Chapter V

IT was not until the beginning of June that the Queen sent for her sister.

In the meantime many of the conspirators had been disposed of. Uvedale, who had promised to betray the Isle of Wight with Hurst Castle, and John Throgmorton suffered at the end of April, and William Stanton a little later. Sir Anthony Kingston had killed himself on his way up from Wales under arrest; M. de Noailles, the French ambassador, had taken his leave of the Queen a week before, after a very narrow escape from being proceeded against by the Council for his supposed share in the conspiracy against her. A large number of other prisoners were in safe keeping in the Tower. Most of these under torture had given up details and names; communications were passing almost continually between the Tower and Greenwich as new facts came out, and letters came fast enough now from Philip at Brussels, who feared for his power in England.

The arrival of the Lady Elizabeth was carried out with such secrecy that few, even in the palace itself, suspected who it was that came down the park in a closed litter and was whisked through the private door at the back. Orders had been given that most of the household should be gone on that day to prepare for Corpus Christi at Whitehall, and not more than half-a-dozen persons were

The Queen's Tragedy aware of the Princess' coming. The Queen had taken these steps lest additional cause should be given for the suspicions that were already active enough as to her sister's complicity in the plot.

Mary was waiting ill-at-ease upstairs in a little room opening out of her bed-chamber. She had had news two days before that made it very difficult for her to believe in her sister's innocence; Master Jerningham had himself come across from the Tower to tell her that there was no reasonable doubt but that the Princess' household was truly implicated, and that Mrs. Katharine Ashley, her governess, had certainly been privy to the whole affair, as well as Sir Henry Peckham, one of her officers. The only question before the Queen was as to whether her sister herself had been cognisant of it, or had been merely the unwilling figure-head of the matter.

The memory of the Princess' past history did not encourage Mary in her desire to believe the best. And besides, in this present affair there had been a remarkable letter or two shown to the Queen, addressed to M. de Noailles from one of the conspirators in France which left very little doubt of Elizabeth's guilt.

" Et surtout," she had read, " eviter que madame Elizabeth ne se remue en sorte du monde pour entreprendre ce que m'escrivez; car ce serait tout gaster, et perdre le fruict qu'ilz peulvent attendre de leurs desseings, qu'il est besoign tr aider et mener a la tongue."

" Le fruict " What was that?

Mary sat now with her back to the window, her arm on a little table between her and the fire, and her feet raised on a great carved stool. A chair had been set for the Princess a yard opposite, where her face could be plainly seen. The Queen was wondering what to say;

Mary the Queen Decides Some More Matters she could not accuse her sister directly of conspiring her murder; she could hardly ask even indirect questions. She had determined merely to state the facts, and await Elizabeth's comments. She would not be emotional or appeal for pity; far less would she threaten; she would just be cold and dispassionate in the business, and affectionate as regards personal relations. So she resolved. But she felt miserably ill and afraid; and her face showed it. Yet she knew she must be strong.

As she heard the footsteps in the passage she took her feet off the stool and drew herself more upright in her chair, gripping the lion-heads in her two hands to steady their trembling.

Then the door opened; there was a moment's pause, and the Princess came forward. The door closed softly behind her as the Queen stood up.

The girl stood there a moment in the full light, a picture of royal grace and dignity, and Mary recognised it with a pang at her own heart. She had thrown back her hood and travelling cloak, and her pale oval face, crowned with auburn hair and a tight white head-dress, looked fearlessly out; one slender strong hand held together her cloak, and, beneath, her peaked stomacher with points of light here and there from a few jewels ran down into the straight full folds of her brocade skirts. Her attitude was superb; the fingers of her other hand were lifted a little, one buckled red shoe was advanced, and her head was thrown slightly back. The expression in her narrow bright eyes, and the curve of her red lips, was a triumph. She might have served as a mirror for outraged innocence.

Then as the Queen came towards her she swept down to the ground in a great courtesy; rose and stood with

The Queen's Tragedy downcast eyes, as her sister put her arms tremulously round her shoulders, and kissed her on both cheeks.

For a moment Mary could not speak. There was a jealousy to be dealt with — a jealousy of that youth and dignity, and of the long years that they seemed to promise. In that instant she had understood as never before why it was that the country cried out joyously for the girl and was silent and resentful under the rule of a withered disappointed woman, old before her time. She made a violent effort, and led her sister to the chair, kissing her again from behind as she seated her. Then she went to her own chair, sat down painfully and drew a long breath.

" This has not troubled you, my sister," she said, " this coming? "

Elizabeth lifted her eyes and dropped them again.

