired, beyond 
 the power of pen to write, the valiant and so far 
 impregnable defense she had put up against an 
 array of strength that would have made a king 
 tremble on his throne. 
 
 Presently Henry gave one of his loud laughs, 
 and slapped his thigh as if highly satisfied with 
 some proposition of Wolsey's. 
 
 "Make ready at once," he said, "We will go 
 back to London." 
 
 In a short time we were all at the main stairway 
 ready to mount for the return trip. 
 
 The Lady Mary's window was just above, and I 
 saw Jane watching us as we rode away. 
 
 After we were well out of Mar\''s sight the king 
 called me to him, and he, together with de Longiie- 
 ville, Wolsey and myself, turned our horses' heads, 
 rode rapidly by a circuitous path back to another 
 door of the castle and re-entered without the knowl- 
 edge of any of the inmates. 
 
 We four remained in silence, enjoined by the
 
 i88 tahen Knighthood Wa^ in Flo\xfer 
 
 king, and in the course of an hour, the princess, 
 supposing every one had gone, came down stairs 
 and walked into the room where we were waiting. 
 
 It was a scurvy trick, and I felt a contempt for 
 the men who had planned it. I could see that 
 Mary's first impulse was to beat a hasty retreat back 
 into her citadel, the bed, but in truth she had in her 
 make-up very little disposition to retreat. She was 
 clear grit. What a man she would have made! 
 But what a crime it would have been in nature to 
 have spoiled so perfect a woman. How beautiful 
 she was ! She threw one quick, surprised glance at 
 her brother and his companions, and lifting up her 
 exquisite head carelessly hummed a little tune under 
 her breath as she marched to the other end of the 
 room with a gait that Juno herself could not have 
 improved upon, 
 
 I saw the king smile, half in pride of her, and half 
 in amusement, and the Frenchman's little eyes 
 feasted upon her beauty with a relish that could not 
 be mistaken. 
 
 Henry and the ambassador spoke a word in whis- 
 pers, when the latter took a box from a huge side 
 ^^ pocket and started across the room toward Mary 
 .with the king at his heels. 
 
 Her side was toward them when they came up, 
 but she kept her attitude as if she had been of 
 bronze. She had taken up a book that was lying 
 on the table and was examining it as they ap- 
 proached.
 
 Louh JCII a Suitor 189 
 
 De Longueville held the box in his hand, and 
 bowing and scraping said in broken English : "Per- 
 mit to me, most gracious princess, that I may have 
 the honor to offer on behalf of my august master, 
 this little testament of his high admiration and 
 love." With this he bowed again, smiled like a 
 crack in a piece of old parchment, and held his box 
 toward Mary. It was open, probably in the hope of 
 enticing her with a sight of its contents — a beautiful 
 diamond necklace. 
 
 She turned her face ever so little and took it all 
 in with one contemptuous, sneering glance out of 
 the corners of her eyes. Then quietly reaching out 
 her hand she grasped the necklace and deliberately 
 dashed it in poor old de Longueville's face. 
 
 "There is my answer, sir ! Go home and tell your 
 imbecile old master I scorn his suit and hate him — 
 hate him — hate him !" Then with the tears falling 
 unheeded down her cheeks, "Master Wolsey, you 
 butcher's cur! This trick was of your conception; 
 the others had not brains enough to think of it 
 Are you not proud to have outwitted one poor 
 heart-broken girl ? But beware, sir ; I tell you now 
 I will be quits with you yet, or my name is not 
 Mary." 
 
 There is a limit to the best of feminine nerve, and 
 at that limit should always be found a flood of 
 healthful tears. Mary had reached it when she 
 threw the necklace and shot her bolt at Wolsey, sc 
 she broke down and hastily left the room.
 
 I90 XOhen K.nighthood Wa^ tn Flotifer 
 
 The king, of course, was beside himself with rage. 
 
 "By God's soul/' he swore, "she shall marry 
 Louis of France, or I will have her whipped to 
 death on the Smithfield pillory." And in his wicked 
 heart — so impervious to a single lasting good im-; 
 pulse — he really meant it. ■ 
 
 Immediately after this, the king, de Longueville 
 and Wolsey set out for London. 
 
 I remained behind hoping to see the girls, and 
 after a short time a page plucked me by the sleeve, 
 saying the princess wished to see me. 
 
 The page conducted me to the same room in 
 which had been fought the battle with Mary in bed. 
 The door had been placed on its hinges again, but 
 the bed was tumbled as Mary had left it, and the 
 room was in great disorder. 
 
 "Oh, Sir Edwin," began Mary, who was weep- 
 ing, "was ever woman in such frightful trouble? 
 My brother is killing me. Can he not see that I 
 could not live through a week of this marriage? 
 And I have been deserted by all my friends, too, 
 excepting Jane. She, poor thing, cannot leave.". 
 
 "You know I would not go," said Jane, paren- 
 thetically. Mary continued : "You, too, have been 
 home an entire week and have not been near 
 me. 
 
 I began to soften at the sight of her grief, and 
 concluded, with Brandon, that, after all, her beauty 
 could well cover a multitude of sins ; perhaps evett 
 this, her great transgression against him.
 
 LouU JCII a Suitor 191 
 
 The princess was trying to check her weeping, 
 and in a moment took up the thread of her un- 
 finished sentence : "And Master Brandon, too, left 
 without so much as sending me one Httle word — 
 not a Hne nor a syllable. He did not come near me, 
 but went off as if I did not care— or he did not. 
 Of course he did not care, or he would not have 
 behaved so, knowing I was in so much trouble. I 
 did not see him at all after — one afternoon in the 
 king's — about a week before that awful night in 
 London, except that night, when I was so fright- 
 ened I could not speak one word of all the things I 
 wished to say." 
 
 This sounded strange enough, and I began more 
 than ever to suspect something wrong. I, however, 
 kept as firm a grasp as possible upon the stock of 
 indignation I had brought with me. 
 
 "How did you expect to see or hear from him," 
 asked I, "when he was lying in a loathsome dun- 
 geon without one ray of light, condemned to be 
 hanged, drawn and quartered, because of your self- 
 ish neglect to save him who, at the cost of half his 
 blood, and almost his life, had saved so much for 
 you?" 
 
 Her eyes grew big, and the tears were checked 
 by genuine surprise. 
 
 I continued : "Lady Mary, no one could have 
 made me believe that you would stand back and let 
 the man, to whom you owed so great a debt, lie so 
 long in such misery, and be condemned to such a
 
 192 to hen Kjiighthood Wa>s in Floiver 
 
 death for the act that saved you. I could never 
 have beHeved it !" 
 
 "Imp of hell !" screamed Mary ; "what tale is 
 this you bring to torture me? Have I not enough 
 already? Tell me it is a lie, or I will have your 
 miserable little tongue torn out by the root." 
 
 "It is no lie, princess, but an awful truth, and a 
 frightful shame to you." 
 
 I was determined to tell her all and let her see 
 herself as she was. 
 
 She gave a hysterical laugh, and throwing up her 
 hands, with her accustomed little gesture, fell upon 
 the bed in utter abandonment, shaking as with a 
 spasm. She did not weep ; she could not ; she was 
 past that now. Jane went over to the bed and tried 
 to soothe her. 
 
 In a moment Mary sprang to her feet, exclaim- 
 ing: "Master Brandon condemned to death and 
 you and I here talking and moaning and weeping? 
 Come, come, we will go to the king at once. We 
 will start to walk, Edwin — I must be doing some- 
 thing — and Jane can follow with the horses and 
 overtake us. No; I will not dress; just as I am; 
 this will do. Bring me a hat, Jane ; any one, any 
 one." While putting on hat and gloves she con- 
 tinued : "I will see the king at once and tell him 
 all ! all ! I will do anything ; I will marry that old 
 king of France, or forty kings, or forty devils ; it's 
 all one to me; anything! anything! to save him. 
 Oh I to think that he has been in that dungeon all
 
 LouU XII a Suitor i93 
 
 this time." And the tears came unheeded in a 
 dehige. 
 
 She was under such headway, and spoke and 
 moved so rapidly, that I could not stop her until she 
 was nearly ready to go. Then I held her by the 'im 
 while I said : 
 
 "It is not necessary now ; you are too late." 
 
 A look of horror came into her face, and I 
 continued slowly: "I procured Brandon's re- 
 lease nearly a week ago; I did what you should 
 have done, and he is now at our rooms in Green- 
 wich." 
 
 Mary looked at me a moment, and, turning pale, 
 pressed her hands to her heart and leaned against 
 the door frame. 
 
 After a short silence she said: "Edwin Casko- 
 den — fool ! Why could you not have told me that 
 at first? I thought my brain would burn and my 
 heart burst." 
 
 "I should have told you had you given me time. 
 As to the pain it gave you" — this was the last charge 
 of my large magazine of indignation — "I care very 
 little about that. You deserve it. I do not know 
 what explanation you have to offer, but nothing can 
 excuse you. An explanation, however good, would 
 have been little comfort to you had Brandon failed 
 you in Billingsgate that night." 
 
 She had fallen into a chair by this time and sat in 
 reverie, staring at nothing. Then the tears came 
 again, but more softly. 
 
 13
 
 194 tS&'^en Kjnighihood Wa<s in Floioer 
 
 "You are right; nothing can excuse me. I am 
 the most selfish, ungrateful, guilty creature ever 
 born. A whole month in that dungeon !" And she 
 covered her drooping face with her hands. 
 
 "Go away for awhile, Edwin, and then return; 
 we shall want to see you again," said Jane. 
 
 Upon my return Mary was more composed. Jane 
 had dressed her hair, and she was sitting on the bed 
 in her riding habit, hat in hand. Her fingers were 
 nervously toying at the ribbons and her eyes cast 
 down. 
 
 "You are surely right, Sir Edwin. I have no 
 excuse. I can have none; but I will tell you how 
 it was. You remember the day you left me in the 
 waiting-room of the king's council? — when they 
 were discussing my marriage without one thought 
 of me, as if I were but a slave or a dumb brute that 
 could not feel." She began to weep a little, but 
 soon recovered herself. "While waiting for you to 
 return, the Duke of Buckingham came in. I knew 
 Henry was trying to sell me to the French king, 
 and my heart was full of trouble — from more causes 
 than you can know. All the council, especially that 
 butcher's son, were urging him on, and Henry him- 
 self was anxious that the marriage should be 
 brought about. He thought it would strengthen 
 him for the imperial crown. He wants everything, 
 and is ambitious to be emperor. Emperor ! He 
 would cut a pretty figure! I hoped, though, I 
 should be able to induce him not to sacrifice me to
 
 LouU JCll a JS'utior 19S 
 
 his selfish interests, as T have done before, hut I 
 knew only too well it would tax my powers to the 
 utmost this time. I knew that if I did anything to 
 anger or to antagonize him. it would be all at an end 
 with me. You k-now he is so exacting with other 
 people's conduct, for one who is so careless of his 
 own — so virtuous by proxy. You remember how 
 cruelly he disgraced and crushed poor Lady 
 Qiesterfield, who was in such trouble about her 
 husband, and who went to Grouche's only to learn if 
 he were true to her. Henry seems to be particularly 
 sensitive in that direction. One would think it was 
 in the commandments : 'Thou shalt not go to 
 Grouche's.' It may be that some have gone there 
 for other purposes than to have their fortunes told — 
 to meet, to — but I need not say that I — " and she 
 stopped short, blushing to her hair. 
 
 "Well, I knew I could do nothing with Henry if 
 he once learned of that visit, especially as it re- 
 sulted so fatally. Oh ! why did I go ? Why did 
 I go? That was why I hesitated to tell Henry at 
 once. I was hoping some other way would open 
 whereby I might save Charles — Master Brandon. 
 While I was waiting, along came the Duke of Buck- 
 ingham, and as I knew he was popular in London, 
 and had almost as much influence there as the king, 
 a thought came to me that he might help us. 
 
 "I knew that he and Master Brandon had passed 
 a few angry words at one time in my ball-room — 
 you remember — but I also knew tliat the duke was
 
 196 XOhen Kjiighthood Wa^ in Flotster 
 
 in — in love with me, you know, or pretended to be— 
 he always said he was — and I felt sure I could, by 
 a little flattery, induce him to do anything. He was 
 always protesting that he would give half his blood 
 to serve me. As if anybody wanted a drop of his 
 wretched blood. Poor Master Brandon! his blood 
 . . ." and the tears came, choking her words for 
 the moment. "So I told the duke I had promised 
 you and Jane to procure Master Brandon's liberty, 
 and asked him to do it for me. He gladly consented, 
 and gave me his knightly word that it should be at- 
 tended to without an hour's delay. He said it might 
 have to be done secretly in the way of an escape — 
 not officially — as the Londoners were very jealous 
 of their rights and much aroused on account of the 
 killing. Especially, he said that at that time great 
 caution must be used, as the king was anxious to 
 conciliate the city in order to procure a loan for 
 some purpose — my dower, I suppose. 
 
 "The duke said it should be as I wished ; that 
 Master Brandon should escape, and remain away 
 from London for a few weeks until the king pro- 
 cured his loan, and then be freed by royal procla- 
 mation. 
 
 "I saw Buckingham the next day, for I was very 
 anxious, you may be sure, and he said the keeper of 
 Newgate had told him it had been arranged the 
 night before as desired. I had come to Windsor 
 because it was more quiet, and my heart was full- 
 It is quite a distance from London, and I thought
 
 •'Little at* I valiu* th«- |HM.r <li^riiily, yet lio I nwut thitt 
 iiiHult t") the Crown >>( Fraiice ! " — A<t I\'.
 
 LouU AT 1 1 a Suitor 197 
 
 it might afford a better opportunity to — to see — I 
 thought, perhaps blaster Brandon might come — 
 might want to — to — see Jane and me ; in fact I 
 wrote him before I left Greenwich that I should ba 
 here. Then I heard he had gone to New Spain. 
 Now you see how all my troubles have come upon 
 me at once ; and this the greatest of them, because 
 it is my fault. I can ask no forgiveness from any 
 one, for I cannot forgive myself." 
 
 She then inquired about Brandon's health and 
 spirits, and I left out no distressing detail you may 
 be sure. 
 
 During my recital she sat with downcast eyes and 
 tear-stained face, playing with the ribbons of her 
 hat. 
 
 When I was ready to go she said: 'TIease say 
 to Master Brandon I should like — to — see — him, if 
 he cares to come, if only that I may tell him how 
 it happened," 
 
 "I greatly fear, in fact, I know he will not come," 
 said I. "The crudest blow of all, worse even than 
 the dungeon, or the sentence of death, was your 
 failure to save him. He trusted you so implicitly. 
 At the time of his arrest he refused to allow me to 
 tell the king, saying he knew you would see to it — 
 that you were pure gold." 
 
 "Ah, did he say that?" she asked, as a sad little 
 smile lighted her face. 
 
 "His faith was so entirely without doubt, that his 
 recoil from you is correspondingly great. He goes
 
 198 ^tOhen Kxiighthood Wa^ in Flotver 
 
 to New Spain as soon as his health is recovered 
 sufficiently for him to travel." 
 
 This sent the last fleck of color from her face, 
 and with the words almost choking her throat: 
 "Then tell him what I have said to you and perhaps 
 he will not feel so — " 
 
 "I cannot do that either, Lady Mary. When I 
 mentioned your name the other day he said he 
 would curse me if I ever spoke it again in his hear- 
 ing." 
 
 "Is it so bad as that ?" Then, meditatively : "And 
 at his trial he did not tell the reason for the killing ? 
 Would not compromise me, who had served him so 
 ill, even to save his own life ? Noble, noble !" And 
 her lips went together as she rose to her feet. No 
 tears now ; nothing but glowing, determined wom- 
 anhood. 
 
 "Then I will go to him wherever he may be. He 
 shall forgive me, no matter what my fault." 
 
 Soon after this we were on our way to London at 
 a brisk gallop. 
 
 We were all very silent, but at one time Mary 
 spoke up from the midst of a reverie : "During the 
 moment when I thought Master Brandon had been 
 executed — when you said it was too late — it seemed 
 that I was born again and all made over; that I 
 was changed in the very texture of my nature by 
 the shock, as they say the grain of the iron cannon 
 is sometimes changed by too violent an explosion." 
 And this proved to be true in some respects.
 
 Louis XII a Suitor i99 
 
 We rode on rapidly and did not stop in London 
 except to give the horses drink. 
 
 After crossing the bridge, Mary said, half to Jane 
 and half to herself: "I will never marry the French 
 king — never." Mary was but a girl pitted against 
 a body of brutal men, two of them rulers of the 
 two greatest nations on earth — rather heavy odds, 
 for one woman. 
 
 We rode down to Greenwich and entered the 
 palace without exciting comment, as the princess 
 was in the habit of coming and going at will. 
 
 The king and queen and most of the courtiers 
 were in London — at Bridewell House and Baynard's 
 Castle — where Henry was vigorously pushing the 
 loan of five hundred thousand crowns for Mary's 
 dower, the only business of state in which, at that 
 time, he took any active interest. Subsequently, as 
 you know, he became interested in the divorce laws, 
 and the various methods whereby a man, especially 
 a king, might rid himself of a distasteful wife ; and 
 after he saw the truth in Anne Boleyn's eyes, he 
 adopted a combined policy of church and state craft 
 that has brought us a deal of senseless trouble ever 
 since — and is like to keep it up. 
 
 As to Mary's dower, Henry was to pay Louis 
 only four hundred thousand crowns, but he made 
 the marriage an excuse for an extra hundred thou- 
 sand, to be devoted to his own private use. 
 
 When we arrived at the palace, the girls went 
 to their apartments and I to mine, where I found
 
 2CK) ^€£}hen Kjni^hthood Wa^ in Flower 
 
 Brandon reading. There was only one window to 
 our common room — a dormer-window, set into the 
 roof, and reached by a little passage as broad as the 
 window itself, and perhaps a yard and a half long. 
 In the alcove thus formed was a bench along the 
 wall, cushioned by Brandon's great campaign cloak. 
 In this window we often sat and read, and here was 
 Brandon with his book. I had intended to tell him 
 the girls were coming, for when Mary asked me if 
 I thought he would come to her at the palace, and 
 when I had again said no, she reiterated her inten- 
 tion of going to him at once ; but my courage failed 
 me and I did not speak of it. 
 
 I knew that Mary ought not to come to our room, 
 and that if news of it should reach the king's ears 
 there would be more and worse trouble than ever, 
 and, as usual, Brandon would pay the penalty for 
 all. Then again, if it were discovered it might seri- 
 ously compromise both Mary and Jane, as the world 
 is full of people who would rather say and believe 
 an evil thing of another than to say their prayers 
 or to believe the holy creed. 
 
 I had said as much to the Lady Mary when she 
 expressed her determination to go to Brandon. 
 She had been in the wrong so much of late that she 
 was humbled, and I was brave enough to say what- 
 ever I felt ; but she said she had thought it all over, 
 and as every one was away from Greenwich it 
 would not be found out if done secretly.
 
 Lout's ATI I a Suitor 20X 
 
 She told Jane she need not go; that she, Mary, 
 did not want to take any risk of compromising her. 
 
 You see, trouble was doing a good work in the 
 princess, and had made it possible for a generous 
 thought for another to find spontaneous lodgment 
 in her heart. What a great thing it is, this human 
 suffering, which so sensitizes our sympathy, and 
 makes us tender to another's pain. Nothing else so 
 fits us for earth or prepares us for heaven. 
 
 Jane would have gone, though, had she known 
 that all her fair name would go with her. She was 
 right, you see, when she told me, while riding over 
 to Windsor, that should Mary's love blossom into 
 a full-blown passion she would wreck everything 
 and everybody, including herself perhaps, to attain 
 the object of so great a desire. 
 
 It looked now as if she were on the high road to 
 that end. Nothing short of chains and fetters could 
 have kept her from going to Brandon that evening. 
 There was an inherent force about her that was 
 irresistible and swept everything before it. 
 
 In our garret she was to meet another w-ill, 
 stronger and infinitely better controlled than her 
 own, and I did not know how it would all turn out.
 
 CHATTE'R XII 
 
 Atonement 
 
 I HAD not been long in the room when a block 
 at the door announced the girls. I admitted 
 them, and Mary walked to the middle of the 
 floor. It was just growing dark and the room 
 was quite dim, save at the window where Brandon 
 sat reading. Gods ! those were exciting moments ; 
 my heart beat like a woman's. Brandon saw the 
 girls when they entered, but never so much as 
 looked up from his book. You must remember he 
 had a great grievance. Even looking at it from 
 Mary's side of the case, certainly its best point 
 of view, he had been terribly misused, and it was 
 all the worse that the misuse had come from 
 one who, from his standpoint, had pretended to 
 love him, and had wantonly led him on, as he 
 had the best of right to think, to love her, and 
 to suffer the keenest pangs a heart can know. Then 
 you must remember he did not know even the 
 best side of the matter, bad as it was, but saw only 
 the naked fact, that in recompense for his great 
 help in time of need, Mary had deliberately allowed 
 him to lie in that dungeon a long, miserable month, 
 and would have suffered him to die. So it was no 
 wonder his heart was filled with bitterness toward 
 
 her. Jane and I had remained near the door, and 
 
 (202)
 
 Atonement 203 
 
 poor Man- was a pitiable princess, standing there 
 so full of doubt in the middle of the room. After a 
 moment she stepped toward the window, and, with 
 quick-coming breath, stopped at the threshold of the 
 little passage. 
 
 "Master Brandon, I have come, not to make ex- 
 cuses, for nothing can excuse me, but to tell you 
 how it all happened — by trusting to another." 
 
 Brandon arose, and marking the place in his book 
 with his finger, followed Mary, who had stepped 
 backward into the room. 
 
 "Your highness is very gracious and kind thus 
 to honor me, but as our ways will hereafter lie 
 as far apart as the world is broad, I think it would 
 have been far better had you refrained from so 
 imprudent a visit; especially as anything one so 
 exalted as yourself may have to say can be no 
 affair of such as I — one just free of the hangman's 
 noose." 
 
 "Oh ! don't ! I pray you. Let me tell you, and 
 it may make a difference. It must pain you, I know, 
 to think of me as you do, after — after — you know ; 
 after what has passed between us." 
 
 "Yes, that only makes it all the harder. If you 
 could give your kisses" — and she blushed red as 
 blood — "to one for whom you care so little that you 
 could leave him to die like a dog, when a word from 
 you would have saved him, what reason have I to 
 suppose they arc not for every man ?" 
 
 This gave Mary an opening of which she was
 
 204 tfiC/^cn Kjii^hthood Was in Ftotver 
 
 quick enough to take advantage, for Brandon was 
 in the wrong. 
 
 "You know that is not true. You are not honest 
 with me nor with yourself, and that is not Hke you. 
 You know that no other man ever had, or could 
 have, any favor from me, even the slightest. Wan- 
 tonness is not among my thousand faults. It is not 
 that which angers you. You are sure enough of me 
 in that respect. In truth, I had almost come to be- 
 lieve you were too sure, that I had grown cheap in 
 your eyes, and you did not care so much as I thought 
 and hoped for what I had to give, for after that day 
 you came not near me at all. I know it was the part 
 of wisdom and prudence that you should remain 
 away; but had you cared as much as I, your pru- 
 dence would not have held you." 
 
 She hung her head a moment in silence; then, 
 looking at him, almost ready for tears, continued: 
 "A man has no right to speak in that way of a 
 woman whose little favors he has taken, and make 
 her regret that she has given a gift only that it may 
 recoil upon her. 'Little,' did I say? Sir, do you 
 know what that — first — kiss was to me? Had I 
 possessed all the crowns of all the earth I would 
 have given them to you as willingly. Now you 
 know the value I placed on it, however worthless it 
 was to you. Yet I was a cheerful giver of that great 
 gift, was I not ? And can you find it in your heart 
 to make of it a shame to me — that of which I was 
 so proud ?"
 
 Atonement 205 
 
 She stood tliere with head inclined a little to one 
 side, looking at him inquiringly as if awaiting an 
 answer. He did not speak, but looked steadily at 
 his book. I felt, however, that he was changing, and 
 I was sure her beauty, never more exquisite than 
 in its present humility, would yet atone for even so 
 great a fault as hers. Err, look beautiful, and re- 
 ceive remission ! Such a woman as Mary carries 
 her indulgence in her face. 
 
 I now began to realize for the first time the won- 
 drous power of this girl, and ceased to marvel that 
 she had always been able to turn even the king, the 
 most violent, stubborn man on earth, to her own 
 wishes. Her manner made her words eloquent, and 
 already, with true feminine tactics, she had put 
 Brandon in the w-rong in everything because he was 
 wrong in part. 
 
 Then she quickly went over what she had said to 
 me. She told of her great dread lest the king should 
 learn of the visit to Grouche's and its fatal conse- 
 quences, knowing full w^ell it would render Henry 
 impervious to her influence and precipitate the 
 French marriage. She told him of how she was 
 going to the king the day after the arrest to ask 
 his release, and of the meeting with Buckingham, 
 and his promise. 
 