" I would come further than from Hatfield, very gladly, to see your Grace."

She spoke in a perfectly quiet and deferential tone, with just the shadow of a reproach in her voice.

" It was necessary for me to see you, sweetheart," went on the Queen, almost apologetically, " and I could not come to you, though I shall hope to do so; but I am too ill."

The girl looked up again with a courteous sympathy in her eyes; and down again at her own white hand laid on her knee. She sat perfectly still, forward and very upright, a little turned away from the Queen.

" There are a thousand troubles to vex me," went on Mary, watching the girl's face; " his Highness is not here to help me. He has his own troubles. And now there is this last matter, worse than all."

" The affair of Master Kingston and the rest? " said Elizabeth quietly; "I thank God who has preserved your Grace from their malice."

Mary the Queen Decides Some More Matters

" Yes, sweetheart; the affair of Master Kingston. You have heard that he judged himself, no doubt? "

" Master Parry told me so."

" And we have judged others; and God will judge all."

There was nothing in her sister's face but a slight distressed interest as she nodded in answer. Mary watched her for a moment longer and then went on.

" One of my greatest sorrows too is the thought that I have given you such officers."

Elizabeth turned her face and looked deliberately into the Queen's eyes.

" What is that, your Grace? "

" Such officers as Master Peckham/'said Mary steadily.

" I do not understand, sister. He is not arraigned yet, surely."

"He is not arraigned yet, but the others have told enough. We know that he is guilty."

" Under torture? "

" Why, yes," said Mary.

Elizabeth kept her bright eyes fixed on the Queen's an instant longer, and then looked pensively at her hand again, stretching her fingers a little as if to admire the rings.

" Under torture men will say anything, I think," she observed.

" They will say the truth, yes. Is there any other manner of getting it? "

" At least I do not know it," said the girl softly.

Mary saw her advantage; it was plain now from Elizabeth's slight air of embarrassment that she did not know how much the prisoners had confessed, or even whether they had implicated her. The Queen determined to keep up the mystery, and, if possible, to make her sister put the question direct.

The Queen's Tragedy

" At least they have spoken," she went on; " they are kept separate, and their tales agree." She paused a moment. " They have told us some strange things."

The Princess did not answer, she was curving and straightening her fingers as a cat her claws.

" And there is Mrs. Ashley too, sweetheart "

A little thrill went over the slender figure in the chair; it was as if she had been touched unexpectedly. Her fingers closed tightly for a moment, then uncurved and lay still. Mary watched every movement from tired, anxious eyes. She repeated the prick cautiously.

" Mrs. Ashley too "

This time it went home. Elizabeth turned briskly in her chair and faced the Queen, with her head thrown back, and her eyes proud and candid.

" Your Grace, am I to understand that I am under suspicion? "

Mary was taken completely aback. She had expected cringing or expostulation, or a burst of tears; but not this clear, fierce challenge. In her last interview with her of this kind there had been wailing at the misjudgment, indignant crying upon God, but not this air of fearless innocence. She hesitated a moment, uncrossed and crossed her feet again, licked her dry lips.

The Princess stood up, with an extraordinary dignity in her face and figure; and again came the challenge, a little louder and on a higher note with a ring of indignant hysteria in it.

" Your Grace thinks me privy to it? "

Mary made a violent effort to control herself, took her feet down from the stool and clutched her hands together in her lap. What would happen next? She had not an idea what to answer to the direct question, though she had provoked it deliberately. The next instant

Mary the Queen Decides Some More Matters her hands were caught by the girl, who had thrown herself on her knees, and a torrential stream of lamentation began.

" Oh! Christ! and your Majesty can think that! And I the hottest of your lovers and defenders! And your Majesty always so cold and unkind to me! And it is I who have been plotted against and traduced and betrayed, and would believe no evil of your Grace, or that it was your will that kept me in prison, and set me about with spies! And when my chamber was set afire they told me it was your Grace who ordered it, and I cried out that it was not. And when the warrant was sent down I told them it was not your will. And your Majesty can believe this of me in spite of all — and that I could give myself to their foul plots! And I have prayed so for your Grace and his Highness, and that God might send you a son, and I be relieved from the crown that lies so heavy — and all the while — your Grace — could think "

Then sobs began; her whole body shook with them; and Mary felt the young ardent lips kissing, kissing her withered hands, and a flood of tears raining down on them.

" Sister, sister."

" And I have been so true and so patient — and — and — have never complained — or made moan — to any — but to your Majesty and God. And — your Grace can think "

It was intolerable. Mary was worn-out with sickness and despair.

" Sister, I did not believe "

" Ah! but your Grace did believe it," cried the girl passionately, lifting her flushed tear-stained face. " Else why did your Grace press that about Mrs. Ashley? And I— all the while "

The Queen's Tragedy

Down went the face again upon the Queen's hands, and rested murmuring and sobbing there.

There followed a silence.

The Queen was horribly distressed. Her mind told her one thing, and her heart another. Her mind told her that the girl had overdone the sorrow, that it was too dramatic, too sudden and too vehement; further her mind told her that it was impossible for such plots to go on in the household at Hatfield, and the shrewd mistress of it all not know it. She remembered too that the girl had never cleared herself two years ago, except by her own fierce and tearful oaths.

On the other side her whole heart went out to this poor child who could cry so bitterly at suspicion, who could kiss her hands so ardently, not as a courtier but as a lover; who could throw herself down so vehemently, body and soul at once, who could pour out such piteous eloquence, who could reproach so lovingly. And this sour woman longed so much for love!

Even the simulation of it, if so fervent as this, was worth the having.

She waited a moment longer, driving down her own emotion. Then she drew out one of her hands from the languid weight that grew heavier as she did so, and laid it tenderly on the white nape of the neck that lay on her knees.

Even then she noticed the contrast between the firm warm flesh that she touched, with the auburn hair curling up under the linen, and her own dry, wrinkled fingers. She began to stroke and caress softly.

Then she spoke in her hoarse man's voice.

" Nay, nay, dear heart, lie still — I love to have you so." She gave a great sob of self-pity. " I do not believe a word of it. It was because I did not believe

Mary the Queen Decides Some More Matters it that I had you here secretly. I would not have others believe it of my darling. I know you would not. You love me too well; is it not so? But you have had wicked folks round you; and it has been my fault. You will forgive me that, sister? "

The girl made a movement to lift her head, but the wrinkled hand heavy with rings held her gently down.

" They have said cruel things against you. I will listen to them no more. And you sweetheart " — the heavy voice choked a moment — " you, sweetheart, will not believe them against me? We will love one another better. I cannot have you here, sister, you know that. But you shall be very happy; I will send you other officers instead. You shall be very happy, until your time comes; it will not be long now, I think. I am very old and ill, my dear, and it may be "

Again the white-wrapped head strove to rise; and again the steady hand held it down. It was wonderful to feel that warm cheek so.

" That is as our Lord directs. And meantime, dear-heart, as I said, you will believe the best of me. Trust God and believe the best of man; that was what my lord said.... Kiss me, sweetheart."

Masters Norris and Kearsley were in the secret of the Princess' coming, and stood bareheaded in the dusk a couple of hours later as the slender figure swept out of the narrow doorway to the rear of the house and across the gravel to where the litter waited.

Neither saw her face as the hood was drawn forward, but they watched her go across the space and disappear into the darkness of the curtains. Then the little cavalcade was gone without a word up the path through the park that led to where the carriage waited in the shadows half a mile away.

The Queen's Tragedy

They went back then in silence to the parlour. Jack stood by the window a moment whistling softly. Then he turned round.

" Fooled again, I suppose," he said.

Master Kearsley lifted a venomous face and bared teeth in answer.

Mary the Queen Decides Some More Matters

Lady Magdalene Dacre was riding back from Whitehall to St. James' whither the Court had removed, on the eve of Corpus Christi.

The Queen, who was too ill to hope to take part in the procession, had sent her with a Spanish lady and an escort of gentlemen to report on the preparations and to see that all was in readiness for the next day.

It had been a gorgeous sight. The great hall was furnished with an altar under the musicians' gallery; and four more altars were set up in the corners of the gravelled court outside. A way had been made here too, along which the Sacrament would pass, lined with a hundred young oaks, and strewn with sand, passing round the walls and up the centre. In the chapel, the altars were decked in cloth-of-gold, and furnished with their plate; sheaves of gilded parti zans, for the Queen's Guard to carry, rested by the door, and in the sacristy were laid ready the regals for the use of the singing-men in the procession; as well as the torches and candles which would be borne throughout its length.

Magdalene was a little silent as she rode back with Donna Luisa beside her. She had been touched by what she had seen, and by the evidence that it offered of her mistress' zeal in religion; every detail that she had looked upon was the work of Mary's wishes. Yet there were evidences of her Grace's zeal in other directions that she found hard to reconcile with this tender and laborious care to do honour to the God of mercy.

As they turned in from the open park beneath the trees towards the gateway of the palace, Lord Montague came up beside her, from the escort behind.