 Still Brandon said nothing, and stood as if po- 
 litely waiting for her to withdraw. 
 
 She remained silent a little time, waiting for hira
 
 2o6 XOhen K.nighlhood Wa^ in Flower 
 
 to speak, when tears, partly of vexation, I think, 
 moistened her eyes. 
 
 "Tell me at least," she said, "that you know I 
 speak the truth. I have always believed in you, and 
 .now I ask for your faith. I would not lie to you in 
 the faintest shading of a thought — not for heaven 
 itself — not even for your love and forgiveness, 
 much as they are to me, and I want to know that you 
 are sure of my truthfulness, if you doubt all else. 
 You see I speak plainly of what your love is to me, 
 for although, by remaining away, you made me fear 
 I had been too lavish with my favors — that is every 
 woman's fear — I knew in my heart you loved me ; 
 that you could not have done and said what you did 
 otherwise. Now you see what faith I have in you, 
 and you a man, whom a woman's instinct prompts 
 to doubt. How does it compare with your faith in 
 me, a woman, whom all the instincts of a manly na- 
 ture should dispose to trust? It seems to be an 
 unwritten law that a man may lie to a woman con- 
 cerning the most important thing in life to her, and 
 be proud of it, but you see even now I have all faith 
 in your love for me, else I surely should not be here. 
 You see I trust even your unspoken word, when it 
 might, without much blame to you, be a spoken 
 lie; yet you do not trust me, who have no world- 
 given right to speak falsely about such things, and 
 when that which I now do is full of shame for me, 
 and what I have done full of guilt, if inspired by 
 aught but the purest truth from my heart of hearts.
 
 Atonement 207 
 
 Your words mean so much — so much more, I think, 
 than you reaUzc — and are so cruel in turning to evil 
 tlie highest, purest impulse a woman can feel — the 
 glowing pride in self-surrender, and the sweet, de- 
 lightful privilege of giving where she loves. How 
 can you? How can you?" 
 
 How eloquent she was! It seemed to me this 
 would have melted the frozen sea, hut I think Bran- 
 don felt that now his only hope lay in the safeguard 
 of his constantly upheld indignation. 
 
 When he spoke he ignored all she had said. 
 
 "You did well to employ my Lord of Bucking- 
 ham. It will make matters more interesting when I 
 tell you it was he who attacked you and was caught 
 by the leg under his wounded horse ; he was lame, 
 I am told, for some time afterward. I had watched 
 him following you from the gate at Bridewell, and 
 at once recognized him when his mask fell off dur- 
 ing the fight by the wall. You have done well at 
 every step, I see." 
 
 "Oh, God; to think of it! Had I but known! 
 Buckingham shall pay for this with his head ; but 
 how could I know? I was but a poor, distracted 
 girl, sure to make some fatal error. I was in such 
 agony — your wounds — believe me, I suffered more 
 from them than you could. Every pain you felt was 
 a pang for me — and then that awful marriage! I 
 was being sold like a wretched slave to that old 
 satyr, to be gloated over and feasted upon. No 
 man can know the horror of that thought to a
 
 2o8 *€Ohen Kjnighihood Was in Flotver 
 
 woman — to any woman, good or bad. To have 
 one's beauty turn to curse her and make her desir- 
 able only — only as well-fed cattle are prized. No 
 matter how great the manifestation of such so-called 
 love, it all the more repels a woman and adds to 
 her loathing day by day. Then there was some- 
 thing worse than all," — she was almost weeping 
 now — "I might have been able to bear the thought 
 even of that hideous marriage — others have lived 
 through the like — but — but after — that — that day — • 
 when you — it seemed that your touch was a spark 
 dropped into a heart full of tinder, which had been 
 lying there awaiting it all these years. In that one 
 moment the flame grew so intense I could not with- 
 stand it. My throat ached ; I could scarcely breathe, 
 and it seemed that my heart would burst." Here the 
 tears gushed forth as she took a step toward him 
 with outstretched arms, and said between her sobs : 
 "I wanted you, you ! for my husband — for my hus- 
 band, and I could not bear the torturing thought of 
 losing you or enduring any other man. I could 
 not give you up after that — it was all too late, too 
 late ; it had gone too far. I was lost ! lost !" 
 
 He sprang to where she stood leaning toward 
 him, and caught her to his breast. 
 
 She held him from her while she said : "Now you 
 know — now you know that I would not have left 
 you in that terrible place, had I known it. No, 
 not if it had taken my life to buy your freedom," 
 
 "i do know; I do know. Be sure of that; I
 
 A^tonemenl 209 
 
 know it and shall know it always, whatever hap- 
 pens ; nothing can change me. I will never doubt 
 you again. It is my turn to ask forgiveness now." 
 
 "Xo, no; just forgive me; that is all I ask," and 
 her head was on his breast. 
 
 "Let us step out into the passage-way, Edwin," 
 said Jane, and we did. There were times when Jane 
 seemed to be inspired. 
 
 When we went back into the room Ivlary and 
 Brandon were sitting in the window-way on his 
 great cloak. They rose and came to us, holding 
 each other's hands, and Mary asked, looking up to 
 him : 
 
 "Shall we tell them?" 
 
 "As you like, my lady." 
 
 Mary was willing, and looked for Brandon to 
 speak, so he said : "This lady whom I hold by the 
 hand and myself have promised each other before 
 the good God to be husband and wife, if fortune 
 ever so favor us that it be possible." 
 
 "No, that is not it," interrupted Mary. "There 
 is no 'if in it ; it shall be, whether it is possible or 
 not. Nothing shall prevent." At this she kissed 
 Jane and told her how she loved her, and gave mc 
 her hand, for her love was so great within her that 
 it overflowed upon every one. She, however, al- 
 ways had a plenitude of love for Jane, and though 
 she might scold her and apparently misuse her, Jane 
 was as dear as a sister, and was always sure of 
 
 her steadfast, tried and lasting affection. 
 u
 
 210 to hen Kjiighthood Wa>s in Flotifcr 
 
 After Mary had said there should be no "if," 
 Brandon replied: 
 
 "Very well, Madame Destiny." Then turning 
 to us : "What ought I to do for one who is willing 
 to stoop from so high an estate to honor me and 
 be my wife?" 
 
 "Love her, and her alone, with your whole heart, 
 as long as you live. That is all she wants, I am 
 sure," volunteered Jane, sentimentally. 
 
 "Jane, you are a Madam Solomon," said Mary, 
 with a tone of her old-time laugh. "Is the course 
 you advise as you would wish to be done by ?" And 
 she glanced mischievously from Jane to me, as the 
 laugh bubbled up from her heart, merry and soft 
 as if it had not come from what was but now the 
 home of grief and pain. 
 
 "I know nothing about how I should like to 
 be done by," said Jane, with a pout, "but if you 
 have such respect for my wisdom I will offer 
 a little more ; I think it is time we should be 
 
 
 going, 
 
 "Now, Jane, you are growing foolish again; I 
 will not go yet," and Mary made manifest her inten- 
 tion by sitting down. She could not bring herself 
 to forego the pleasure of staying, dangerous as she 
 knew it to be, and could not bear the pain of part- 
 ing, even for a short time, now that she had Bran- 
 don once more. The time was soon coming — but I 
 am too fast again. 
 
 After a time Brandon said : "I think Jane's wis-
 
 y\toncment 211 
 
 dom remains with her, Mary. It is better that 
 you do not stay, much as I wish to have you." 
 
 She was ready to obey him at once. 
 
 When she arose to go she took both his hands 
 in hers and whispered: " *Mar}'.' I Hke the name 
 on your hps," and then glancing hurriedly over her 
 shoulder to see if Jane and I were looking, lifted 
 her face to him and ran after us. 
 
 We were a little in advance of the princess, and, 
 as we walked along, Jane said under her breath: 
 "Now look out for trouble ; it will come quickly, and 
 I fear for Master Brandon more than any one. He 
 has made a noble fight against her and against him- 
 self, and it is no wonder she loves him." 
 
 This made me feel a little jealous. 
 
 "Jane, you could not love him, could you?" I 
 asked. 
 
 "Xo matter what I could do, Edwin; I do not, 
 and that should satisfy you." Her voice and man- 
 ner said more than her words. The hall was almost 
 dark, and — I have always considered that occa- 
 sion one of my lost opportunities ; but they are not 
 many. 
 
 The next evening Brandon and I, upon Lady 
 Mary's invitation, went up to her apartments, but 
 did not stay long, fearing some one might find us 
 there and cause trouble. We would not have gone 
 at all had not the whole court been absent in Lon- 
 don, for discovery would have been a serious mat- 
 ter to one of us at least.
 
 212 Xi^hen Kjii^hthood Wa>ff in Flotuer 
 
 As I told you once before, Henry did not care 
 how much Brandon might love his sister, but Buck- 
 ingham had whispered suspicions of the state of 
 Mary's heart, and his own observations, together 
 with the intercepted note, had given these sus- 
 picions a stronger coloring, so that a very small 
 matter might turn them into certainties. 
 
 The king had pardoned Brandon for the killing 
 of the two men in Billingsgate, as he was forced 
 to do under the circumstances, but there his kind- 
 ness stopped. After a short time he deprived him 
 of his place at court, and all that was left for him 
 of royal favor was permission to remain with me 
 and live at the palace until such time as lie should 
 sail for New Spain.
 
 CHATTE'R jrill 
 
 A GirV^ Consent 
 
 THE treaty had been agreed upon, and as to the 
 international arrangement, at least, the mar- 
 riage of Louis de Valois and Mary Tudor 
 was a settled fact. All it needed was the consent 
 of an eighteen-year-old girl — a small matter, of 
 course, as marriageable women are but commodi- 
 ties in statecraft, and theoretically, at least, ac- 
 quiesce in everything their liege lords ordain. Lady 
 Mary's consent had been but theoretical, but it was 
 looked upon by every one as amounting to an actual, 
 vociferated, sonorous "yes ;" that is to say, by every 
 one but the princess, who had no more notion of 
 saying "yes" than she had of reciting the Sanscrit 
 vocabulary from the pillory of Smithfield. 
 
 Wolsey, whose manner was smooth as an otter's 
 coat, had been sent to fetch the needed "yes"; but 
 he failed. 
 
 Jane told me about it. 
 
 Wolsey had gone privately to see the princess, 
 and had thrown out a sort of skirmish line by flat- 
 tering her beauty, but had found her not in the best 
 humor. 
 
 "Yes, yes, my lord of Lincoln, T know how beau- 
 tiful I am ; no one knows better; I know all about 
 my hair, eyes, teeth, eyebrows and skin. I tell you 
 
 (213)
 
 214 ^SS^hen Kjnighthood Wao- in Flobt^et 
 
 I am sick of them. Don't talk to me about them; 
 it won't help you to get my consent to marry that 
 vile old creature. That is what you have come for, 
 of course. I have been expecting you ; why did 
 not my brother come ?" 
 
 "I think he was afraid ; and, to tell you the truth, 
 I was afraid myself," answered Wolsey, with a 
 smile. This made Mary smile, too, in spite of her- 
 self, and went a long way toward putting her in 
 a good humor. Wolsey continued: "His majesty 
 could not have given me a more disagreeable task. 
 You doubtless think I am in favor of this mar- 
 riage, but I am not." 
 
 This was as great a lie as ever fell whole out of 
 a bishop's mouth. *T have been obliged to fall in 
 with the king's views on the matter, for he has had 
 his mind set on it from the first mention by de 
 Longueville." 
 
 "Was it that bead-eyed little mummy who sug- 
 gested it?" 
 
 **Yes, and if you marry the king of France you 
 can repay him with usury." 
 
 " 'Tis an inducement, by my troth." 
 
 "I do not mind saying to you in confidence that 
 I think it an outrage to force a girl like you to 
 marry a man like Louis of France, but how are we 
 to avoid it ?" 
 
 By the "we" Wolsey put himself in alliance with 
 Mary, and the move was certainly adroit.
 
 A Ctrr>s Consent 215 
 
 "How are we to avoid it ? Have no fear of that, 
 my lord ; I will show you." 
 
 "Oh ! but my dear princess ; permit me ; you 
 do not seem to know your brother ; you cannot in 
 any way avoid this marriage. I believe he will im- 
 prison you and put you on bread and water to force 
 your consent. I am sure you had better do willingly 
 that which you will eventually be compelled to do 
 anyway ; and besides, there is another thought that 
 has come to me; shall I speak plainly before Lady 
 Jane Bolingbroke?" 
 
 "I have no secrets from her." 
 
 "Very well ; it is this : Louis is old and very 
 feeble ; he cannot live long, and it may be that you 
 can, by a ready consent now, exact a promise from 
 your brother to allow you your own choice in the 
 event of a second marriage. You might in that way 
 purchase what you could not bring about in any 
 other way." 
 
 "How do you know that I want to purchase aught 
 m any way, Master Wolsey? I most certainly do 
 not intend to do so by marrying France." 
 
 "I do not know that you wish to purchase any- 
 thing, but a woman's heart is not always under her 
 full control, and it sometimes goes out to one very 
 far beneath her in station, but the equal of any man 
 on earth in grandeur of soul and nobleness of na- 
 ture. It might be that there is sucli a man whom 
 any woman would be amply justified in purchasing
 
 2i6 tX^hen Kjnighthood Wcu in Flokoer 
 
 at any sacrifice — doubly so if it were buying happi- 
 ness for two." 
 
 His meaning was too plain even to pretend to 
 misunderstand, and Mary's eyes flashed at him, as 
 her face broke into a dimpling smile in spite of 
 her. 
 
 Wolsey thought he had won, and to clinch the 
 victory said, in his forceful manner: "Louis XII 
 will not live a year ; let me carry to the king your 
 consent, and I guarantee you his promise as to a 
 second marriage." 
 
 In an instant Mary's eyes shot fire, and her face 
 was like the blackest storm cloud. 
 
 "Carry this to the king: that I will see him and 
 the whole kingdom sunk in hell before I will marry 
 Louis of France. That is my answer once and for all. 
 Good even'. Master Wolsey." And she swept out 
 of the room with head up and dilating nostrils, 
 the very picture of defiance. 
 
 St, George ! She must have looked superb. She 
 was one of the few persons whom anger and dis- 
 dain and the other passions which we call ungentle 
 seemed to illumine — they were so strong in her, 
 and yet not violent. It seemed that every deep 
 emodon but added to her beauty and brought it out, 
 as the light within a church brings out the exquisite 
 figuring on the windows. 
 
 After Wolsey had gone, Jane said to Mary: 
 "Don't you think it would have been better had you 
 sent a softer answer to your brother? I believe you
 
 A. CirV^r Consent 217 
 
 could reach his heart even now if you were to make 
 the effort. You have not tried in this matter as 
 you did in the others." 
 
 "Perhaps you are right, Jane. I will go to 
 Henry." 
 
 Mary waited until she knew the king was alone, 
 and then went to him. 
 
 On entering the room, she said: "Brother, I 
 sent a hasty message to you by the Bishop of Lin- 
 coln this morning, and have come to ask your for- 
 giveness." 
 
 "Ah ! little sister ; I thought you would change 
 your mind. Xow you are a good girl." 
 
 "Oh ! do not misunderstand me ; I asked your 
 forgiveness for the message ; as to the marriage, I 
 came to tell you that it would kill me and that I could 
 not bear it. Oh ! brother, you are not a woman — 
 you cannot know." Henry flew into a passion, and 
 with oaths and curses ordered her to leave him un- 
 less she was ready to give her consent. She had 
 but two courses to take, so she left with her heart 
 full of hatred for the most brutal wretch who ever 
 sat upon a throne — and that is making an extreme 
 case. As she was going, she turned upon him like 
 a fury, and exclaimed : 
 
 "Never, never! Do you hear? Never!" 
 
 Preparations went on for the marriage just as if 
 Mary had given her solemn consent. The impor- 
 tant work of providing the trousseau began at once, 
 and the more important matter of sectiring the loan
 
 2i8 XOhen Knighthood Wa^ in Flobver 
 
 from the London merchants was pushed along rap- 
 idly. The good citizens might cling affectionately 
 to their angels, double angels, crowns and pounds 
 sterling, but the fear in which they held the king, 
 and a little patting of the royal hand upon the ple- 
 beian head, worked the charm, and out came the 
 yellow gold, never to be seen again, God wot. 
 Under the stimulus of the royal smile they were 
 ready to shout themselves hoarse, and to eat and 
 drink themselves red in the face in celebration of 
 the wedding day. In short, they were ready to be 
 tickled nearly to death for the honor of paying to 
 a wretched old lecher a wagon-load of gold to ac- 
 cept, as a gracious gift, the most beautiful heart- 
 broken girl in the world. That is, she would have 
 been heart-broken had she not been inspired with 
 courage. As it was, she wasted none of her energy 
 in lamentations, but saved it all to fight with. 
 Heavens ! how she did fight ! If a valiant defense 
 ever deserved victory, it was in her case. When 
 the queen went to her with silks and taffetas and 
 fine cloths, to consult about the trousseau, although 
 the theme was one which would interest almost any 
 woman, she would have none of it, and when Cath- 
 erine insisted upon her trying on a certain gown, 
 she called her a blackamoor, tore the garment to 
 pieces, and ordered her to leave the room. 
 
 Henry sent Wolsey to tell her that the 13th day 
 of August had been fixed upon as the day of the 
 marriage, de Longueville to act as the French king's
 
 A GirV^ Consent 219 
 
 proxy, and W'olsey was glad to come off with his 
 hfe. 
 
 Matters were getting into a pretty tangle at the 
 palace. Mary would not speak to the king, and 
 poor Catherine was afraid to come within arm's 
 length of her ; Wolsey was glad to keep out of her 
 way, and she flew at Buckingham with talons and 
 beak upon first sight. As to the battle with Buck- 
 ingham, it was short but decisive, and this was the 
 way it came about : There had been a passage be- 
 tween the duke and Brandon, in which the latter 
 had tried to coax the former into a duel, the only 
 way, of course, to settle the n-eighty matters be- 
 tween them. Buckingham, however, had had a 
 taste of Brandon's nimble sword play, and, bear- 
 ing in mind Judson's fate, did not care for any 
 more. They had met by accident, and Brandon, 
 full of smiles and as polite as a Frenchman, greeted 
 him. 
 
 "Doubtless my lord, having crossed swords twice 
 with me, will do me the great honor to grant that 
 privilege the third time, and will kindly tell me 
 where my friend can wait upon a friend of his 
 grace." 
 
 "There is no need for us to meet over that little 
 affair. You had the best of it, and if I am satisfied 
 you should be. I was really in the wrong, but I 
 did not know the princess had invited you to her 
 ball." 
 
 "^'our lordship is pleased to evade," returned
 
 220 XOhen Kjiighihood Wajs in Flower 
 
 Brandon. "It is not the ball-room matter that I 
 have to complain of; as you have rightly said, if 
 you are satisfied, I certainly should be; but it is 
 that your lordship, in the name of the king, in- 
 structed the keeper of Newgate prison to confine 
 me in an underground cell, and prohibited commu- 
 nication with any of my friends. You so arranged 
 it that my trial should be secret, both as to the day 
 thereof and the event, in order that it should not 
 be known to those who might be interested in my 
 release. You promised the Lady Mary that you 
 would procure my liberty, and thereby prevented 
 her going to the king for that purpose, and after- 
 wards told her that it had all been done, as prom- 
 ised, and that I had escaped to New Spain. It is 
 because of this, my Lord Buckingham, that I now 
 denounce you as a liar, a coward and a perjured 
 knight, and demand of you such satisfaction as one 
 man can give to another for mortal injury. If you 
 refuse, I will kill you as I would a cut-throat the 
 next time I meet you." 
 
 "I care nothing for your rant, fellow, but out of 
 ^consideration for the feelings which your fancied 
 injuries have put into your heart, I tell you that 7 
 did what I could to liberate you, and received from 
 the keeper a promise that you should be allowed 
 to escape. After that a certain letter addressed 
 to you was discovered and fell into the hands of 
 the king — a matter in which I had no part. As to 
 your confinement and non-communication with your
 
 A CirV^ Consent 221 
 
 friends, that was at his majesty's command after 
 he had seen the letter, as he will most certainly con- 
 firm to you. I say this for my own sake, not that 
 I care what you may say or think." 
 
 This offer of confirmation by the king made it all 
 sound like the truth, so much will even a little truth 
 leaven a great lie ; and part of Brandon's sails came 
 down against the mast. The whole statement sur- 
 prised him, and, most of all, the intercepted letter. 
 What letter could it have been? It was puzzling, 
 and yet he dared not ask. 
 
 As the duke was about to walk away, Brandon 
 stopped him : "One moment, your grace ; I am will- 
 ing to admit what you have said, for I am not now 
 prepared to contradict it ; but there is yet another 
 matter we have to settle. You attacked me on horse- 
 back, and tried to murder me in order to abduct 
 two ladies that night over in Billingsgate. That 
 you cannot deny. I watched you follow the ladies 
 from Bridewell to Grouche's, and saw your face 
 when your mask fell off during the melee as plainly 
 as I see it now. If other proof is wanting, there is 
 that sprained knee upon which your horse fell, 
 causing you to limp even yet. I am sure now that 
 my lord will meet me like a man ; or would he pre- 
 fer that I should go to the king and tell him and 
 the world the whole shameful story? I have con- 
 cealed it heretofore, thinking it my personal right 
 and privilege to settle with you." 
 
 Buckingham turned a shade paler as he replied:
 
 222 XOhen Kjiighthood Wa>s in Flobtter 
 
 "I do not meet such as you on the field of honor, 
 and have no fear of your slander injuring me." 
 
 He felt secure in the thought that the girls did 
 not know who had attacked them, and could not 
 corroborate Brandon in his accusation, or Mary, 
 surely, never would have appealed to him for help. 
 
 I was with Brandon — at a little distance, that is — 
 when this occurred, and after Buckingham had left, 
 we went to find the girls in the forest. We knew 
 they would be looking for us, although they would 
 pretend surprise when they saw us. We soon met 
 them, and the very leaves of the trees gave a soft, 
 contented rustle in response to Mary's low, mel- 
 low laugh of joy. 
 
 After perhaps half an hour, we encountered 
 Buckingham with his lawyer-knight, Johnson. They 
 had evidently walked out to this quiet path to con- 
 sult about the situation. As they approached, Mary 
 spoke to the duke with a vicious sparkle in her 
 eyes. 
 
 "My Lord Buckingham, this shall cost you your 
 head; remember my words when you are on the 
 scaffold, just when your neck fits into the hollow 
 of the block." 
 
 He stopped, with an evident desire to explain, but 
 Mary pointed down the path and said: "Go, or I 
 will have Master Brandon spit you on his sword. 
 Two to one would be easy odds compared with the 
 four to one you put against him in Billingsgate. 
 Got" And the battle was over, the foe never hav-
 
 A CirVj Consent 223 
 
 ing struck a blow. It hurt me that Mary should 
 speak of the odds being two to one against Brandon 
 when I was at hand. It is true I was not very 
 large, but I could have taken care of a lawyer. 
 
 Now it was that the lawyer-knight earned his 
 bread by his wits, for it was he, I know, who insti- 
 gated the next move — a master stroke in its way, 
 and one which proved a checkmate to us. It was 
 this: the duke went at once to the king, and, in a 
 tone of injured innocence, told him of the charge 
 made by Brandon with Mary's evident approval, 
 and demanded redress for the slander. Thus it 
 seemed that the strength of our position was about 
 to be turned against us. Brandon was at once sum- 
 moned and promptly appeared before the king, only 
 too anxious to confront the duke. As to the con- 
 finement of Brandon and his secret trial, the king 
 did not care to hear ; that was a matter of no con- 
 sequence to him ; the important question was, did 
 Buckingham attack the princess? 
 
 Brandon told the whole straight story, exactly 
 as it was, which Buckingham as promptly denied, 
 and offered to prove by his almoner that he was 
 at his devotions on the night and at the hour of 
 the attack. So here was a conflict of evidence which 
 called for new witnesses, and Henry asked Brandon 
 if the girls had seen and recognized the duke. To 
 this question, of course, he was compelled to answer 
 no, and the whole accusation, after all, rested upon 
 Brandon's word, against which, on the other hand.
 
 234 tOhen Kjnighihood Was in Flotutr 
 
 was the evidence of the Duke of Buckingham and 
 his convenient almoner. 
 
 All this disclosed to the full poor Mary's anxiety 
 to help Brandon, and the duke having adroitly let 
 out the fact that he had just met the princess with 
 Brandon at a certain secluded spot in the forest, 
 Henry's suspicion of her partiality received new 
 force, and he began to look upon the unfortunate 
 Brandon as a partial cause, at least, of Mary's aver- 
 sion to the French marriage. 
 
 Henry grew angry and ordered Brandon to leave 
 the court, with the sullen remark that it was only 
 his services to the Princess Mary that saved him 
 from a day with papers on the pillory. 
 