" Master Manton desires to have a word with her Grace

The Queen's Tragedy mistress. He asked me to ask you. I do not know what is amiss with him."

He spoke in a very low voice, and she understood that she was to do the same.

" Tell Master Manton to come to me in the long gallery," she said.

He fell behind again, then, till they reached the dismounting block, and as he helped her to alight he spoke again.

" I will send him up, mistress."

Magdalene walked up and down the gallery for two or three minutes, wondering what the message meant. She did not know if she could do what he wished; the Queen saw very few persons at this time. However, she would try, if he gave an adequate reason. She did not know very much of this gentleman; she understood that he was a scholar, that he had once been of service to the Queen at the time of her accession, that he had distinguished himself in the recent plot, and that he had a capable appearance and bore himself well in his official duties. He also had a boy for his servant who sang very exquisitely. That was really all that she knew of him. She would certainly hear what he had to say.

He appeared presently, still in his riding dress, at the lower end of the gallery, and bowed as she came towards him.

" You wish to see her Grace, sir? " she said.

" Yes, madam."

He spoke in rather a strained voice, she noticed, and kept his eyes on the ground.

" Can you give me any reason? " she asked. " Her Grace sees very few now."

" It is for an act of mercy, madam; I fear I ought not to tell you more. You remember I did her Grace

Mary the Queen Decides Some More Matters a little service a few months back. Perhaps that may be my plea."

Magdalene considered.

" An act of mercy," she said doubtfully.

" For Christ's sake, madam," hissed Guy suddenly. " I can bear no more waiting."

She glanced at him astonished and a little frightened at his vehemence. It was a very sudden change from his restrained air just now. He had come a step nearer, and was looking at her with an extraordinary fierceness in his eyes. What curious fellows these gentlemen were!

" An act of mercy! " he said again.

She turned, still hesitating.

" Come with me, Master Manton. I will see her Grace."

She left him in one of the little ante-chambers of the Queen's apartments, and went through herself into the room beyond.

The Queen was in her chair as usual with a book on her knee, and candles beside her, and looked up as the girl came in.

" Well, sweetheart, and what of Whitehall? "

"It is all ready your Grace. I will tell your Grace presently. But if I may speak first, there is a matter — "

Mary nodded.

" Is it of Master Norris? " she asked smiling.

Magdalene turned scarlet.

" No, madam. It is Master Guy Manton. He came to me just now. He desires very much to have a word with your Grace. It is an act of mercy, he says."

" Master Guy Manton? "

" Yes, your Grace. He is very much troubled. I told him I would speak for him. I do not know what it is; he would not tell me."

The Queen's Tragedy

" Is it aught to do with the plot? Did he speak of that? "

" He spoke of it, madam; but I do not know —

" I will see him," said the Queen, laying her book aside. " Do you wait next door, sweetheart."

Master Manton was standing where she had left him three minutes before, with that same look of anxious misery on his face. It deepened rather than relaxed when she gave him the message, and she heard him draw his breath as if in pain as he went across the floor.

Then she sat down and waited. She was still indignant at her Grace's clumsy banter about Master Norris. She had told the Queen already that she desired never to see his face again. Why would not the stupid woman understand, and leave her alone?

It was a very long interview, she thought. The twilight darkened to night and she lighted the candles, and still there was no sign of his return. She could just hear the sound of talking now and again through the curtained door. She supposed from what Master Manton had said that he had gone in to plead for one of the conspirators. Or perhaps he had some new information.

Mistress Dormer came in presently, and was passing through to the Queen's room when the girl stopped her.

" Master Manton is with her Grace," she said.

" Master Manton! " exclaimed Jane. " Why, what has he? "

" I do not know," said Magdalene. " He has been with her this half -hour."

As she spoke, there was a hand laid on the latch, and the door opened a little. They could hear a man's voice with a strange tone of emotion in it.

" I thank your Grace with all my heart."

The door opened wide, and Master Manton came

Mary the Queen Decides Some More Matters out. The two women saw his face plainly as he bowed to them, but he could not speak, and went swiftly through and out at the other door.

The Queen was sitting as Magdalene had left her just now, with her hands empty on her lap, and her head on her hand, smiling with a puzzled look. She said nothing as they told her it was time to go to bed, but rose silently and went out into the bed-chamber; and they knew her too well to ask any questions.

When the other women were come and gone, the Queen paused a moment before getting into bed.

" I have done a strange act of mercy to-night," she said. " I have promised a man that his friend shall be put on his trial for treason."

She got into bed, painfully and slowly, and Jane drew the coverlet to her chin.

" But it is not so strange as it seems. He could not bear the thought of the rack."

She was silent again as Magdalene blew out the candles on the table.

" I suppose men do fear pain more than death," said the rough voice behind the curtains meditatively.

A month later Stephen Brownrigg was hanged at Tyburn with Sir Henry Peckham and Master Daniel.

The Queen's Tragedy

In spite of the Queen's anxiety that the monks should go back to Westminster as soon as possible, there were difficulties in the way.

Up to King Henry's death three masses were said daily in the abbey; but in Edward's reign the Communion had been substituted, and the vestments, the candlesticks, the angels and the lecterns disposed of by auction. After the flight of Dr. Cox, who had plotted for Lady Jane Grey, Hugh Weston had been appointed Dean, and one by one the prebendaries had conformed to the old Religion, and by the time that peace was restored, the Queen announced her intention of bringing back the monks and of making restitution of the estates that had been taken from them by her father. But a position had to be found for the Dean, and the necessaries for divine worship properly provided; and it was not until Michaelmas that Dr. Feckenham came from the Deanery of St. Paul's to make preparations for the return.

He was very happy as he went about the cloister and the dormitory and his own house, with a Glastonbury monk at his side, who took down his decisions as to the disposal of the rooms and furniture. There was a couple of months' work required before the buildings would be fit for occupation. A quantity of things would have to be moved out and sold, a great deal of cleaning and whitewashing; but the abbot loved to dwell on every detail. His eyes shone with pleasure as he looked about him.

This was the way by which his brethren had been used to come down from the dorter to the cloister; here was the abbot's own private door, and his pew looking out into the nave; this little room had been the private oratory.

Mary the Queen Decides Some More Matters

" A stone altar here, my son," said the rosy little abbot, beaming with smiles, " and we will have a pair of angels on either side to give perpetual thanks to God for taking away the oyster-board. A piece of matting here; it is more cleanly than these rushes."

The two went into the church presently, and passed along towards the little obscure corner where the Confessor's body had been laid at King Henry's spoiling of the abbey. There was a figure in the Queen's livery kneeling there already, face in hands; but it rose as the two monks came up. Dr. Feckenham glanced, smiled and bowed as he recognised Master Manton.

" You are come for his intercession, sir? " he asked.

" Yes, my lord, and I ask your prayers also."

The abbot beamed and nodded; then the two monks fell on their knees.

" Sancte Edwarde," said the abbot after a minute's silence.

" Ora pro nobis," answered the Glastonbury monk with tight-shut eyes.

" We will have his saintly Majesty home again soon," went on Dr. Feckenham standing up; "he shall have the home-coming that he deserves. See to it that a good pall be provided; if her Grace does not send one."

Dr. Feckenham was almost dazed with delight two months later as for the first time again for fifteen years the monks went through the cloister, with the silver-wanded vergers leading them, in through the south door and up into the choir. How marvellous was God's goodness in bringing back the sons of St. Benedict to their own again! There were not very many of them as yet; only fifteen all told, with new-shaven crowns and fresh black cowls. One blind old monk from Glastonbury wore his old cowl, green with age and

The Queen's Tragedy creased by disuse, in which he had sung before Abbot Whiting of glorious memory, who had died on the high Tor for the Faith that they both professed. Abbot Feckenham thought that perhaps that cracked voice was not the least sweet of all in God's ears, and St. Benedict's.

The Queen was hardly less happy as she watched from her pew to which she had come, hooded and cloaked, by a private way from the old palace as dusk began to fall.

Matters had gone better with her of late. Her health was improved by her stay in the country; the rupture between Philip and the Pope which had caused her great distress in the summer had been nearly healed; and, best of all, the King's pages and stable-establishment had returned to London, and she had had a letter from him saying that he would not be long after them.

Finally, here were her dear monks home again in the Royal foundation, to pray for her and her hopes, and set an example of good living to all her subjects.

Deus in adjutorium meum intende:

D online ad adjuvandum me festina:

Gloria Patri et Filio et Spiritui Sancto:

Sicut erat in principio et nunc et semper: et in saecula saeculorum. Amen. Alleluia.

Then she sat down for the psalms, and Magdalene slipped a book into her hands from behind.

How strange it was to sit here privately, high above the shrine, and to know that she had done all this!