 This was not by any means what Brandon had 
 expected. There seemed to be a fatality for him 
 about everything connected with that unfortunate 
 trip to Grouche's. He had done his duty, and this 
 was his recompense. Virtue is sometimes a pitiful 
 reward for itself, notwithstanding much wisdom 
 to the contrary. 
 
 Henry was by no means sure that his suspicions 
 concerning Mary's heart were correct, and in all 
 he had heard he had not one substantial fact upon 
 which to base conviction. He had not seen her with 
 Brandon since their avowal, or he would have had 
 a fact in every look, the truth in every motion, a 
 demonstration in every glance. She seemed pow- 
 erless even to attempt concealment. In Brandon's 
 handsome manliness and evident superiority, the
 
 A Girts Consent 225 
 
 king thought he saw a very clear possibUity for 
 Mary to love, and where there is such a possibility 
 for a girl, she usually fails to fulfill expectations. 
 I suppose there are more wrong guesses as to the 
 sort of man a given woman will fall in love with 
 than on any other subject of equal importance in the 
 whole range of human surmising. Tt did not, how- 
 ever, strike the king that way, and he, in common 
 with most other sons of Adam, supposing that he 
 knew all about it, marked Brandon as a very possi- 
 ble and troublesome personage. For once in the 
 history of the world a man had hit upon the truth 
 in this obscure matter, although he had no idea how 
 correct he was. 
 
 Now, all this brought Brandon into the deep 
 shadow of the royal frown, and, like many another 
 man, he sank his fortune in the fathomless depths 
 of a woman's heart, and thought himself rich in 
 doing it.
 
 CHATTE'R jriV 
 
 In the Siren Country 
 
 WITH the king, admiration stood for affec- 
 tion, a mistake frequently made by people 
 not given to self-analysis, and in a day or 
 two a reaction set in toward Brandon which inspired 
 a desire to make some amends for his harsh treat- 
 ment. This he could not do to any great extent, 
 on Buckingham's account; at least, not until the 
 London loan was in his coffers, but the fact that 
 Brandon was going to New Spain so soon and 
 would be out of the way, both of Mary's eyes and 
 Mary's marriage, stimulated that rare flower in 
 Henry's heart, a good resolve, and Brandon was 
 offered his old quarters with me until such time 
 as he should sail for New Spain. 
 
 He had never abandoned this plan, and now that 
 matters had taken this turn with Mary and the 
 king, his resolution was stronger than ever, in that 
 the scheme held two recommendations and a possi- 
 bility. 
 
 The recommendations were, first, it would take 
 him away from Mary, with whom — when out of the 
 inspiring influence of her buoyant hopefulness — he 
 knew marriage to be utterly impossible; and 
 second, admitting and facing that impossibility, he 
 
 might find at least partial relief from his heartache 
 
 (226)
 
 In the Siren Country 22y 
 
 in the stirring events and adventures of that fax- 
 away land of monsters, dragons, savages and gold. 
 The possibility lay in the gold, and a very faintly 
 burning flame of hope held out the still more faintly 
 glimmering chance that fortune, finding him there 
 almost alone, might, for lack of another lover, smile 
 upon him by way of squaring accounts. She might 
 lead him to a cavern of gold, and gold would do 
 anything; even, perhaps, purchase so priceless a 
 treasure as a certain princess of the blood royal. 
 He did not, however, dwell much on this possibility, 
 but kept the delightful hope well neutralized with a 
 constantly present sense of its improbability, in 
 order to save the pain of a long fall w^hen disap- 
 pointment should come. 
 
 Brandon at once accepted the king's offer of lodg- 
 ing in the palace, for now that he felt sure of him- 
 self in the matter of New Spain, and his separation 
 from Mar)', he longed to see as much as possible of 
 her before the light went out forever, even though 
 it were playing with death itself to do so. 
 
 Poor fellow, his suffering was so acute during 
 this period that it affected me like a contagion. 
 
 It did not make a mope of him, but came in 
 spasms that almost drove him wild. He would at 
 times pace the room and cr>' out : "J^su ! Casko- 
 den, what shall I do? She will be the wife of the 
 French king, and I shall sit in the wilderness and 
 try every moment to imagine what she is doing and 
 thinking. I shall find the bearing of Paris, and
 
 228 XUhen Kjii^hlhood Wa^ in f^lottter 
 
 look in her direction until my brain melts in my 
 effort to see her, and then I shall wander in the 
 woods, a suffering imbecile, feeding on roots and 
 nuts. Would to God one of us might die. If it 
 were not selfish, I should wish I might be the one." 
 
 I said nothing in answer to these outbursts, as 
 I had no consolation to offer. 
 
 We had two or three of our little meetings of 
 four, dangerous as they were, at which Mary, feel- 
 ing that each time she saw Brandon might be the 
 last, would sit and look at him with glowing eyes 
 that in turn softened and burned as he spoke. She 
 did not talk much, but devoted all her time and 
 energies to looking with her whole soul. Never 
 before or since was there a girl so much in love. A 
 young girl thoroughly in love is the most beautiful 
 object on earth — beautiful even in ugliness. Imag- 
 ine, then, what it mar'e of Mary! 
 
 Growing partly, perhaps, out of his unattainabil- 
 ity — for he was as far out of her reach as she out 
 of his — she had long since begun to worship him. 
 She had learned to know him so well, and his valiant 
 defense of her in Billingsgate, together with his 
 noble self-sacrifice in refusing to compromise her in 
 order to save himself, had presented him to her in 
 so noble a light that she had come to look up to him 
 as her superior. Her surrender had been complete, 
 and she found in it a joy far exceeding that of any 
 victory or triumph she could imagine. 
 
 I could not for the life of me tell what would be
 
 In the Siren Country 22^ 
 
 the outcome of it all. Mary was one woman in ten 
 thousand, so full was she of feminine force and will 
 — a force which we men pretend to despise, but to 
 which in the end we always succumb. 
 
 Like most women, the princess was not much 
 given to analysis ; and, I think, secretly felt that 
 this matter of so great moment to her would, as 
 everything else always had, eventually turn itself 
 to her desire. She could not see the way, but, to 
 her mind, there could be no doubt about it ; fate 
 was her friend ; always had been, and surely always 
 would be. 
 
 With Brandon it was different ; experience as to 
 how the ardently hoped for usually turns out to be 
 the sadly regretted, together with a thorough face- 
 to-face analysis of the situation, showed him the 
 truth, all too clearly, and he longed for the day 
 when he should go, as a sufferer longs for the sur- 
 geon's knife that is to relieve him of an aching limb. 
 The hopelessness of the outlook had for the time 
 destroyed nearly all of his combativeness, and had 
 softened his nature almost to apathetic weakness. 
 It would do no good to struggle in a boundless, fath- 
 omless sea ; so he was ready to sink and was going 
 to New Spain to hope no more. 
 
 Mary did not see what was to prevent the sepa- 
 ration, but this did not trouble her as much as one 
 would suppose, and she was content to let events 
 take their own way, hoping and believing that in 
 the end it would be hers. Events, however, con-
 
 230 XSJhen K.nighihood Wa>s in Flob^er 
 
 tinued in this wrong course so long and persistently 
 that at last the truth dawned upon her and she 
 began to doubt; and as time flew on and matters 
 evinced a disposition to grow worse instead of bet- 
 ter, she gradually, like the sun-dial in the moon- 
 light, awakened to the fact that there was 
 something wrong; a cog loose somewhere in the 
 complicated machinery of fate — the fate which had 
 always been her tried, trusted and obedient ser- 
 vant. 
 
 The trouble began in earnest with the discovery 
 of our meetings in Lady Mary's parlor. There was 
 nothing at all unusual in the fact that small com- 
 panies of young folk frequently spent their even- 
 ings with her, but we knew well enough that the 
 unusual element in our parties was their exceeding 
 smallness. A company of eight or ten young per- 
 sons was well enough, although it, of course, created 
 jealousy on the part of those who were left out; 
 but four — two of each sex — made a difference in 
 kind, however much we might insist it was only in 
 degree; and this we soon learned was the king's 
 opinion. 
 
 You may be sure there was many a jealous person 
 about the court ready to carry tales, and that it was 
 impossible long to keep our meetings secret among 
 such a host as then lived in Greenwich palace. 
 
 One day the queen summoned Jane and put her 
 to the question. Now, Jane thought the truth was 
 made only to be told, a fallacy into which many
 
 In the Siren Country 231 
 
 good people have fallen, to their utter destruction; 
 since the truth, like every other good thing, may 
 be abused. 
 
 Well ! Jane told it all in a moment, and Catherine 
 was so horrified that she was like to faint. She went 
 with her hair-lifting horror to the king, and poured 
 into his ears a tale of imprudence and debauchery 
 well calculated to start his righteous, virtue- 
 prompted indignation into a threatening flame. 
 
 Mary, Jane, Brandon and myself were at once 
 summoned to the presence of both their majesties 
 and soundly reprimanded. Three of us were or- 
 dered to leave the court before we could speak a 
 word in self-defense, and Jane had enough of her 
 favorite truth for once. !Mary, however, came to 
 our rescue with her coaxing eloquence and potent, 
 feminine logic, and soon convinced Henry that the 
 queen, who really counted for little with him, had 
 made a mountain out of a very small mole-hill. Thus 
 the royal wrath was appeased to such an extent that 
 the order for expulsion was modified to a command 
 that there be no more quartette gatherings in Prin- 
 cess Mary's parlor. This leniency was more easy for/ 
 the princess to bring about, by reason of the fact 
 that she had not spoken to her brother since the 
 day she went to see him after Wolsey's visit, and 
 had been so roughly driven oflf. At first, upon her 
 refusal to speak to him — after the Wolsey visit — 
 Henry was angry on account of what he called her 
 insolence ; but as she did not seem to care for that,
 
 232 X&}hen Kjitghthood Wa>s in Flower 
 
 and as his anger did nothing toward unsealing her 
 lips, he pretended indifference. Still the same stub- 
 born silence was maintained. This soon began to 
 amuse the king, and of late he had been trying to 
 be on friendly terms again with his sister through a 
 series of elephantine antics and bear-like pleas- 
 antries, which were the most dismal failures — that 
 is, in the way of bringing about a reconciliation. 
 They were more successful from a comical point 
 of view. So Henry was really glad for something 
 that would loosen the tongue usually so lively, and 
 for an opportunity to gratify his sister from whom 
 he was dem.anding such a sacrifice, and for whom 
 he expected to receive no less a price than the help 
 of Louis of France, the most powerful king of Eu- 
 rope, to the imperial crown. 
 
 Thus our meetings were broken up, and Brandon 
 knew his dream was over, and that any effort to see 
 the princess would probably result in disaster for 
 them both; for him certainly. 
 
 The king upon that same day told Mary of the 
 intercepted letter sent by her to Brandon at New- 
 gate, and accused her of what he was pleased to 1 
 ^erm an improper feeling for a low-born fellow. 
 
 Mary at once sent a full account of the communi- 
 cation in a letter to Brandon, who read it with no 
 small degree of ill comfort as the harbinger of 
 trouble. 
 
 "I had better leave here soon, or I may go without 
 my head," he remarked. "When that thought gets
 
 In the Siren Country 233 
 
 to working in the king's brain, he will strike, and 
 I— shall fall." 
 
 Letters began to come to our rooms from Mary, 
 at first begging Brandon to come to her, and then 
 upbraiding him because of his coldness and cow- 
 ardice, and telling him that if he cared for her as 
 she did for him, he would see her, though he had 
 to wade through fire and blood. That was exactly 
 where the trouble lay ; it was not fire and blood 
 through which he would have to pass; they were 
 small matters, mere nothings that would really have 
 added zest and interest to the achievement. But 
 the frowning laugh of the tyrant, who could bind 
 him hand and foot, and a vivid remembrance of the 
 Newgate dungeon, with a dangling noose or a hol- 
 lowed-out block in the near background, were mat- 
 ters that would have taken the adventurous tendency 
 out of even the cracked brain of chivalry itself, 
 Brandon cared only to fight where there was a pos- 
 sible victory or ransom, or a prospect of some sort, 
 at least, of achieving success. Bayard preferred a 
 stone wall, and thought to show his brains by beat- 
 ing them out against it, and in a sense he could do 
 it. * * * What a pity this senseless, stiff- 
 kneed, light-headed chivalry did not beat its brains 
 out several centuries before Bayard put such an 
 absurd price upon himself. 
 
 So every phase of the question which his good 
 sense presented told Brandon, whose passion was as 
 ardent though not so impatient as Mary's, that it
 
 234 ^S£}hen Kjni^hthood Wa-s in F^lotater 
 
 would be worse than foolhardy to try to see her. 
 He, however, had determined to see her once more 
 before he left, but as it could, in all probability, be 
 only once, he was reserving the meeting until the 
 last, and had written Mary that it was their best 
 and only chance. 
 
 This brought to Mary a stinging realization of the 
 fact that Brandon was about to leave her and that 
 she would lose him if something were not done 
 quickly. Now for Mary, after a life of gratified 
 whims, to lose the very thing she wanted most of 
 all — that for which she would willingly have given 
 up every other desire her heart had ever coined — 
 was a thought hardly to be endured. She felt that 
 the world would surely collapse. It could not, would 
 not, should not be. 
 
 Her vigorous young nerves were too strong to be 
 benumbed by an overwhelming agony, as is some- 
 times t1 -e case with those who are fortunate enough 
 to be weaker, so she had to suffer and endure. Life 
 itself, yes, life a thousand times, was slipping away 
 from her. She must be doing something or she 
 would perish. Poor Mary ! How a grand soul like 
 hers, full of faults and weakness, can suffer ! What 
 an infinite disproportion between her susceptibility 
 to pain and her power to combat it! She had the 
 maximum capacity for one and the minimum 
 strength for the other. No wonder it drove her 
 almost mad — that excruciating pang of love. 
 
 She could not endure inaction, so she did the
 
 In the Siren Country 235 
 
 worst thing possible. She went alone, one after- 
 noon, just before dusk, to see Brandon at our rooms. 
 I was not there when she first went in, but, having 
 seen her on the way, suspected something and fol- 
 lowed, arriving two or three minutes after her. I 
 knew it was best that I should be present, and 
 was sure Brandon would wish it. When I 
 entered they were holding each other's hands, in 
 silence. They had not yet found their tongues, 
 so full and crowded were their hearts. It was pa- 
 thetic to see them, especially the girl, who had not 
 Brandon's hopelessness to deaden the pain by par- 
 tial resignation. 
 
 Upon my entrance, she dropped his hands and 
 turned quickly toward me with a frightened look, 
 but was reassured upon seeing who it was. Bran- 
 don mechanically walked away from her and seated 
 himself on a stool. ^Mary, as mechanically, moved 
 to his side and placed her hand on his shoulder. 
 Turning her face toward me, she said : "Sir Edwin, 
 I know you will forgive me when I tell you that we 
 have a great deal to say and wish to be alone." 
 
 I was about to go when Brandon stopped me. 
 
 "No, no ; Caskoden, please stay ; it would not 
 do. It would be bad enough, God knows, if the 
 princess should be found here with both of us ; 
 but, with me alone, I should be dead before morn- 
 ing. There is danger enough as it is, for they will 
 watch us." 
 
 Mary knew he was right, but she could not resist
 
 236 XOhen Kjni^hthood W<w in Flower 
 
 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 I on a camp-stool in front of them, completely 
 filling up the little passage. 
 
 "I can bear this no longer," exclaimed Mary. "I 
 will go to my brother to-night and tell him all; I 
 will tell him how I suffer, and that I shall die if 
 you are allowed to go away and leave me forever. 
 He loves me, and I can do anything with him when 
 I try. I know I can obtain his consent to our — 
 our — marriage. He cannot know how I suffer, else 
 he would not treat me so. I will let him see — I will 
 convince him. I have in my mind everything I 
 want to say and do. I will sit on his knee and stroke 
 his hair and kiss him." And she laughed softly as 
 her spirit revived in the breath of a growing hope. 
 "Then I will tell him how handsome he is, and how 
 I hear the ladies sighing for him, and he will come 
 around all right by the third visit. Oh, I know 
 how to do it; I have done it so often. Never 
 fear ! I wish I had gone at it long ago. 
 
 Her enthusiastic fever of hope was really con- 
 tagious, but Brandon, whose life was at stake, had 
 his wits quickened by the danger. 
 
 "Mary, would you like to see me a corpse before 
 to-morrow noon?" he asked. 
 
 "Why! of course not; why do you ask such a 
 dreadful question?"
 
 in the Siren Country 237 
 
 "Because, if you wish to make sure of it, do what 
 you have just said — go to the king and tell him all. 
 I doubt if he could wait till morning. I believe he 
 would awaken me at midnight to put me to sleep 
 forever — at the end of a rope or on a block pillow." 
 
 "Oh! no! you are all wrong; I know what I can 
 do with Henry." 
 
 "If that is the case, I say good-bye now, for I 
 shall be out of England, if possible, by midnight. 
 You must promise me that you will not only not go 
 to the king at all about this matter, but that you will 
 guard your tongue, jealous of its slightest word, 
 and remember with every breath that on your pru- 
 dence hangs my life, which, I know, is dear to you. 
 Do you promise ? If you do not, I must fly ; so you 
 will lose me one way or the other, if you tell the 
 king; either by my flight or by my death." 
 
 "I promise," said Mary, with drooping head; the 
 embodiment of despair ; all life 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 sail in the Royal Hind, from Bristol," he 
 replied. 
 
 "How many go out in her; and are there any 
 women?" 
 
 "No! no!" he returned; "no woman could make 
 the trip, and, besides, on ships of that sort, half 
 pirate, half merchant, they do not take women. The
 
 238 XOhen Kjitghihood Wa>s in Flotoer 
 
 sailors are superstitious about it and will not sail 
 with them. They say they bring bad luck — adverse 
 winds, calms, storms, blackness, monsters from the 
 deep and victorious foes." 
 
 "The ignorant creatures !" cried Mary. 
 
 Brandon continued: "There will be a hundred 
 men, if the captain can induce so many to enlist." 
 
 "How does one procure passage?" inquired Mary. 
 
 "By enlisting with the captain, a man named 
 Bradhurst, at Bristol, where the ship is now lying. 
 There is where I enlisted by letter. But why do 
 you ask?" 
 
 "Oh ! I only wanted to know." 
 
 We talked awhile on various topics, but Mary 
 always brought the conversation back to the same 
 subject, the Royal Hind and New Spain. After 
 asking many questions, she sat in silence for a time, 
 and then abruptly broke into one of my sentences 
 — she was always interrupting me as if I were a 
 parrot. 
 
 "I have been thinking and have made up my 
 mind what I will do, and you shall not dissuade 
 me. I will go to New Spain with you. That 
 will be glorious — far better than the humdrum life\ 
 ©f sitting at home — and will solve the whole 
 question." 
 
 "But that would be impossible, Mary," said 
 Brandon, into whose face this new evidence of her 
 regard had brought a brightening look; "utterly 
 impossible. To begin with, no woman could stand
 
 /n the Siren Country 239 
 
 the voyage ; not even you, strong and vigorous as 
 you are." 
 
 "Oh, yes I can, and I will not allow you to stop 
 me for that reason. I could bear any hardship 
 better than the torture of the last few woeks. In 
 truth, I cannot bear this at all ; it is kiUing me, so 
 what would it be when you are gone and I am the 
 wife of Louis? Think of that, Charles Brandon; 
 think of that, when I am the wife of Louis. Even 
 if the voyage kills me, I might as well die one way 
 as another; and then I should be with you, where 
 it were sweet to die." And I had to sit there and 
 listen to all this foolish talk ! 
 
 Brandon insisted: "But no women are going; 
 as I told you, they would not take one ; besides, 
 how could you escape ? I will answer the first ques- 
 tion you ever asked me. You are of 'sufficient con- 
 sideration about the court' for all your movements 
 to attract notice. It is impossible ; we must not 
 think of it ; it cannot be done. Why build up hopes 
 only to be cast down?" 
 
 "Oh ! but it can be done ; never doubt it. I will 
 go, not as a woman, but as a man. I have planned 
 all the details while sitting here. To-morrow I 
 will send to Bristol a sum of money asking a sepa- 
 rate room in the ship for a young nobleman who 
 wishes to go to New Spain incognito, and will go 
 aboard just before they sail. I will buy a man's 
 complete outfit, and will practice being a man before 
 you and Sir Edwin." Here she blushed so that I
 
 240 t£}hen Kjiighthood Was in Flottaer 
 
 could see the scarlet even in the gathering gloom. 
 She continued : "As to my escape, I can go to Wind- 
 sor, and then perhaps on to Berkeley Castle, over 
 by Reading, where there will be no one to watch 
 me. You can leave at once, and there will be no 
 cause for them to spy upon me when you are gone, 
 so it can be done easily enough. That is it ; I will 
 go to my sister, who is now at Berkeley Castle, the 
 other side of Reading, you know, and that will 
 make a shorter ride to Bristol when we start." 
 
 The thought, of course, could not but please Bran- 
 don, to whom, in the warmth of Mary's ardor, it 
 had almost begun to offer hope; and he said 
 musingly: "I wonder if it could be done? If it 
 could — if we could reach New Spain, we might 
 build ourselves a home in the beautiful green moun- 
 tains and hide ourselves safely away from all the 
 world, in the lap of some cosy valley, rich with 
 nature's bounteous gift of fruit and flowers, shaded 
 from the hot sun and sheltered from the blasts, and 
 live in a little paradise all our own. What a glorious 
 dream ! but it is only a dream, and we had better 
 awake from it." 
 
 Brandon must have been insane! 
 
 "No ! no ! It is not a dream," interrupted down- 
 right, determined Mary ; "it is not a dream ; it 
 shall be a reality. How glorious it will be ! I can 
 see our little house now nestling among the hills, 
 shaded by great spreading trees with flowers and 
 vines and golden fruit all about it, rich plumaged
 
 in the Siren Country 241 
 
 birds and gorgeous butterflies. Oh! I can hardly 
 wait. Who would live in a musty palace when one 
 has within reach such a home, and that, too, with 
 you? 
 
 Here it was again. I thought that interview would 
 de the death of me. 
 
 Brandon held his face in his hands, and then 
 looking up said: "It is only a question of your 
 happiness, and hard as the voyage and your life 
 over there would be, yet I believe it would be better 
 than life with Louis of France; nothing could be 
 so terrible as that to both of us. If you wish to 
 go, I will try to take you, though I die in the at- 
 tempt. There will be ample time to reconsider, 
 so that you can turn back if you wish." 
 
 Her reply was inarticulate, though satisfactor)' ; 
 and she took his hand in hers as the tears ran 
 gently down her cheeks ; this time tears of joy — the 
 first she had shed for many a day. 
 
 In the Siren country again without w^ax ! Over- 
 board and lost ! 
 
 Yes, Brandon's resolution not to see Mary was 
 well taken, if it could only have been as well kept. 
 Obser\'e, as we progress, into what the breaking of 
 it led him. 
 
 He had known that if he should but see her once 
 more, his already toppling will would lose its equi- 
 poise, and he would be led to attempt the impossible 
 and invite destruction. At first this scheme ap- 
 peared to me in its true light, but Mary's subtle
 
 242 XOhen Kjnighihood Wa^s in Flottter 
 
 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 irresistible and will 
 continue so, no doubt, despite experience. 
 
 I cannot define what it was about Mary that 
 made her little speeches, half argumentative, all- 
 pleading, so wonderfully persuasive. Her facts 
 were mere fancies, and her logic was not even good 
 sophistry. As to real argument and reasoning, there 
 was nothing of either in them. It must have been 
 her native strength of character and intensely vigor- 
 ous personality; some unknown force of nature, 
 operating through her occultly, that turned the 
 channels of other persons' 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 know- 
 ingly. 
 
 There was still another obstacle to which Mary 
 administered her favorite remedy, the Gordian 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 will be ; we shall prob- 
 ably not find one ; at least, I fear ; I do not know."'
 
 2n the Siren Country 243 
 
 After a little hesitation she answered: "I will 
 go with you anyway — and — and risk it. I hope we 
 may find a priest," and she flushed scarlet from her 
 throat to her hair. 
 
 Brandon kissed her and said : "You shall go, my 
 brave girl. You make me blush for my faint-heart- 
 edness and prudence. 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 cher- 
 ished scheme. I think Brandon never really lost 
 sight of the danger, and almost infinite 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 consequences. 
 
 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 face an unseen dan- 
 ger, and his act may shine with the luster of genu- 
 ine heroism. Mary was brave, but it was the femi- 
 nine bravery that did not see. Show her a danger 
 and she was womanly enough — that is, if you could 
 make her see it. Her wilfulness sometimes extended 
 to her mental vision and she would not see. In 
 common with many others, she needed mental spec- 
 tacles at times.
 
 CHATTB'R jrV 
 
 Uo MaKe a Man of Her 
 
 SO it was all arranged, and I converted part of 
 Mary's jewels into money. She said she was 
 sorry now she had not taken de Longueville's 
 diamonds, as they would have added to her treas- 
 ure; 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 Brad- 
 hurst at Bristol^ and retained the rest for Brandon 
 to take with him. 
 
 A favorable answer soon came from Bristol, giv- 
 ing the young nobleman a separate room in con- 
 sideration of the large purse he had sent. 
 
 The next step was to procure the gentleman'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 
 difficulty by having Jane take the measurements 
 under instructions received from the tailor, which 
 measurements, together with the cloth, I took to the 
 fractional little man who did my work. 
 
 He looked at the measurements with twinkling 
 eyes, and remarked: "Sir Edwin, that be the curi- 
 ousest shaped man ever I see the measures of. Sure 
 it would make a mighty handsome woman, or I 
 know nothing of human dimensions." 
 
 (244)
 
 33 
 V 
 

 
 {So MaKs a Man of Her 245 
 
 "Never you mind about dimensions ; make the 
 garments as they are ordered and keep your mouth 
 shut, if you know what is to your interest. Do 
 you hear?" 
 
 He dehvered himself of a labored wink. "I do 
 hear and understand, too, and my tongue is like the 
 tongue of an obelisk." 
 
 In due time I brought the suits to Mary, and they 
 were soon adjusted to her liking. 
 
 The days passed rapidly, till it was a matter of 
 less than a fortnight until the Royal Hind would 
 sail, and it really looked as if the adventure might 
 turn out to our desire. 
 
 Jane was in tribulation, and thought she ought to 
 be taken along. This, you may be sure, was touch- 
 ing me very closely, and I began to wish the whole 
 infernal mess at the bottom of the sea. If Jane went, 
 his august majesty, King Henry VIII, would be 
 without a Master of the Dance, just as sure as the 
 stars twinkled in the firmament. It was, however, 
 soon decided that Brandon would have his hands 
 more than full to get off with one woman, and that 
 two would surely spoil the plan. So Jane was to be 
 left behind, full of tribulation and indignation, firmly 
 convinced that she was being treated very badly. 
 
 Although at first Jane was violently opposed to 
 the scheme, she soon caught the contagious ardor 
 of Mary's enthusiasm, and knowing that her dear 
 lady's every chance of happiness was staked upon 
 the throw, grew more reconciled. To a person of
 
 
 246 XOhen Kjni^hthood Wcu in Flofumr 
 
 Jane's age, this venture for love offers itself as the 
 last and only cast — the cast for all — and in this par- 
 ticular case there was enough of romance to catch 
 the fancy of any girl. Nothing was lacking to make 
 it truly romantic. The exalted station of at least 
 one of the lovers ; the rough road of their true love ; 
 the elopement, and, above all, the elopement to a 
 new world, with a cosy hut nestling in fragrant 
 shades and glad with the notes of love from the 
 throats of countless song-birds — what more could a 
 romantic girl desire? So, to my surprise, Jane 
 became more than reconciled, and her fever of antic- 
 ipation and excitement grew apace with Mary's as 
 the time drew on. 
 
 Mary's vanity was delighted with her elopement 
 trousseau, for of course it was of the finest. Not 
 that the quality was better than her usual wear, but 
 doublet and hose were so different on her. She 
 paraded for an hour or so before Jane, and as she 
 became accustomed to the new garb, and as the 
 steel reflected a most beautiful image, she deter- 
 mined to show herself to Brandon and me. She said 
 she wanted to become accustomed to being seen in 
 her doublet and hose, and would begin with us. 
 She thought if she could not bear our gaze she 
 would surely make a dismal failure on shipboard 
 among so many strange men. There was some good 
 reasoning in tliis, and it, together with her vanity, 
 overruled her modesty, and prompted her to come 
 to see us in her character of young nobleman. Jane
 
 Uo Ma fie a Man of Her 247 
 
 made one of her mighty protests, so infinitely dispro- 
 portionate in size to her little ladyship, but the self- 
 willed princess would not listen to her, and was 
 for coming 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 shoulders, started for our rooms, with 
 angry, weeping, protesting Jane at her heels. 
 
 When I heard the knock I was sure it was the 
 girls, for though Mary had promised Brandon she 
 would not, under any circumstances, attempt an- 
 other visit, I knew so well her utter inability to 
 combat her desire, and her reckless disregard of 
 danger where there was a motive sufficient to fur- 
 nish the nerve tension, that I was sure she would 
 come, or try to come, again. 
 
 I have spoken before about the quality of brav- 
 ery. What is it, after all, and how can we analyze 
 it ? Women, we say, are cowardly, but I have seen 
 a woman take a risk that the bravest man's nerve 
 would turn on edge against How is it? 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 
 observation, is : "Yes ! Given the motive, and women 
 are the bravest creatures on earth." Yet how fool- 
 ishly timid they are at times! 
 
 I admitted the girls, and when the door was shut 
 Mary unclasped the brooch at her throat and the 
 great cloak fell to her heels. Out she stepped, with
 
 a little laugh of delight, clothed in doublet, hose 
 and confusion, the prettiest picture mortal eyes ever 
 rested on. Her hat, something on the broad, flat 
 style with a single white plume encircling the crown, 
 was of purple velvet trimmed in gold braid and 
 touched here and there with precious stones. Her 
 doublet was of the same purple velvet as her hat, 
 trimmed in lace and gold braid. Her short trunks 
 were of heavy black silk slashed by yellow 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 1 
 
 Brandon and I were struck dumb with admiration 
 and could not keep from showing it. This dis- 
 concerted the girl, and increased her embarrassment 
 until we could not tell which was the prettiest — the 
 garments, the girl or the confusion; but this I 
 know, the whole picture was as sweet and beautiful 
 as the eyes of man could behold. 
 
 Fine feathers will not make fine birds, and Mary's 
 masculine attire could no more make her look like 
 a man than harness can disguise the graces of a 
 gazelle. Nothing could conceal her intense, ex- 
 quisite womanhood. With our looks of astonish- 
 ment and admiration Mary's blushes deepened. 
 
 "What is the matter ? Is anything wrong ?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "Nothing is wrong," answered Brandon, smiling 
 in spite of himself; "nothing on earth is wrong 
 yvlth you, you may be sure. You are perfect — ^that
 
 Uo MaK.e a Man of Her 249 
 
 IS, for a woman ; and one who thinks there is any- 
 thing wrong- about a perfect woman is hard to 
 please. But if you flatter yourself that you, in any 
 way, resemble a man, or that your dress in the faint- 
 est degree conceali your sex, you are mistaken. It 
 makes it only more apparent." 
 
 ''How can that be?" asked Mary, in comical tril>- 
 ulation; ''is not this a man's doublet and hose, and 
 thts hat — is it not a man's hat? They are all for 
 a man ; then why do I not look like one, I ask? Tell 
 me what is wrong. Oh! I thought I looked just 
 like a man ; I thought the disguise was perfect." 
 
 "Well," returned Brandon, "if you will permit me 
 to say so, you are entirely too symmetrical 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 I don't think you could be made to look like 
 a man if you worked from now till doomsday." 
 
 Brandon spoke in a troubled tone, for he was be- 
 ginning to see in Mary's perfect and irrepressible 
 womanhood an insurmountable difiiculty 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 about 
 the doublet I am sure I do not know." 
 
 Mary looked up helpless and forlorn, and the hot 
 face went into her bended elbow as a realization of 
 the situation seemed to dawn upon her.
 
 250 tOhen Knighthood Wa^ in Flower 
 
 "Oh! I wish I had not come. But I wanted to 
 grow accustomed so that I could wear them before 
 others. I beHeve I could bear it more easily with 
 any one else. I did not think of it in that way," and 
 she snatched her cloak from where it had fallen 
 on the floor and threw it around her. 
 
 "What way, Mary?" asked Brandon gently, and 
 receiving no answer. "But you will have to bear 
 my looking at you all the time if you go with me." 
 
 "I don't believe I can do it." 
 
 "No, no," answered he, bravely attempting cheer- 
 fulness; "we may as well give it up. I have had 
 no hope from the first. I knew it could not be done, 
 and it should not. I 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 el- 
 bows on his knees and his face in his hands. Mary 
 ran to him at once. There had been a little mo- 
 ment of faltering, but there was no real surrender 
 in her. 
 
 Dropping on her knee beside him, she said coax- 
 ingly : "Don't give up ; you are a man ; you must 
 not surrender, and let me, a girl, prove the stronger. 
 Shame upon you when I look up to you so much and 
 expect you to help me be brave. I will go. I 
 will arrange myself in some way. Oh ! why am I not 
 different; I wish I were as straight as the queen," 
 and for that first time in her life she bewailed her 
 beauty, because it stood between her and Brandon,
 
 Uo MaKjs a Man of Her 251 
 
 She soon coaxed him out of his despondency, and 
 we began again to plan the matter in detail. 
 
 The girls sat on Brandon's cloak and he and I 
 on the camp-stool and a box. 
 
 Mary's time was well occupied in vain attempts to 
 keep herself covered with the cloak, which seemed 
 to have a right good will toward Brandon and me, 
 but she kept track of our plans, which, in brief, 
 were as follows : As to her costume, we would 
 substitute long trunks and jack-boots for shoes and 
 hose, and as to doublet, Mary laughed and blush- 
 ingly said she had a plan which she would secretly 
 impart to Jane, but would not tell us. She whis^ 
 pered it to Jane, who, as serious as the Lord Clian- 
 cellor, gave judgment, and "thought it would do." 
 We hoped so, but were full of doubts. 
 
 This is all tame enough to write and read about, 
 but I can tell you it was sufficiently exciting at the 
 time. Three of us at least were playing with that 
 comical 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 see the group as we sat there, haloed by 
 a hazy cloud of tear-mist. The figures rise before 
 my eyes, so young and fair and rich in life and yet 
 so pathetic in their troubled earnestness that a great 
 flood of pity wells up in my heart for the poor young 
 souls, so danger-bound and suffering, and withal so 
 daring and so recklessly confident in the might and 
 right of love, and the omnipotence of youth. Ah I
 
 2^2 XOhen K.nighthofid Wa^ in Flower 
 
 If God had seen fit in his infinite wisdom to save 
 just one treasure from the wreck of Eden, what a 
 race of thankful hearts this earth would bear, had 
 he saved us youth alone therewith to compensate us 
 for every other ill. 
 
 As to the elopement, it was determined that Bran- 
 don should leave London the following day for 
 Bristol, and make all arrangements along the line. 
 He would carry with him two bundles, his own and 
 Mary's clothing, and leave them to be taken up 
 when they should go a-shipboard. Eight horses 
 would be procured ; four to be left as a relay at an 
 inn between Berkeley Castle and Bristol, and four 
 to be kept at the rendezvous some two leagues the 
 other side of Berkeley for the use of Brandon, Mary 
 and the two men from Bristol who were to act as 
 an escort on the eventful night. There was one 
 disagreeable little feature that we could not provide 
 against nor entirely eliminate. It was the fact that 
 Jane and I should be suspected as accomplices before 
 the fact of Mary's elopement ; and, as you know, 
 to assist in the abduction of a princess is treason 
 — for which there is but one remedy. I thought I 
 had a plan to keep ourselves safe if I could only 
 stifle for the once Jane's troublesome and vigorous 
 tendency to preach the truth to all people, upon all 
 subjects and at all times and places. She promised 
 to tell the story I would drill into her, but I knew 
 the truth would seep out in a thousand ways. She 
 could no more hold it than a sieve can hold water.
 
 €5o MaKe a Man of Her 253 
 
 We were playing for great stakes, which, if I do 
 say it, none but the bravest hearts, bold and daring 
 as the truest knights of chivalry, would think of 
 '' trying for. Nothing less than the running away 
 with the first princess of the first blood royal of 
 the world. Think of it ! It appalls me even now. 
 Discover}' meant death to one of us surely — Bran- 
 don ; possibly to two others — Jane and me ; cer- 
 tainly, if Jane's truthfulness should become unman- 
 ageable, as it was so apt to do. 
 
 After we had settled everything we could think 
 cf, the girls took their leave; Mary slyly kissing 
 Brandon at the door. I tried to induce Jane to fol- 
 low her lady's example, but she was as cool and 
 distant as the new moon. 
 
 I siw Jane again that night and told her in plain 
 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. I told 
 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 I should not waste my time and 
 encrg>' in a hopeless cause. I 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, I had little 
 fear of the former, or perhaps I should not have 
 been so anxious to precipitate the issue.
 
 254 XOhen Kjiighihood Wa^ 'tn Flotver 
 
 She did not answer me directly, but said : "From 
 
 the way you looked at Mary to-day, I was led to 
 
 , think you cared little for any other girl's opinion.'* 
 
 "Ah! Mistress Jane!" cried I joyfully; "I have 
 you at last; you are jealous." 
 
 "I give you to understand, sir, that your vanity 
 has led you into a great mistake." 
 
 "As to your caring for me, or your jealousy? 
 Which?" I asked seriously. Adroit, wasn't that? 
 
 "As to the jealousy, Edwin. There, now ; I think 
 that is saying a good deal. Too much," she said 
 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 m.e 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 again 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 docile captives. After that smile 
 from the doci I felt that Jane was mine ; all I had
 
 Uo MaKe a Man of Her 255 
 
 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 Bristol. You may be sure the 
 king showed no signs of undue grief at his de- 
 parture. 
 
 L
 
 CHATTE'R XVI 
 
 A HatefKing Tarty 
 
 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, including two 
 chaperons, the old Earl of Hertford and the dow- 
 ager Duchess of Kent, Henry might as well have 
 sent along a pair of spaniels to act as chaperons^ 
 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 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 gone off with a pack of imps than with us. 
 The inducement was that it gave them better oppor- 
 tunities to be together — an arrangement connived at 
 by the queen, I think — and they were satisfied. The 
 earl had a wife, but he fancied the old dowager 
 and she fancied him, and probably the wife fancied 
 somebody else, so they were all happy. It greatly 
 
 (256)
 
 A HatvKjn^ Tarty 23'/, 
 
 amused the young people, you may be sure, and 
 Mary said, probably without telling the 'exact truth, 
 that every night she prayed God to pity and forgive 
 their ugliness. One day the princess said she was 
 becoming alarmed ; their ugliness was so intense 
 she feared it might be contagious and spread. Then, 
 with a most comical seriousness, she added : 
 
 "Mon Dieu! Sir Edwin, what if I should catch 
 it? Master Charles would not take me." 
 
 "No danger of that, my lady; he is too devoted 
 to see anything but beauty in you, no matter how 
 much you might change." 
 
 "Do you really think so? He says so little about 
 it that sometimes I almost doubt." 
 
 Therein she spoke the secret of Brandon's suc- 
 cess with her, at least in the beginning; for there 
 is wonderful potency in the stimulus of a healthy 
 little doubt. 
 
 We had a delightful canter over to Windsor, I 
 riding with Mary most of the way. I was not averse 
 to this arrangement, as I not only relished Mary's 
 mirth and joyousness, which was at its height, but 
 hoped I might give my little Lady Jane a twinge or 
 two of jealousy perchance to fertilize her sentiments 
 toward me, 
 
 Mary talked, and laughed, and sang, for her soul 
 
 was a fountain of gladness that bubbled up the 
 
 instant pressure was removed. She spoke of little 
 
 but our last trip over this same road, and, as we 
 
 passed objects on the way, told me of what Bran- 
 13
 
 258 tOhen Knighthood Wa>£ in Flokoer 
 
 don had said at this place and that. She 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 
 "after all, 'beauty was as beauty did !' " 
 
 "That made me angry," said she. "I pouted for a 
 while, and, two or three times, was on the point of 
 dismissing him, but thought better of it and asked 
 him plainly wherein I did so much amiss. Then 
 what do you think the impudent fellow said ?" 
 
 "I cannot guess." 
 
 "He said : 'Oh, there is so much it would take a 
 lifetime to tell it' 
 
 "This made me furious, but I could not answer, 
 and a moment later he said : 'Nevertheless I 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 ; I never saw anything 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 matters with 
 me for all time. I don't know how he did it. Yes I
 
 A HaboKjn^ Tarty 259 
 
 do . . . . " and she launched forth into an account of 
 Brandon's perfections, which I found somewhat 
 dull, and so would you. 
 
 We remained a day or two at Windsor, and then, 
 over the objections of our chaperons, moved on to 
 Berkeley Castle, where Margaret of Scotland was 
 spending the summer. 
 
 We had 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 prin- 
 cess suggested a hawking party, and we set out in 
 the direction of the rendezvous. Our party con- 
 sisted of myself, three other gentlemen and three 
 ladies besides Mary. Jane did not go; I was afraid 
 to trust her. She wept, and, with difficulty, forced 
 herself to say something about a headache, but the 
 rest of the inmates of the castle of course had no 
 thought that possibly they were taking their last 
 look upon Mary Tudor. 
 
 Think who this girl was we were running away 
 with ! What reckless fools we were not to have 
 seen the utter hopelessness, certain failure, and 
 deadly peril of our act ; treason black as Plutonian 
 midnight. But Providence seems to have an espe- 
 cial care for fools, while wise men are left to care 
 for themselves, and it does look as if safety lies in 
 folly. 
 
 We rode on and on, and although I took two occa- 
 sions, in the presence of others, to urge Mary to
 
 26o to hen Knighthood Was in Ftotauer 
 
 return, owing to the approach of night and threat- 
 ened rain, she took her own head, as everybody 
 knew she always would, and continued the hunt. 
 
 Just before dark, as we neared the rendezvous, 
 Mary and I managed to ride ahead of the party 
 quite a distance. At last we saw a heron rise, and 
 the princess uncapped her hawk. 
 
 "This is my chance," she said ; "I will run away 
 from you now and lose myself; keep them off my 
 track for five minutes and I shall be safe. Good- 
 bye, Edwin; you and Jane are the only persons I 
 regret to leave. I love you as my brother and sis- 
 ter. When we are settled in New Spain we will 
 have you both come to us. Now, Edwin, I shall 
 tell you something: don't let Jane put you off any 
 longer. She loves you; she told me so. There I 
 Good-bye, my friend ; kiss her a thousand times for 
 me." And she flew her bird and galloped after it 
 at headlong speed. 
 
 As I saw the beautiful young form receding from 
 me, perhaps forever, the tears stood in my eyes, 
 while I thought of the strong heart that so unfalter- 
 ingly braved such dangers and was so loyal to itself 
 and daring for its love. She had shown a little 
 feverish excitement for a day or two, but it was the 
 fever of anticipation, not of fear or hesitancy. 
 
 Soon the princess was out of sight, and I waited 
 for the others to overtake me. When they came up 
 I was greeted in chorus: "Where is the princess?" 
 I said she had gone off with her hawk, and had left
 
 A HatifKi^s 'Party 261 
 
 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 appar- 
 ent, when I came in for my full share of abuse and 
 ridicule, for I had led them against their judgment. 
 I was credited with being a blockhead, when m 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 accomplished, and I knew that 
 within twenty 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 remained to prowl 
 about the woods and roads all night in a soaking 
 drizzle. The task was tiresome enough for me, as 
 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 mav know the castle was wild with excite- 
 ment. There were all sorts of conjectures, but 
 soon we unanimously concluded it had been the 
 work of highwaymen, of whom the country was 
 full, and by whom the princess had certainly been 
 abducted. 
 
 The chaperons forgot their gout and each other, 
 and Jane, who was the most affected of all, had a
 
 262 tUfhen Kjnighthood Wa-t in Flotuer 
 
 genuine excuse for giving vent to her grief and 
 went to bed — by far the safest place for her. 
 
 What was to be done ? First we sent a message to 
 the king, who would probably have us all flayed 
 alive — a fear which the chaperons shared to the 
 fullest extent. Next, an armed party rode back to 
 look again for Mary, and, if possible, rescue her. 
 
 The fact that I had been out the entire night be- 
 lore, together with the small repute 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. I say I 
 profited, for I stayed at the castle with Jane, hoping 
 to find my 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 in- 
 centive to remain awake. They had no message to 
 deliver; no duty to perform for an absent friend. 
 A thousand ! Only think of it ! I 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." 
 Could it really be true? You will at once see what 
 an advantage this bit of information was to me. 
 
 I hoped that Jane would wish to see me to talk 
 Over Mary's escape — so I sent word to her that I
 
 A HatifK.ms 'Party 263 
 
 was waiting, and she quickly enough recovered her 
 health and came down. I suggested that we walk 
 out to a secluded little summer-house by the river, 
 and Jane was willing. Ah! my opportunity was 
 here at last. 
 
 She found her bonnet, 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 fruition 
 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. 
 
 ^iter we arrived at the summer-house, Jane 
 listened, half the time in tears, while I told her all 
 about iMary's flight. 
 
 Shall I ever forget that summer day? A sweet 
 briar entwined our enchanted bower, and, when I 
 catch its scent even now, time-vaulting memory 
 carries me back, making years seem as days, and I 
 see it all as I saw the light of noon that moment — 
 and all was Jane. The softly lapping river, as it 
 gently sought the sea, sang in soothing cadence of 
 naught but Jane ; the south wind from his flowery 
 home breathed zephyr-voiced her name again, and, 
 as it stirred the rustling leaves on bush and tree, 
 they whispered back the same sweet strain ; and
 
 264 XOhen Kjnighthood Was in Floteter 
 
 every fairy voice found its echo in my soul ; for 
 there it was as 'twas with me, "J^"^ • J^^ie ! Jane !" 
 I have heard men say they would not live their lives 
 over and take its meager 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, I hardly know what time to choose or incident 
 to dwell upon, my life is so much crowded with them 
 all. Would I live again my life? Aye, every mo- 
 ment except perhaps when Jane was ill — and therein 
 even was happiness, for what a joy there was at her 
 recovery. I do not even regret that it is closing; 
 it would be 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 solace for all 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 assured her that the princess was, 
 at that hour, breasting the waves with Brandon, on 
 their high road to paradise, I thought it time to 
 start myself in the same direction and to say a word 
 in my own behalf. So I spoke very freely and told 
 Jane what I felt and what I wanted.
 
 A HatvK/r^s' Tarty 26$ 
 
 "Oh ! Sir Edwin," she responded, ''let us not 
 think of anything but my mistress. Think of the 
 trouble she is in." 
 
 "No 1 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 your lips ; speak the word and it will change 
 everything — if you love me, and I know you do." 
 
 Jane's head was bowed and she remained silent. 
 
 Then I told her of Lady Mary's message, and 
 begged, if she would not speak in words what I 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 drew away and 
 said she would return to the castle if I continued 
 to behave in that manner. I begged hard, and tried 
 to argue 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 persistence was beginning to look like obst'n- 
 acy, and I soon grew sc angry that I asked no per- 
 mission, but delivered Mary's message, or a good 
 part of it, at least, whether she would 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 nothing about it ; that she was alone
 
 266 tOhen Knighthood Wa^ in Flotoer 
 
 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, 
 Jane, here; you might as well understand, first as 
 last, that I will not be trifled with longer, and that 
 I intend to continue treating you that way as long | 
 
 as we both live. I have determined not to permit 
 you to behave as you have for so long ; for I know 
 you love me. You have half told me so a dozen 
 times, and even your half words are whole truths ; 
 there is not a fraction of a lie in you. Besides, Mary 
 told me that you told her so." 
 
 "She did not tell you that?" 
 
 "Yes ; upon my knightly honor." Of course there 
 was but one answer to this — tears. I then brought 
 the battle to close quarters at once, and, with my 
 arm uninterrupted at my lady's waist, asked : 
 
 "Did you not tell her so ? I know you will speak 
 nothing but the truth. Did you not tell her? 
 Answer me, Jane." The fair head nodded as she 
 whispered between the hands that covered her face : 
 
 "Yes ; I— I — d-did ;" and I— well, I delivered the 
 rest 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 I heaved a 
 eigh as the battle ended, for it had been a long, hard 
 struggle. 
 
 I asked Jane when we should be married, but she 
 said she could not think of that now — not until she
 
 A HabgjKjn^ Tarty 267 
 
 knew that ^lary was safe; but she would promise 
 to be my wife sometime. I told her that her word 
 was as good as gold to me ; and so it was and al- 
 ways has been ; as good as fine gold thrice refined. 
 I then told her I would bother her no more about it, 
 now that I 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 I 
 told her I believed her and was satisfied. I did, 
 however, 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 seriously and honestly answered that she would 
 not. 
 
 We went back to the castle, and as we parted Jane 
 said timidly: "I am glad I told you, Edwin; glad 
 it is over." 
 