Overhead the huge columns aspired into darkness; to right and left the transepts ran out, and before her the immense nave ran down, broken by the rood and the three figures which stood out faintly luminous in the light from the tapers beneath. The wide choir was

Mary the Queen Decides Some More Matters empty except for the double horse-shoe ring of stalls along its edges, and the eagle-lecterns for the cantors that stood in the centre. A row of tapers burned round the western end, as well as on the lecterns, and threw radiance upon the seven or eight faces that she could see. The lights looked like little bright haloed stars in the vast darkness. There were not very many stars yet; they were only as the precursors that come out while the sky is yet bright; one day they should be as the host of heaven, strung out from end to end of the choir, overflowing into the minor stalls beneath, with a praying singing monk behind each.

The sound of praise too was not what it should be one day. The voices seemed very far away and little in the huge stone space, though she could see heads thrown back and mouths singing lustily; it was but as the crying of a child in an empty world; but that small noise too was the promise of something greater, of a pealing voice that should rise insistent to God, roar out His glory, and demand His grace upon a country that was dead and is alive again, that was lost and is found.

" What are they at? " whispered Mary leaning back.

Magdalene leaned over her shoulder and put a white finger on the page.

" Vidi supra montem" read the Queen, " I saw upon the mount thfe Lamb standing, and from beneath his foot a living stream pours forth.

She ran her eyes down the antiphons.

" From whose foot a living stream pours forth; the flow of the flood makes glad the City of God.... All the peoplesof the world have believed in Christ the Lord."

It was a glorious omen. Could she have asked better? — than this prophetic tale of triumph, of a world divided in all else but united in faith, of nations that had snarled

The Queen's Tragedy and torn, as England and Spain had done, but who crouched now side by side like thirsty tigers, drinking together from the same river of salvation; of a City into which all peoples and kings brought their honour and glory, whose builder and Maker is God.

She sat back, smiling and dreaming to the accompaniment of the tramping psalmody.

At the Magnificat she stood up again with hands on the ledge before her, looking out between the two candles that burned there. Magdalene behind could hear her hoarse voice muttering the words as the monks sang them.

" Ecce enim ex hoc — behold, from henceforth, all generations shall call me blessed. For He that is mighty hath done to me great things; and his Name is Holy.... He hath showed strength with His arm; He hath scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts

He hath filled the hungering with good things.... He hath helped Israel His servant; He hath remembered His mercy.... as He spake to our fathers."

It was that that she had cried two years ago almost to the day — " Magnificat anima mea Dominum."

When all was done she still stood waiting, a stiff motionless figure, watching the monks go out. The two wand-bearers were bowing now before my lord abbot's stall, two by two the black figures were coming out, inclining together, and wheeling together round the corner that led to the cloister.

She turned and looked to where her grandfather's chapel opened behind the shrine in a further gulf of darkness. It was there that she would sleep one day: she could not but be conscious, as she lay there, — as surely these other old Catholic kings were conscious, even

Mary the Queen Decides Some More Matters at this moment, smiling in their sleep — of the strange and familiar monkish air that once more, breathed in this place.

Ah! she would know it then, she imagined to herself. How quietly would she rest here when her life's work was done, and all the bitter striving over, when men's tongues would be silent out of honour to the dead, and the children of those who mocked her now would show her more justice than their fathers had shown, when England had learned to call this Mary blessed, too, to whom the Lord had done great things, and to whose humility He had had regard.

As the two stood presently below, it was too dark to see the ruined shrine plainly; the altar was gone, and the pillars and walls bore marks everywhere so far as they could see, from the axes and hammers that had hewn off the precious metal and jewels with which earlier kings had adorned it.

Mary knew the inventory well; she had been through it with the abbot, and she remembered some of the details now — the beryll cross, the maser-bell, the agate basin set with gold and pearls, the Islip altar-hangings worked with lions, heraldry and fleur de lys, the famous Saint Peter cope. All those had been *' reserved for the King's use." It would be the business of this Queen to restore them to God's use.

" To-morrow," said the Queen, turning away; " and to-night after supper we will see to the jewels."

Magdalene went to bed that night irritated at her mistress' inconsistency. Here was a woman universally reprobated as stingy and avaricious; the fewness of the dishes set on her table was the wonder of the Court; the money spent on pageants would have been a disgrace to

The Queen's Tragedy a country gentleman; and yet the list drawn up that night of what was to go to Westminster Abbey amazed this lady-in-waiting. It seemed that the altar of St. Edward was to be restored, plated with precious metal and covered with jewels; that the shrine was to be rebuilt and adorned as the abbot directed; that a heap of vestments worn in the royal chapel on great days was all to be given to the monks' use — as well as numerous crosses, chalices and images that had lain for twenty years in the Royal treasury.

It was very beautiful no doubt, said Magdalene to herself, this desire to do God honour; but she wondered whether it would not have been more reasonable first to roll away the reproach of parsimony, and then to pay off more of the debts of Edward and Henry that had been for years such a drain upon the Queen's resources. Surely!