 She had evidently dreaded it ; but — I was glad, 
 too ; v«ry glad. Then I went to bed.
 
 w 
 
 CHATTEL XVII 
 
 Uhe Elopement 
 
 'HATEVER the king might think, I knew 
 Lord Wolsey would quickly enough guess 
 the truth when he heard that the princess 
 was missing, and would have a party in pursuit. 
 The runaways, however, would have at 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 falling. 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 un- 
 easy for that part of the journey. It had been 
 agreed that if everything was all right at the 
 rendezvous, Tvlary should turn loose her horse, 
 which had always been stabled at Berkeley Castle 
 and would quickly trot home. To further empha- 
 size her safety a thread would be tied in his fore- 
 lock. The horse took his time in returning, and 
 did not arrive until the second morning after the 
 flight, but when he came I found the thread, and, 
 unobserved, removed it. I quickly took it to Jane, 
 who has it yet, and cherishes it for the mute mes- 
 sage of comfort it brought her. In case the horse 
 should not return, I was to find a token in a hol- 
 low tree near the place of meeting; but the thread 
 
 (268)
 
 IShe Elopement 269 
 
 in the forelock told us our friends had found each 
 other. 
 
 When we left the castle, Mary wore under her 
 riding habit a suit of man's attire, and, as we rode 
 along, she would shrug her shoulders and laugh as 
 if it were a huge joke; and by the most comical 
 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 way. In a few minutes they picked up 
 the two Bristol men who were to accompany them, 
 and, when night had fairly fallen, left the by-paths 
 and took to 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 note of the worst places, 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 the 
 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
 
 270 XOhen Kjiighihood Wa^ in Flo^cver 
 
 sound that Mary thought might be heard at Land's 
 End; and the hoot of an owl, now and then dis- 
 turbed 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 good play, as her fine 
 gentleman's attire would be but poor stuff to turn 
 the water. The wind, which had arisen with just 
 enough force to set up a dismal wail, gave 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 chilling 
 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 
 tremulous little whirs, she felt wretched enough — 
 she who had always been so well sheltered from 
 every blast. Now and then mud and water would 
 fly up into her face — striking usually in the eyes or 
 mouth — and then again her horse would stumble 
 and almost throw her over his head, as he sank, 
 knee deep, into some unexpected hole. All of this, 
 with the thousand 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 
 5vas full of dangers aside from stumbling horses
 
 IShe Elopement 271 
 
 and broken necks, for many were the stories of mur- 
 der and robbery committed along the route they 
 were traveling. It is true they had two stout men, 
 and 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 induced any 
 normally constituted woman to believe was the mere 
 negative absence of light, and not a terrible entity 
 potent for all sorts of mischief. 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 w'hich 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 no 
 need to waste her own energy in being brave ; so 
 she relaxed completely, and had the feminine satis- 
 faction of allowing herself to be thoroughly fright- 
 ened. 
 
 Is it any wonder Mary's gallant but womanly 
 spirit sank low in the face of all those terrors? She 
 held out bravely, however, and an occasional clasp 
 from Brandon's hand under cover of the darkness 
 comforted her. WTien all those terrors would not
 
 2^2 XOhen Kjiighihood Wa^ in Flotater 
 
 suggest even a thought of turning back, yotl may 
 judge of the character of this girl and her motive. 
 
 They traveled on, galloping when they could, 
 trotting when they could not gallop, and walking 
 when they must. 
 
 At one time they thought they heard the sound of 
 following horses, and hastened on as fast as they 
 dared go, until, stopping to listen and hearing noth- 
 ing, they concluded they were wrong. About eleven 
 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 "Hollo!" brought them all to a 
 stand, and Mary thought her time had come. 
 
 Both sides shouted, "Who comes there?" to 
 which there was a simultaneous and eager answer, 
 "A friend," and each party passed its own way, only 
 too glad to be rid of the other. Mary's sigh of re- 
 lief 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 was a rambling old thatched-roofed struc- 
 ture, 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 — selected for that 
 reason — and the uncleanness was not the least o£
 
 tShe Etopement 273 
 
 Marv's trials that hard niHit. She had not tasted 
 food since noon, and felt the keen hunger natural 
 to youth and health such as hers, after twelve hours 
 of fasting and eight hours of riding. Her appetite 
 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. One must 
 want a thing before it can be appreciated. 
 
 A hard ride 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 an- 
 other hour brought them to Bristol. 
 
 The ship \vas to sail at sunrise, but as the wind 
 had died out w^ith 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. The men were then 
 paid off ; quick sale was made of the horses ; break- 
 fast 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 Royal 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, I think, it had never oc- 
 curred to Mary to doubt the result. There had 
 never been with her even a suggestion of possible 
 
 failure, unless it was that evening in our room, 
 u
 
 274 XOhen Kjii^hthood Wa.r in Flobuer 
 
 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 joy. It is little wonder 
 she was happy. She was leaving behind no one 
 whom she loved excepting Jane, and perhaps, me. 
 No father nor mother; only a sister whom she 
 barely knew, and a brother whose treatment of her 
 had turned her heart against him. She was also 
 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 suc- 
 cess had forced upon him a haunting sense of certain 
 failure, which, one would think, should have left 
 him now. It did not, however, and even when on 
 shipboard, with a score of men at the windlass ready 
 to heave anchor at the first breath of wind, it was 
 as strong 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 difference; Mary had never doubted 
 success ; Brandon never doubted failure. He had 
 a keen analytical faculty that gave him truthfully 
 the chances for and against, and, in this case, they 
 were overwhelmingly unfavorable. Such hope as 
 he had been able to distil out of his desire was sadly 
 dampened by an ever-present premonition of failure.
 
 tShe Eftopemenf 275 
 
 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 overwhelming 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 apart for the gentlemen. 
 
 They had both paid for their passage, although 
 they had enlisted and were part of the ship's com- 
 pany. They were not expected to do sailor's work, 
 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 way, 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, how- 
 ever, was a bridge to be crossed w^hen they should 
 come to it. 
 
 They had gone aboard about seven o'clock, and 
 Brandon hoped the ship would be well down Bristol 
 channel before he should leave his berth. But the 
 wind that had filled Mary's jack-boots with rain 
 and had howled 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 o'clock and 
 no wind. The captain said it would come with 
 night, but sundown was almost at hand and no wind 
 yet. Brandon knew this meant failure if it held a
 
 z']^) XOhen Kjnighihood Wa^ in Flotoer 
 
 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 cabin 
 made the situation somewhat difficult. After put- 
 ting it off 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 almost 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 him- 
 self about the horses, and saw her only after the 
 great cloak covered her as a gown. He felt 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 sank 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 tell-tale 
 dimples would be worse than Jane for outspoken, 
 untimely truthfulness and trouble-provoking can- 
 dor. 
 
 Upon entering, Brandon found Mary wrestling 
 with the problem of her complicated male attire;
 
 XShe Elopement 277 
 
 the most beautiful picture of puzzled distress imag- 
 inable. The port was open and showed her rosy 
 as the morn when she looked up at him. The jack- 
 boots were in a corner, and her little feet seemed 
 to put up a protest all their own, against going into 
 them, that ought to have softened every peg. She 
 looked up at Brandon A'ith a half-hearted smile, and 
 then threw her arms about his neck and sobbed like 
 the child that she was. 
 
 "Do you regret coming, Lady Alary?" asked 
 Brandon, who, now that she was alone with him, 
 felt 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 you call me *I-ady'? You 
 used to call me 'Mary.* " 
 
 "1 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 continued: **You must 
 make yourself ready to go on deck. It will be hard, 
 but it must be done." 
 
 He helped her with the heavy Jack-boots and 
 handed her the rain-stained slouch hat which she 
 put on, and stood a complete man ready for the 
 deck — that is, as complete as could be evolved from 
 her utter femininity. 
 
 When Brandon looked her over, all hope went out 
 of him. It seemed that every change of dress only
 
 278 XOhen Kj\ighihood Was in Flotoer 
 
 added to her bewitching beauty by showing it in a 
 new phase. 
 
 "It will never do; there is no disguising you. 
 What is it that despite everything shows so unmis- 
 takably feminine? What shall we do? I have it; 
 you shall remain here under the pretense of illness 
 until we are well at sea, and then I will tell the 
 captain all. It is too bad ; and yet I would not have 
 you one whit less a woman for all the world. A man 
 loves a woman who is so thoroughly womanly that 
 nothing can hide it." 
 
 Mary was pleased at his flattery, but disap- 
 pointed at the failure in herself. She had thought 
 that surely these garments would make a man of 
 her in which the keenest eye could not detect a 
 flaw. 
 
 They were discussing the matter when a knock 
 came at the door with the cry, "All hands on deck 
 for inspection." Inspection! Jesu! Mary would 
 not safely endure it a minute. Brandon left her at 
 once and went to the captain. 
 
 "My lord is ill, and begs to be excused from deck 
 inspection," he said. 
 
 Bradhurst, a surly old half pirate of the saltiest 
 pattern, answered: "111? Then he had better go 
 ashore as soon as possible. I will refund his money. 
 We cannot make a hospital out of the ship. If his 
 lordship is too ill to stand inspection, see that he 
 goes ashore at once.'* 
 
 This last was addressed to one of the ship's ofil-
 
 ^he Ktopemenf 9^ 
 
 cers, who answered with the usual "Aye, aye, sir," 
 and started for Mary's cabin. 
 
 That was worse than ever ; and Brandon quickly 
 said he would have his lordship up at once. He 
 then returned to Mary, and after buckling on her 
 sword and belt they went on deck and climbed up 
 the poop ladder to take their places with tliose en- 
 titled to stand aft. 
 
 Brandon has often told me since that it was as 
 much as he could do to keep back the tears when 
 he saw Mary's wonderful effort to appear manly. 
 It was both comical and pathetic. She was a prin- 
 cess to whom all the world bowed down, yet that did 
 not help her here. After all she was only a girl, 
 timid and fearful, following at Brandon's heels; 
 frightened lest she should get out of arm's reach 
 of him among those rough men, and longing with 
 all her heart to take his hand for moral as well as 
 physical support. It must have been both laughable 
 and pathetic in the extreme. That miserable sword 
 persisted in tripping her, and the jack-boots, so 
 much too large, evinced an alarming tendency to 
 slip off with every step. How insane we all were 
 not to have foreseen this from the very beginning. 
 It must have been a unique figure she presented 
 climbing up the steps at Brandon's heels, jack-boots 
 and all. So unique was it that the sailors working 
 in the ship's waist stopped their tasks to stare in 
 wonderment, and the gentlemen on the poop made
 
 28o te^hen Kjnighihood Wa^ in Flotoer 
 
 no effort to hide their amusement. Old Bradhurst 
 stepped up to her. 
 
 "I hope your lordship is feeling better ;" and then, 
 surveying her from head to foot, with a broad grin 
 on his features, "I declare, you look the picture of 
 health, if I ever saw it. How old are you ?" 
 
 Mary quickly responded, "Fourteen years." 
 
 "Fourteen," returned Bradhurst: "well, I don't 
 think you will shed much blood. You look more 
 like a deuced handsome girl than any man I ever 
 saw." At this the men all laughed, and were very 
 impertinent in the free and easy manner of such 
 gentry, most of whom were professional adventur- 
 ers, with every finer sense dulled and debased by 
 years of vice. 
 
 These fellows, half of them tipsy, now gathered 
 about Mary to inspect her personally, each on his 
 own account. Their looks and conduct were very 
 disconcerting, but they did nothing insulting until 
 one fellow gave her a slap on the back, accompany- 
 ing it by an indecent remark. Brandon tried to pay 
 no attention to them, but this was too much, so he 
 lifted his arm and knocked the fellow off the poop 
 into the waist. The man was back in a moment, 
 and swords were soon drawn and clicking away at 
 a great rate. The contest was brief, however, as 
 the fellow was no sort of match for Brandon, who, 
 with his old trick, quickly twisted his adversary's 
 sword out of his grasp, and with a flash of his own 
 blade flung it into the sea. The other men were
 
 ^he Elopement 281 
 
 now talking together at a little distance in whispers, 
 and in a moment one drunken brute shouted : "It is 
 no man ; it is a woman ; let us see more of her." 
 
 Before Brandon could interfere, the fellow had 
 unbuckled Mary's doublet at the throat, and with a 
 jerk, had torn it half off, carrying away the sleeve 
 and exposing Mary's shoulder, almost throwing her 
 to the deck. 
 
 He waved his trophy on high, but his triumph 
 was short-lived, for almost instantly it fell to the 
 deck, and with it the offending hand severed at the 
 wrist by Brandon's sword. Three or four friends 
 of ihe wounded man rushed upon Brandon ; where- 
 upon ]Mary screamed and began to weep, which of 
 course told the whole story. 
 
 A great laugh went up, and instantly a general 
 fight began. Several of the gentlemen, seeing Bran- 
 don attacked by such odds, took up his defense, and 
 within twenty seconds all were on one side or the 
 other, every mother's son of them fighting away 
 like mad. 
 
 You see how quickly and completely one woman 
 without the slightest act on her part, except a mod- 
 est effort to be let alone, had set the whole company 
 by the ears, cutting and slashing away at each other 
 like very devils. The sex must generate mischief 
 in some unknown manner, and throw it off, as the 
 sun throws off its heat. However, Jane is an excep- 
 tion to that rule — if it is a rule. 
 
 The officers soon put a stop to this lively littJe
 
 282 tOhen Knighthood Wa>r in Flotg/er 
 
 fight, and took Brandon and Mary, who was weep- 
 ing as any right-minded woman would, down into 
 the cabin for consuhation. 
 
 With a great oath Bradhurst exclaimed: "It Is 
 plain enough that you have brought a girl on board 
 under false colors, and you may as well make ready 
 to put her ashore. You see what she has already 
 done — a hand lost to one man and wounds for 
 twenty others — and she was on deck less than five 
 minutes. Heart of God! At that rate she would 
 h'lve the ship at the bottom of Davy Jones's locker 
 before we could sail half down the channel." 
 
 "It was not my fault," sobbed Mary, her eyes 
 flashing fire; "I did nothing; all I wanted was to 
 be left alone; but those brutes of men — ^you shall 
 pay for this ; remember what I say. Did you expect 
 Captain Brandon to stand back and not defend me, 
 when that wretch was tearing my garments off ?" 
 
 "Captain Brandon, did you say?" asked Brad- 
 hurst, with his hat off instantly. 
 
 "Yes," answered that individual. **I shipped 
 under an assumed name, for various reasons, and 
 desire not to be known. You will do well to keep 
 my secret." 
 
 "Do I understand that you are Master Charles 
 Brandon, the king's friend?" asked Bradhurst. 
 
 "I am," was the answer. 
 
 "Then, sir, I must ask your pardon for the way 
 you have been treated. We, of course, could not 
 know it, but a man must expect trouble when he
 
 t5he Elopement 283 
 
 attaches himself to a woman." It is a wonder the 
 flashes fron^ Mary's eyes did not strike the old sea- 
 dog dead. He, however, did not see them, and 
 went on : ''We are more than anxious that so val- 
 iant a knight as Sir Charles Brandon should go with 
 us, and hope your reception will not drive you back, 
 but as to the lady — ^}'0u see already the result of 
 her presence, and much as we want you, we cannot 
 take her. Aside from the general trouble whicli a 
 woman takes with her everywhere" — Mary would 
 not even look at the creature — "on shipboard there 
 is another and greater objection. It is said, you 
 know, among sailors, that a woman on board draws 
 bad luck to certain sorts of ships, and every sailor 
 would desert, before we could weigh anchor, if it 
 were known this lady was to go with us. Should 
 they find it out in mid-ocean, a mutiny would be sure 
 to follow, and God only knows what would happen. 
 For her sake, if for no other reason, take her ashore 
 at once." 
 
 Brandon saw only too plainly the truth that he 
 had really seen all the time, but to which he Iiad 
 shut his eyes, and throwing Mary's cloak over her 
 shoulders, prepared to go ashore. As they went 
 over the side and pulled oflF, a great shout went up 
 from the ship far more derisive than cheering, and 
 the men at the oars looked at each other askance and 
 smiled. What a predicament for a princess ! Bran- 
 don cursed himself for having been such a knave 
 and fool as to allow this to happen. He had known
 
 284 tOhen Kjiighihood Was in Flotoer 
 
 the danger all the time, and his act could not be 
 chargeable to ignorance or a failure to see the prob- 
 able consequences. Temptation, and selfish desire, 
 had given him temerity in place of judgment. He 
 had attempted what none but an insane man would 
 have tried, without even the pitiable excuse of in- 
 sanity. He had seen it all only too clearly from the 
 very beginning, and he had deliberately and with 
 open eyes brought disgrace, ruin, and death — unless 
 he could escape — upon himself, and utter humilia- 
 tion to her whom his love should have prompted 
 him to save at all cost. If Mary could only have 
 disguised herself to look like a man they might have 
 succeeded, but that little "if" was larger than Paul's 
 church, and blocked the road as completely as if it 
 had been a word of twenty syllables. 
 
 When the princess stepped ashore it seemed to her 
 as if the heart in her breast was a different and sep- 
 arate organ from the one she had carried aboard. 
 
 As the boat put off again for the ship, its crew 
 gave a cheer coupled with some vile advice, for 
 which Brandon would gladly have run them 
 through, each and every one. He had to swallow 
 his chagrin and anger, and really blamed no one but 
 himself, though it was torture to him that this girl 
 should be subjected to such insults, and he powerless 
 to avenge them. The news had spread from the 
 wharf like wildfire, and on their way back to the 
 Bow and String, there came from small boys and 
 hidden voices such exclamations as: "Look at the
 
 ^he Elopement 285 
 
 woman in man's clothings ;" "Isn't he a beautiful 
 man ?" "Look at him blush ;" and others too coarse 
 to be repeated. Imagine the humihating situation, 
 from which there was no escape. 
 
 At last they reached the inn, whither their chests 
 soon followed them, sent by Bradhurst, together 
 with their passage money, which he very honestly 
 refunded. 
 
 Mary soon donned her woman's attire, of which 
 she had a supply in her chest, and at least felt more 
 comfortable without the jack-boots. She had made 
 her toilet alone for the first time in her life, having 
 no maid to help her, and wept as she dressed, for 
 this disappointment was like plucking the very heart 
 out of her. Her hope had been so high that the 
 fall was all the harder. Nay, even more ; hope had 
 become fruition to her when they were once a-ship- 
 board, and failure right at the door of success made 
 it doubly hard to bear. It crushed her, and, where 
 before had been hope and confidence, was nothing 
 now but despair. Like all people with a great capac- 
 ity for elation, when she sank she touched the bot- 
 tom. Alas! Mary, the unconquerable, was down 
 at last. 
 
 This failure meant so much to her; it meant that 
 she would never be Brandon's wife, but would go 
 to France to endure the dreaded old Frenchman. 
 At that thought a recoil came. Her spirit asserted 
 itself, and she stamped her foot and swore upon her 
 soul it should never be ; never 1 never I so long as
 
 2S6 IGiJfhen Knighthood Was tnFlotxfer 
 
 she had strength to fight or voice to cry, "No." The 
 thought of this marriage and of the loss of Brandon 
 was painful enough, but there came another, en- 
 tirely new to her and infinitely worse. 
 
 Hastily arranging her dress, she went in search 
 of Brandon, whom she quickly found and took to 
 her room. 
 
 After closing the door she said: "I thought I had 
 reached the pinnacle of disappointment and pain 
 when compelled to leave the ship, for it meant that 
 I should lose you and have to marry Louis of 
 France. But I have found that there is still a pos- 
 sible pain more poignant than either, and I cannot 
 bear it ; so I come to you — you who are the great 
 cure for all my troubles. Oh ! that I could lay them 
 here all my life long," and she put her head upon 
 his breast, forgetting what she had intended to say. 
 
 "What is the trouble, Mary?" 
 
 "Oh! yes! I thought of that marriage and of 
 losing you, and then, oh ! Mary Mother ! I thought 
 of some other woman having you to herself. I could 
 see her with you, and I was jealous — I think they 
 call it. I have heard of the pangs of jealousy, and 
 if the fear of a rival is so great what would the 
 reality be ? It would kill me ; I could not endure it, 
 I cannot endure even this, and I want you to swear 
 that " 
 
 Brandon took her in his arms as she began to 
 weep. 
 
 "I will gladly swear by everything I hold sacred
 
 XShe Elopement 287 
 
 that no other woman than you shall ever be my wife. 
 If I cannot have you, be sure you have spoiled every 
 other woman for me. There is but one in all the 
 world — but one. I can at least save you that pain." 
 
 She then stood on tip-toes to lift her lips to him, 
 and said : "I give you the same promise. How you 
 must have suffered when you thought I was to wed 
 another." 
 
 After a pause she went on : "But it might have 
 been worse — that is, it would be worse if you should 
 marry some other woman ; but that is all settled 
 now and I feel easier. Then I might have married 
 the old French king, but that, too, is settled ; and 
 we can endure the lesser pain. It always helps us 
 when we are able to think it might have been 
 worse." 
 
 Her unquestioning faith in Brandon was beauti- 
 ful, and she never doubted that he spoke the unal- 
 terable truth when he said he would never marry 
 any other woman. She had faith in herself, too, and 
 was confident that her promise to marry no man but 
 Brandon ended that important matter likewise, and 
 put the French marriage totally out of the ques- 
 tion for all time to come. 
 
 As for Brandon, he was safe enough in his part 
 of the contract. He knew only too well that no 
 woman could approach Mary in her inimitable per- 
 fections, and he had tested his love closely enough, 
 in his struggle against it, to feel that it had taken up 
 its abode in his heart to stay, whether he wanted it
 
 s88 XOhen K.nigh1hood Wa>s in Flower 
 
 or not. He knew that he was safe in making her 
 a promise which he was powerless to break. All 
 this he fully explained to Mary, as they sat looking 
 out of the window at the dreary rain which had 
 come on again with the gathering gloom of night. 
 
 Brandon did not tell her that his faith in her ulti- 
 mate ability to keep her promise was as small as 
 it was great in his own. Neither did he dampen 
 her spirits by telling her that there was a reason, 
 outside of himself, which in all probability would 
 help him in keeping his word, and save her from 
 the pangs of that jealousy she so much feared; 
 namely, that he would most certainly wed the block 
 and ax should the king get possession of him. He 
 might have escaped from England in the Royal 
 Hind, for the wind had come up shortly after they 
 left the ship, and they could see the sails indis- 
 tinctly through the gloom as she got under way. 
 But he could not leave Mary alone, and had made 
 up his mind to take her back to London and march 
 straight into the jaws of death with her, if the 
 king's men did not soon come. 
 
 He knew that a debt to folly bears no grace, and 
 was ready with his principal and usance.
 
 CHA.'PTE'R JTVIIT 
 
 Co f/)e Totver 
 
 WHETHER or not Brandon would have found 
 some way to deliver the princess safely 
 home, and still make his escape, I cannot 
 say, as he soon had no choice in the matter. At 
 midnight a body of yeomen from the tower took 
 possession of the Bow and String, and carried Bran- 
 don off to London without communication with 
 Jtlary. She did not know of his arrest until next 
 morning, when she was mformed that she was to fol- 
 low immediately, and her heart was nearly broken. 
 
 Here again was trouble for Mary. She felt, how- 
 ever, that the two great questions, the marriage of 
 herself to Louis, and Brandon to any other person, 
 were, as she called it, "settled"; and was almost 
 content to endure this as a mere putting off of bef 
 desires — a meddlesome and impertinent interference 
 of the Fates, who would soon learn with whom 
 they were dealing, and amend their conduct. 
 
 She did not understand the consequences for 
 Brandon, nor that the Fates would have to change 
 their purpose very quickly or something would hap- 
 pen worse, even, than his marriage to another 
 woman. 
 
 On the second morning after leaving Bristol, 
 Brandon reached London, and, as he expected, was 
 » (289)
 
 2go XOhen Kjni^hthood W<w in Ftobtter 
 
 sent to the Tower. The next evening Lady Mary 
 arrived and was taken down to Greenwich. 
 
 The girl's fair name was, of course, lost — ^but, 
 fortunately, that goes for little with a princess — 
 since no one would believe that Brandon had pro- 
 tected her against himself as valiantly and honor- 
 ably as he would against another. The princess 
 being much more unsophisticated than the courtiers 
 were ready to believe, never thought of saying any- 
 thing to establish her innocence or virtue, and her 
 silence was put down to shame and taken as evi- 
 dence against her. 
 
 Jane met Mary at Windsor, and, of course, there 
 was a great flood of tears. 
 
 Upon arriving at the palace, the girls were left 
 to themselves, upon Mary's promise not to leave 
 her room ; but, by the next afternoon, she, having 
 been unable to learn anything concerning Brandon, 
 broke her parole and went out to see the king. 
 
 It never occurred to Alarv that Brandon might 
 suffer death for attempting to run away with hex. 
 She knew only too well that she alone was to blame, 
 not only for that, but for all that had taken place 
 between them, and never for one moment thought 
 that he might be punished for her fault, even admit- 
 ting there was fault in any one, which she was by 
 no means ready to do. 
 
 The trouble in her mind, growing out of a lack of 
 news from Brandon, was of a general nature, and 
 the possibility of his death had no place in her
 
 Uo the Tobver 2gi 
 
 thoughts. Nevertheless, for the second time, Bran- 
 don had been condemned to die for her sake. The 
 king's seal had stamped the warrant for the exe- 
 cution, and the headsman had sharpened his ax 
 and could almost count the golden fee for liis 
 butchery. 
 
 Mary found the king playing cards with de 
 Longueville. There was a roomful of courtiers, and 
 as she entered she was the target for every eye; 
 but she was on familiar ground now, and did not 
 care for the glances nor the observers, most of whom 
 she despised. She was the princess again and full 
 of self-confidence ; so she went straight to the 
 object of her visit, the king. She had not made 
 up her mind just what to say first, there was so 
 much ; but Henry saved her the trouble. He, of 
 course, was in a great rage, and denounced Mary's 
 conduct as unnatural and treasonable ; the latter, 
 in Henry's mind, being a crime many times greater 
 than the breaking of all the commandments put to- 
 gether, in one fell, composite act. All this the king 
 had communicated to Mary by the lips of Wolsey 
 the evening before, and Mary had received it with 
 a silent scorn that would have withered any one 
 but the worthy bishop of York. As I said, when 
 Mary approached her brother, he saved her the 
 trouble of deciding where to begin by speaking first 
 himself, and his words were of a part with his 
 nature — violent, cruel and vulgar. He abused her 
 and called her all the vile names in his ample vocab-
 
 292 te^hen Kjii^hthood Wcw- in Flower 
 
 ulary of billingsgate. The queen was present and 
 aided and abetted with a word now and then, until 
 Henry, with her help, at last succeeded in working 
 himself into a towering passion, and wound up by 
 calling Mary a vile wanton in plainer terms than 
 I like to write. This aroused all the antagonism 
 in the girl, and there was plenty of it. She feared 
 Henry no more than she feared me. Her eyes 
 flashed a fire that made even the king draw back 
 as she exclaimed : "You give me that name and 
 expect me to remember you are my brother ? There 
 are words that make a mother hate her first-born, 
 and that is one. Tell me what I have done to de- 
 serve it? I expected to hear of ingratitude and 
 disobedience and all that, but supposed you had at 
 least some traces of brotherly feeling — for ties of 
 blood are hard to break — even if you have of late 
 Jost all semblance to man or king." 
 
 This was hitting Henry hard, for it was beginning 
 to be the talk in every mouth that he was leaving 
 all the affairs of state to Wolsey and spending his 
 time in puerile amusement. "The toward hope 
 which at all poyntes appeared in the younge Kynge" 
 was beginning to look, after all, like nothing more 
 than the old-time royal cold fire, made to consume 
 but not to warm the nation. 
 
 Henry looked at Mary with the stare of a baited 
 bull. 
 
 "If running off in male attire, and stopping av 
 inns and boarding ships with a common Captain ot
 
 1) 
 
 a; 
 
 0) 
 
 r. 
 
 00 
 
 O 
 
 o 
 
 3J 
 
 3
 
 Uo the Tcbuer 293 
 
 the g^ard doesn't justify my accusation and stamp 
 you what you are, I do not know what would." 
 
 Even Henry saw her innocence in her genuine 
 surprise. She was silent for a little time, and I, 
 standing close to her, could plainly see that this 
 phase of the question had never before presented it- 
 self. 
 
 She hung her head for a moment and then spoke : 
 "It may be true, as you say, that what I have done 
 will lose me my fair name — I had never thought of 
 it in that light — but it is also true that I am inno- 
 cent and have done no wrong. You may not believe 
 me, but you can ask Master Brandon" — here the 
 king gave a great laugh, and of course the courtiers 
 joined in. 
 
 "It is all very well for you to laugh, but Mas- 
 ter Brandon would not tell you a lie for your 
 crown — " Gods ! I could have fallen on my knees 
 to a faith like that — "What I tell you is true. I 
 trusted him so completely that the fear of dis- 
 honor at his hands never suggested itself to me. 
 I knew he would care for and respect me. I trusted 
 him, and my trust was not misplaced. Of how 
 many of these creatures who laugh when the king 
 laughs could I say as much?" And Henry knew 
 she spoke the truth, both concerning herself and 
 the courtiers. 
 
 With downcast eyes she continued: "I suppose, 
 after all, you are partly right in regard to me ; for it 
 was his honor that saved me, not my own ; and if I
 
 294 ^SOhen K,ni^hlhood Wcw in FJotuet 
 
 am not what you called me I hAve Master Bran- 
 don to thank — not myself.** 
 
 "We will thank him publicly on Tower Hill, day 
 after to-morrow, at noon," said the king, with his 
 accustomed delicacy, breaking the news of Bran- 
 don's sentence as abruptly as possible. 
 
 With a look of terror in her eyes, Mary screamed : 
 
 "What ! Charles Brandon. . . .Tower Hill? You 
 
 are going to kill him ?" 
 
 "I think we will," responded Henry; "it usually 
 has that effect, to separate the head from the body 
 and quarter the remains to decorate the four gates. 
 We will take you up to London in a day or two and 
 let you see his beautiful head on the bridge." 
 
 "Behead — quarter — bridge ! Lord Jesu !" She 
 could not grasp the thought ; she tried to speak, but 
 the words would not come. In a moment she be- 
 came more coherent, and the words rolled from her 
 lips as a mighty flood tide pours back through the 
 arches of London Bridge. 
 
 "You shall not kill him ; he is blameless ; you 
 do not know. Drive these gawking fools out of 
 the room, and I will tell you all." The king ordered 
 the room cleared of everybody but Wolsey, Jane 
 and myself, who remained at Mary's request. When 
 all were gone, the princess continued: "Brother, 
 this man is in no way to blame; it is all my fault 
 — my fault that he loves me ; my fault that he tried 
 to run away to New Spain with me. It may be that 
 I have done wrong and that my conduct has been
 
 Uo the Tobuer 295 
 
 unmaidenly, but I could not help it. From the first 
 time I ever saw him in the lists with you at Windsor 
 there was a gnawing hunger in my heart beyond my 
 control. I supposed, of course, that day he would 
 contrive some way to be presented to me. . . ." 
 
 "You did?" 
 
 "Yes, but he made no effort at all, and when we 
 met he treated me as if I were an ordinary girl." 
 
 "He did?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Horrible." 
 
 Mary was too intent on her story to heed the 
 sarcasm, and continued: "That made me all the 
 more interested in him since it showed that he was 
 different from the wretches who beset you and me 
 witli their flattery, and I soon began to seek him 
 on every occasion. This is an unmaidenly history 
 I am giving, I know, but it is the truth, and must 
 be told. I was satisfied at first if I could only be 
 in the same room with him, and see his face, and 
 hear his voice. The very air he breathed was like 
 an elixir for me. I made every excuse to have him 
 near me; I asked him to my parlor — you know 
 about that — and — and did all I could to be with him. 
 At first he was gentle and kind, but soon, I think, 
 he saw the dawning danger in both our hearts, as I 
 too saw it, and he avoided me in every way he 
 could, knowing the trouble it held for us both. 
 Oh ! he was the wiser — and to think to what I have 
 brought him. Brother, let me die for him — I who
 
 296 tOhen Knighthood Wa^ in Ftotoet 
 
 alone am to blame; take my life and spare him — 
 spare him ! He was the wiser, but I doubt if all 
 the wisdom in the world could have saved us. He 
 almost insulted me once in the park — told me to 
 leave him — when it hurt him more than me, I am 
 now sure ; but he did it to keep matters from grow- 
 ing worse between us. I tried to remember the 
 affront, but could not, and had he struck me I be- 
 lieve I should have gone back to him sooner or later. 
 Oh ! it was all my fault ; I would not let him save 
 himself. So strong was my feeling that I could 
 bear his silence no longer, and one day I went to 
 him in your bed-chamber ante-room and fairly 
 thrust myself and my love upon him. Then, after 
 he was liberated from Newgate, I could not induce 
 him to come to me, so I went to him and begged for 
 his love. Then I coaxed him into taking me to 
 New Spain, and would listen to no excuse and hear 
 no reason. Now lives there another man who would 
 have taken so much coaxing?" 
 
 "No! by heaven! your majesty," said Wolsey, 
 who really had a kindly feeling for Brandon and 
 would gladly save his life, if, by so doing, he would 
 not interfere with any of his own plans and inter- 
 ests. Wolsey's heart was naturally kind when it 
 cost him nothing, and much has been related of him, 
 which, to say the least, tells a great deal more than 
 the truth. Ingratitude always recoils upon the in- 
 grate, and Henry's loss was greater than Wolsey's 
 when Wolsey fell.
 
 tSo the Totver 2^7, 
 
 Henry really liked, or, rather, admired, Bran- 
 don, as had often been shown, but his nature was 
 incapable of real affection. The highest point he 
 ever reached was admiration, often quite extrava- 
 gant for a time, but usually short-lived, as naked 
 admiration is apt to be. If he had affection for 
 any one it was for Mary, He could not but see the 
 justice of his sister's position, but he had no inten- 
 tion of allowing justice, in the sense of right, to 
 interfere with justice in the sense of the king's 
 will. 
 
 "You have been playing the devil at a great rate," 
 he said. "You have disobeyed your brother and 
 your king ; have disgraced yourself ; have probably 
 made trouble between us and France, for if Louis 
 refuses to take you now I will cram you down his 
 throat ; and by your own story have led a good man 
 to the block. Quite a budget of evils for one woman 
 to open. But I have noticed that the trouble a 
 woman can make is in proportion to her beauty, 
 and no wonder my little sister has made so much 
 disturbance. It is strange, though, that he should 
 so affect you. Master Wolsey, surely there has been 
 witchery here. He must have used it abundantly 
 to cast such a spell over my sister." Then turning 
 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
 
 298 XOhen Kjnighihood Wa^ in Ftobuer 
 
 touched. And as to signs and passes, I know he 
 never made any. Sir Edwin, you were always pres- 
 ent when I was with him until after we left for Bris- 
 tol ; did you ever see anything of the sort?" 
 
 I answered "No," and she went on. "Besides, 
 I do not believe much in signs and passes. No one 
 can affect others unless he can induce them to eat 
 or drink something in which he has placed a love 
 powder or potion. Then again, Master Brandon 
 did not want me to love him, and surely would not 
 have used such a method to gain what he could 
 have had freely without it." 
 
 I noticed that Henry's mind had wandered from 
 what Mary was saying, and that his eyes were fixed 
 upon me with a thoughtful, half vicious, inquiring 
 stare that I did not like. I wondered what was 
 coming next, but my curiosity was more than sat- 
 isfied when the king asked : "So Caskoden was 
 present at all your interviews?" 
 
 Ah! Holy Mother! I knew what was coming 
 now, and actually began to shrivel with fright. The 
 king continued: "I suppose he helped you to es- 
 cape ?" 
 
 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-like innocence, she quickly 
 said: 
 
 "Oh ! no ! neither he nor Jane knew anything of 
 it. We were afraid they might divulge it.** 
 
 Shade of Sapphira !
 
 Uo the Totiper 299 
 
 A lie is a pretty good thing, too, now and then, 
 and the man who says that word of Mary's was not 
 a blessed lie, must fight me with lance, battle-ax, 
 sword and dagger till one or the other of us bites 
 the dust in death, be he great or small. 
 
 "I am glad to learn that you knew nothing of it," 
 said Henry, addressing me ; and I was glad, too, 
 for him to learn it, you may be sure. 
 
 Then spoke Wolsey : "If your majesty will per- 
 mit, I would say that I quite agree with you ; there 
 has been witchery here — witchery of the most potent 
 kind ; the witchery of lustrous eyes, of fair skin and 
 rosy lips ; the witchery of all that is sweet and intox- 
 icating in womanhood, but Master Brandon has 
 been the victim of this potent spell, not the user 
 of it. One look upon your sister standing there, 
 and I know your majesty will agree that Brandon 
 had no choice 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 was true beyond all 
 doubt. 
 
 Henry laughed at her naivete, and Wolsey 's lips 
 wore a smile, as he plucked the king by the sleeve 
 and took him over to the window, out of our hear- 
 ing. 
 
 Mary began to weep and show sig^s of increasing 
 agitation. 
 
 After a short whispered conversation, the king
 
 300 ^S^hen Kjnighihooi Was in Flotjev 
 
 and Wo'lsey came back and the former said : "Sis- 
 ter, If I promise to give Brandon his life, will you 
 consent decently and like a good girl to marry Louis 
 of France ?" 
 
 Mary almost screamed, "Yes, yes ; gladly ; I will 
 do anything you ask," and fell at his feet hysteric- 
 ally embracing his knees. 
 
 As the king stooped and lifted her to her feet, 
 he kissed her, saying : "His life shall be spared, my 
 sweet sister." After this, Henry felt that he had 
 done a wonderfully gracious act and was the kind- 
 est-hearted prince in all Christendom. 
 
 Poor Mary ! Two mighty kings and their great 
 ministers of state had at last conquered you, but 
 they had to strike you through your love — the vul- 
 nerable spot in every woman. 
 
 Jane and I led Mary away through a side door 
 and the king called for de Longueville to finish the 
 interrupted game of cards. 
 
 Before the play was resumed Wolsey stepped 
 softly around to the king and asked : "Shall I affix 
 your majesty's seal to Brandon's pardon?" 
 
 "Yes, but keep him in the Tower until Mary is 
 off for France." 
 
 Wolsey had certainly been a friend to Brandon 
 in time of need, but, as usual, he had value received 
 for his friendliness. He was an ardent advocate 
 of the French marriage, notwithstanding the fact 
 he had told Mary he was not ; having no doubt been 
 bribed thereto by the French king.
 
 Uo the Totuer 30I1 
 
 The good bishop had, with the help of de Longue- 
 ville, secretly sent Mary's miniature to the French 
 court in order that it might, as if by accident, fall 
 into the hands of Louis, and that worthy's little, 
 old, shriveled heart began to flutter, just as if there 
 could be kindled in it a genuine flame. 
 
 Louis had sent to de Longueville, who was then 
 in England, for confirmation of Mary's beauty, and 
 de Longueville grew so eloquent on the theme that 
 his French majesty at once authorized negotiations. 
 
 As reports came in Louis grew more and more 
 impatient. This did not, however, stand in the way 
 of his driving a hard bargain in the matter of dowser, 
 for "The Father of the People" had the charac- 
 teristics 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 lovely rose 
 had underneath her velvet leaves, and w-hat a verita- 
 ble Tartar she would be, linked to the man she did 
 not love ; or he would have given Henry four 
 hundred thousand crowns to keep her at home.
 
 CHATTB'R XIX 
 
 T^rO'Serptna 
 
 O the value received for Wolsey's friendship 
 to Brandon was Mary's promise to marry 
 Louis. 
 
 Mary wanted to send a message at once to 
 Brandon, telling him his life 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 until morning, so she had to wait. She 
 compensated herself as well as she could by writ- 
 ing 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 of — her promise never to wed any 
 other man. Mary had not told him of her final 
 surrender in the matter of the French marriage, 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 a false kindness I do 
 him. He would, probably, rather die than that I 
 should marry another ; I know that I should rather 
 die, or have anything else terrible to happen, than 
 for another woman to possess 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 
 
 (302)
 
 T^ro^erptna 303 
 
 of it absolutely burns me." And she tb.rew 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 
 said he promised you, ;md you know he is one who 
 keeps his word." 
 
 "But I promised, tco, and think of what I am 
 about to do. Mary in heaven, help me ! But he is 
 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 comfort comes 
 from him." 
 
 "I hoped that I might have been some comfort 
 to you ; I have tried 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 concert and 
 Mary gently wept herself to sleep. She lay dream- 
 ing and tossing nervously until sunrise, when she 
 got up and added more pages to her letter, until I 
 called to take it.
 
 304 ^Q^hen Kjntghihood Wa^s in Flower 
 
 I was on hand soon after the Tower gates had 
 opened and was permitted to see Brandon at once. 
 He read Mary's letter and acted Hke every other 
 lover, since love-letters first began. He was quick 
 to note the absence of the longed for, but not ex- 
 pected assurance, and when he did not see it went 
 straight to the point. 
 
 "She has promised to marry the French 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 it ?" 
 
 "Nothing," I replied, telling an unnecessary lie. 
 
 "Caskoden, you are either a liar or a blockhead." 
 
 "Make it a liar, Brandon," said 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 super- 
 sensitiveness are at once the badge and the bane of 
 a little soul. 
 
 I did not leave the Tower until noon, and Bran- 
 don's pardon had been delivered to him before I 
 left. He was gla<' 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 said: "I suppose
 
 Pro^rerptna 305 
 
 they are afraid to let me out until she is off for 
 France, King Henry flatters me." 
 
 I looked out of the window up Tower street and 
 said 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 carrying letters 
 from Greenwich to the Tower and back again, but 
 soon letters ceased 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 sake — for she was begin- 
 ning to see that he was the one who had to suffer 
 for her indiscretions — to ask Henry's permission, 
 and if he refused, then 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, 
 
 Mar)' proffered her request. Of course it was re- 
 20
 
 3o6 XOhen K.ni^hthood Was in JTloiefer 
 
 fused. Mary pouted, and was getting ready for 
 an outburst, when Wolsey spoke up: "With your 
 majesty's gracious permission, I would subscribe to 
 the petition of the princess. She has been good 
 enough to give her promise in the matter of so 
 much importance to us, and in so small a thing as 
 this I hope you may see your way clear toward fa- 
 voring her. The interview will be the last and 
 may help to make her duty easier." Mary 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 boisterous 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 is getting too much already; 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 cry of rage. 
 "You brute ! Do you think I am as vile as you be- 
 cause I have the misfortune 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 ill-natured. He had 
 all he wanted out of his sister, so her outbursts 
 amused him. 
 
 Mary hurriedly left the king and walked back 
 
 (
 
 Troserpina 307 
 
 to her room, filled with shame and rage ; feelings 
 actively stimulated by Jane, who was equally indig- 
 nant. 
 
 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 effectually 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 
 miniature — the one that had been 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 French- 
 man's belief in woman'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 an end to even the letter-writing. 
 Opportunities increase 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
 
 3o8 XOhen Kjit^hihood Wa^ tn Flotuer 
 
 Tower when she had permission, regardless of what 
 any one would say or think. 
 
 Mary was imperious and impatient, by nature, 
 but upon rare and urgent occasions could employ 
 the very smoothest sort of finesse. 
 
 Her promise to marry Louis 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 hands or her eyes, her life or her very soul, 
 itself ; but now that the imminent danger was passed^ 
 she began to revolve schemes to evade her promise 
 and save Brandon notwithstanding. She knew that 
 under the present arrangement his life depended 
 upon her marriage, but she had never lost faith in 
 her ability to handle the king if she had but a little 
 time in which to operate, and had secretly regretted 
 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 so urgent, that she could not 
 resort to her usual methods for turning matters her 
 way, but eagerly applied the first and quickest rem- 
 edy offered. Now, however, that she had a breath* 
 ing spell, and time in which to operate her more
 
 Yro^erptna 3^9 
 
 slowly moving, but, as she thought, equally sure 
 forces of cajolery and persuasion, she determined 
 to marshal the legions of her wit and carrj' war into 
 the enemy's countr}' at once. 
 
 Henry's brutal selfishness in forcing upon her the 
 French marriage, together with his cruel condemna- 
 tion of Brandon, and his vile insinuations against 
 herself, had driven nearly ever}' spark of afifection 
 for her brother from her heart. But she felt that 
 she might feign an affection she did not feel, and 
 that what she so wanted would be cheap at the 
 price. Cheap? It would be cheap at the cost of 
 her immortal soul. Oieap? What she wanted was 
 life's condensed sweets — the man she loved; and 
 what she wanted to escape was life's distilled bit- 
 terness — marriage with a man she loathed. None 
 but a pure woman can know the torture of that. I 
 saw this whole disastrous campaign from start to 
 finish. Mary began with a wide flank movement 
 conducted under masked batteries and skilfully exe- 
 cuted. She sighed over her troubles and cried a 
 g^eat deal, but told the king he had been such a 
 dear, kind 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 Louis, but she would do it willingly 
 to help her handsome brother, no matter how mudi 
 she might suffer. 
 
 The king laughed and said: "Poor old Louis I 
 WTi at about him ? What about his suffering? He
 
 310 to hen Kjnt^hthood Was in Flotxfer 
 
 thinks he is making such a fine bargain, hut the 
 Lord pity him, when he has my little sister in his 
 side for a thorn. He had better employ some ener- 
 getic soul to prick him with needles 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 furnish him 
 all the trouble he wants, won't you, sister?" 
 
 "I shall try," said the princess demurely, perfectly 
 .willing to obey in everything. 
 
 "Devil a doubt of that, and you will succeed, 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 flat- 
 tery administered by Mary would have been so 
 plainly self-interested as to alarm the dullest per- 
 ception, 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 allayed; and then, after 
 Iiaving done enough petting and fondling, as she 
 thought, to start the earth itself a-moving — as some 
 men are foolish enough to say it really does — she 
 began the attack direct by putting her arms about the 
 king's neck, and piteously begging him not to sacri- 
 fice her whole life by sending her to Fran«ii
 
 J"* 
 
 Vro^erpina 3^^ 
 
 Her pathetic, soul-charged appeal might have 
 softened the heart of Caligiila 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 said, with a laugh. "I 
 thought all this sweetness must have been for some- 
 thing. So the lady wants her Brandon, and doesn't 
 want her Louis, yet 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 go decently if I would not cut off that fellow's 
 head, and now I tell you that if I hear another whim- 
 per from you off it comes, and you will go to FrancCj 
 too." 
 
 This brought "Wzxy to terms quickly enough. If 
 touched her one vulnerable spot — her love. 
 
 "I will go; I promise it again. You shall nevef 
 hear another word of complaint from me if you giv6 
 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 sail 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 be- 
 lieve you are more to blame than he." 
 
 *T 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 pathetic- 
 ally.
 
 gi2 XOhen Knighthood Wa>s in Flower 
 
 Poor, fair Proserpina, with no kind mother Deme- 
 ter to help her. The ground will soon open, and 
 Pluto will have his bride. 
 
 That evening Cavendish took me aside and said 
 his master, Wolsey, wished to speak to me privately 
 at a convenient opportunity. So, when the bishop 
 left his card-table, an hour later, I threw myself in 
 his way. He spoke gayly to me, and we walked 
 down the corridor arm in arm. I could not imagine 
 v;hat was wanted, but presently it came out : "My 
 dear Caskoden" — had I been one for whom he could 
 have had any use, I should have grown suspicious — 
 **My dear Caskoden, I know I can trust you ; espe- 
 cially when that which I have to say is for the happi- 
 ness of your friends. I am sure you will never name 
 me in connection with the suggestion I am about to 
 make, and will use the thought only as your own." 
 
 I did not know what was coming, but gave him 
 the strongest assurance of my trustworthiness. 
 
 "It is this: Louis of France is little better than 
 a dead man. King Henry, perhaps, is not fully 
 aware of this, and, if he is, he has never considered 
 the probability 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 compli- 
 ance, to extract some virtue out of her sore neces- 
 sity and induce him to promise that, in case of the 
 death of Louis, she herself shall choose her second 
 JiDsband."
 
 Vro^erptna 313 
 
 "My lord," I replied, quickly grasping the point, 
 "it is small wonder you rule this land. You have 
 both brain and heart." 
 
 "I tliank you, Sir Edwin, and hope that both may 
 always be at the service of you and your friends." 
 
 I gave the suggestion to Mary as my own, rec- 
 ommending 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 offered, 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 I do so much for you, brother, 
 you might at least promise me that when King 
 Louis is dead I may marr}' whomsoever I wish. He 
 will probably live forever, but let me have at least 
 that hope to give me what cheer it may while I 
 suffer." 
 
 The ever-present Wolsey, who was standing near 
 and heard Mar>''s petition, interposed : 'T.et me add 
 my prayer to that of her highness. We must give 
 her her own way in something." 
 
 Mary was such a complete picture of wretched- 
 ness 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 g^ven simply to pacify the girl, 
 and without any intention whatever of its being 
 kept; but that, in case of the death of King
 
 514 tOhen Kjni^hthood WtLs in Flotoer 
 
 Louis, Henry Intended again to use his sister to his 
 own advantage. 
 
 To be a beautiful princess is not to enjoy the 
 bliss some people imagine. The earth is apt to open 
 at any time, and Pluto to snatch her away to — ^the 
 Lord knows where. 
 
 Mary again poured out her soul on paper — 2. liba- 
 tion intended for Brandon. I made a dozen at- 
 tempts, 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 watch on his master's rival, and com- 
 plained to Henry about these attempts at communi- 
 cation. Henry laughed and said he would see that 
 they were stopped, but paid no more attention to 
 the matter. 
 
 If Mary, before her interview with Henry, had 
 been averse to the French marriage, she was now 
 equally anxious to hurry it on, and longed to g<3 
 upon the rack in order that Brandon might be free. 
 He, of course, 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 compelled 
 eventually 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—
 
 f^ro^erpfna 315 
 
 that her sacrifice had not all been in vain — would 
 make it easier for her to bear. 
 