Mary the Queen Decides Some More Matters

Since the marriage two years before her ladies had never seen the Queen so happy as she was during the anxious months immediately preceding Philip's return.

Yet the Council sat twelve hours a day for one dreadful week in November, couriers flew to and fro between England and the continent, and none knew the cause. There were fifty rumours; the truce between Mary and France was to be broken, it was said; the King was ill; the English fortresses were threatened; a huge subsidy was to be raised for the reinforcements of Philip's; another plot had been discovered. Tongues wagged, and the Lords of the Council were eyed and shouted after in the streets, and men wondered what new sacrifice was to be demanded of them for the sake of the hated young Spaniard.

Yet Mary was serene through it all. She was not able to be present in Westminster Abbey at the celebration of the anniversary of the kingdom's release from schism, which absence in another mood would have caused her distress; but she lay cheerfully in bed, and said her prayers alone.

A few days later she was able to receive the Princess Elizabeth, who had come to Somerset Place with a great retinue; and the meeting of the two in public was all that could be wished by those who loved unity.

So the winter days moved on, Christmas came and went, kept quietly at Greenwich, and every hour that passed brought the King nearer to his wife.

Mistress Dormer was passing along a corridor that looked on a court at the back of Placentia, towards the evening of a March day.

A link was burning below, and two or three of the Queen's guard were on duty beside it. She paused a

The Queen's Tragedy moment to look at them as they stamped about in their great cloaks for a keen wind was blowing through the open gate; and as she looked, a tired horse, with a rider on his back, stumbled through and drew up with hanging head. Half a dozen other mounted servants followed immediately, and one of them leapt off and ran to his master's stirrup.

They were too much directly below the window for Jane to see who was the leader; but she saw the guards straighten themselves and salute as the man climbed wearily off. Then she passed on to her room, not sufficiently interested to make enquiries; for personages arrived at all hours, and the matter might be important or trivial.

Half an hour later she was sent for in haste to the Queen.

" My Lord Robert Dudley is come," said the page excitedly. " Her Grace desires —

But Jane was out of the room and half way down the passage.

She found the Queen nearly hysterical with joy.

" He is come," she cried in her deep broken voice. " His Highness is at Calais, Laus Deo! "

She caught Jane passionately and kissed her on both cheeks.

She had been a little depressed earlier in the afternoon; for three days had passed without a message from the King. Now the change was extraordinary. Her withered cheeks were flushed with crimson, and her dull eyes bright and excited. She moved up and down before the hearth, forgetting her dignity, describing the King's adventures, speaking of a storm of rain which had drenched him a week before, telling little tales that she had drawn out of Lord Robert.

Mary the Queen Decides Some More Matters

" He will be here in three days," she cried again. " He will cross the sea to-morrow. Oh! Jane, pray for fair weather. Thank God for His mercies! "

It seemed as if she had wholly forgotten the perplexities that surrounded her husband's coming, the difficulties of the Cardinal as regarded meeting one who was still professedly at war with the Sovereign Pontiff, the anxieties of the French situation and the labyrinth of the yet unravelled conspiracy. She could only speak of how His Highness' rooms must be prepared at once — summoning a page to send him in haste to bring Master Rochester — of the progress that must be made through London so soon as the King was sufficiently rested; of how my Lord Cobham and the Lord High Admiral must bear the swords-of-State at mass on the morning after the return.

Jane watched her, listened, counselled, soothed; and wondered meanwhile whether her mistress had forgotten too the change in her own appearance, her fallen cheeks, her unhealthy pallor, the wrinkles round her shortsighted eyes, the clumsy weakness of her gait and figure. Mary ambled to and fro, a piteous sight to her friend, and surely an unwelcome sight to her young husband!

The three days passed in an unwonted bustle; the whole aspect of the Court changed. Within the palace men ran about with messages and bundles; the hall was filled with the tumult of hammers, and the courtyard with waggons laden with clean rushes, hangings, and furniture. Grave men bent on stately business were run into by boys who flew about on errands; Lords of the Council were refused admittance — it was told them that her Grace was in the King's rooms and must not be disturbed. It seemed more like the bridal preparations

The Queen's Tragedy of a girl than a middle-aged woman's welcome of a disillusioned husband.