 The most beautiful feature of the relations be^ 
 tween these two lovers was their entire faith in each 
 other. The way of their true love was at least not 
 roughened by cobble-stones of doubt, however im- 
 passable it was from mountains of opposition. 
 
 My inability to deliver Mary's letters did not deter 
 her from writing them ; and as she was to be mar- 
 ried in a few days — de Longueville to act as proxy 
 — she devoted her entire time to her letters, and 
 wrote pages upon pages, which she left with me to 
 be delivered "after death," as she called her mar- 
 riage. 
 
 At this time I was called away from court for a 
 day or two, and when I returned and called upon 
 Brandon at the Tower, I found him whistling and 
 singing, apparently as happy as a lark. "You heart- 
 less dog," thought I, at first ; but I soon found that 
 he felt more than happiness — exaltation. 
 
 "Have you seen her?" I asked. 
 
 "Who?" As if there were more than one woman 
 in all the world for him. 
 
 "The princess." 
 
 "Not since I left her at Bristol." 
 
 I believed then, and believe now, that this was 
 a point blank 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
 
 3i6 X&)hen Kjiighthood Wa>s in Flower 
 
 not interpret, but he wrote, as if carelessly scrib- 
 bling on a scrap of paper that lay upon the table, 
 the words, "Be careful," and I took tlie hint — we 
 were watched. There is an unpleasant sensation 
 when one feels that he is watched 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 jubi- 
 lant as I had left Brandon. 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 plan was 
 I could not guess. With Brandon in the Tower 
 under guard both day and night, and Mary as closely 
 guarded in the palace, I could not see any way of 
 escape for either of them, nor how they could possi- 
 bly have come together. 
 
 Brandon had not told me, I supposed, for fear of 
 being overheard, and Mary, although she had the 
 opportunity, was equally non-communicative, so I 
 had recourse to Jane upon the first occasion. She, 
 by the way, was as blue and sad-faced as Mary was 
 joyous. I asked her if the princess and Brandon 
 had met, and she sadly said : "I do not know. We 
 went down to London yesterday, and as we returned 
 stopped at Bridewell House, where we found the
 
 'Pro^erpinu 317 
 
 king and Wolsey. The princess left the room, 
 saying she would return in a few minutes, and 
 tnen Wolsey went out, leaving me alone with the 
 king. Mary did not return for half an hour, and 
 she may have seen Jklaster Brandon during that 
 time. I do not understand how the meeting could 
 have occurred, but that is the only time she has 
 been away from me." Here Jane deliberately put 
 her head on my shoulder and began to weep pite- 
 ously. 
 
 "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 JT) 
 emphatically that she at length said: 
 
 "The king!" 
 
 "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 an- 
 noyed me \QTy much, but I thought little of it, as It 
 was his habit to ogle every pretty face. When 
 urged, Jane said between her sobs: "He tried to 
 kiss me and to — mistreat me when Wolsey 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 this 
 dagger from my breast, telling him that if he took
 
 3i8 tll^hen Kjitghthood Wcui in Fiokvet' 
 
 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," said I, prayerfully. 
 "How long has this been going on ?" 
 
 "A month or two ; bu.*^ I have always been able, 
 to run away from him. He has been growing more 
 importunate of late, so I 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 I showed 
 it very plainly. Then Jane timidly put her hand in 
 mine, for the first time in her life, and murmured : 
 
 "We will be married, Edwin, if you wish, before 
 wc return from France." She was glad to fly to 
 me lo save herself from Henry, and I was glad even 
 to be the lesser of two evils. 
 
 As to whether my two friends met or not that 
 day at Bridewell I cannot say; but I think they 
 did. They had in some way come to an under- 
 standing that lightened both their hearts before 
 Mary left for France, and this had been their only 
 possible opportunity. Jane and I were always taken 
 into their confidence on other occasions, but as to 
 this meeting, if any there was, we have never been 
 told a word. My belief is that the meeting was con- 
 trived by Wolsey upon a solemn promise from Bran- 
 don and Mary never to reveal it, and if so, they have 
 sacredly kept their word. 
 
 On the 13th of August, 15 14, Mary Tudor, widl
 
 f*ro-ferp{na 319 
 
 her golden hair falling- over her shoulders, was 
 married at Greenwich to Louis de Valois; de 
 Longiieville acting as his French majesty's proxy. 
 Poor, fair Proserpina !. . . . 
 
 Note — Maidens only were married with their hair down. 
 It was "the sacred token of maidenhood." — Editor.
 
 CHATTE'R XX 
 
 7}otefn info France 
 
 SO it came to pass that Mary was married unto 
 Louis and went down into France. 
 
 [Again the editor takes the liberty of sub- 
 stituting Hall's quaint account of Mary's journey 
 to France.] 
 
 Then when all things were redy for the conueyaunce of 
 this noble Ladye, tlxe l-cyng her brother in the moneth of 
 Auguste, and the xV daye, with the quene his wife and 
 his sayde sister and al the court came to Doner and there 
 taryed, for the wynde 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 iiiC and 
 yet the most part of them were hurt with the wrecke. 
 When the wether was fayre, then al her wardrobe, stable, 
 and riches was shipped, and such as were appoyncted to 
 geue their attendaunce on her as the duke of Norfolke, the 
 Marques of Dorset, the Bysshop of Durham, the Earle of 
 Surrey, the lorde Delawar, sir Thomas Bulleyn and many 
 other knights, Squyers, getlemen & ladies, al these went 
 to shippe and the sayde ladye toke her leaue of the quene 
 in the castell of Douer, and the king brought her to the 
 sea syde, and kissed her, and bctoke 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 fayre ladye toke her shippe with al 
 her noble compaignie: and when they had sayled a quar- 
 ter of the see, the wynde rose and seuered some of the 
 shippes to Cayles, and some in Flaunders and her shippe 
 with greate difficultie to Bulleyn, and with greate ieop- 
 
 (320)
 
 Dot£/n into France 321 
 
 ardy at the entrying 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 Chris- 
 topher Garnysha stode in the water and toke her in his 
 armes, and so carved her to land, where the Duke of 
 Vandosme and a Cardynall with many estates receyued 
 her, and her ladies, and welcommed all 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 iii miles of Abuyle besyde the forrest 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 Abuyle 
 by a secret waye, & she was with greate triumphe, pro- 
 cession & pagiantes receyued into the toune of Abuyle 
 the VIII day of October by the Dolphin, which receyued 
 her with greate honor. She was appcareilled in cloth of 
 siluer, her horse was trapped in goldsmythes work very 
 rj'chly. After her followed xxxvi ladies al ther palfreys 
 trapped with crymsyn veluct, embraudered: after the 
 folowed one charyott of cloth of tyssue, the scconde 
 clothe of golde and the third Crymsyn veluet embraudered 
 with the kynges armes & hers, full of roses. After them 
 folowed a greate nomber of archers and then wagons 
 laden with their stuf. Create was the riches in plate, iuels, 
 money, and hangynges that this ladye brought into France. 
 The Moday beyng the daye of Sayncte Denyce, the same 
 kynge Leyes maried the lady Mary in the greate church 
 of Abuyle, bothe appareled in goldesmythes woorke. 
 After the masse was done ther was a greate banket and 
 fest and the ladyes of England highly entreteyned. 
 
 The Tewesdaye beyng the x daye of October all the 
 Englishmen except a fewe that wer oflicers with the sayde 
 quene were discharged whiche was a greate sorowe for 
 theim, for some had serued her longe in the hope of 
 preferment and some that bad honest romes left them to 
 serue her and now they wcr out c{ jeruice, which caused 
 the to take thought in so much, some dyed by way return- 
 
 a
 
 322 XOhen Kjni^hihood Wa^ in Flotver 
 
 ing, and some fell mad, but ther was no remedy. After 
 the English lordes had done ther commission the French 
 kynge wylled the to take no lenger payne & so gaue to 
 theim good rewardes and they toke ther leaue of the quene 
 and returned. 
 
 Then the Dolphyn of Fraunce called Frauncys duke of 
 Valoys, or Fraunceys d'Angouleme, caused a solempne 
 iustes to be proclaymed, which shoulde be kept in Parys 
 in the moneth of Noueber next ensuyng, and whlTe al 
 these thinges were prepearyng, the Ladye Mary, the V. 
 daye of Noueber, then beying Sondaye was with greate 
 solempnitee crowned Queen 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 waight, to her 
 greuaunce. 
 
 Madame Mary took her time, since a more delib- 
 erate journey bride never made to waiting bride- 
 groom. She was a study during this whole period 
 — weeping and angry by turns. She, who had never 
 known a moment's illness 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 but putty in her hands, 
 so manifestly weak was he, mentally and physic- 
 ally. As he came up she whipped her horse and 
 rode by him at a gallop, sending me back with word
 
 2>cU'n into France 323 
 
 that he must not be so ardent ; that he frightened 
 her, poor, timid little thing, so afraid of — nothing 
 in the world. This shocked the French courtiers, 
 and one would think would have offended Louis, but 
 he simply grinned from ear to ear, showing his 
 yellow fangs, and said w-himperingly : "Oh, the 
 game is worth the trouble. Tell her majesty I wait 
 at Abbeville." 
 
 The old king had ridden a horse to meet his bride 
 in order that he might appear more gallant before 
 Tier, but a litter was waiting to take him back to 
 Abbeville by a shorter route, and they were married 
 again in person. 
 
 [Again a quotation from Hall is substituted] : 
 
 Mondaye the .vi daye of Noueber, ther the sayde quene 
 was receyued into the cytee of Parys after the order thar 
 foloweth. First the garde of the cytee met her with oute 
 Sayncte Denyce al in coates of goldsmythes woorke with 
 shippes gylt, and after them mett her al the prestes and 
 religious whiche were estemed to be .iiiM. The quene 
 was in a chyre coured about (but not her ouer person) 
 in white clothe of golde, the horses that drewe it couered 
 in clothe of golde, on her hed a coronal!, al of greate 
 perles, her neckc and brest full of luels. before her wente 
 a garde of Almaynes after ther fascion, and after them 
 al noblemen, as the Dolphyn, the Duke of Burbon, Cardy- 
 nalles, and a greate nomber of estates. Aboute her person 
 rode the kynge's garde the whiche wer Scottes. On the 
 morowe bega the iustes, 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 Louis, and, al-
 
 324 t&^hen K.ni^hthocd Wa^ in FloWO 
 
 though 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 a touch of the savage in her when 
 the occasion arises; one who can fight for what 
 she loves as well as against what she hates. She 
 usually loves as she fights — with all her heart. 
 
 So Mary was crowned, and was now a queen, 
 hedged about by the tinseled divinity that hedgeth 
 royalty. 
 
 It seemed that she was climbing higher and higher 
 all the time from Brandon, but in her heart every 
 day she was brought nearer to him. 
 
 There was one thing that troubled her greatly, and 
 all the time. Henry had given his word that Bran- 
 don 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 let- 
 ters from home. A doubt of her brother, in whom 
 she had little faith at best, made an ache at her 
 heart, which seemed at times likely to break it — so 
 she said. One night she dreamed that she had 
 witnessed Brandon'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 ill. At last I received a letter 
 from Brandon — which had been delayed along the 
 road — containing one for Mary. It told of his full 
 pardon and restoration to favor, greater even than 
 before ; and her joy was so sweet and quiet, and
 
 Dottm into France 3^5 
 
 fct so softly delirious, that I tell you plainly it 
 brought tears to my eyes ami I could not hold 
 ihem back. 
 
 The marriage, when once determined upon, had 
 not cast her down nearly so deep as I had expected, 
 and soon she grew to be quite cheerful and happy 
 This filled me with regret, for I thought of 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. 
 **Mar}' is all right," said she ; "do not fear. Matters 
 will turn out better 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-tied to 
 such a wilful, changeable creature as Mary." 
 
 "Sir Edwin Caskoden, you need not take the 
 trouble to speak to me at all unless you can use 
 language more respectful 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 Brandon 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 purga- 
 tory.** 
 
 "Do you think so?* 
 
 *I know it"
 
 326 Xi}hen K.nighthood Wg^ in FloWet 
 
 I remained in thought a moment or two, and con- 
 cluded that she was right. In truth, the time had 
 come to me when 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 said should happen before we return to 
 England?" 
 
 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 express my exultation, so I 
 walked over to a bronze statue of Bacchus, about my 
 size — that is, height — put my hat — which I had been 
 carrying under my arm — on his head, cut a few 
 capers in an entirely new and equally antic step, 
 and then drew back and knocked that Bacchus 
 down. Jane thought I had gone stark mad, and her 
 eyes grew big with wonder, but I walked proudly 
 back to her after my victory over Bacchus, and 
 reassured her — with a few of Mary's messages that 
 I had still left over, if the truth must be told. Then 
 we made arrangements that resulted in our mar- 
 riage next morning. 
 
 Accordingly, Queen Mary and one or two others 
 went with us down to a little church, where, as 
 fortune would have it, there was a little priest^
 
 Dctiffi into Krance 3^7 
 
 ready to join together in the holy bonds of wed- 
 lock little Jane and little me. Everything so appro- 
 priate, you see ; I suppose in the whole world we 
 couldn't have found another set of conditions so 
 harmonious. Mary laughed and cried, and laughed 
 again, and clapped her hands over and over, and 
 said it was "like a play wedding"; and, as she kissed 
 Jane, quietly slipped over her head a beautiful 
 diamond necklace that was worth full ten thou- 
 sand pounds — aside, that is, from the millions of 
 actual value, because it came from Mary. "A play 
 wedding" it was; and a play life it has been ever 
 since. 
 
 We were barelv settled at court in Paris when 
 Mary began to put her plans in motion and unsettle 
 things generally. I could not but recall Henry's 
 sympathy toward Louis, for the young queen soon 
 took it upon herself to make life a burden to the 
 Father of his People ; and, in that particular line, 
 I suppose she had no equal in all the length and 
 breadth of Christendom. 
 
 I heartily detested King Louis, largely, I think, be- 
 cause of prejudice absorbed from Mary, but he was, 
 in fact, a fairly good old man, and at times I could 
 %.it pity him. He was always soft in heart and 
 softer in head, especially where women were con- 
 cerned. Take his crazy attempt to seize the Count- 
 ess of Croy while he was yet Duke of Orleans ; and 
 his infatuation for the Italian woman, for whom 
 he built the elaborate burial vault — much it must
 
 328 ISe^hen Kjiighihood Wa^ in Floioer 
 
 have comforted her. Then his marriage to dicta- 
 torial Httle Anne of Brittany, for whom he had in- 
 duced Pope Alexander to divorce him from the poor 
 little crippled owlet, Joan. In consideration of this 
 divorce he had put Csesar Borgia, Pope Alexander's 
 son, on his feet, financially and politically. I think 
 he must have wanted the owlet back again before 
 he was done with Anne, because Anne was a terma- 
 gant — and ruled him with the heaviest rod of iron 
 she could lift. But this last passion — the flickering, 
 sputtering flame of his dotage — was the worst of 
 all, both subjectively and objectively; both as to 
 his senile fondness for the English princess and her 
 impish tormenting of him. From the first he evinced 
 the most violent delight in Mary, who repaid it by 
 holding him off and evading him in a manner so 
 cool, audacious and adroit that it stamped her queen 
 of all the arts feminine and demoniac. Pardon me, 
 ladies, if I couple these two arts, but you must admit 
 they are at times somewhat akin. Soon she eluded 
 him so completely that for days he would not have 
 a glimpse of her, while she was perhaps riding, 
 walking or coquetting with some of the court gal- 
 , lants, who aided and abetted her in every way they 
 could. He became almost frantic in pursuit of 
 his elusive bride, and would expostulate with her, 
 \vhen he could catch her, and smile uneasily, like a 
 man who is the victim of a practical joke of which 
 he does not see, or enjoy, the point. On such occa- 
 sions she would laugh in his face, then grow
 
 T)otifn into France 329 
 
 angry — which was so easy for her to do — and, I 
 grieve to say, would sometimes almost swear at 
 him in a manner to make the pious, though oft- 
 times lax-virtued, court ladies shudder with hor- 
 ror. She would at other times make sport of his 
 youthful ardor, and tell him in all seriousness that 
 it was indecorous for him to behave so and frighten 
 her, a poor, timid little child, with his impetuosities. 
 Then she would manage to give him the slip ; and 
 he would go off and play a game of cards with him- 
 self, firmly convinced in his own feeble way that 
 woman's nature had a tincture of the devil in it. He 
 was the soul of conciliatory kindness to the young 
 vixen, but at times she would break violently into 
 tears, accuse him of cruelly mistreating her, a help- 
 less woman and a stranger in his court, and threaten 
 to go home to dear old England and tell her brother, 
 King Henry, all about it, and have him put things to 
 right and redress her wrongs generally. In fact, she 
 acted the part of injured innocence so perfectly that 
 the poor old man would apologize for the wrongs she 
 invented, and try to coax her into a good humor. 
 Thereupon she would weep more bitterly than ever, 
 grow hysterical, and require to be carried off by 
 her women, when recovery and composure were 
 usually instantaneous. Of course the court gossips 
 soon carried stories of the quick recoveries to the 
 king, and, when he spoke to Mary of them, she put 
 on her injured air again and turned the tablet 
 by upbraiding him for believing such calumnica
 
 330 XOhen Kjnighihood Was in Ftobtfer 
 
 about her, who was so good to him and loved him so 
 dearly. 
 
 I tell you it is a waste of time to fight against 
 that assumption of injured innocence — that impreg- 
 nable feminine redoubt — and when the enemy once 
 gets fairly behind it one might as well raise the 
 siege. I think it the most amusing, exasperating 
 and successful defense and counter attack in the 
 whole science of war, and every woman has it ai 
 her finger-tips, ready for immediate use upon occa- 
 sion. 
 
 Mary would often pout for days together and pre- 
 tend illness. Upon one occasion she kept the king 
 waiting at her door all the morning, while she, hav- 
 ing slipped through the window, was riding with 
 sotne of the young people in the forest. When she 
 returned — through the window — she went to the 
 door and scolded the poor old king for keeping her 
 waiting penned up in her room all the morning. 
 And he apologized. 
 
 She changed the dinner hour to noon in accord- 
 ance with the English custom, and had a heavy sup- 
 per at night, when she would make the king gorge 
 himself with unhealthful food and coax him "to 
 drink as much as brother Henry," which invariably 
 resulted in Louis de Valois finding lodgment under 
 the table. This amused the whole court, except a 
 few old cronies and physicians, who, of course, were 
 scandalized beyond measure. She took the king 
 on long rides with her on cold days, and would
 
 Dcttffi into France 33^ 
 
 jolt him almost to death, and freeze him until the 
 cold tears streamed down his poor pinched nose, 
 making him feel like a half animated icicle, and wish 
 that he were one in fact. 
 
 At night she would have her balls, and keep him 
 up till morning drinking and dancing, or trying to 
 dance, with her, until his poor old heels, and his 
 head, too, for that matter, were like to fall off ; then 
 she would slip away from him and lock herself in 
 her room. December, say I, let May alone; she 
 certainly will kill you. Despite winch sound advice, 
 I doubt not December will go on coveting May up 
 to the end of the chapter; each old fellow — being 
 such a fine man for his age, you understand — 
 fondly believing himself an exception. Age in a 
 fool is damnable. 
 
 Mary was killing Louis as certainly and deliber- 
 ately as if she were feeding him slow poison. He 
 was very weak and decrepit at best, being compelled 
 frequently, upon public occasions, such, for example, 
 as the coronation tournament of which I have 
 spoken, to lie upon a couch. 
 
 Mary's conduct was really cruel! but then, re- 
 member her provocation and that she was acting 
 in self-defense. All this was easier for her than 
 you might suppose, for the king's grasp of power, 
 never very strong, was beginning to relax even 
 what little grip it had. All faces were turned to- 
 ward the rising sun, young Francis, duke of Angou- 
 leme, the king's distant cousin, who would soon be
 
 332 tOhen Knighthood Wa^ in Flotver 
 
 king in Louis's place. As this young rising sun, 
 himself vastly smitten with Mary, openly encour- 
 aged her in what she did, the courtiers of course fol- 
 lowed suit, and the old king found himself sur- 
 rounded by a court only too ready to be amused by 
 his lively young queen at his expense. 
 
 This condition of affairs Mary welcomed with her 
 whole soul, and to accent it and nail assurance,! fear, 
 played ever so lightly and coyly upon the heart- 
 strings of the young duke, which responded all too 
 loudly to her velvet touch, and almost frightened her 
 to death with their volume of sound later on. This 
 Francis d'Angouleme, the dauphin, had fallen des- 
 perately in love with Mary at first sight, something 
 against which the fact that he was married to 
 Claude, daughter of Louis, in no way militated. He 
 was a very dist&nt relative of Louis, going away 
 back to St. Louis for his heirship to the French 
 crown. The king had daughters in plenty, \)ut as 
 you know, the gallant Frenchmen say, according to 
 their Law Salic : "The realm of France is so great 
 and glorious a heritage that it may not be taken 
 by a woman." Too great and glorious to be taken 
 by a woman, forsooth! France would have been 
 vastly better off had she been governed by a woman 
 now and then, for a country always prospers under 
 a queen. 
 
 Francis had for many years lived at court as the 
 recognized heir, and as the custom was, called his 
 distant cousin Louis, "Uncle." "Uncle" Louis la
 
 2>ofce;n info Krance 333 
 
 turn called Francis "Cc Gros Carbon," and Queen 
 Mary called him "Monsieur, mon bean His," in a 
 mock-motherly manner that 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 and true as she was wilful and impetuous. 
 **Mon beau fils" allowed neither his wife nor the 
 respect he owed the king to stand in the way of his 
 very marked attention to the queen. His position as 
 heir, and his long residence at court, almost as son 
 to Louis, gave him ample opportunities for pressing 
 his unseemly suit. He was the first to see Mary at 
 the meeting place this side of Abbeville, and was the 
 king's representative on all occasions. 
 
 "Beau fils" was rather a handsome fellow, but 
 thought himself vastly handsomer than he was ; and 
 had some talents, which he was likewise careful to 
 estimate at their full value, to say the least. He was 
 very well liked by women, and in turn considered 
 himself irresistible. He was very impressionable to 
 feminine charms, was at heart a libertine, and, as 
 he grew older, became a debauchee whose memory 
 will taint France for centuries to come. 
 
 Mary saw his weakness more clearly than his 
 wickedness, being blinded to the latter by the veil 
 of her own innocence. She laughed at, and with 
 him, and permitted herself a great deal of his com- 
 pany ; so much, in fact, that I grew a little jealous 
 for Brandon's sake, and, if the truth must be told.
 
 334 te^hen Kjiighthood Wcw in Flotaer 
 
 for the first time began to have doubts of her. I 
 seriously feared that when Louis should die, Bran- 
 don might find a much more dangerous rival in the 
 new king, who, although married, would probably 
 try to keep Mary at his court, even should he be 
 driven to the extreme of divorcing Claude, as 
 Claude's father had divorced Joan. 
 
 I believed, in case Mary should voluntarily prove 
 false and remain in France, either as the wife or the 
 mistress of Francis, that Brandon would quietly but 
 surely contrive some means to take her life, and I 
 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 silent any 
 longer, determined to put Mary on her guard, and 
 for that purpose spoke very freely to her on the 
 subject. 
 
 "Oh! you goose!" she said, laughingly. "He is 
 almost as great a fool as Henry." Then the tears 
 came to her eyes, and half angrily, half hysterically, 
 shaking me by the arm, she continued : "Do you 
 not know ? Can 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 mo- 
 ment? Do you not know that a woman 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 that?" 
 
 "Yes, I have," I responded, for the time com-
 
 Oobun into France 335 
 
 pletely 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 see you with 
 him." 
 
 "I suppose he is not very good," she responded, 
 "but it seems to be the way of these people among 
 «s-hom I have fallen, and he cannot harm me." 
 
 ''Oh ! but he can. One does not go near small- 
 pox, and there is a moral contagion quite as dan- 
 gerous, if not so perceptible, and equally to be 
 avoided. It must be a w'ondcrfully healthy moral 
 nature, pure and chaste to the core, that will be 
 entirely contagion-proof and safe from it." 
 
 She hung her head in thought, and then lifted 
 her eyes appealingly to me. "Am I not that, Edwin? 
 Tell me ! Tell me frankly ; am I not ? It is the one 
 thing of good I have always striven for. I am so 
 full of other faults that if I have not that there is 
 no good in me." Her eyes and voice were full of 
 tears, and I knew in my heart that I stood before 
 as pure a soul as ever came from the hand of God. 
 
 "You are, your majesty ; never doubt," I 
 answered. "It is pre-eminently the one thing in 
 womanhood to which all mankind kneels." And I 
 fell upon my knee and kissed her hand with a sense 
 of reverence, faith and trust 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 
 sec that I was right.
 
 33^ "When Ksitgkthood Waj- th Ffotver 
 
 Not long after this Lady Caskoden and I were 
 given permission to return to England, and imme- 
 diately 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 thank- 
 ful for riches as when they enabled me to allow Jane 
 full sway among the Paris shops. But at last, all 
 the fine things being packed, and Mary having 
 kissed us both — mind you, both — we got our little 
 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 out of her thoughts. I looked at 
 the letter a moment and said, in all seriousness: 
 "Your majesty, had I not better provide an extra 
 box for it?" 
 
 She gave a nervous little laugh, and the tears 
 filled her eyes, as she whispered huskily: "I fancy 
 there is one who will not think it too large. Good- 
 bye ! good-bye !" So we left Mary, I'^ir, sweet girl- 
 queen, all alone among those terrible strangers ; 
 alone with one little English maiden, seven years of 
 age — Anne Boleyn.
 
 CHATTE'R XXI 
 
 Letters J^rofn a Queen 
 
 UPON our return to England I left Jane down 
 in Suffolk with her uncle, Lord Bolingbroke, 
 having determined never to permit her to come 
 within sight of King Henry again, if I could pre- 
 vent it. I then went up to London with the twofold 
 purpose of seeing 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 everyone must ask his permission 
 to do anything ; to eat, or sleep, or say one's prayers ; 
 especially to marry, if the lady was of a degree en- 
 titled to be a king's ward. Jane, fortunately, had no 
 estate, the king's father having stolen it from her 
 when she was an infant; so 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 thou- 
 sand kindnesses you have shown me," I said, "and, 
 although it grieves me to the heart to separate from 
 you, circumstances compel me to tender my resig- 
 nation as your Master of Dance." Upon this he was 
 kind enough to express regret, and ask me to re- 
 consider; but I stood my ground firmly, and then 
 
 22 {3i7)
 
 Z3^ tS2//»cn Kxiighlhood Wa>s in Floret 
 
 and there ended my official relations with Henry^ 
 Tudor forever. 
 
 Upon taking my leave of the king I sought Bran- 
 don, whom I found comfortably ensconced in ouf 
 old quarters, he preferring them to much more pre- 
 tentious apartments 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 matters of business, he in- 
 vited me to share his comfort with him, and I gladly 
 did so. 
 
 Those few days with Brandon were my farewell 
 to individuality. Thereafter I was to be so myste- 
 riously intermingled with Jane that I was only a part 
 — and a small part at that I fear — of two. I did not, 
 of course, regret the change, since it was the one 
 thing in life I most longed for, yet the period was 
 tinged with a faint sentiment of pathos at parting 
 from the old life that had been so kind to me, and 
 which I was leaving forever. I say I did net regret 
 it, and though I was leaving my old haunts and com- 
 panions and friends so dear to me, I w^as finding 
 them all again in Jane, who was friend as well as 
 wife. 
 
 Mary's letter was in one of my boxes which had 
 been delayed, and Jane was to forward it to me when 
 it should come. When I told Brandon of it, I dwelt 
 ■with emphasis upon its bulk, and he, of course, was 
 delighted, and impatient to have it. I had put the 
 letter in the box, but there was something else which
 
 Letters J^rom a Queen 339 
 
 Mary had sent to him that I had carried with me. 
 It was a sum of money sufficient to pay the debt 
 against his father's estate, and in addition, to 
 buy some large tracts of land adjoining. Brandon 
 did not hesitate to accept the money, and seemed 
 glad that it had come from Mary, she, doubt- 
 less, being the only person from whom he would 
 have taken it. 
 
 One of Brandon's sisters had married a rich mer- 
 chant 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 afterwards 
 lived there many years, and as Jane and I had pur- 
 chased a little estate near by, which had been gen- 
 erously added to by Jane's uncle, we saw a great 
 deal of him. ^"t I am getting ahead of my story 
 again. 
 
 The d'Angouleme complication troubled ine 
 greatly, notwithstanding my faith in Mary, and al- 
 though 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 young fol- 
 low is of different stuff, I know, from the old king, 
 but I have all faith in her purity and ability 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
 
 340 te/hen Kxttghlhood Wa^ in Floteter 
 
 expect. Am I?" And I was compelled to admit 
 that he certainly was not. 
 
 So it seems they had met, as 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 
 hook or by crook. Then came the bulky letter, 
 which Brandon pounced upon and eagerly devoured. 
 I leave out most of the sentimental passages, which, 
 like effervescent wine, lose flavor quickly. She said 
 — in part : 
 
 "To Master Brandon: 
 
 "Sir and Dear Friend, Greeting — After leLving 
 thee, long time had I that mighty grief and dole 
 within my heart that it was like to break; for my 
 separation from thee was so much harder to bear 
 even than I had taken thought of, and I also doubted 
 me that I could live in Paris, 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 1 
 did prolong upon many pretexts, nearly two months, 
 but when I did at last rest mine eyes for the first 
 time upon this King Louis's face, I well knew that 
 I could rule him, and when I did arrive, and had 
 adjusted myself 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
 
 Letters ^rom a Queen 341 
 
 a sharp, capricious tyrant. Thereby tlie misfortune 
 which hath come upon us is of so much less evil, and 
 is so like to be of such short duration, that I am al- 
 most happy — but for lack of thee — and sometimes 
 think that after all it may verily be a blessing un- 
 seen. 
 
 "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 to wait, like a patient 
 Griselda, which of a truth I 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 tedious time hath spent 
 itself, we shall look back upon it as a very soul- 
 school, and shall rather joy that we did not pur- 
 chase our heaven too cheaply. 
 
 "I said I find it easy to live here as I wish, and 
 did begin to tell thee how it was, when I ran off 
 into telling of how I long for thee ; so I will try 
 again. This Louis, to begin with, is 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, per- 
 chance, he be but fairly well a day or so, I do 
 straightway make him ill again in one way or an- 
 other, and, please God, hope to wear him out entirely 
 ere long time. Of a deed, brother Henry was right ;
 
 342 XVhen Kjiighthood Wa^ in Flobefer 
 
 better had it been for Louis to have married a 
 human devil than me, for it maketh a very one out 
 of me if mine eyes but rest upon him, and thou 
 knowest full well what kind of a devil I make — 
 brother Henry knoweth, at any rate. For all this 
 do I grieve, but have no remedy, nor want one. I 
 sometimes do almost compassionate 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 I hold him at a dis- 
 tance the more he fondly dotes, I 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 conscience, as it is. At all of this do 
 the courtiers smile, and laugh, and put me forward 
 to other pranks ; that is, 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 abetting me. So it 
 is easy for me to do what I 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 testify. I have a ball every night, wherein I do 
 make a deal of amusement 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 im- 
 portune me for those dances, especially the daupkin, 
 but I laugh and shake my head and say that I will
 
 Letters J^rom a Queen 343 
 
 dance with no one but the king, because he dances 
 so well. This pleases his majesty mightily, and 
 maketh an opening for me 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 didst teach me this new dance. Ah ! 
 how delightful it was! and yet how at first it did 
 frighten and anger 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 wrong-doing 
 and scolded thee, and repented it, as usual. Truly 
 didst thou conquer, not win me. Then afterwards, 
 withal it so frightened me, how I longed to dance 
 again, and could in no way stay myself from asking. 
 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 
 afternoon! Ah! I think of it every hour, and see 
 and hear it all, and live it o'er and o'er, as it sweeter 
 grows with memory's ripening touch. Some mo- 
 ments there are, that send their glad ripple down 
 through life's stream to the verge of the grave, and 
 truly blest is one who can smile upon and kiss these
 
 344 "CO hen Kjntghthood Waj- in Floret 
 
 memory waves, and draw from thence a bliss that 
 never fails. But thou knowest full well my heart, 
 and I need not tease thee with its outpourings. 
 
 "There is yet another matter of which I wish to 
 write in very earnestness. Sir Edwin spoke to me 
 thereof, and what he said hath given me serious 
 thought. I thank him for his words, of which he 
 will tell thee in full if thou but importune him 
 thereto. It is this : the Dauphin, Francis d'A/igou- 
 leme, hath fallen desperately fond of me, and is 
 quite as importunate, 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 
 having already a wife, and more, that wife the Prin- 
 cess Claude, daughter to the king. I laugh at him 
 and let him say what he will, for in truth I am pow- 
 erless to prevent it. 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 
 impossible for me to do and live here. So, however 
 much I may loathe them, yet I am driven to tolerate 
 his words, which I turn off with a laugh, making 
 sure, thou mayest know, that it come to nothing 
 more than words. And thus it is, however much I 
 wish it not, that I do use him to help me treat the 
 king as I like, and do then use the poor old king 
 as my buckler against this duke's too great famil-
 
 Letters J^r cm a Queen 345 
 
 iarity. But my friend, when the king comes to die 
 then shall I have my fears of this young Francis 
 d'AngouIeme. 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 dies thou must come without delay, 
 since I shall be in deadly peril. I have a messenger 
 %vaiting at all hours ready to send to thee upon a 
 moment's notice, and when he comes waste not a 
 precious 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 my heart is full of thee 
 to overflowing. I thank thee that thou hast never 
 doubted me, and will see that thou hast hereafter 
 only good cause for better faith. 
 
 "MARY, Regina." 
 
 "Regina !" That was all. Only a queen ! Surely 
 no one could charge Brandon with possessing too 
 modest tastes. 
 
 It was, I think, during the second week in De- 
 cember that I gave this letter to Brandon, and about 
 a fortnight later there came to him a messenger 
 from Paris, bringing another from Mary, as fol- 
 lows : 
 
 "Master Charles Brandon: 
 
 "Sir and Dear Friend, Greeting — I have but time 
 to write that the king is so ill he cannot but die ere 
 morning. Thou knowest that which I last wrote
 
 346 tOhen Kjiighthood Wa>s in Flotuet 
 
 to thee, and in addition thereto I would say that al- 
 though I have, as thou likewise knowest, my 
 brother's permission to marry whom I wish, yet as 
 I have his one consent it is safer that we act upon 
 that rather than be so scrupulous as to ask for an- 
 other. So it were better that thou take me to wife 
 upon the old one, rather than risk the necessity of 
 having to do it without any. I say no more, but 
 come with all the speed thou knowest. 
 
 "MARY." 
 
 It is needless to say that Brandon started in haste 
 for Paris. He left court for the ostensible purpose 
 of paying me a visit and came to Ipswich, whence 
 we sailed. 
 
 The French king was dead before Mary's message 
 reached London, and when we arrived at Paris, 
 Francis I reigned on the throne of 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 removed, the young king opened his at- 
 tack upon Mary in dreadful earnest. He begged 
 and pleaded and swore 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 —
 
 L.etter>s J^rom a Queen 347 
 
 and are you such a fool as to refuse a g^ft like that, 
 and a man Hke me for a husband?" 
 
 "That I am, your majesty, and with a good grace. 
 I am Queen of France without 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 another's, and I have my brother's permis- 
 sion to marry him." 
 
 "Another's ? God's soul ! Tell me who this fel- 
 low is that I may spit him on my sword." 
 
 "No! no! you would not; even were you as 
 valiant and grand as you think yourself, you would 
 be but a child in his hands." 
 
 Francis was furious, and had Mary's apartments 
 guarded to prevent her escape, swearing he would 
 have his way. 
 
 As soon as Brandon and I arrived in Paris we 
 took private lodgings, and well it was that we did. I 
 at once went out to reconnoiter, and found the wid- 
 owed queen a prisoner in the old palace des Tour- 
 nelles. With the help of Queen Claude I secretly 
 obtained an interview, and learned the true state of 
 affairs. 
 
 Had Brandon been recognized and his mission 
 known in Paris, he would certainly have been assas- 
 sinated by order of Francis.
 
 348 ^eOhen Kjnt^hihood Was in Flotver 
 
 When I saw the whole situation, with Mary noth- 
 ing less than a prisoner in the palace, I was ready 
 to give up without a struggle, but not so Mary. Het 
 brain was worth having, so fertile was it in expe- 
 dients, and while I was ready to despair, she was 
 only getting herself in good fighting order. 
 
 After Mary's refusal of Francis, 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 cousin, the Count of Savoy. To 
 that end he sent a hurried embassy to Henry VIII, 
 offering, in case of the Savoy marriage, to pay back 
 Mary's dower of four hundred thousand crowns. 
 He offered to help Henry in the matter of the im- 
 perial crown in case of Maximilian's death — a help 
 much greater than any King Louis 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 one eighteen-year-old 
 girl. Do you wonder she had an exalted estimate 
 *of her own value? 
 
 As to Henry, it, of course, need not be said, that 
 half the price offered would have bought him to 
 break an oath made upon the true cross itself. The 
 promise he had made to Mary, broken in intent be- 
 fore it was given, stood not for an instant in the way 
 of the French king's wishes; and Henry, with a 
 promptitude begotten of greed, was as hasty in send*
 
 Lexers Jrom a Queen 349 
 
 ing an embassy to accept tlie offer as Francis had 
 been to make it. It mattered not to him what new 
 torture he put upon his sister; tlie price, I believe, 
 was sufficient to have induced him to cut off her 
 head with his own hands. 
 
 If Francis and Henry were quick in their move- 
 ments, Mary was quicker. Her plan was made in 
 the twinklmg 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. She did not know of the scheme for the 
 Savoy marriage, though Queen Claude did, and 
 fully explained 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 
 too willing to lend a helping hand to our purpose, 
 or Mar\''s, rather, for she was the leader. 
 
 We quickly agreed among ourselves that Mary 
 and Queen Claude should within an hour go out in 
 Claude's new coach for the ostensible purpose of 
 hearing mass. Brandon and I were to go to the 
 same little chapel in which Jane and I had been mar- 
 ried, where Mary said the little priest could admin- 
 ister the sacrament of marriage and perform the 
 ceremony as well as if he were thrice as large. 
 
 I hurriedly found Brandon and repaired to the 
 little chapel, where we waited 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
 
 ZSO ^e^hen Kxiishihood Wa^ in Floiefct 
 
 I began to examine the shrines and decipher the 
 Latin inscriptions. 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 before married the French 
 king. 
 
 She and Queen Claude had forgotten nothing, and 
 all arrangements were completed for the flight. A 
 messenger had been dispatched two hours before 
 with an order from Queen Claude that a ship should 
 be waiting at Dieppe, ready to sail immediately upon 
 our arrival. 
 
 After the ceremony Claude quickly bound up 
 Mary's hair, and the queens departed from the 
 chapel in their coach. We soon followed, meeting 
 them again at St. Denis gate, where we found the 
 best of horses and four sturdy men awaiting us. 
 The messenger to Dieppe who had preceded us 
 would arrange for relays, and as Mary, according 
 to her wont when she had another to rely upon, had 
 taken the opportunity to become thoroughly fright- 
 ened, no time was lost. We made these forty leagues
 
 Letters J^rom a Queen 351 
 
 in less than twenty-four hours from the time of 
 starting; having paused only for a short rest at a 
 little town near Rouen, which city we carefully 
 passed around. 
 
 We had little fear of being overtaken at the rate 
 we were riding, but Mary said she supposed the 
 wind would die down for a month immediately 
 upon our arrival at Dieppe. Fortunately no one 
 pursued us, thanks to Queen Claude, who had 
 spread the report that Mary was ill, and fortunately, 
 also, much to Mary's surprise and delight, when 
 we arrived at Dieppe, as fair a wind as a sailor's 
 heart could wish was blowing right up the channel. 
 It was a part of the system of relays — horses, ship, 
 and w ind. 
 
 "When the very wind blows for our special use, 
 we may surely dismiss fear," said Mary, laughing 
 and clapping her hands, but nearly ready for tears, 
 notwithstanding. 
 
 The ship was a fine new one, well fitted to breast 
 any sea, and learning this, we at once agreed that 
 upon landing in England, 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 failure 
 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 de- 
 tained ; then re-victual and re-man the ship and out
 
 352 XOhen K,ni^hthood Wa^ in Ftoisfer 
 
 through the North Sea for their former haven, New 
 Spain. 
 
 In case of Henry's consent, how they were 
 to Hve in a style fit for a princess, Brandon did 
 not know, unless Henry should open his heart 
 and 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 estates. To this 
 Mary readily agreed, and said it was what she 
 wanted above all else. 
 
 There was one thing now in favor of the king's 
 acquiescence: during the last three months Bran- 
 don had become very necessary to his amusement, 
 and amusement was his greatest need and aim in 
 
 life. 
 
 Mary and I went to London to see the king, 
 
 having landed at Southampton 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 hard a game to play as ever fell to 
 the lot of woman, but she was equal to the emer- 
 gency if any woman ever was. She did not give 
 Henry the slightest hint that she knew anything of 
 the Count of Savoy episode, but calmly assumed 
 that of course her brother had meant literally what 
 he said when he made the promise as to the second 
 marriage. 
 
 The king soon asked : "But what are you doing
 
 JLetter^ yrom a Queen 353 
 
 here? They have hardly buried Louis as yet, have 
 they?" 
 
 *"I am sure I do not know," answered Mary, "and 
 I certainly care less. I married him only during 
 his life, and not for one moment afterwards, so I 
 came away and left them to bury him or keep him, 
 as they choose ; I care not which." 
 
 "But — " began Henry, when }^Iary interruptetl 
 him, saying: "I will tell you — " 
 
 I had taken good care that Wolsey should be 
 present at this interview ; so we four, the king, 
 Wolsey, Mary and myself, quietly stepped into a 
 little alcove away from the others, and prepared to 
 listen to Mary's tale, which was told with all her 
 dramatic eloquence and feminine persuasiveness. 
 She told of the ignoble insults of Francis, of his vile 
 proposals — insisted upon, almost to the point of 
 force — carefully concealing, however, the offer to 
 divorce Claude and make her queen, which propo- 
 sition might have had its attractions for Henry. 
 She told of her imprisonment in the palace des 
 Tournelles, and of her deadly peril and many indig- 
 nities, and the tale lost nothing in the telling. Then 
 she finished by throwing her arms around Henry's 
 neck in a passionate flood of tears and begging him 
 to protect her — to save her ! save her ! save her ! his 
 httle sister. 
 
 It was all such perfect acting that for the time I 
 forgxDt it was acting, and a great lump swelled up in 
 my throat. It was, however, only for the instant, 
 
 23
 
 1354 "When Kjnighthood Wa^ in Floteter 
 
 and when Mary, whose face was hidden from all the 
 others, on Henry's breast, smiled slyly at me from 
 the midst of her tears and sobs, I burst into a laugh 
 that was like to have spoiled everything. Henry 
 turned quickly upon me, and I tried to cover it by 
 pretending that I was sobbing. Wolsey helped me 
 out by putting a corner of his gown to his eyes, 
 when Henry, seeing us all so affected, began to 
 catch the fever and swell with indignation. He put 
 Mary away from him, and striding up and down 
 the room exclaimed, in a voice that all could hear, 
 "The dog ! the dog ! to treat my sister so. My sis- 
 ter! 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 
 chastise this scurvy cur until he howls again. I 
 swear it by my crown, if it cost me my kingdom," 
 and so on until words failed him. But see how he 
 kept his oath, and see how he and Francis hob- 
 nobbed not long afterward at the Field of the 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 Francis, she had 
 been compelled to marry Brandon and flee with us. 
 
 She said : "I so wanted to come home to England 
 and be married where my dear brother could give 
 me away, but I was in such mortal dread of Francjj, 
 and there was no other means of escape, so — "
 
 Letters J^rom a Queen 355 
 
 "God's death ! If I had but one other sister like 
 you, I swear before heaven I'd have myself hanged. 
 Married to Brandon ? Fool ! idiot ! what do you 
 mean? Married to Brandon! Jesu ! You'll drive 
 me m.ad ! Just one other like you in England, and 
 the whole damned kingdom might sink ; I'd have 
 none of it. Married to Brandon without my con- 
 sent !" 
 
 "No ! no ! brother," answered Mary softly, lean- 
 ing affectionately against his bulky form ; "do you 
 suppose I 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 done it 
 otherwise." 
 
 "Yes, I know ! You would not do anything — you 
 did not want ; and it seems equally certain that in 
 the end you always manage to do everything you do 
 want. Hell and furies !" 
 
 "Why ! brother, I will leave it to my Lord Bishop 
 of York if you did not promise me that day, in this 
 very room, and almost on this very spot, that if I 
 would marry Louis of France I might marry whom- 
 soever I wished when he should die. Of cour.se 
 you knew, after what I had said, whom I should 
 choose, so I went to a little church in com- 
 pany with Queen Claude, and took my hair down 
 and married him, and I am his wife, and no 
 power on earth can make it otherwise," and 
 she looked up into his face with a defiant little
 
 356 te/hen Kjnighlhood Was tn T^totater 
 
 pout, as much as to say, "Now, what are you going 
 to do about it ?" 
 
 Henry looked at her in surprise and then burst 
 out laughing. "Married to Brandon with your hair 
 down?" And he roared again, holding his sides. 
 "Well, you do beat the devil ; there's no denying 
 that. Poor old Louis ! That was a good joke on 
 him. I'll stake my crown he was glad to die ! You 
 kept it warm enough for him, I make no doubt." 
 
 "Well," said Mary, with a little 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 Mary, and her 
 eyes burned softly, and her whole person fairly 
 radiated, so expressive 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 ; as 
 Brandon from Louis ; and that tells it all. 
 
 Henry turned to Wolscy : "Have you ever heard 
 anything equal to it, my Lord Bishop?" 
 
 My Lord Bishop, of course, never had ; nothing 
 that even approached it. 
 
 "What are we to do about it?" continued Henry, 
 still addressing Wolsey. 
 
 The bishop assumed a thoughtful expression, as 
 if to. appear deliberate in so great a matter, and 
 said : "I see but one thing that can be done," and
 
 L09tt9r^ J^om a Queen 357 
 
 then he threw in a few soft, oily words upon the 
 troubled waters that made Mary wish she had never 
 called him "thou butcher's cur," and Henry, after a 
 pause, asked : "Where is Brandon ? He is a good 
 fellow, after all, and what we can't help we must 
 endure. He'll find punishment enough in you. Tell 
 him to come home — I suppose you have him hid 
 around some place — and we'll try to do something 
 for him." 
 
 "What will you do for him, brother?" said Mary, 
 not wanting to give 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. I sup- 
 pose I might as well give it up easily, you will have 
 it sooner or later. Out with it and be done." 
 
 ''Could you make him Duke of Suffolk ?" 
 
 "Eh? I suppose so. What say you, my Lord of 
 York?" 
 
 York was willing — thought it would be just the 
 thing. 
 
 "So be it then," said Henry. "Now I am going 
 out to hunt and will not listen to another word. You 
 will coax me out of my kingdom for that fellow yet." 
 He was about to leave the room when he turned 
 to Mary, saying: "By the way, sister, can you 
 have Brandon here by Sunday next? I am to 
 have a joust."
 
 358 XOhen Knighthood Wa^ in Flotsfer 
 
 Mary thought she could, . . . and the great 
 event was accomplished. 
 
 One false word, one false syllable, 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, Mary, though a queen, came portion- 
 less to Brandon. He got the title, but never re- 
 ceived the estates of Suffolk ; all he received with 
 her was the money I carried to him from France. 
 Nevertheless, Brandon thought himself the richest 
 man in all the earth, and surely he was one of the 
 happiest. Such a woman as Mary is dangerous, 
 except in a state of complete subjection — but she 
 was bound hand and foot in the silken meshes of her 
 own weaving, and her power for bliss-making was 
 almost infinite. 
 
 And now it was, as all who read may know, that 
 this fair, sweet, wilful Mary dropped out of history ; 
 a sure token that her heart was her husband's 
 throne ; her soul his empire ; her every wish hia 
 subject, and her will, so masterful with others, th^ 
 meek and lowly servant of her strong but gentlft 
 lord and master, Charles Brandon, Duke of Siiffolk.
 
 ^ote by the Editor 
 
 Sir Edwin Caskoden's history differs in some minor 
 details from other authorities of the time. Hall's chronicle 
 says Sir William Brandon, father of Charles, had the 
 honor of being killed by ihe hand of Richard III himself, 
 at Bosworth Field, and the points wherein his account of 
 Charles Brandon's life differs from that of Sir Edwin may 
 be gathered from the index to the 1548 edition of th»4 
 work, which is as follows: 
 
 Charles Brandon, Esquire, 
 
 Is made knight, 
 
 Created Viscount Lysle, 
 
 Made duke of Suffolke, 
 
 Goeth to Paris to the lustes, 
 
 Doeth valiantly there, 
 
 Returneth into England, 
 
 He is sent into Fraunce to fetch home the French 
 quene into England, 
 
 He maryeth her, 
 and so on until 
 
 "He dyeth and is buryed at Wyndcsore." 
 
 No mention is made in any of the chronicles eft the office 
 of Master of Dance. In all other essential respects Sir 
 Edwin is corroborated by his contcaiporarics. 
 
 (339)
 
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