On the morning of the day itself she could settle nothing. Hour after hour she paced up and down the long gallery, watching the weather, with her ladies about her, causing the splashed couriers who arrived one after another to be brought to her immediately. She laughed like a child at the tale that Philip had been forced to pay the students' fine for entering Canterbury Cathedral in his spurs. She was delighted with the news of his reception at the coast and the firing of the salute; she enquired again and again as to how he had fared on the journey, whether he was tired, whether it had rained. She dined alone upstairs, for the great hall was still under the upholsterers' hands, and left the table hastily to walk again in the gallery; she could keep neither still nor silent.

" His Highness will be weary," she said; "he will sleep late to-morrow. I will not hear mass till I hear it with him. Tell a priest to be ready at ten o'clock. We shall have music to-night after supper; but not too long. Master Bradshawe must sing; but I spoke to you of that, sweetheart, did I not? I fear I shall not be able to ride with his Majesty on Monday; see that the litter be ready for it. To-morrow we will see no one; we shall have too much to tell one another, is it not so? There is a horse's hoofs. Sweetheart, see if it be not another courier."

As it grew towards evening her mood changed a little. She appeared worn out by excitement, and went back to her private parlour with Jane, where she sat with twitching hands and tapping feet, bolt upright on the edge of her chair opposite the fire. She caused the curtains to be drawn and the candles lighted, and more

Mary the Queen Decides Some More Matters than once rose and looked at herself in the mirror, smoothing out the heavy folds of cloth of silver that hung from her waist, patting her brilliant head-dress, staring into her own reflected eyes with pursed lips, while Jane watched her, dreading questions.

Again she came back, sat down, threw an arm round Jane and drew her towards her.

" Talk to me, sweetheart."

" Madam, what can I say? Does not your own heart tell you more than I can? "

Mary kissed her.

" It tells me so much," she said, " that I cannot bear to hear it. Is all prepared? Tell me again, Jane, is all prepared? "

" Your Grace, there is everything. The gentlemen are in. their liveries; I have seen the hall myself; the hangings are in place. The boy is to sing in the parlour."

" I shall receive his Highness in the Presence-Chamber," went on Mary for the twentieth time that day, " and shall bring him in here immediately. He will have so much to tell me. And we sup at seven. Tell me, Jane, there is nothing wanting to pleasure his Highness? I have forgotten nothing? "

" Your Grace has forgotten nothing."

"He is very late, is he not? Is it dark yet, sweetheart? "

" Why, no, madam; it will be half an hour yet to dark."

Far away a trumpet pealed, and there was a sound of running footsteps in the corridor outside. Mary sprang to her feet, and her hands dropped to her sides.

" Come, madam," said Jane, and led her out.

The Presence-Chamber was ablaze with lights as the 259

The Queen's Tragedy

Queen came through with her ladies behind her, and went up the steps beneath the cloth-of-estate.

Wax-candles burned in sconces along the tapestried walls and in tall standards on the floor. A double line of guards in green-and-white, holding gilt halberds, formed a lane of glory for the King to come up, and behind them on either side crowded the gentlemen and pages of the household. A great carpeted space was left at the higher end of the room at the foot of the two thrones, where the dignitaries would stand for the formal greeting; on the right side by the Queen's chair with their backs to the wall stood her Grace's ladies; among whom towered up the beautiful head of Lady Magdalene Dacre. The corresponding space on the other side was left vacant for the King's gentlemen.

Again the trumpets pealed nearer, and a crash of guns sounded from the river. Mary rose and stood upright in her gorgeous dress, staring down the long passage of soldiers towards the further door.

Again the guns sounded, and noise of distant cheering followed it, the company in the hall began to shift and murmur, as a confused tramping made itself heard from outside. Mary came down the steps; the ladies formed behind her, and she stood rigid in the centre of the floor, with folded hands.

She made a little movement forward as the first figures began to appear; then recovered herself, stepped back, and stood swaying slightly.

As the ushers advanced up the carpet, there was a cheer raised by the door — one clear sonorous voice —

" God save the King and the Queen! "

In a moment the whole hall was one tumult of sound, one stormy forest of waving hands and tossing caps, while the guns still thundered outside. The candle

Mary the Queen Decides Some More Matters flames flared and leaned this way and that; the arras stirred and flapped upon the wall.

The last ushers came up, bowed low and wheeled aside to their places, and Philip appeared walking alone, his cap on his head, his long face flushed with wind and exercise, his cloak thrown back, his riding cane still in his hand, and his legs splashed from ankle to knee.

He stopped dead as he saw the Queen, drew himself up, lifted his cap, and sank down in a deep reverence that answered to hers.

They both rose together, advanced; he took her hand, bowing over it, and kissed it; then in a moment the arms of each were round the other, and their lips met, while the room thundered ironic applause and congratulation.